@harpershigh > @faerunscursed > @bloodinavernus
"What do you mean, Wyll can't spare time to see an old friend?"
Jaheira crossed her arms, a sharp edge of indignation in her voice cutting through the silence of the Grand Duke's foyer. The young secretary didn’t even flinch, just kept scribbling something completely irrelevant on his little clipboard as if she, of all people, was an interruption.
Fine. If the boy wanted to play bureaucrat, she’d play Harper.
"Well, if Wyll can't spare ten minutes to see an old friend," she said, voice silkier than it had any right to be, "perhaps the Grand Duke can spare a moment for the High Harper."
With a dramatic flair that would’ve made Rion proud, she pulled the Harper pin from her pocket and slammed it on the desk with a satisfying clank. The poor man blinked like he’d just realized a bear was in the room. More like a panther, actually. His eyes snapped up, startled, and his mouth moved in apologies and half-formed excuses — something about Lord Ravengard being in a meeting with the Sword Coast Lords' Alliance.
Jaheira only raised a brow.
She had stormed burning fortresses with more resistance.
She paced down the gilded corridor, her steps too quick, too sharp, practically sparking off the floor. Her fingers twitched at her sides, itching for something decidedly undiplomatic.
Oh, how she wanted to burst through those grand double doors like a storm with legs and make a proper scene. Jaheira wanted to be a diplomatic incident. Just a little one. Maybe ruffle a few egos, point a finger in some faces... But no. She'd promised herself she'd behave and stay out of even more political affairs. For Wyll. For the new Grand Duke. Fine.
She stepped into the corner alcove, closed her eyes, and drew on the old, earthy magic buried in her blood. Her entire form glows with golden-green light, her body shrinking, reshaping — limbs curling into wings, hands to feathers, bones lightening until she stood no longer on two legs, but on talons. The transformation ended in a gust of air and an outrageous caw.
The crow flapped once, twice, and launched through the open window. She soared over the Ducal Palace in a graceful arc, then veered sharply back to the high window of the meeting room. There they were. All the lords and ladies, hunched over scrolls and self-importance. And Wyll on the host's seat, probably pretending not to look bored to death.
She landed with a thunk on the ledge and tapped her beak against the glass.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Then louder.
TAP TAP TAP.
"WYYYYYLL!" she cawed, long and loud.
Another tap for good measure.
That would certainly get his attention.














