Tuesday 23 July 2013

Session 47: Midsummer Ball 21-22/6/1480 DR

Quinn - got a job offer from Algrim Thane. And Lady Jaela Rensard certainly seems to like her!
Queen Esmerelda - was appropriately regal, and bitch-slapped Boris a little.
Dunstan - has a promise of marriage from Serka, soon as he destroys Stonefang the Primordial Dawn
Titan and ends a six thousand year war...
Lirael - Had a nice time with Sir Jorah Blackthorn
Arya - Has respect from Lady Moonfire; friendly contact with Lord Myuni the ex-Red Wizard, charming fellow...
Jareth - got laid; cheap ironmongery coming up!
Pealias - got laid, and Tammy is *very* good at it...
Halvath - got a bunch of devout Shadoweirs (with a little pump-priming from Boris); played matchmaker and got Amanda Brooke (Forestarm) & Sir Joran Amainas (Shadoweir) together.

an elf princess lights up the path to the woodland area Stock Photo - 17031073
Lirael's Ball Dress

Lirael's Account 
Lirael stared at the two new pieces of clothing on her bed: a finely crafted feyleather jerkin, soft and supple and begging to be worn…and The Dress. How in the world was she going to wear that frothy pale green concoction out in public? What had she been thinking?
“Stop staring at it and put it on,” said Anwyn, coming in the door. “I’m to do your hair and no arguments.”

Lirael nodded. She had no argument to give. She knew she was rubbish with anything remotely to do with dressing up or acting a lady. She’d wanted to ask Quinn for help getting ready, Quinn who seemed such an expert on such matters, but the bard had been giving her short shift since Jorah had asked her to the ball. Perhaps she should have said no. She hated dissension in the group; she trusted these people with her life on a daily basis. But—Jorah had looked so handsome and sincere. She’d said yes without even thinking about it. Hadn’t, in fact, been able to say no.

And now he, and everyone else, was going to see her in The Dress.

A lot of her.

She picked up the jerkin. Last year she had simply worn her normal attire adorned with forest-y bits and called herself a militant dryad as a bit of a joke (that no one seemed to get). Surely she could do the same this year? One look at Anwyn’s face and she put the jerkin down and began putting on the dress instead. Maybe she should have asked Arya for help. The wizard would have understood…


The next hours were a blur of greetings and faces, both old and new. Lirael felt far too naked under the disapproving stare of Jorah’s mother. And she swore one of his brothers had winked at her. Boris, surprisingly, had been relatively gallant and had not attempted anything untoward. Perhaps he had reformed himself after all.

Jorah, at least, was like a rock (except when directly faced with his mother). He was there by her side the whole time, letting her know he was there if she needed him – a small touch on the elbow, a warm hand on her back. Maybe he could tell how uncomfortable she felt. What she wouldn’t give for a horde of trolls to make an appearance! Then again, she’d only been able to hide one small knife. The Dress didn’t leave much room for anything else.

Inside, it was even more of a blur – both a wonderful and dreadful experience. So good to see her friends, including Esme, who looked amazingly round but happy. So nerve-wracking to parry the conversational barbs of that strange Lady Jaela Rensard and Lord Myuni. So hard to stand back and do nothing while wondering if Boris would rise to Esme’s pointed barbs.
But she loved seeing the shining glow on Pealias’ face as he carefully escorted Tammy Hill around the room – and the reactions of the other guests to the former festhall worker. And the dancing! Lirael normally hated to dance, but something it felt right as Jorah swept her around the hall. She smiled to see Dunstan bobbing up and down in time to the music with Serka and Halvath beaming beatifically on everyone and plucking flowers from the air. Even Jareth cut quite a figure twirling the smith around the room.

Mayhap she should have left that half-pint of Dragon’s Milk alone…Quinn’s lilting rendition of an old elvish standard had brought a tear to her eye.


The air had chilled by the time they made their way back to the ferry, sending goose bumps down Lirael’s back. Jorah held her hand, the one warm spot. No one seemed to notice or remark upon it and she was glad of something small and private to hold on to. This would be her favorite moment of the evening…just before everything, as always, went a little bit crazy.

As the ferry crossed the water, she saw the outline of dim shapes. Hundreds of them. She let go of Jorah’s hand and leaped to the side of the ferrymaster. “Stop,” she hissed at him, “stop the ferry now!” He did as she asked but they drifted a bit closer to the bank still.

Hundreds? Perhaps a thousand or more – and in the front, riding confidently astride a giant white sabertooth, was a muscular warrior carrying a spear. The Tigerclaws. Was the dragon near?

She knew she should have worn the jerkin.
Konn, Tigerclaw Bitterstrike Vassal
XP (DMG2): 16,000/7=2285
2285+ 48,326=50,611
Lirael's Account +289= 50,900 XP
Post Session 47 PBP: 650+50,900=51,550
Need 57,000 for 15th level

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