I used to be a vampire. The dark castle on the lightning struck hill—short sold. The horde of cackling minions with questionable sanity—laid off. The custom coffin with pry-proof lid and goth deco interior—now a museum piece. Yes, the props of my blood-sucking centuries are gone. All I have left are my fangs and my title. My name is Gabriella Sarn Ariok, and I was once known as the Dragon Queen.
It's a great day. The sun is out, the mountain flowers are in bloom, and the breeze is mellow and warm. I just had a marvelous dip in the hot-spring and a refreshing stroll down from the estate. I'm feeling perky wearing my three-piece crop-top djinni-style ensemble, the one that got me painted for the cover of Vilf Illustrated. Things have been going my way, I am three kinds of cheerful and it would take a lot to ruin my mood.
The town of Meadowshire is a cozy mountain community of a thousand or so that lives in the shadow of the Felspar freehold. Many are the times I've enjoyed walking down its cobbled streets, haggling with the shop-keeps, sampling the local cuisine or sharing a tune or two with the local bard.
The avenue lined with sturdy stone dwellings is bustling with activity, the good-wives are out shopping and gossiping, the crafters and vendors busy about their business. The mouth-watering smell of fresh baked bread and sweets is heavy in the air.
Basket in hand, I step up onto the wooden walk out of the path of a dairy wagon as it rattles by.
"Lady Gee," the driver tips his hat in passing.
I smile and nod to him in acknowledgement.
"Lady Gee," a sweeping lady says to me with a bow.
I incline my head to her.
I acknowledge a half-dozen more greetings as I make my way down the broad-walk and across the plaza. A coterie of a dozen or so of the town's matrons stop pounding their laundry in the fountain to watch me pass. Some smile, most do not. While I am respected, many of the lady-folk do not appreciate my effect on their men. Words like 'immodest' and 'trollip' are breathed at my back. If only they knew how sharp my hearing was. I am not confronted by it. I like attention, even negative attention.
"Ariok!" A male voice shouts behind me. "How dare you show yourself here again!"
I sigh. It's Jerald. I know it's Jerald because he's the only one in town that calls me by my surname. To everyone else, I'm Lady Gee, Mistress Gabriella, or, lords forbid—Gabs. To most, I am merely the well-heeled cougar that comes down from the Felspar hold on occasion. Aside from the growling of a few insecure wives, I am not viewed as threatening.
"I swear by Ra's blazing light that you will burn!" Jerald screams.
As one might guess, Jerald has issues. He's a retired paladin. He came out of retirement to retire me. I almost feel honored to give meaning to his otherwise dreary life. Honestly, I can't imagine what he does between my infrequent visits to town. I fancy he annoys his children with stories of his glory days.
I turn and wave. "Jerald. Nice day. How are the wife and kids?"
From across the fountain plaza, the ex-ex-paladin frowns at me and adjusts the dusty chain hauberk on his once-broad shoulders. Summers of retirement have not been kind to Jerald's hairline, or his face. The shining blue eyes, the brilliant smile and chiseled chin, these days, not so much.
"Seek not to vex me with dissembling!" Jerald blares, raising a wooden stake in one hand and a bronze ankh in the other. "Prepare to make peace with the vile deities that spawned you!"
"It wasn't dissembling, Jerald," I say, facing him. "I was remarking on the sunny weather, and asking after your family. Also, please," I let out a breath. "We've been over this, deities were not involved in my conception; a little wine and perhaps an indiscretion or two, and definitely no vileness."
