Welcome all to Everwinter, in Baldur’s Gate! Where fashion clings to House Divine’s Fate! Here lives a grand elf with silvered grace, Netanya standing tall now, with her noble face. A fashionista known throughout all the land, Her costumes and dresses wanted by every hand, Only the finest materials, like Shou Lung silk will do, She has no time for nettle cloth, hemp, nor peasant glue. And oh! How she stares at those dressed like clowns, At sleeves that hang too long, or low, dragging gowns “Did no one tell you that mauve with chartreuse Is hideous?” she’ll declare, her disdain profuse. But still, she’ll often stop and speak to all kinds of folks, At the Friendly Arm, she’ll talk to even old and poor blokes, So though she may seem to have a haughty fashion sense Many enjoy conversing with her and take no offence. Yet to Netanya many oft prattle out something insane, With childish words or ideas that stir at her brain, With this stress she slips beneath a desk, out of view, And sips her winter wine till sense comes through. For fools are many, loud of tongue and grin, They chill at her nerves, sending her mind in a spin. She counts their words like cracks in thinning ice, Each foolish jest exacting a quiet price. Yet in that storm, one star she holds apart: Duke Belt—her savior, the unicorn of her heart. A steady man where others postured loud, Unbent by games that dazzle lesser crowds. Netanya hides her gaze and admires him from afar, And has a wish she tucks like wine beneath her bar. “Perhaps now that I am a Lady, noble, robed and preen, I shall catch Belt’s eye where I once stood unseen.” But tell me this, - as snow weighs roof and gate: Has rising rank made heavier her fate? Does nobler station sharpen every strain, And make it harder still for Netanya to stay sane? For now, it seems she is handling everything well, for we are all here, entranced by this Gala’s Spell. But there is hardship with noble duties, honour, and fame Under her desk with her wine she’ll at times likely remain.
