Daughters of the Damned

Names carried weight. And when your family held ties to all the Royal houses of Thedas, well, people understood the significance of your line. Adaria’s grandmother had hammered home that lesson early on, you didn’t survive by rolling over and that went for both sexes in their family.

Humble? Adaria laughed, genuinely amused by the statement. Her head shook lightly. No, but I’ve always preferred directness over flattery. Family trait. Her father had hated the pandering, even after taking the throne and reigning for decades they still tried to treat him like an ill-informed boy. She had seen through the disguise easily, her mind magic filtering out the lie from reality. Young and inexperienced the Princess may have appeared, but that had always been her shield. Behind those sharp blues and carefully constructed facade, her mind calculated in the shadows, dreams and thoughts spilling secrets without the uttering of words.

Adaria’s gaze shifted back to the mechanism, dismissing the women's attire completely. Her eagerness though, drew a curious line across her brow, stare narrowing on the cog being turned in her hand. Lazily her head rolled to assess this… desperate waif. Friends? the presumption was hilarious and she offered a hollow laugh at the thought. We will not be friends, mostly because when my instincts warn me of insanity, it’s usually spot on. Another Family trait.

Her posture straightened, body tightening with controlled tension. But. Adaria’s eyes flashed in warning, the darker rim of blue around her eyes deepened as magic swirled in a current. You’ve gained enough of my curiosity to enquire what skills you could offer me. Even dogs have uses, are you more useful than a dog?