Water crashed into a half-filled wooden tub, bucket by bucket. Two women, one fair-skinned and the other horned and golden, worked to fill it. Their teamwork was fluid: the golden one, Askra, fetched water from a nearby brook while the other poured, then they'd trade buckets and start the process anew. If she got ahead of Askra, the fair noirette would pull laundry from a basketed heap beside her—a layered tower of blues, greens, and yellows—and sort them into tops, bottoms, and delicates. A third participant, an elf with blue hair, placed a second basket next in line for sorting. Then she grabbed a hammer and nails, two pulleys, and a clothesline and walked to a pair of trees. The three had an afternoon of chores to look forward to and little else.
For the sixth and hopefully final trip, Askra knelt on the bank and started filling her buckets. She was dressed for comfort; she wore a loose, homespun shirt and a long, ochre skirt. Her body contrasted her clothes radiantly—like a golden idol dressed in business casual. Curly orange locks swept back by four horns that glistened in the sunlight. Upturned yellow-green eyes on a face framed in golden scales. More scales, equally gilded, coated her neck and calves and grew in patches on her arms and chest. A coated tail snaked out for her rear and rested lazily on a stone with its tip dipped in the brook like a lure.
Loons called in the distance, a warm breeze continued its gentle roll, and the chime of fairies in flight gave majesty to the pause in her labor. She was thankful for the site they chose—the local feyfolk said it wasn't easy finding an unoccupied spot in the Sylvan Circles, and even harder to find one in a warm subclimate. And so it would have been had they not just helped save the Circles from a horde of gnolls and an evil druid. Now her only reminder of what the raiders did was a colossal dome of woven roots over the meadow. It stood like a birdcage, a monument to two things for Askra: the noble sacrifice of the master of the Sylvan Circles to protect them, and a grim reminder of their impending doom. Outside those walls was an army of blights—unholy distortions of the forest. In here, they were prisoners who locked their own cell.
But now that didn't matter. While Askra wasn't good at planning, she knew when to trust her friends and allies. They’ve hatched enough plans in the final hour to earn that confidence. To doubt them now—to be fearful after having come so far—would only bring shame to her good gods. Instead, emboldened by their successes, Askra hoisted four water buckets on a staff and began her short haul back to camp.
"—The food at Mateo's is much better too, and cheaper, if you like fish lompe or cheesecake. But their alcohol is only good for getting drunk." Askra started listening back in as she returned to the conversation. The fair-skinned human continued sharing her thoughts on Neverwintian venues, her favorite topic. She’d often fill the long hours of travel with stories and opinions of every tavern in Neverwinter.
Sheldanna, the elf judging the best place to drive a nail, replied with affirming mhmms in an effort to feign full attention. As Askra approached, she could see Sheldanna uncomfortably fussing about how to complete her project with the least harm done to either tree.
Askra interrupted, saying, "Here's the water for rinsing, Alessandra." Then she offloaded her cargo. She slid the staff into a barrel filled with pitchforks and shovels, then sat on a stool next to Alessandra.
"Thank you, Askra." The girl gave a pleasant smile. "Now, the Moonstone Mask is a premium choice when going out to parties. The food, the music, the waitresses—it's impossible to decide where to start."
"Of course you'd mention the whores during laundry." Askra rolled her sleeves up, revealing thick golden plates on her forearms.
"Prostitutes. It's a respectable profession. How would you feel if I called you a farrier instead of a metalsmith?"
"...I see your point," she admitted. Despite the transgression, Alessandra, unfortunately, missed her implication. She was amazed the girl wasn't embarrassed being so unabashedly gay. Instead, Askra felt embarrassed for her.
Alessandra was taller than her but much thinner. She must've been starved as a child; the girl desperately needed a few hearty meals and some dumbbells.
The starved girl then asked, "What about you? Get up to anything fun in Mithral Hall's party scene?"
That was difficult to answer. Silently trying to recall if she did anything "fun" in her home city, the quarter-dragon slid a washboard into the tub and grabbed a soap bar. Revelry wasn't alien to her; dwarves celebrated all the time; her people's festivals had a reputation for being rowdy. But the cause for those parties might not suffice in the eyes of a hedonistic lordling. "Well, I've been to a lot of funerals."
The black-haired human stopped dropping shirts into the water. "Funerals?"
"Yeah, funerals. Every time a dwarf dies, we gather together before the cremation. We spend all day and night drinking, dancing, and telling stories about all the cool things they did in their lifetime. The party goes on until all the stories have been told. The greater the dwarf, the longer the party."
"Well, that's a bit macabre, but it sounds pleasant."
"Trust me," Askra assured, "everyone thinks that about us, and you're not wrong to say it. That's the way we live."
Alessandra's pause melted away as she slowly returned to her task. They continued in an awkward silence—scrubbing, rinsing, washing. It wasn't long until they had a good lather.
They weren't the only ones setting up camp or doing chores. A few others milled about the campsite collecting firewood, cleaning, or pretending to do so while chatting.
Sheldanna stepped back from her work to give it one final inspection. Then the elf marched over, now satisfied with her perfect clothesline. Her gait was clean, precise, and honed with at least a century's discipline. Her dark blue hair was pinned into a bun so tight you could mistake it for a black opal.
She bowed courteously to Askra and reported, "Lady Askra, the clothesline has been rigged, and its pins are sorted and ready."
The dragoness' face warmed from yellow to a brilliant orange. "I've asked you to stop the formal talk." she pouted.
"My apologies, Miss Askra."
It took a great deal of effort not to protest again. She secretly enjoyed the obsequity; Sheldanna unknowingly satisfied a deep draconic desire she never knew she had. But Askra didn't know how to process their dynamic. In her culture, pleasantries were expected—you would refer to others with near reverence. But their honorifics were the person's trade and their prestige in it. Hereditary titles were foreign, and they reminded her of the snooty aristocrats in Silverymoon. And it didn't help that Sheldanna was a knight from the city with snooty aristocrats.
Askra groaned, acquiescing. Then she offered a stool, and the three girls joined together to scrub shirts, crack jokes, and bond.
Or at least they would have had Markus not shown up.
He appeared suddenly, loudly eating a sandwich bursting with cheese and meatballs. Several young griffons the size of terriers followed him in a loose ensemble. They played with each other—mouthing, climbing, play-biting and -scratching. They had a red tinge and looked like a mix between a hawk and a cougar.
Markus took an impressive bite from his sandwich. Red sauce smeared into the brown whiskers on his upper lip, and he said mid-chew, “Niff work, efferyone.”
Alessandra looked on hungrily; her appetite worked up from cleaning while reviewing her favorite eateries. Sheldanna paid him no mind while Askra responded, “Thanks. You’ve got something on your… there.” She attempted pointing at one spot on her face, then conceded to a wave in the general area. As if on cue, her knight handed him a fresh rag still damp from washing.
He thanked Sheldanna, theatrically returned her quaint little bow, and mopped his face clear of sauce. Markus then turned to Alessandra and said, “Well, the griffons have been walked, groomed, and fed. My chores are done, and it's lunchtime." He proffered his half-eaten sandwich just out of the noble's reach. When she attempted to grab it, he retracted the sandwich. Alessandra puffed her cheeks, heartbroken. As a concession for his joke, Markus said, "If you want one of your own, that moon elf made some for us. Said she wanted to watch us do drills in exchange."
"Ilyra?"
"The very same! Even Lilith took one."
Askra couldn't help but chuckle. "You and Lilith were having lunch together? Should I be jealous?"
"Jeez, Askra, didn't realize you swung that way." And just like that, Markus won the bout. He reduced Askra to a smoldering pile of stammers and orange blush.
Alessandra shared a good laugh with Sheldanna and Markus despite her hunger. "So, where are Lilith and Ilyra now?”
"Ilyra is down by the training ground. Lilith has been tailing me since breakfast. If you want, we can trade nobles and head over."
"But I need to finish my chores. I promised to help with laundry!"
"Don't worry," Askra interrupted, "You've helped lots so far. Go have some lunch and swordplay. Enjoy yourself!" She swiped back rose gold curls to better show her smile.
The black-haired noble squirmed in indecision; an internal conflict between hunger and obligation raged inside her. Hunger must have won the battle. She caved with a sigh, then stood up to address Sheldanna and Askra. But before she could, Markus snatched her hand and dragged her away to the treeline, filling in the details while scarfing down the last of his meal. Askra couldn't make it out, and she doubted Alessandra could either—she kept asking him to finish chewing or slow down.
And just like that, Alessandra was gone, spirited away by a Grasswind’s whimsy, while Askra and her knight were left to supervise a small flock of griffon cubs and the less assiduous of their two nobles. While she lamented losing a third of their workforce, she saved face and continued, paying no mind to Lilith, even as she loomed on the edge of their worksite.
She watched and waited on that edge until Markus and Alessandra were in the next clearing—well out of earshot and line of sight obscured by understory. Then she swooped in on the tub, half a dozen cubs riding on her coattails.
Lilith was a tiefling: coral red skin, horns that curled along her scalp, and solid gold eyes. Her tail was like a red whip that licked her ankles. A pair of bat-like wings tucked themselves against her back. They peaked over her shoulders, their talons hooked on like a gothic cape. Although Lilith was not a devil, she looked and played the part.
The noblewoman gave a curt: "Sonnlinor." It wasn't clear whether it was a question or a statement or if she intended to say more. Instead, she let her comment fester in the silence before finally breaking it, asking, "is this seat taken?"
It wasn't, but before Askra had time to answer, Lilith claimed it as her own and propped one of her legs on the other in preemptive defiance. She sat so lavishly on her weather-beaten stool, like a queen on her throne.
Then she only stared. Her eyes, equally golden as Askra's without the warmth, slowly bore through the cleric. A chill ran from her neck to her tail, and she suddenly felt a lot more self-conscious about all the skin her shirt didn't cover.
As much as Askra would have liked to bear with it and focus on her work, she couldn't. "Can I help you?" She relented.
"On the contrary," Lilith rebutted, "I believe it is I who can help you. Why toil with menial labor in lieu of my wizardry?" She produced a wand from her sleeve, lacquered and slender.
The golden cleric sighed, tired. "Because the last few times we've used magic, Alessandra grew feathers, and I spoke gibberish for an hour. These are fey lands, their wildmagic messes with ours," Askra recited.
"You doubt my ability?"
"I doubt you'd enjoy whatever happens to you if you tried."
She sneered as she always did, bearing her sharp teeth in chronic resting bitch face. Lilith was a caricature of an evil noble wizard.
"Well," Lilith hissed, "do not tell anyone I did not offer assistance."
"You still can if you'd like. There's a free washboard and plenty of washing to do."
“And servilely demean myself?”
“If those words meant 'lend a helping hand,' then yeah.”
The tiefling didn’t retort. Instead, she sheepishly withdrew her wand. She furrowed her brow and bit her thumb, thinking long and hard about something at least mildly nefarious.
Young griffons played peekaboo in the tall grass. One daring cub briefly took flight with little grace and pounced their sibling. They tumbled out of the grass, rolling over each other in the dirt.
"Fine." She finally said. Then Askra beamed in disbelief, eyes wide as Lilith, the proud heir of House Blackheart, prepared to servilely demean herself. She pulled her hair back and pinned it with a metal band
then pulled up her sleeves with the ruggedness of a poodle. Askra was almost impressed by the audacity, but then the tiefling froze.
Even though Askra offered to help, she refused, resigning herself to learning the intricacies of a washboard by trial and error or observation. She picked up the spare board as if it were carrion.
Lips curled in disgust, she asked, "So… you're well-practiced. Did you not have servants in Mithral Hall?"
"I don't think that word works. Everyone had a job. We kept busy with our trades and doing favors." Lilith listen to the cleric reminisce while side-eyeing Sheldanna, trying to mimic her work slyly. Askra continued, "We were like a great big family. My grandma really looked out for me then."
"Grandmother." Lilith isolated that word with cat-like curiosity. "I did not realize you had a family."
"Aye? Doesn't everyone?" The tiefling's interest withered away. "Drathraga Battleborn was her name. She was a real woman: strong, confident, deadly, and never accepted anything less than your best."
And for the dwarves, she was all that and more—a true role model. To Askra's surprise, human women had heroines aplenty. Their culture didn't confine anyone to a life of servitude, as her caretakers warned. However, the women were still thin and hairless. A brisk enough wind could carry them away.
But Drathraga? She was old, even for a dwarf. She had a weight to her that could only be earned with centuries of refinement. Wars, crafts, it was all the same to her: the path to self-perfection for the honor of the Dwarffather.
Askra decided to share none of those details and instead settled for a much more stoic: "She is everything I want to be."
Lilith didn't have a snappy retort. "She sounds nice," she admitted. Silently, she applied what she learned from the elf and joined in their shared labor.
Askra wrung out some trousers and added them to her basket. The heaps of suds had grown into small mountains whose tops broke away in the wind. The cubs hunted them like small game until every last bubble was popped. One of the griffons boldly clawed up to Askra's lap, who welcomed it with ruffled feathers.
The girls were getting close to finishing. Sheldanna knew this routine well enough and began dropping delicates into the lather. Frilly underwear and lace dresses floated like lily pads, drifting in and out from clumps of bubbles.
"I'm told my grandmother was a good person." The tiefling lazily scrubbed one of Markus' tunics. “A shrewd woman with a silver tongue and with grand ambitions, who brought my house from the depths of poverty. She is everything I ought to be—yet I never once met her.”
Sheldanna perked up. “What about the other one?”
“...I never gave it much thought, but I believe that is impossible.”
“Wait,” the quarter-dragon interjected, “You can’t just have one. That’s not how things work.”
Gasping, her pride wounded, Lilith retorted, “I’ll have you know my parentage is special. My father, a mighty devil, sired me through extraordinary means.”
Askra continued scrubbing a stubborn grass stain. "Well, you sure can think tha—"
Suddenly, the cub dove her lap into the tub with no grace. There was a silencing kerplunk, followed by a second's rain of suds. The baby griffon churned in the laundry with what might be interpreted as swimming.
"You beast!" Lilith cried, "my delicates!"
Paddling to the edge with the finesse of a toddler, the cub burst from the tub. It was more a mass of bubbles than a griffon. It whistled in delight, not feeling the least bit guilty of its crime.
Everyone except Lilith cackled madly, who stood in a fury—scarlet with rage. The others couldn’t stop themselves. They snorted desperately to stifle their laughter, choking on their own apologies. Askra fanned her hand to cool off while reaching for a towel. She planned on helping the noblewoman dry off, but it was useless.
Lilith turned on her heel, her tail lashing out to threaten pursuers. All attempts to calm her fell on deaf ears. She stormed off into the treeline from once she came, stomping and grumbling while mopping at her dress.
