#derval

[postcard-from-the-past]

Parisian novelist and courtesan Liane de Pougy and French actress and singer Marie-Louise Derval on a vintage Reutlinger postcard

[toxic-lucky]

I saw the trend going around and decided to steal it for OCs

[pucesdepantruche]

Pichet zoomorphe en céramique, années 1950. VENDU Atelier : Keraluc. Signé. Hauteur = 24 cm Excellent état

Plat en céramique, années 1960/70. VENDU Robert et Jean Cloutier. Signé Longueur = 22cm Excellent état

Rare vierge noire à l’enfant, vers 1955. VENDUE Jean Derval. Signé. Hauteur = 42 cm Très bon état

Vierge à l’enfant, vers 2000. VENDUE Jean Derval. Signé Hauteur = 32cm Bon état

[iironwreath]

Vigil [Nepenthe]

[8]

Nepenthe welcomed winter's fangs when she shoved out the little shack door into the night. The storm had gathered speed, offering a distraction from the growing wildfire of her thoughts and feelings that threatened to cook her insides alive.

She restrained her expression until Maes retreated back into the shelter. The lashing wind threatened to extinguish her cigar so she cradled it close, her extremities numbing. She didn't want to know what she looked like—a picture in anguish.

She was half-tempted to chuck the finished nub into the woods and burn it all down in the hope of spotting Azul among the ashes. Instead, she dropped it to the cleared path and crushed it under her heel with a crude amount of force.

Frequency illusion, chance, or fate—that she'd stood where her daughter had only three weeks prior felt like one of the three. Vierna had explained frequency illusion to her before: a bias where you noticed a pattern of something after recently becoming aware of it. Vierna had written about Azul potentially being in the Empire and here was proof not two days later.

Nepenthe was more a believer of faith than accidents, but even Vierna would probably connect the two as more than coincidence. The account we were given does not hold together, and you know what I do with a result that does not hold.

Nepenthe wanted to reach back through time and guide her own hand into writing what she knew now: our daughter was here. She uses a false name.

Ghosts of the interaction the children had described haunted her: Azul ducking through a door frame too short for her, taking up one of the worn wooden chairs, warming herself by the fire, her inevitable gratitude for their hospitality, her blood on the floor. She'd been hurt and Nepenthe hadn't been there to help her.

Disgust flicked its snake tongue at her. Did the foul Arch Heart not grant her the magic to heal herself as Lolth had? She stuffed her hands under her armpits for warmth.

Had they crossed paths in Rexxentrum without her knowing? Had Azul caught word of what Nepenthe's group had been up to? Did she know about Velkyn? What was her goal?

Did she miss her? Tears stung her eyes but instantly froze on her lashes—she hastily pinched them away.

Nepenthe had no way of immediately telling Vierna unless she asked Derval to send a message. All she could think to ask without revealing the depth of the issue was "She was in the Empire" and assume Vierna would understand.

Unable to bear the cold any longer, she steeled herself and dipped back inside the sleepy cabin. She crept over to Derval and sat behind her with only a thin pocket of air between them, watching her scribble in her spellbook margins from over her shoulder. The blizzard buffeting the cabin howled mournfully around them.

[iironwreath]

Smoke [Nepenthe]

(derval belongs to @solfell!)

[7]

Nepenthe rewarded herself with a smoke on the warehouse roof after a day's labour with the contractors. Evening fell swift as a blade this far north in the winter season and the cold cut just as deep. While she enjoyed sunshine, she welcomed the darkness draping over the city. It wasn't true night: the snow-capped buildings and their icicle fingers still glittered in the moons' glow and lanterns' dappled light like fallen stars.

Rexxentrum wasn't the untamed wilderness, but its dangers were still plentiful and sinuous. A leaping bulette was at least honest in wanting to eat her. Damn the new curfew; she loved an evening stroll.

She had a finite amount of her cigars. Normally she spaced them out by months or whenever she returned triumphant from a mission, but now she'd burned through two in as many weeks. She'd known she had to extra savour them so far removed from home, and yet.

She supposed she could request a new pack when she next wrote Dumaran, but it felt like a frivolous thing to ask for. There were many pleasures denied her—her wife, her daughter, only accessible by letter or memory. She was used to a degree of abstinence as a paladin, but of course she wanted them most when they were unavailable.

Another test, maybe. New ones. Challenges were always richer for their effort, like her cigars—quality that came with patient fermentation. She just hadn't found her footing yet. She silently thanked the Head Matron for believing in her and forcing new growth, and for the opportunity to prove herself further under the eyes of their Queen.

Like food, she couldn't fully taste the tobacco, either. Still, the ritual of it relaxed her, warming her fingers as tresses of smoke curled into frosty air and lazy tongues of it uncoiled from chimney tops to mirror her.

She could've tried new tobacco or pipeweed from Rexxentrum, but she didn't trust humans to make it halfway decent. Halflings and dwarves and surface elves, though—she figured they knew how to grow and age it.

Would her taste be completely gone by the time she found some, or did it plateau where she was? She thought she'd miss flavour more, but her taste buds wanted one thing and one thing only. She didn't love it, either, but she could never resent her Queen—it was a small price to pay for borrowing her power. Blood paid for blood.

Derval crawled up to join her on the roof. Nepenthe smiled, then wider, pleased she could still deliver one that wasn't all venom. Derval packed and lit her pipe with a conjured flame.

They shared gossip and theories about the contractors and their party in Undercommon, shuffling closer against the chill. Nepenthe offered her cigar when Derval's eyes lingered on it. Derval traded it with her pipe.

Derval first held the cigar with two hands, twirling it figuring out how to hold it. It looked comically large in her slender fingers—likewise Derval's long, thin pipe looked oddly fragile in Nepenthe's callused, scarred hands. She felt the undercurrent of magic under her skin, though, and knew it wouldn't break.

Unbidden, she thought of Vierna's hands in hers—fine, brimming with magic, but conservative about her spells. Derval's accent differed from Vierna’s but the dialect of Undercommon she used was almost identical. Mostly it soothed, but occasionally the reminder was bittersweet.

Derval took an experimental drag, mimicking Nepenthe's movements. To her credit she didn’t cough, only wrinkled her nose. Then, as if to confirm, took a second, tinier drag.

“Not what I’m used to, but I could get used to it,” she said. 

Nepenthe tested the pipe, sucking in the almost-taste. It was light and airy compared to her cigar. She nodded her approval before they swapped back to their own choice of vice.

"I stalked the librarian I hired," Derval said brightly.

Nepenthe guffawed. "Better than Voss, I hope."

Derval sniffed and pouted. "No, I haven't seen her once since we got back to the city. Besides, Florian is working for us now, so I succeeded, didn't I?"

“Too soon?”

“Maybe a little.”

“Florian? Florian…?”

Derval smirked. “Glass.”

Oh, she did love a perfect name. She tapped off ash. "Why stalk him? Do you fancy him?" 

Derval pulled a face—visible when a breeze snatched their smoke. "No. He's just so pathetic that I had to have him."

"Ha."

[iironwreath]

Vierna: The strangest thing happened to me today. Derval: What happened? Vierna: Please respect my privacy.

[awakenedsylvari]

I can't remember if I already sent you an ask, but 3, 15, and 17 for whoever you'd like if I haven't!

3. Are they a part of any groups? If so, what's their role?

I have a few Nightmare Court characters!

Idris is an executioner and possibly whatever the Nightmare Court equivalent of a healer is

Esyllt lures people in and then tortures them

Derval is a beastkeeper

Otherwise, I have Culhwch, who is a Crusader in the Vigil; Hanne, a member of the Crystal Bloom; and Mal, former member of the Priory.

15. What would they be doing if they weren't the commander/whatever they are?

I don't have any characters who are canonically the Commander, although I do have Commander!AUs of several characters.

Gameplay contributing to character lore, though: Idris is my main, so has a Commander!AU. But Esyllt was the character I had travel around cities and collect most of the stuff for the Cultural Attaché achievement on.

This has led to me thinking that Idris and Esyllt were friends prior to joining the Court, and he had something to do with her conversion. In the Commander!AU, she's apparently buying him presents for his new dragon daughter!

17. People with Commander ocs, is there any part of the main story where your oc's story diverges? Everyone else, is there a part of your oc's story that follows the canon one?

I think in the Commander!AUs, the changes are minimal. Idris has an extra aspect to his Dream on top of the canon - the memory of Riannoc's death; Ddrysien runs away from her Wyld Hunt for several years before Caithe finally entices her back.

So I guess they're both probably more cynical than the standard sapling in the first few parts of the story, for different reasons.

[en24news]

WEST-FRANCE INFO. In Derval, the Saint-Donatien college will close in June 2020

WEST-FRANCE INFO. In Derval, the Saint-Donatien college will close in June 2020

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The Saint-Donatien Catholic Institution in Derval, under contract with the Nantes rectorate, announced on Facebook that it will close its doors at the end of the 2019-2020 school year. The official reasons are “academic and financial”. Fifty middle school students will have to find another school.

The…

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