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"The Solstice Gala, Fjord? You've never heard of it?" Jester gawked, clutching the large flyer to her chest as she fell into step beside Fjord. Her boots padded against the cold cobblestone ground beneath, accompanied by the sound of the bustling market beside them.
"Can't say that I have… though I've never really been this far North," Fjord explained, before pausing. "What is it?"
"The biggest festival on this side of the mountains, Fjord!" Jester mused, sticking her hand out to offer him the flyer, its edges adorned with golden emroidery. On the front read, in bold, elegant lettering: Solstice Festival.
"Solstice, huh?" He mused, studying the flyer. "Now that I think about it, we are expectin' to get a bunch of snow real soon…"
"Mhm, and the festival is held every year after the first snowfall," She replied, sticking her nose in the air with pride. "But only the snootiest people get to go. Like, lords and ladies and people who pay buttloads of money to get in."
Fjord nodded his head then, gaze fixed on the cobblestone road ahead. "I see," he muttered, his brows furrowing as he contemplated the thought. "Then why the hell would some lord pay us to go on his behalf? I mean, wouldn't he want that sort of exposure? Isn't that like a big deal to those kinds of people?"
Jester shrugged her shoulders then, stopping just before then inn. She tucked the flyer into the pocket of her shawl, warming her hands on its fur lining.
"Some lords don't like the attention," she hummed. "Maybe he just wants to avoid it?"
"I don't know," Fjord murmured, under his breath. "But I feel like somethin' ain't quite right. We should be cautious, just in case—"
"Lovebirds! Over here!"
The sound of Molly's voice drew Fjord from his thoughts, making him jump. He turned his head to the side, glancing over his shoulder to take in the sight of Molly, waving excitedly from across the street. The half-orc sighed, his shoulders slumping as he followed Jester to the grove of tall pines on the other side of the cobblestone, where the rest of their party stood.
"Any updates on this 'lord' we're workin' for?" Fjord inquired, seeming entirely unconvinced.
"His name is Oliander von something," Beau responded, crossing her arms over her chest. "Caleb looked him up. Apparently, he's legit."
"Ja," Caleb muttered, tapping his boot against the cold ground. "Irvine von Oliander. A scholar of magic, according to the tome I read. The locals say he does not draw much attention to himself."
"An elusive man." Molly mused.
"But we've never seen him," Fjord reminded the group, his gaze flickering between them. "How do we know he's… legit?"
"We don't," Nott interjected, her gaze sharp. "But the amount of gold he's offering, just for this job… It would be enough to pay off any of our debts."
Jester turned to Fjord then, frowning as she noticed the uncertain look in his eyes. "Oh, come on, Fjord, what's the worst that could happen? If things go bad, then we'll just leave!" She hummed. "It isn't like we're totally defenseless."
"That's the other thing," Molly began. "The guildmaster said Oliander only wants two of us to attend, and he's chosen those two himself."
Jester lit up. "Oh! Who is it! Who is it!" She mused, leaning forward, her tail swaying excitedly behind her.
"The half-orc and the smaller tiefling, the guildmaster said," Molly hummed, handing Jester a small slip of paper, signed with the alleged lord's intials. "I assume that means you and Fjord, Jester." He winked, watching her eyes light up with excitement.
"Oh my gosh! Fjord!" She grinned, wide enough to expose her sharp canines. "He wants us to go! Together!" She cheered, excitedly grabbing his arm.
"Wait, hold on just a minute," Fjord mumbled, reaching out to touch her shoulder, steadying her for a moment. "Where are the rest of you gonna be?"
"Outside of the venue, most likely," Caleb muttered. "Close enough to intervene but far enough to stay undetected. The gala's security is tight…"
"Tighter than even I can manage to break through." Nott muttered, shrugging her shoulder.
Fjord frowned, glancing down at Jester. "Jes, I don't feel good about this," he sighed, shaking his head. "I mean, some 'lord' specifically chose you and I to represent him at this gala? Why would he want that?" He muttered.
"Well, what's wrong with us, Fjord?" Jester frowned, tilting her head to the side as she looked up at him. His eyes widened as he realized the poor wording, and he quickly shook his head.
"No, no — it's not that there's somethin' wrong with us," he reassured her, quickly. "It's just that I don't know why he'd choose us. Somethin' just feels wrong."
Jester shook her head, grinning up at him. "You are overthinking it, Fjord," she hummed. "We're being paid to attend the fanciest gala in the North! Don't look a horse's gift in the mouth, or whatever they say." She mused.
"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth." Caleb corrected, under his breath.
"Yes!" Jester cheered, pointing at him. "Exactly that!"
With a heavy sigh, Fjord knew he was outmatched — if not by the rest of the party, then by the sight of Jester's pleading eyes. She was his weakness, and he could never say no to her.
"Alright, alright," he agreed, begrudgingly. He glanced back up at the rest of the party. "But if anything even slightly appears like it could be some sort of trap, we're callin' off the whole mission. I don't care about the bounty or gold." He bargained, his gaze sharp.
"Deal," Molly obliged. After a moment of quiet contemplation, his lips twitched upwards into an amused smirk. "And you're both going to need new outfits." He hummed.
By the time the sun had begun its descent beneath the tall peaks of the mountains, the party had long claimed their lodging at the nearby inn, splitting off to their respective rooms for the evening.
Fjord had spent the last hour or so washing the grime from his body, before exiting the bathhouse, starting for his own room. With a heavy sigh, he tugged out his clothes and began dressing, setting up the rest of his pack once he was fully clothed. As soon as he'd finished buttoning his shirt, however, the door slammed open, revealing an excited tiefling on the other side — and it wasn't Jester this time.
"Gear up, Fjord." Molly mused, leaning against the doorframe.
Fjord's expression fell. "For what, exactly?" He muttered, uncertain.
"I'm taking you to find an outfit for the gala." The tiefling hummed in response, his tail swaying absentmindedly behind him. "Unless you've got something fancy enough in your pack to impress a room full of lords and ladies?" He mused, gesturing to the worn, leather bag on the ground. Fjord's cheeks quickly grew heated.
"Fine, fine," he mused, unable to stop himself from smiling in amusement. "I reckon if there's anyone who knows how to impress a room, it's you, carnival man." He sighed, standing to his full height. He stretched his arms, rolling his shoulders back. "Let me get my coat."
By the time the two started for the center of the village, the air had become much brisker. Fjord shivered, his large fingers fastening the buttons on his overcoat. It was a bit oversized, having once belonged to his captain, but he was grateful for it.
"So, about this gala," Molly inquired, glancing over in his direction. "Are you actually afraid of it being a trap? Or are you just nervous about going with Jester?"
Fjord's expression fell at the tielfing's inquiry, his throat suddenly growing dry. He paused, considering his response, before deciding to be honest.
"A little bit of both," he admitted. "I've got my doubts about this 'lord' or whatever, but also…"
"Also?"
"Also, I don't wanna disappoint Jester." Fjord confessed, softer than usual.
Molly managed a soft smile, his gaze fixed on the half-orc's uncertain features. "She thinks a lot of you." He offered.
"Well, that's just it," he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "What if I'm not the man she thinks I am? What if I'm just a fraud, and everyone finds out?"
Molly paused then, stopping in his tracks on the cobblestone path. His brows were furrowed as he glanced up at Fjord, watching as the other man slowly realized he'd stopped, turning to meet his gaze.
"Fjord, I say this with more sincerity than you know," he began. "I don't think Jester is capable of being disappointed in you, in any sense of the word."
Fjord shifted, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Think so?" He asked, uncertain.
"Mm," Molly hummed, taking a step forward to resume their walk. "I know so."
By the time the two made it to the small tailor's shop at the edge of town, the sun had already set. Soft, warm lamp posts lined the street, illuminating the shop's worn storefront, the brick old and overgrown with vines. As Molly opened the front door, a small bell chimed, echoing through the small space.
"Come in, come in!" A soft voice rang out, unseen. As Fjord turned his head, he was met with the sight of the seamstress, slowly rising from her chair.
She was much older, wearing a long, comfortable gown, a small white apron wrapped tightly around her waist. Her hair, long and solid white, was tied back into a small tie, adorned with yellow ribbon. As she took a step forward, Fjord cleared his throat, placing a hand over his chest in earnest.
"Evening, ma'am," he greeted, warmly. "My name is Fjord Stone, and this is my, uh, good friend — Mollymauk Tealeaf." He introduced, gesturing at the tiefling at his side, who gave a warm smile of his own.
"Ah! I see," she hummed, leaning back against the front desk. "Two travelers searching for threads, hm?"
"Somethin' fancy," Fjord explained, rubbing the back of his neck, awkwardly. "I've, uh, got a dinner party to go to."
"What he means is something 'regal,' something elegant," Molly interjected, stepping up to Fjord's side. "Something fancy enough to impress a whole room, if you have it."
The seamstress tilted her head to the side, contemplating, before her eyes lit up.
"Oh! I have just the room for you. Come, come!" She urged, pushing off the desk with excitement as she started down the nearby hallway, leading them down a few rows of tall shelves. The shop was thick with the smell of lavender oil and freshly lit incense, giving the two men a strange sense of comfort in the new place.
Fjord and Molly quickly found themselves standing amidst a room of clothes that looked far too extravagant for Fjord's comfortability, adorned with sequins, crystals, and lace necklines. He winced as his finger trailed along the jagged fabric of the sequined collar, hating the sensation.
Molly, on the otherhand, had already begun sifting through the items with amusement, continuously adding to the tall stack of outfits he'd tossed onto the lounge beside them.
"Molly, I don't think any of these are gonna work," he murmured, scratching the back of his neck. "None of 'em feel like… me."
Molly straightened his posture, his lips pressed into a frown. He glanced back towards the stack of clothes, giving a tilt of his head. He contemplated Fjord — the sailor, the "captain," the half-orc, the man who didn't wear ruffles or elegant patterns. He gave a soft hum, before pulling a few ensembles from the stack.
"These," Molly offered finally, handing the collected items over to him. "Try them on."
By the time Fjord had tried on nearly five separate outfits, none of them seemed to fit him properly. They either made him feel like a complete fraud or their fabric had felt utterly terrible against his skin. He'd quickly made his way through the stack, dwindling it down to the last piece. As he pried it from the hanger and slid it over his arms, he fastened the buttons on his vest, smoothing out the sleek fabric of his pants.
Swallowing his pride, he emerged from the old, wooden dressing room for the last time.
He turned, examining himself in the tall, floor-length mirror of the shop — and for the first time in what felt like hours, he finally felt right.
His suit coat was long, charcoal grey and adorned with golden embroidery on its collar and sides. The sleeves were halfway pulled up, stitched at his elbow and donning large, golden buttons on the cuffs. Beneath the coat was a dark red vest, buttoned up just enough to reveal his white undershirt, its collar peaking out from the charcoal suit, its sublte ruffles resting against the lapels of his coat. Around his waist set a buckle, large and intimidating, attached to a matching belt.
He swallowed the lump in his throat, before Molly's voice drew him from his thoughts.
"That's the one," the tiefling hummed, taking a step forward. "How do you feel?"
"Strong," Fjord admitted, under his breath. "Like some kind of…"
"Captain?"
"Yeah," Fjord responded, roughly. "Exactly that."
Molly tilted his head to the side, giving an amused hum as he watched Fjord smooth down the edges of his coat, his fingers ensuring that his tie was straight. There was a look of confidence in the half-orc's gaze now, one that was entirely unexpected — but more than welcome.
As the two left the shop, silence filled the air. The only sound between them was the synchronous crunching of their boots against the cold snow, followed by the ocassional chirp of a nearby owl.
"Thanks, Molly," Fjord finally spoke, his voice cutting through the air. "For, uh, comin' with me."
The tiefling's lips twitched into a soft smile, as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat. "Are you satisfied with it?"
"Yeah. Think I am." The other replied, under his breath. His brows raised slightly at his admission, utterly shocked to be admitting it.
"Good. The more confident you are, the better this will go," Molly responded, glancing at the cobblestone path ahead of them, partially illuminated by the tall street lamps. He paused after a moment, contemplating. "I wonder what Jester has decided on? Surely she's already come up with something."
Fjord contemplated it for a moment. He was certain she'd already found something to wear, and as his mind raced with the possibilities, he tried to ignore the way his heart raced at the thought.
"Knowin' Jester? Yeah, she's already got somethin' picked out, I'm sure." Fjord mused finally, shoving his cold hands into his own coat as the two continued the long trek to the inn.