Shout out to the ETFC. I swore I wasn't going to write this...and then we had such an amazing conversation that I just had to write this because of the vibes. The Queen's Gambit is a great show on netflix about chess...which I know nothing about and I just figured since that there are no rules for the dnd equivalent dragonchess so I could do whatever I wanted lol. This is really here for the vibes.
Enjoy!
Read on AO3
The hotel was a swanky joint, one of the most expensive hotels in all of the Dwendalian Empire. Essek didn’t have much use for the light and the noise...it wasn’t like they were trying to make anything easier for him and he wouldn’t have asked regardless. However, once they all got past the formal stilted manner of most Empire competitions during the actual playing, the after-affairs tended to be rather convivial and light-hearted. Most players knew each other from circuits and practice and other competitions, so it wasn’t too surprising to see players who had just been engaged in tough matches to reach each other and ask to meet up for dinner or a drink.
Essek, as a rule of thumb, couldn’t be bothered with those kinds of things and didn’t really know anyone besides. After all, he was the only Dynasty dragonchess player who had been invited to the tournament...and it had been done out of obligation rather than a sense of sportsmanship. You couldn’t claim to be running the “Dragonchess World Championship” without the top players from across the world...even if they were your political enemies. Essek was sure they would have rather had Adeen (who had come in last or second to last in the past five World Championships) just to save their glorious Empire sense of superiority. But Essek had trounced him months ago so decisively that Adeen had gone to “find himself and his play style” out in whatever backwater Greying Wildlands hovel that artists went to go and starve for their creative vision in. And so, Essek had been invited and now was on track to win. There was only one final obstacle in his path.
The Zemnian was there with the others, milling about after the day adjourned. He had finished his game quickly. Though Bryce was known for their elegant and thoughtful play on the board they got discouraged quickly. The Zemnian had made quick work of them as soon as he smelled discomfort. Brash and bold on the board, cocky almost to a fault in contrast with his placid demeanor-he played to win and was out for blood every time. He had smashed through Bryce’s defence almost instantaneously the minute the other had faltered. Essek, though he wouldn’t like to admit it, had a much harder time with Beauregard Lionett. She was the opposite of the Zemnian. Though her personality was all bluster and edges, she played a precise and precocious game-was flexible and agile upon the board. It was like trying to capture a swallow-though in the end, she had been cornered and forced to submit through gritted teeth.
Essek made his quick escape up to his room, not wanting to be pulled into an obligatory conversation or useless pleasantries. For a while, he lay on the couch and let the tension seep out from his back. When he played he often felt numb to everything but his thoughts. It was wonderful and freeing and exhilarating. However the minute he stopped playing he would feel his stress pounding in his ears...locking up his jaw and neck and joints. It was like a residual pain that haunted his body and he did his best to just block it out. In his mind, the moves echoed there like footsteps. He could almost ignore the pain when he focused on them. Clicking into place in a rhythm of the clock and-
“Essek? We’re back,” Verin said as the door opened and revealed him and his mother. It startled Essek, but it shouldn’t have. His brother had never had a good sense of privacy. Verin set a bottle of water by the table for him, and Essek took it and swung himself into a seated position despite the complaints in his muscles. “Well? Congratulations on making it to the finals.”
“He was watching me again,” Essek sighed as he took a sip of his water and not having any time for his empty congratulations considering his only real challenge was ahead. Essek would only accept congratulations when he won. Which he would, of course, but still. He eyed his notebook where he had written down his notes the dragonchess matches from that day. He should have been studying his only real competition’s moves, he should have been mentally preparing, but the only thing he could think of was his eyes. Blue and piercing and digging into his thoughts. It was infuriating if he was being honest.
“Who?” Verin asked curiously, tipping his head to the side.
“The Zemnian,” Essek said, annoyed that he even needed to clarify.
“Why?” Verin asked, still clueless as ever. Essek tried to breathe his irritation out and settle his mind. Victory only came when your mind was as still as a pool, it was an old proverb that Leylas Kryn liked to say to him.
“He unnerves me,” Essek admitted.
“Oh please,” his mother, Deirta sighed from where she was lounging, dramatically draping herself as if she had no time for his concern. “You don’t really believe he will beat you, do you?”
“The reason I dislike you mother is because you are so incapable of surprise. You lack imagination. I know I don't,” Essek said as he got up with a huff, unable to be in the room with them any longer or else he was going to kill them. And he couldn’t do that...he needed them to get home. “I’m going to get a drink.”
His mother threw her hands in the air but let him leave from the hotel room they were occupying. He got a few looks from people as he walked down the hallway but didn’t pay them any mind. Drow weren’t a usual sight in the Empire, and he knew he had a reputation. Essek Thelyss, the young upstart dragonchess prodigy-representative of the hope of thousands of others to break through and make the Empire bend the knee in any way they could. Personally, Essek could do without it all. He wanted-no, he needed to win to satisfy his vanity and ego. But he didn’t care about the hopes of his country. Honestly, it was exhausting to pretend he did. But he didn’t want to lose, and if he didn’t want to lose then he had to put up appearances so the Dynasty would bankroll his way to competitions.
He stood in the elevator, the other tenants hoping off on the way down. In his mind he replayed the game in his mind and visualized the moves of the game. Barbarian to C5, Monk to 4D-then the Archmage Reversal formation. If he had just put the Rogue in an offensive decision the game probably would have been decided three moves sooner-
The elevator opened, and the Zemnian stood for a minute. His face was a study of surprise, as he blinked rapidly at him. Essek felt his back straighten as he held his head high and refused to give the Zemnian more than a cursory nod of greeting. The Zemnian walked in, looked at the button for the lounge that Essek had already pressed, and then stood a few steps away from him. Essek for a minute closed his eyes and tried to breathe, refusing to look at the Zemnian. The pressure in the air could have made Essek’s ears pop-the weight of his attention chafed against his flesh like cheap fabric and almost made him squirm.
“The opening was surprising for you,” the Zemnian finally said. His voice was much quieter than Essek had expected. Essek was sure he had heard him speak in interviews before, but it was still a surprise. “You prefer the Xhorhassian Castle Strategy.”
“Beauregard Lionett is a student of Grandmaster Dairon,” Essek said, insulted by the insinuation and folding his arms over his chest. “Expositer’s Gambit. Only an idiot would play Xhorhassian Castle against a Monk lead. I wasn’t going to make the same mistakes as Obann.”
“You studied her game against Obann?” the Zemnian asked, a quiet reflective surprise in his voice. Essek refused to turn his head and look at him. He didn’t want to see him-see his blue eyes or his rugged jaw or the lines in his face.
“A decisive and well played match,” Essek said curtly. “I make it a habit to work through all of my competitors’ matches, no matter how unknown or new they are.”
“I see.”
“I know you see, you’ve been watching me,” Essek said as he watched the elevator buttons continue to light up as it moved down. Surely this was the longest conversation of his entire life and he was going to personally murder whoever had built this elevator for forcing him into it. “I imagine you were doing the same.”
“Of course,” The Zemnian said, and Essek was glad he didn’t bother to deny it. Essek could feel his gaze digging into his neck and it made him want to swat at his own skin.
“If you want to enjoy staring at me longer, it may be worth your time to invest in a photo,” Essek said, tapping his foot at the elevator that hit the floor before their destination. He couldn’t hide his irritation.“I have quite a few good ones in the Dynasty Times.”
“I know...I’ve seen them,” the Zemnian said. Essek refused to flush or flinch, and clenched his jaw so tight he was sure he was about to crack a tooth.
“Of course you have,” Essek said with a controlled sigh as the elevator finally hit the floor and opened. Essek took a few steps out only to turn and see the Zemnian reaching out his hand. Essek stared at him. He couldn’t have been more surprised if the Zemnian had grown a second head and started singing Marquesian folk songs.
“I was going to meet with my friends,” he said, his expression was soft-like Essek was a slightly feral creature he was trying to soothe. “We were going to go over the matches so far. Would you like to accompany me?”
“You mean my matches,” Essek said, unable to help narrowing his eyes. His hand returned to his side in response. “With who? Beauregard Lionett? Veth Brenatto? Jester Lavorre?”
“As well as Fjord and Caduceus,” he said with an almost-smile. “Is it not practice in the Dynasty to do the same?”
Essek almost grimaced. It was standard practice for groups of skilled dragonchess players to go over games and sequences and practice together. Essek never did. Standard practice to be bogged down by old players stuck in their old ways, to be told you were too young or too ambitious or too reckless or too careful. There was nothing to be learned from such sessions that you couldn’t learn on your own or from just watching.
“Dragonchess is an individual affair,” Essek reminded him. “At the end of the day, you and I are going to face each other alone. I’ll win on my own terms.”
“I played like that before, but I find this way more enjoyable,” he said with a tinge of humor to his tone.
“I know you did, back when you had a different name and a different circle you ran with,” Essek said simply. “Your play style hasn’t changed too drastically-you always were a stickler for the scorched earth tactic no matter how you like to present yourself.”
“My name is Caleb Widogast,” the Zemnian told him, an unreadable expression on his face.
“It doesn’t matter to me what you call yourself-Nine Hells, you could call yourself King Dwendal and it would make no difference to me,” Essek told him. “My only request is you meet me on the board at your best tomorrow. Show me the best you can do. If I wanted to beat a player like any of your friends, I would just play them again.”
“That’s a big request coming from the youngest Xhorhassian Grandmaster in history,” Caleb said with a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth where Essek was definitely not looking.
“Said the youngest Zemnian Grandmaster in history,” Essek pointed out with a roll of his eyes.
“Have a good evening, Herr Thelyss,” he said with a look that Essek refused to register as something deeper. Their eyes met, and for just a single moment Essek wondered how it would feel to be seen like that all the time. But the thought was fleeting. After all, victory came from clarity...and his greatest clarity was only found in solitude.
“Have a good evening, Mr. Widogast,” Essek said quietly, not for an instant feeling regretful.
And so they parted ways without a single look back. After all, Essek had his eye on the prize.
In Dragonchess. I would like it known that on February 25, 2018, Ozrias Wormwood, a pissant 7th-level tiefling warlock with 14 Intelligence, beat Count Strahd von Zarovich in a game of wits and strategy, winning the location of the demon he's been after since he arrived in Barovia.
Immediately followng this I got cocky, started a fight we didn't need to have, and got the Sunsword stolen.
The quencies of taking too long to choose the next move in Dragonchess when the (not)boyfriend has ADHD. Even if they're trying to mask it. [let alone when they're not trying to mask it]
