Origami Narwhal
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The Drake of Craumont - 1.12
🕑 Added 2025-03-24 18:12:00 +0000 UTCI’ll take the long way back to the Manor.
I wander those back alleys, eyes scraping on the stark shadows left by the afternoon light. I breathe in the calm air of those tiny parks that dot the city.
Gods, I get myself a bit lost, as lost as I can get in a city that was once home.
It gives me time to turn over the thousand whys in my head, spinning them like an inscrutable puzzle. I'd risked my life following along with an ambitious, inexperienced Mage, but why? Did she remind me of myself, trying to escape the insanity of nobility?
Maybe it’s the hope in her eyes. I, heh, hope she keeps that.
And then I’m back on the pair of main streets, drinking in the sights and sounds. Brightly painted buildings gleam in the afternoon sun, their reflections rippling in the canal that splits the city in half. People bicker and chatter and barter. There’s a few Magebloods here and there, with feathers or horns or furred ears— some, I even see doing little spells with Wind. Sending toys into the air, balancing unwieldy towers of produce, and one man bravely using a sustained application to hold a ladder in place while he touches up the paint on a building.
My tail twitches, heart twinging with nostalgia. Weaving through the crowds is easy when they part around me, but I still end up slapping away a particularly brave pickpocket with my tail. Do they recognize me, I wonder, or do they just see a Drake Mageblood? It's not like I blend in, here, nor will I try.
More importantly, there’s a woman with a cart selling delicious-smelling, steaming-hot baked potatoes. It's a local tradition that brings a smile to my face; bigger cities tend to do things with pastry or wheat bread. It's a sweeter treat, and nowhere near as filling.
Anyways, it's a good baked potato. Lots of local herbs and butter, crispy and well-seasoned skin.
I tell her as much, tossing a few more coppers on the cart’s counter. “I think I missed these,” I admit, half of my focus on keeping my tail still. “Delicious as always.”
The woman’s tanned skin flushes red at the cheeks, and she inclines her head. “I— I am glad you think so, m-my lady. Dame. Thank you for y-your patronage!”
Taking a huge bite out of the potato, I shrug. “S’ a good potato,” I say around a mouthful of the stuff, pausing to swallow and let out a puff of steam. “I’m sure a bunch of people think that.”
She just stares at the bitten potato, the machinery of thought almost audibly whirring in her head.
Oh, right. “Mageblood,” I pull my tail up, gesturing to it with my potato. “Resistant to heat.”
With that explained, I’m on my way again, wandering back towards the Manor. Good food puts me in a good mood, rhyme unintended, and it helps push away the knot of frustration today’s events had tied in my gut. I’ll need that good mood for the fancy dinner tonight, no doubt, because snapping at whatever friends Winston invites wouldn’t look good at all.
I'll be pleased if I can make it the whole way through without losing my temper, really. Noble politics are a pain, and I prefer the bluntness of fellow Delvers.
“Oh, come on, Ivy,” I say to myself, stepping around a few oblivious gossipers, “It won’t be that bad. You might even enjoy it!”
I take a deep breath and smile, properly. Just a hint of teeth, none of that ferocity. Yeah. I get to see Winston. I heard he married that man he was courting years ago, much to the irritation of neighboring provinces. What was his name? Henrik? Harriet? Harold?
No kids, either. I like taking care of kids at times, but... wait. Gods damn it. That means I'm still second in line for Craumont, and I ought to care about politics until those two adopt or whatever.
Damn. There goes my smile. Adamantine, protect me from the injustice that is noble scheming, and carry me swiftly from this city once my job is done.
***
“Welcome back, Madam Ivy,” Benny bows, a faint smile quirking their lips. “The Manor informed me of your arrival. I trust everything went well with the... ah.”
The doors to the Manor swing closed behind me and locks, sealing me in with Benny’s disappointment. They’re glaring directly at the reddish lines across my right arm, lips pulled into a thin line.
“I sealed the Delve, at least?” I say weakly, walking past Benny and towards the cozy chairs of the sitting area. There’s even a pot of tea sitting out on the table.
“Without the padded leathers, equipment, and enchanted knife you had delivered ahead of your arrival in the city,” Benny replies drily, following right after me. “Madam, you must keep your own health in consideration.”
I look down at the comfortable chair longingly, then reach out to the enchantments in the Manor, prodding them with a request to open the gate if a carriage comes through. I’ll need to wash up, make sure my formal wear is ready, brush up on my local politics, write out a report to send to the Delvers’ Guild...
A bubble of tension expands in my chest, and my tail lashes from side to side, slapping the legs of the chair. I take some deep, shuddering breaths, but the tension is still there. Do I want to punch something? Scream? Roar? Go for a long run? I can’t tell, and it all comes out in a low, coarse noise halfway between a growl and a sigh.
If I slump into that chair, I’ll be stuck there until Winston’s carriage arrives. The poetry of it doesn't escape me: Ivy Crawford will arrive a complete mess, the same way Amelia Crawford had left Craumont.
“Can we talk about it after I’ve washed up, Benny? I...” I gesture towards my chest, jaw clenching and unclenching. My tail goes slack, dropping onto the carpet. “Not right now.”
Benny holds my gaze, their gray eyes boring into my own. “Of course, madam. Are we expecting any guests?”
“No.” I look past them, watching as a dustpan and broom dutifully sweep up the dirt I’d tracked on the floor. A tea saucer is pressed into my hands, and I take a sip of something pleasantly warm and soothing. Just barely sweetened, better even than the tea from this morning. “We’ll talk after I bathe, yes. Because, with the Gods as my witness, I need to get these words out.”
Benny bows. “As always, leave your clothes on the hanger. I will see to it that they are cleaned, and sent to a tailor if my own skill proves insufficient.”
Having a butler is fantastic. And a magic house, of course. I pour a bit of raw magic into the enchantments, and receive a burst of warmth in return.
“Thanks. Good tea, too,” I raise the teacup towards them, then turn to leave. “I’ll drink it on my way over to the bath.”
Maybe I can multitask, too. Parchment won’t survive the steam, no, but I can mull over my report and my thousand mistakes from the comfort of a massive pool of hot water. I need to write up a remedial training plan too, for dealing with opponents that have thorns or other protections that might injure bare fists. There's probably a few efficient cutting spells in the library somewhere— all of them worse than a knife, but what if I didn't have a knife, like today? Now that I know the risks, I’d better do something to mitigate them.
“And... Madam?” Benny calls after me, “I’m terribly sorry that your time in Craumont has already been soured.”
A strangled laugh rips its way out of me, and my tail sweeps along the carpet. “You know what? Let’s get it over with. Walk with me, Benny?”
“Ah, of course.”
Benny follows a pace behind me, and the broom is a pace behind that. We’re all moving slowly, since the baths aren’t too far away... even if I’m tempted to run and leave these feelings behind.
I clear my throat. My tail comes up, and I inspect it for bits of lint and dirt. Then I check my nails, visible scales, and finally I hand my tea off to Benny so I can pull my blouse off. As it turns out, the lingering enchantments made the fabric a little less stretchy. It was bad enough that I have to sort of wiggle out of my shirt, wincing as it compresses my breasts.
Well, Helena's enchantments are lasting far longer than she predicted. I'll give her that, I suppose.
No more procrastinating, Ivy. Come on.
“I— Helena and I went into the Delve together. She’s an unapprenticed Mage. Winston wants her trained up enough that he doesn’t need to hire any more Mages or Delvers. They’re charging a premium for their work if they have to come out here.” The words pour out of me like water from a pierced waterskin, and only Benny handing back the tea is enough to stop me.
I take a calming breath, an equally calming sip of tea, and then chuckle. “But you probably knew some of that.”
“Correct, Madam. I assumed it wouldn’t be a concern, but it clearly was.” Benny clicks their tongue.
“She...”
She was too ambitious. She asked good questions but didn’t follow my orders without question, putting us at risk. More than at risk, at the bottom of the Delve. She broke my trust, because I’d been too hasty in giving it to her. Why had I done any of that? What came over me?
“I was a fool. I went in without enough preparation, and Helena didn’t know what she was doing. She nearly died.” I sigh, the tension easing from my frame. There’s still frustration bound up inside me, but the knot has loosened. “I should’ve reined her in or called it off.”
We come to a stop at the door to the baths. They’ve got a hundred questions about Helena, no doubt, when I just want to push the whole thing out of mind.
“Will you learn from it, madam?”
Their words catch me off guard. I blink, then nod. “Of course. Delvers don’t live long if they don’t learn.”
“Good. Then you are not a fool.” Benny puts a hand on my bare shoulder, squeezes— well, tries to squeeze, it’s mostly just hard muscle right there— then steps away, taking some of my stress with them. “Please, enjoy your bath.”
“Oh, I will. If there’s anything I actually missed about this place, it’s the bathhouse.” I put on a grin. “And you, of course.”
Benny arches an eyebrow, making a shooing motion with their free hand. Chuckling, I head inside, already slipping out of my remaining clothing. A wash of steam flows over me, and I send a silent thanks to the Manor’s enchantments for warming it up. It must’ve started when I entered the grounds.
Then, I slide into the water, and—
Ivy becomes a pile of mush.
There is no me, only steam and soothed muscles, floating across the surface of the Manor’s absolutely ridiculously sized ‘bath’. My tail is actually able to rest, no longer needing to support its own weight, and I’m starting to uncramp around the tailbone in places I didn’t think actually had muscles. My scales are clean, my hair is utterly soaked, and the water is doing its best to draw out a rough day’s cramps and sores.
As I said. Nothing but mush. Maybe a sack of potatoes, but that doesn’t convey the dampness.
No worries.
No formalized reports yet.
I let out a huff of Wind through my mouth, watching my breeze cut its way through the steam, and then do it a few more times. Good practice, at least; breathing Wind isn’t something I bother with that often.
Might as well practice now, while I’m entirely incapable of moving. Too warm.
Efficiency is key, and the crux of efficiency is practice, after all. The less energy I use, the more I can spend on important things.
Wind leaks through my teeth, skittering across the surface of the water in ripples. A thought draws it back in, steam and all; a flimsy structure of Wind cleans the air before I inhale a too-big mouthful of water and choke. I know there’s a way to pull what my body needs from water, but the theory of it escapes me.
Lightning breath is tempting, as always.
But I’m in a bath, completely soaked, and the air may as well be water with how humid it is. So, no Lightning breath, no Lightning hands, no Lightning anything. Maybe I should practice in the hallway, see how many bits of lint I could pick off the ground. Or, no. The cleaning enchantments have gone a bit weird, but they’re definitely doing their job. The only rooms with lint would be ones I sealed off, or those I’d never figured out how to unlock in the first place after Mother and Father passed away.
I shake my head, trying to banish that path of thought before it gets too dark. Maybe I can focus on the report, instead? That'll be much easier. I've written tons of those.
They're going to ask why I didn't bring my equipment. I'm done beating myself up for that mistake, so that shouldn't be too unpleasant a response. What if I just include my thoughts in the report? That'll work, I think. Should lessen the reprimand.
...oh, right, the dinner. I'll have to get dressed properly, and actually write the report on parchment rather than just thinking about it.
A growl and a groan mix in my throat, escaping as an incoherent, embarrassingly high-pitched mess of sound. “I’ve done enough today,” I tell the vent on the ceiling, “Why did I agree to Winston’s dinner?”
Because I like my cousin, I suppose. He’s got a scheme cooking up, if he’s inviting me, and it’s probably part of why he hired me to begin with. Unless, of course, his scheme was training up a Mage, but... no.
I groan again. Fine. Best get out of here before I think better of it, then. I drag myself out of the bath, grabbing a towel and dripping a bit of magic into the enchantments. I’m done, thank you.
The enchantments hum in response, as they often do. The air shivers, and with a whump, the steam vanishes into the vent.
Enchanted buildings are the best.
***
Six sheets of parchment and four different suits later, I lean out of the carriage and into the gloom of dusk. The Craumont Manor rises up ahead of me, bright and welcoming even as the Sun casts it in stark shadows. Warm light spills from every window, and even from here I can hear the murmur of conversation that wafts out through the open front door.
If only the trip had been as pleasant. Gods, even my tail is sore. Long day, long carriage ride to spend sitting on the floor in dining finery. Most chairs aren't made for people with tails, and I doubt there’s a single carriage in Craumont built to accommodate us. There’s not enough of us in a small city for a carpenter to bother, usually. I’m going to need something sweet after that, and I’ll need it as soon as possible.
Rubbing my neck, I bring my eyes back down to the ground— to the slight, well-dressed man, running a hand through short brown hair and nodding to himself. He takes a deep breath.
“Good evening, my lady.” The man says, bowing at the waist. Ah, a servant. When he comes back up, he extends a hand to help me down the stairs. “Lord Craumont extends a warm welcome. I am here to show you up to the Manor, if it pleases you.”
I squint at his face, ignoring his hand. “You're new, aren't you?”
“Ah—”
“Well, if you count anything in the last five years as new.” I add with a shrug, adjusting the cuffs on my white blouse. I step down the stairs, buttoning up my dark green waistcoat and smoothing it down. I'd rather not look rumpled for this dinner party, after all. “Well, I’ll just go grab one myself, since you don’t know.”
Turning, I walk towards the stables, and the servant hurries after me. He clears his throat audibly. “Ah, Dame Crawford! My Lord eagerly awaits your arrival.”
I bring my tail up for inspection, checking for any smudges or bits of carriage-rug stuck in the scales. “Yes, I know, but I’m guessing he sent you because he’s busy with guests. How many people does he have tonight?”
“Ah, my Lord is entertaining some twenty guests tonight— that cabinet has supplies for the horses, my lady, please—” Oh, he’s very new. Or, more realistically, he’s not used to nobility rifling around in storage cabinets, and I’ve been gone long enough that the servants here have forgotten.
My chest aches a little at the thought, but I push the feeling away. I’ve got a goal here, and it’s not in the bindings box, no, there’s the saddle repair...
“Aha!” There it is! I pull down a brown box from a high shelf, flip it open, and take out two round, white-gold tree-sap candies. “He’s got too much of a sweet tooth to stop. Don’t mind if I do.”
I pop one in my mouth, savoring the earthy sweetness as it melts away on my tongue. Gods, now this is something I’ve missed. I take a few more, pocket all but one, and put the box away.
“Alright, then. Lead on.” I give him a nod, sticking a hand out with the one candy on my palm. “Want one?”
After a brief pause, the man blinks, takes a breath, and nods. “T-that won’t be necessary, Dame Crawford. Right this way, my lady.”
I follow along, sliding the candy in my hand into my pocket with the rest. Winston’s going to want a few, after all, to deal with all the... guests. How many had the servant said there were?
Twenty, right. I bite back a groan, and put another candy in my mouth. It doesn’t make me feel better, but it does taste good.
