Sometimes I'll have a character concept in mind and I will commence scouring the internet for something that fits said image, at least enough to be representative.  Then, while searching for such an image, I'll stumble across something else entirely, and it sends my mind aflutter with ideas, backstories, voice, and an in-depth concept.  It was in one of these particular moments that I stumbled across this particular image.

Alluring, I know.  But also completely badass.  And that's what got my mind running.  

See, at the time, the players were visiting the sister city to Stormwrack (where they've spent nearly a year of play time - about 3 weeks in game time), called Feathertongue.  Feathertongue is a high art, high class society.  Low crime, pleasant areas, knowledge and art celebrated.  It became a running joke in the city that platinum was like their gold here, and they weren't wrong.
​  So where does this woman fit in?  How does one get to such a point where you're that comfortable, and also extremely capable and dangerous.  I got to thinking what this person's story could be.

Slates are the rockstar duelists of Feathertongue.  There are hundreds of them, and new ones sprouting up all over the place.  Now, to become a Slate, you need to win three competitive duels, and these are won in the streets, THEN you need to be offered the Queen's Favor, which is a ticket into a seasonal tournament where you need to win 3 matches in a row.  THEN, you have become a Slate. 
  Slates swear an oath to the crown, specifically the Queen, and act as a powerful and skilled militia at her service.  And for this esteem, you earn a generous pension and receive some nice perks in the city.  Get high enough, and you are awarded your own estate.  And, everyone knows your name and your exploits.  These are the celebrities of the city, and if you ever break your vow, all that fame and fortune is stripped from you.  You live instead as a Bruthan; a Slate who failed to uphold their code - and they can never return.
  It's a big deal, and a high honor.  So, if someone abuses it...

Junaru Sumala was a decorated Slate.  Famed for mastering the "Art Of The Third Sword," Junaru was a charismatic favorite among the people.  He would frequent the bars and taverns of Caskmane, making a name for himself as a lucrative bachelor and a man of the night.
  But the secret no one knew was that while he galavanted the days away with his pension, he had a daughter at home.  Hair hidden and tied back, wearing rags and reading quietly each night, she stayed hidden from the world.  At market, it was assumed she was always someone else's child.  Big man Juna named her Sorro, but no one else knew this.  No one knew her, because she was his shame.
  So he drank his shame away each night, and met the harsh hangover each morning.  Meanwhile, she practiced.  Practiced with his discarded blades, forgotten armor; she pawned his rings and used spare change for food.  Whatever she took he forgot about.
  And then one night, he didn't come home.  And then it stretched into a week.  Then two.  Then it was the talk of Caskmane.  Junaru snapped, they said.  Drew blood on a unarmed boy, spewing belligerent epitaphs and shaming his name.  He tried to apologize, but Queen Ymir showed no mercy.  He was proclaimed a Bruthan on the spot, and now sits in Correnak Stockade.

With such a disgrace dragging her family name through the mud, and little hope of picking it back up, Sorro left it there.  She donned a new life, and a new visage; like her father before her, she would remake herself.  But not as a drunk, or a disgrace.  No, the armor she wears is more than a metaphor.   
  And knowing that so few had ever seen her timid face, knowing that no others could ever fathom who she really was, an opportunity grew inside her; a catch of wildfire on fallen leaves.  No longer would she hide in the tiny hovels of Caskmane, no longer shrouded by the din of alcohol and broken promises.  No, she take the poison fed to her father by his own hand and douse what little she had left.  And there, in the alley behind her four walls and a roof, she would light a single match, and set fire to her past.  
  The creature that emerged from that alley would not resemble her in the slightest.  Fitted in layered full-plate, ceremonial but functional, a shield slung over her back and a broadsword resting drawn upon her shoulders, the Knight saunters out from the catching flames.  After she's a few blocks away, she discards the helmet in a trough, smooth locks of black hair flowing free at last.  A slight hitch in her step as she feels the eyes upon her.  But her father taught her well.
  She relaxes her hips into a confident stride, the armor still clinking awkwardly, and rocks her head in the direction of a gasp.  She winks, blush spreading across the face of the lady in the crowd.  More people gather, whispers as she passes, then a man calls out from the crowd: "What's your name?"
  They think I'm a Slate already.  "You may call me Valorie.  Valorie Essex.  Now point me to the nearest duel!"  Always eager for a new hero, the crowd would embrace her.  

As the years went on and her bouts grew more lucrative, her armor would become better fitted, customized, lightweight, and strong.  Also, she would grow lonely.
  Earning a modest income as a smith and weapons trainer by day, Valorie would drift into steady brothel visits in the evenings.  An entity of the night herself, only in intimate company could she feel truly alive.  She is forceful, confident, and athletic - a companion many in the business vie for, and though she had favorites, nothing was truly the escape she needed.  It was around this time that a gentleman Slate found her.  
  On a fateful night, she found herself standing outside Duunspear, a bottle of amber liquid loosely gripped in one gauntleted hand.  It is full, and currently corked.  The methodical clip of finely made boots twitches her ears.
  "Miss Essex, I presume."  The voice is slow and weighted, but smooth like silk.  
"You presume correct.  Who's asking?"  She doesn't turn to look, instead letting her gaze drift upward to a pretty tiefling man perched on the upper railing of the building.
  "Someone who knows your father."
The bottle drops and her sword is drawn before it shatters.  She whirls to face the man, and is left between decisions.  The well-dressed gentleman in front of her wears a stylish set of pauldrons and gauntlets, effortlessly woven into a beautiful doublet and ascot.  A man of toned frame, his stance is both defensive and non-threatening.  He is motionless, hand rested on the iconic hilt of a sheathed sapphire rapier, lazy arcs of lightning shuddering into existence around it.  Only his half-cape billows in the wind from the surf.  Any idiot would recognize the greatest Slate the city would ever know, Lir Obidiah Skurr.  Legend has it he's saved the King and Queen of Feathertongue countless times, and is probably one of the very few that could be called their friend.
  "Come.  We don't have much time."
She sheathes her sword, and abandons her quest for companionship this time.  Instead, Obidiah leads her down to Correnak Stockade.  Moss clings to the walls, and the surf crashes angrily against the tower.  And here, no guards in sight, deep in its recesses, sits an unshaven, filthy man...gently singing to the dirty walls.
  At first he tried to hit on her, but when she grabbed him by the shirt and slammed him a few times into the bars, his eyes clarified, a tiny sound escaping his parched lips.  A word, laced in wonder, and deep, deep shame.  "Sorro?"
  "My name is Valorie.  Valorie Essex.  I don't know you, and you don't know me.  ...Your name is Alejandro.  Alejandro Esuarve.  The greatest duelist this city will ever see.  Never forget this.  ...Or I will kill you where you stand."

Valorie became a player favorite quickly.  Nonchalant and no BS, she tells it like it is and won't wait around to let you know what she thinks of you, which makes sense.  On paper, she's more intimidating than persuasive, but definitely inherited her father's natural charisma.  Where she departs from him, though, is in her primal resolve.  As a sword and board fighter, she's strong as heck, and comes off more aggressive than most.  There's a lot of pent-up anger to sort out, so opportunities to throw down are always welcome.  But sometimes, if you can move past her fronts, you might actually catch a glimpse of that little bookworm still clinging to old dreams.

HP: 192 --- AC: 21
Levels: Fighter 14 --- Style: Protection
Feats?: Sentinel, Mage Slayer
Notable Equipment: Giant Slayer Broadsword, +1 Shield, Fitted Slate Armor (+1 Full Plate)
STR: 20, DEX: 14, CON: 20, INT: 12, WIS: 13, CHA: 15

Some of these stats, and now her backstory, might also explain how undeniably frustrated she was when a PC came on to her only to LITERALLY RUN AWAY.  Oh boy.  Sir Gavin, you will have a hard day in the future.

The archdevil looms above you, inspecting the burning blood that drips from his face.  The same boiling red drips from your blade as a grin curls across your lips...but its booming bass shakes you to your core as it speaks to the air around you.
  "Azolonia.  This mortal has requested his demise.  Kindly remove his head for me."
   A shockwave of dread spirals up your spine as tendrils of black smoke and scents of sulfur spur into your peripheral.  You whip around and stare into the red eyes of a statuesque form; alabaster skin and striking beauty, stylized black armor gleaming with the firelight surrounding you.  A pair of gigantic black wings stretch and flex behind her as she draws an exquisite, vicious blade from a scabbard, a grin curling across her lips.  Her voice is menacing silk.  "Of course, my lord."

The Erinyes is a powerful, disciplined devil warrior that serves the pit fiend masters of the Nine Hells.  They are dangerous, tactical, mobile, and vicious.  Masters of martial combat, each is skilled with bow and sword alike, and many use magical ropes of entanglement to ensnare powerful foes.
  Erinyes, despite their gladiatorial or knight-like visage, are often mistaken in use and sight for Succubi or Incubi.  And this could not be further from the truth.  Ignoring the fact that both would be at each other's throats, the Erinyes does not exude allure or seduction.  They are militant powerhouses among the devilish culture, and command immense respect and fear, more likely to kill or enslave with blade and chains than to charm you into defeat.  
  Only subservient to their chosen masters, an Erinyes swoops down from the skies on red and black wings to strike down those who dare threaten or insult the ideals of Asmodeus or the edicts of their masters.  When not beheading mortal fools, an Erinyes can patrol the fortress of their master, or otherwise move freely through the dissonant cities of Hell.  However, if need for their presence arises, their master only needs to speak their name and they are pulled to their aid immediately.
  So beware, small ignorant traveler.  Assume every Pit Fiend you pick a fight with has at least one Erinyes looming in the shadows behind you.

Though predominantly female in representation, an Erinyes can also be male.  No matter their gender, they are an imposing force of statuesque, athletic physique in stylized armor.  
  Their massive wings net them an impressive Fly speed of 60 feet and with a decent pool of hit points coupled with a base 18 Armor Class, these devils are hugely mobile and dangerous.  Their heroic array of stats are not to trifled with, either, sporting three 18's in Strength, Constitution, and Charisma, with no other stat going below a 14.  Higher than average Saving Throws, Immunity to Poison and Fire damage, as well as Resistance to Cold, and non-magical/non-silvered physical damage, plus TELEPATHY out to 120 FEET???  Yeesh.
  Three attacks in a round, with Parry options, extra poison damage on their "hellish" weapons, plus Magic Resistance (good luck, Wizards)...  These boys and girls are going to be quite a fight no matter the terrain.

In Ionian lore, an Erinyes is already a powerful entity, but there are some who aspire to even greater power.  An Erinyes, male or female, serves a devil master or a general oath to Asmodeus, but there is a grand order of Erinyes who command even more clout and respect among the greater and lesser devils.  These are called The Furies.  
A cohort of nine sister generals, each serving the Archduke or Archduchess of each layer of the Nine Hells.  These Erinyes have earned the title of Fury, and command legions of lesser and greater devils as grand warriors and tacticians in service of their masters.  The more they please this master, the more power and abilities the archdevil passes onto the Fury.  Meaning, the longer a Fury serves their master in good standing, the more power they may yet wield.
  This creates distinct opportunities to express a power difference between a standard Erinyes and a Fury.  Players may come in contact with a Fury flanked by three other Erinyes; her Seconds.  It is very clear that this one, adorned in stronger armor with unique weaponry, as well as vicious helm, is different than the others that surround her.  Maybe she has spell casting abilities, like war magic, or wields a legendary weapon, bestowed upon her by her Archduchess.  And though such a sight may fill the head of an adventurer with glittering prizes, such gifts can also grant higher proficiencies, saving throws, extra attacks, higher resistances.  Heightened skill earns expanded power.  
  Just know what you're getting into, grasshopper.

Welcome to Hell.
See you at the table.
​-Adamus

Recently I was blessed to be able to spend my Thanksgiving week with my family in Maine.  While there I caught up with my siblings, rekindled family bonds, sang a lot of songs, and drank whiskey.
  Now, to be honest, I'm not a heavy drinker.  In fact, no beer has ever sit well with me, pushing me to avoid the stuff altogether.  Instead, mead and hard cider, like a good Strongbow, would be my choice if that's all I had available.  Most wines make me cough (and why does my taste have to be "acquired" to enjoy something?), and if anything has added spices without masking, I'll likely be in pain all night.  Due to my physiological oddities, many hard liquors mess me up royally, and the burn of a whiskey can get pretty overzealous toward my esophagus.  

  However, with my recent studies in amateur mixology, palette, and professional Drinking and Dragons offerings, I have become FASCINATED with the process of making liquors, mixing crazy-cool themed drinks, and understanding the subtle elements and hues inherent in a decent drink.  It is an exploration of gastronomic chemistry, flare, creativity, visual aesthetic, and uncovering the mystery of a perfect buzz.  
Embarking on this journey might be hazardous to my health if I'm not careful, but a true gentlemen must understand his liquor, and a true barkeep, no matter his preferences, must know how to handle his casks.  
So.
  Welcome to my dreamland tavern, The Moonriver Bar, and to our first exploration of a gentleman's drink.  In order to get a better feel for this world, I can think of no better place to tread than the industry standard: the three main  Whiskeys - Scotch, Bourbon, and Rye.

Whiskey is made from distilling a fermented grain mash. This mash is made out of malt barley and other grains of choice. The combinations of grains used is called a “mash bill.”  Water and heat is added to the mixture, which creates sugar that eventually ferments into alcohol.  All of these grand liquors are sugar-based.  Keep that in mind.
This mix is ultimately distilled or selectively evaporated to separate the spirits from the mash, and is stored in wooden casks to be aged.  All whiskeys come out clear.  The brown and gold colors are born from the barrels they are aged in and for how long.
The type of whiskey changes depending on which grain is used, how it is distilled, what type of cask it is placed inside, and how long it is aged for. Subtle changes in any part of the process can have large impacts on the whiskey’s flavor, as you'll see below.

  The golden pour of a simple scotch into a small glass adorned with a handful of ice cubes, nestled in the weathered and gentle hands of my father as he regards the shifting embers in the fireplace, is a touchstone image burned into my brainstem.  I have many memories of the drink on his breath; subtle and distinguished, and no memory of him EVER having too much of a single thing.  He'd never tarnish the whiskey with a distinct pairing; something beautiful in its simplicity.  He boasts to have a heavy pour, but that's just cuz he likes the taste; it is the thing he drinks most, as far as my memory serves growing up, and judging by the stockpile in his basement, he'll drink it much more.  

FLAVOR AND FEEL
  Scotch is a surprising whiskey.  Of the three on this list, it is one that really emphasizes the malt, which should mean something.  Malting is a process of steeping quality barley and setting them to germinate, sometimes tossing into the air (huh!).  Enzymes are then activated during mashing, turning the starch into sugar (there it is!), and then drying in a kiln stops the germinating process.  There's a lot more going on here that I'll get into later, but what I'm going for is how does this stuff taste.
  ...It's bright.  And somehow empty.  And neither of those are bad things.  It's often a bright gold, and though Scotch requires at least 3 years to mature, with most taking 8-12 years, and the essential oils from the malted barley keep the flavor particularly unique.  There IS a bite to it, and a burn like whiskey, but I found it to be so much less of a kick in the face.  It's smokey, and satisfying, yet still light enough to not kill my sensitive stomach.   

PAIRINGS
My father will swear on straight Scotch and ice any day of the week, while my mother hits the classic Scotch and Soda (actually Scotch and seltzer) with ice.  I propose a few other simple pairings.
Scotch and Ginger - Ginger Ale or Ginger Beer, both will net you a smoother and sweeter effervescent feeling.  Plus, the added sugar will help mask some of the sharp burn going down.
​Amaretto and Scotch - the simple hazelnut flavor and smooth, sweet flow of the Amaretto compliments the bright Scotch very well.  Add in a little cranberry liqueur or just some straight cranberry juice and call it a day.
​
​PERSONAL TASTE
My father's Scotch is only the second whiskey I've ever drank in an evening, and I was surprised by it's bright profile.  Unlike Bourbon, which has a syrupy, burnt quality to it, the Scotch was somehow more hollow.  Like I kept waiting for the big kick, and when I didn't get one, I was left taking another sip.  Then another.  I'd add some juice; another sip.  Add some ice; another sip.  I finally settled on mixing it with my new favorite rum, Oakheart, with a splash of seltzer and some ice.  
  Scotch makes me very curious.  I want it on my shelf because each sip I take brings forth a new possibility in the grand weave of mixes and bases.  There's a lot I can do to pair this with simple ingredients that will transform the experience into something truly special, and I am very excited to keep tweaking my personal recipe, until I can find what I would consider my "Asher"; something to sip on while I write and world-build.  Plus, it's great to have around whenever my father, the epitome of a distinguished gentleman, wants to come visit my den.

FLAVOR AND FEEL
  Bourbon is a whiskey derived from a majority corn mash.  Traditional whiskeys tend toward a 70% corn, 15% rye, and 15% barley mash bill, and other styles will adjust those numbers around.  It's also a "young" whiskey, requiring only 2 years of maturing to be considered a "straight whiskey."
  I was chuckled at the first time I tried my Four Roses bourbon.  I had only had Fireball (a lovely Cinnamon Whiskey) before, and it was already in one of my recipes.  I go by smell first, just to get an idea, and the Cinnamon really spoke to me.  Four Roses was equally as smooth, and unlike the scotch, had some body to it.  Subtle undertones of burnt barrel, sweet tastes, and strong ember smoke.  This is a man's drink.
  So of course it made me hack on the floor.  :)

PAIRINGS
If you're like me, I cannot recommend drinking straight bourbon, though many will do so happily.  Instead, I offer these simple pairings.
Bourbon, Amaretto, and Coke - you're bound to see a fair amount of my staple drink in pairings with Bourbon.  Bourbon burns, so the carbonation and hazelnut smoothes it out.  Still guaranteed to make ME cough, this should smooth it out for the rest of you.
Bourbon and Sherry Wine - garnish with an orange slice and a drop of bitters.  Have fun.
Apple Cider, Bourbon, and Sprite - try it out.  Might be more refreshing than you think.

​PERSONAL TASTE
Though my first experience drinking this stuff straight sent me into a fit of coughing, its darker palette is intriguing to explore.  Four Roses Small Batch is my stand-by for bourbon, and for good reason.  There's a great depth of flavor, and when I mix it with Ginger hues it only brings it out more.  I mix with it a lot more than I thought I would, which also makes knowledge of it inherently lucrative.  ;)

FLAVOR AND FEEL
In case you haven't guessed, Rye Whiskey is made from majority rye (at least 51%, but doesn't go much higher than that), with the remainder in corn and barley.  This shift in the mash bill makes for a spicy taste, so a lot more bite for me, and a drier finish.  And, unlike bourbon, that doesn't seem to do much the longer it ages, rye becomes more subtle while still maintaining its signature bite-you-in-the-face.

PAIRINGS
Since spice is the main defining feature in a rye whiskey, might I suggest these simple pairings.
"Ward" - Orange Juice with a splash of Grenadine, and a few oz of rye.  Yum.
Rye and Ginger Ale - commonly called a Highball.  Who knew.
Rye, Pineapple, and Cranberry - Rye and two juices.  Fruity sugar to augment the dry spice.  Good stuff.
​
​PERSONAL TASTE
Now I admit to be the least experienced with Rye out of not only these three, but also most of my shelf.  This fact is, however, changing.  And rye, so far, feels closest to the parallel of the Fireball without the cinnamon spike, so I jump at the chance to substitute it into some of those fiery recipes to observe what changes.

Now, an epilogue of note.  
  I am not a certified bartender (yet), I just play one at your table, and though I know more than the average owlbear, anything I have expressed here today is represented by my own opinion, research, and experience.  My suggested pairings are merely suggestions.  Try them and adjust them as you like.  Just as my palette tends to run more sweet than sour, others may love or hate the pairings I've given.  But every drink I try and every sip I take is a chance for learning.
If YOU decide to try any of my simple pairings, I'd love to know what your experience is!  Any input allows me to better my craft, and better your experience at my drunk table.

Be merry at the Moonriver, and sleep well.
See you next time.
​-Adamus

Help me stay awake so I can keep serving you drinks.