How it came to be.
Shinazazi the Ender of Lines
Council Memorandum: On the Status and Observations Regarding Shinazazi D’shaverauk, Self-Styled Matron of Yelthazed
Filed: Under Seal of the Third Chamber, Deliberations Committee on Foreign Agents and Ambassadors Extraordinary
Circulation: Restricted to Council Highmembers, Eyes of the Watch, and the Archivist’s Guild
It is the opinion of this committee, after no less than seventeen formal deliberations and the collection of extensive field reports, that Shinazazi D’shaverauk, known commonly as Shinazazi the Grim, remains a significant potential threat to the stability of the inner wards and surrounding mercantile districts of the city. Her martial capabilities, arcane affinities (suspected, though unverified), and demonstrated lethality in defense of her person and holdings are not in question.
It is further recognized that the Council’s hands are bound in this matter due to the obscure but binding provisions of the Pact of Ash and Crown: a treaty etched in surviving records from the Treaty Vaults, referencing an arrangement between this city and “emissaries of the Lower Kin, sealed by ancestral blood and witness to both houses.” Said treaty grants a form of diplomatic immunity to agents recognized as sovereign matriarchs of Drow lineage, provided they maintain their quarters within designated structures and do not engage in direct action against the city or its agents.
Shinazazi’s tower: constructed without permit, but upon unclaimed ground: has been declared her embassy by precedence, and is therefore considered foreign soil under treaty law. The Council cannot revoke her sanctuary without breaching an ancient agreement, the ramifications of which are poorly understood and potentially catastrophic.
Her self-claimed title, Matron of Yelthazed, is of concern. The name Yelthazed appears nowhere in extant Drow genealogies or recorded divine indices. It may be the name of a minor house, long lost or exiled from the deep houses, or a deific title, which would suggest a cultic allegiance or religious claim with implications not yet understood. Several scholars suggest it may be a constructed identity, a fabrication intended to invoke ancient protections without a true power base behind it. This remains unresolved.
Attempts to surveil or monitor her movements have yielded inconsistent results. Her routines, if they exist, defy pattern. On several occasions, agents reported observable activity, only for those same agents to vanish from their posts, return with no memory of the events, or submit reports bearing sigils and script they did not recall writing. These disturbances, though subtle, are troubling. It is widely believed that Shinazazi delights in disrupting our intelligence operations, either out of malice or as a statement of independence.
Therefore, until such time as she commits a breach of the Pact through unmistakable and public crime: one with no room for ambiguity or contest: the Council must maintain a posture of containment and observation. Her continued presence is distasteful, but politically protected. Her removal would require a full council consensus and likely a declaration of treaty invalidation, an act which could provoke conflict with unknown Drow powers.
The Committee recommends that:
Eyes of the Watch continue indirect monitoring through mercantile proxies and tavern informants.
The College of Heraldry be tasked with investigating the origin and possible mythos of Yelthazed.
The Office of External Diplomacy seek quiet inquiries among allied underworld states as to her possible affiliations.
No agent be dispatched to confront her directly under any pretense unless authorized by a Council majority.
Let it be recorded that while Shinazazi D’shaverauk may pose a grave danger, it is the judgement of this body that the greater danger lies in breaching the veil of ancient pacts without full understanding of what lies beneath.
Seal of the Third Chamber, under watch of dusk and due course of day
Addendum to Memorandum: On Shinazazi D’shaverauk, Matron of Yelthazed (?)
Filed with the Archives of Obscure Entities and Borderland Diplomacy
Circulation: Red Sash and higher, Eyes of the Watch (abridged)
Excerpt: Lord High Arbiter Mallion Fevre, First Voice of the Chamber of Accord
“There is… troubling dissonance in the name ‘Yelthazed.’ If indeed a true House of the Underdark, it has evaded the scrutiny of our recordmasters, the elven annalists of high seat, and the pale-scribes of Moonwall. More likely, what we contend with is a bastardization of an ancient title: possibly a phonic corruption. Our cryptolinguists suggest a connection to ‘Yezed the Hoarder,’ a figure known in certain Underdark bestiaries and drow demonologies.
“If such a tie exists, then Shinazazi is not merely a foreign dignitary, but a devotee or vessel of an entity long considered fallen or slumbering. This would cast her entire presence not in terms of diplomacy, but cultic invasion. Yet with no concrete violation, the Pact holds. We are tethered by the ancient parchment and cannot move.”
Commentary: Speaker Daevanil Mor-Shan, Elf of the Verdant Seat
“We have dealt with many daughters of the dark… priestesses, rebels, usurpers. But never one so sure of her footing among our stones. When Shinazazi enters the matter-hall, the room shifts. I have seen our eldest recoil: not with fear, but with a reverence they do not admit aloud.
“Our kin claim the name Yelthazed is unknown. That is a lie. I watched old Istalin bend his head when it was spoken, like one acknowledging a title erased by royal decree. We must stop pretending we do not know what we do not wish to name.”
Field Report: Watch-Hand Jurell, compiled from Talismonde’s Great Library findings
“Upon review of the Ash Pages and the Ebon Threads collected in the Third Vault of Talismonde’, I find multiple conflicting interpretations of the sigil she bears at her neck: a kind of inverted tangle-cross with blood-spur hooks. Some readings define it as ‘Severs the Thread,’ another as ‘Line-Ender.’ One passage links it to the Mark of Breaking, a rarely seen Drow glyph associated with exile, extinction, or the cleansing of a family line.
“Further, an encounter with the albino drow alchemist known as Squib ended prematurely: he went rigid when shown a sketch of the mark, then refused further comment, instead muttering a plea for light and refusing to be alone. He will not speak to us again on this subject.”
Margin Note: Magister Laurendil, High Curator of Elven Histories
“Uncertainty is anathema to my people. We flourish in patterns, knowings, lineages. And Shinazazi is a pattern-breaker. She is the smudge on the charted scroll, the name that echoes in old houses with no door. When her name is raised among the elder elves, we do not argue: we grow quiet. That is how you know something is feared: not by shouting, but by silence.”
Summary: Consensus Status
The name “Yelthazed” remains unverified, possibly a corruption of “Yezed,” a hoarder-spirit or chthonic power of uncertain alignment.
The sigil on Shinazazi’s neck is variously interpreted as a slaver’s brand, house sign, or religious mark, with significant emotional impact on at least one known Drow informant.
Elven councilors grow visibly unsettled whenever Shinazazi is discussed. The extent of their ancestral knowledge remains cloaked in cultural reticence.
No breach of the Pact has occurred that would justify diplomatic or martial action. However, the symbolic weight of her presence continues to test the Council’s tolerance.
All parties agree that further provocation must be avoided, and continued observation: at a distance: is the safest course until Shinazazi errs in some undeniable way.
CONFIDENTIAL MEMORANDUM – Eyes Only – High Watchtable Distribution
Subject: Strategic Response to Shinazazi D’shaverauk, Alleged Matron of Yelthazed
Filed by Lord Commander Caelvis Drutharn, Seat of the Sapphire Vigil
“I find the Council’s continued paralysis to be not only disheartening, but dangerous. We allow this… entity: whose very title may link her to a hoarder-god of the Underdark: to operate sovereign within our borders, under the protective guise of a pact whose details are lost to fire and age.
We do not know the true nature of her allegiance. We do not know the meaning of the mark on her neck. We do not even know whether ‘Yelthazed’ is a house, a cult, or a forgotten god. But she knows.
Already she mocks our Watch, disappears from their sight with impunity, confronts threats with open weaponry, and adorns her courtyard with the nude stone husks of those who may or may not have crossed her. That her violence remains technically ‘defensive’ is a legal shield, not a moral one.
She is a blade planted in our heart, waiting to turn.”
REBUTTAL – By Order of the Ivory Cloister
Filed by High Warden Jheris Elavaire, Senior Keeper of the Seals of Accord
“And yet, Lord Commander, you would raise hand to the very edge of the abyss. I remind this Council that the Pact of Ash and Crown, sealed in the old tongue of binding, bears not only the weight of law, but the sigil of divinity.
This is not mere elvish diplomacy. This is an oath sworn before powers that do not forget. The calamity that shattered Taurdain is not myth.
To act against Shinazazi without irrefutable cause is not courage: it is hubris. Even should she be an envoy of Yezed or worse, we are bound until her hand breaks the terms, not ours. The Pact does not permit preemptive fear.
You would risk infinite reprisal to unmake a threat that has not yet acted. Are you prepared to see your children burn beneath the stars? Or worse: to see them twisted into servants of the very horror we sought to deny?”
Addendum: Whispering Coil, Eyes of the Watch
“It is true: the more we observe, the less we understand. Shinazazi is not simply evading our surveillance: she is toying with it. As if she knows exactly where we watch, and allows just enough to be seen. She feeds the rumors: the medusan blood, the necromancer’s trade, the statues. She wants us afraid. But not without reason. The mark on her neck… we found a similar glyph in a ruin on the Sea Obsidian Coast.
The inscription below read, ‘The line ends here.’ No context. Just those four words etched in obsidian. And the corpses: petrified in poses of terror.
Someone once tried to remove her kind before. It did not end well.”
CONFIDENTIAL MEMORANDUM – Eyes Only – High Watchtable Distribution
Subject: Strategic Response to Shinazazi D’shaverauk, Alleged Matron of Yelthazed
Filed by Lord Commander Caelvis Drutharn, Seat of the Sapphire Vigil
“I must again raise formal concern over the continued presence and activities of Shinazazi D’shaverauk, whose tower within our walls operates under a set of sovereign rights which no one on this Council can fully explain nor trace to any surviving treaty documentation. She calls herself Matron of Yelthazed: a place, house, or entity no one has ever confirmed.
What few scraps we have suggest Yelthazed may be a mistranslation: a corruption of “Yezed,” an entity known in deep vaults and undercrofts as Yezed the Hoarder: a godling or ancient power of the Drow, forgotten by surface realms but whispered of in hidden catacombs. The implications of this connection are not mere philosophical. If she is not a political emissary but a living conduit of a god, we are not hosting a guest: we are sheltering a holy weapon with veiled purpose.
She answers threats with lethality. She does not argue, she issues warnings. Her violence is not born of passion but of ritual certainty.
This is not mere eccentricity. This is a deliberate projection of threat, meant to train the eye and bend the spine. Her “courtyard sculptures” flaunt the taboo: nude, lifelike, and posed. Were they men? Merchants? Agents of the Crown? We may never know. Those who cross her simply disappear, and not even the Deadmaster’s Guild has accounted for those bodies.
To wait until such a force strikes is to abdicate the core duty of the Vigil. I call again for contingency planning for her removal. Should we ever decide to act, let it not be in haste, but with precision and overwhelming force.”
REBUTTAL – By Order of the Ivory Cloister
Filed by High Warden Jheris Elavaire, Senior Keeper of the Seals of Accord
“We all know of Taurdain. Some of us lost friends, limbs, or faith within the tsunamis and earthquake’s that erased its high walls. That ruin came from killing a demi-god to a being of unknowable depth: one we assumed mortal, as we now dangerously assume of Shinazazi.
Let us not forget: the Pact of Ash and Crown is not just ink and vellum: it is sanctified blood, sealed in the breath of something older than our towers. While its origin is buried beneath centuries of political dust, its repercussions are living law, binding even now.
If Shinazazi is an emissary of a nation, then we host a foreign agent. But if she is what I suspect: a vessel, avatar, or daughter of Yezed the Hoarder, or whatever that name once meant in the sunless cities: then the power behind her may not merely avenge insult. It may remake reality to punish it.
Her mark has been linked by scholars to symbols meaning “Severs the Thread” or “Ender of the Line.” One interpretation places her as a divine assassin, an anointed instrument sent not to negotiate, but to witness until provoked. If that is true, then her mere presence may be a test of our fidelity to the Pact.
Rash action will be read not as defense, but as betrayal. That she acts within strict bounds is no accident: it is liturgical. And if she breaks them, the Pact itself will no longer shield her. Until then, to act would be to strike a stone knowing it will shatter your hammer.”
WHISPERING COIL INTELLIGENCE BRIEF – Compiled Under Moon-Silence
Filed by the Office of Whisper-Mistress Kael Thilmaris, Spymaster Exempt
“Our most recent efforts to install longwatch wards within Shinazazi’s tower were neutralized within three days. No sign of intrusion or magical counter. The spells simply stopped recording, as if they chose not to see.
We intercepted a sketch of the mark on her throat: sent to Squib, the albino drow alchemist currently residing in the east quarter. Upon seeing it, he dropped his apparatus, screamed in Undercommon, and refused to comment. When pressed, he said only: ‘That mark isn’t worn. It is borne. It means she is allowed to kill.’
Talismonde’s Grand Library holds conflicting translations. One phrase reads:
‘Heir of Yezed, Keeper of the Last Debt.’
Another reads:
‘The line ends here.’
In both cases, the context is religious or ritualistic: not political. Shinazazi may be not merely a matron of a Drow house, but the incarnate line-ender of a god’s unfinished work.
When her name is discussed, particularly in chambers with ancient elven lineage, the room grows cold. The elders speak less. Even the High Arcanists, so fond of proving knowledge, turn to silence. The unknown is offensive to them: and Shinazazi is a monument to the unknowable.”
COUNCIL REBUTTAL – Veneration of the Old Accord
Filed by Sage-Chancellor Lin’dar Vuelin of the Inner Circle of the Star-Signed
“Let none here forget that the Pact of Ash and Crown, when invoked, bears weight beyond the ken of nations. It was drawn at the point where the Divine and the Mortal intersect: when the elven courts faced the ruin of arrogance and called for a peace enforced by powers not of this world.
Even should Shinazazi D’shaverauk prove to be the sword-arm of Yezed the Hoarder, or something darker, we are still protected. She may watch. She may prepare. But she may not act unless the Pact is broken.
That protection is a blade’s edge. We cannot allow fear to dull our understanding. If we err and attack her, it may not simply break the Pact: it may be seen as our abandonment of faith. Taurdain burned for its mistake of striking down a demi-god, in denying ancient prophecy.
We must not become a nation that makes the world unsafe for pacts. That will summon attention from powers beyond Shinazazi: and bring the old watchers down upon our children’s bones.
No one creature: not even she: is worth risking everything we have built.“
Incident Report: The Weaving of the Coin Tower Spire
Dawn – Third Bell
The sky had only just begun to pale when the Watch Captain of the Mid-Tier Quarter reported an anomalous structure spanning the upper courtyard of the Coin Tower. Dozens of thin, shimmering silk-like threads, no thicker than a raven’s feather shaft, crisscrossed from spire to parapet, woven in deliberate geometries to form a massive domed web. It covered the central courtyard like a tent spun by some divine loom, the structure precise, untorn by the wind, and glistening faintly with dew despite no rain.
No spiders were seen.
No entry or exit was reported during the night.
No motion was captured by glyph or familiar.
Council Chambers – Later That Morning
The Council of Accord convened in a rare full quorum, robes still half-donned, scrolls and tea forgotten on tables. The mood was quiet, grave, and for once, utterly unified in bewilderment.
High Warden Jheris Elavaire
“There was no movement, no spell residue. It appeared as though it had always been there, as though we had simply failed to notice until the sun made it real. This is not artistry: it is ritual. We should consider if this is a ward. Or a shroud.”
Her voice carried a thin edge of fear, poorly masked by the ritual calm of the Ivory Cloister.
Lord Commander Caelvis Drutharn
“A trap laid in full view is either a challenge or a message. Either way, it should be destroyed. We are being toyed with.”
His request to deploy fire-mages was overruled within moments.
Sage-Chancellor Lin’dar Vuelin
“Do not be so hasty. This is symbolic language. The web implies dominion, surveillance, patience. If she meant harm, the tower would be ash. Instead, we awaken to… a veil. One that suggests, rather than declares.”
Lin’dar’s words seemed to echo deeper than the stone chamber, setting off murmured discussions among elvish sages present.
Whisper-Mistress Kael Thilmaris
“There is no trace of ingress. None. Not even the whisper of wind displacement. Our agents inside the Coin Tower felt a pressure on their dreams, but awoke unharmed. Whatever this is, it was not made with mortal fingers. And it remains untouched by blade or flame. We tried.”
The silence that followed was broken only by the scratching of quills recording the moment.
Interpretations and Speculations
Some claimed it was a theatrical display: a sign that Shinazazi had grown bored with the Council’s inaction and was issuing a veiled reminder that she could bind the city itself if she wished.
Others feared it was a religious act: a Drow ritual of claim or sanctification. The web as a temple, a shrine, or worse: a nest.
The High Elves whispered it may be a preparation: that Yezed the Hoarder, if that is who she serves, may be “watching through her” and had marked the Coin Tower as a locus of feeding, judgment, or collection.
Theorists from the Astromancers’ Guild speculated that the web mirrored an ancient celestial pattern, though incomplete. As if it waited for something to arrive before it would activate.
The Underlaw Archivists argued that in ancient Drow cults, silk webs covering a structure denoted a rite of protection or ownership. Some suggested it means Shinazazi considers the Coin Tower to now belong to her: not politically, but ritually.
Emotional Undercurrent of the Council
The presence of uncertainty gnawed at the Council. Elves: especially those who remember the ages of strife before the everwinter war: loathe uncertainty. It corrodes their patience and order. The web became a symptom of their helplessness, their ignorance. Some saw in it a threat. Others, a prophecy. None saw peace.
It would remain for seven days, untouched by magic or steel, and then simply disappear overnight, leaving behind no residue and no explanation.
And Shinazazi?
She was seen that morning sipping tea on her balcony, as though watching birds sing.
Council of Accord – Deliberation Chamber
The chamber still hummed with low voices: debate, theory, and fear woven tightly together: when the great silver-inlaid door to the deliberation hall creaked open. The sound alone silenced the room.
A young ward, robes disheveled, stood pale and trembling in the threshold. He swallowed hard, bowing too quickly to be proper.
“M’lords… and Ladies…”
His voice was cracked and dry. He cleared his throat, visibly composing himself.
“Shinazazi D’shaverauk… Matron of Yelthazed… is at the Council’s door.”
A breathless stillness fell over the chamber like a winter fog.
He hesitated, eyes darting to the floor before continuing.
“She… seeks audience. With the rulers of this nation. On a matter of great import.”
He did not raise his eyes.
He did not move to speak again.
He merely stood, awaiting instruction, as though frozen by a will not his own.
Reactions from the Council
High Warden Elavaire pressed a hand to her chest: no spell, just the weight of a held breath. Her lips moved as if calculating protections, but no words came.
Lord Commander Drutharn’s face darkened.
“Here? Now?” he muttered, almost too low to hear.
He rose from his seat, hand resting not quite casually on the pommel of his ceremonial blade.
“We have not agreed to parley. We have not sent invitation: ”
Sage-Chancellor Lin’dar Vuelin cut him off with a raised hand.
“Nor may we refuse such a guest.”
His eyes gleamed, troubled but sharp.
“To bar a Matron of the Drow is to declare war. To bar one named emissary is to shatter accords. To bar one who may serve a forgotten god… is to call doom.”
Whisper-Mistress Thilmaris whispered something in Undercommon under her breath, perhaps a ward, perhaps a curse.
Moments of Hesitation
A quiet unfolded that lasted too long. Each leader glanced at the others: not in search of courage, but confirmation. Even the most stubborn among them could feel it:
This was not a visit.
This was a summons, disguised politely.
The Spire-Web, it seemed, had been the herald.
A Decision Made
It was Lady Vireth Ayne, the Council’s senior diplomat and Elf of the Old Court, who finally spoke, her voice dry as parchment yet resolute.
“Let her enter. This chamber is bound by ancient law. If she violates it our bindings are severed.”
She turned to the ward.
“You will greet her with all courtesies. Offer the Queen’s Seat. No weapons are to be drawn, unless she does so first.”
The ward bowed, as if freed from a weight, and vanished into the hall like a man running from a dream.
The Appearance of Shinazazi D’shaverauk – Matron of Yelthazed
Location: Deliberation Chamber, Council of Accord
Time: Shortly after dawn, the morning following the Spire-Web Incident
Record: Archival transcription for internal review only
The chamber fell to utter silence as the great door opened again, not of the ward’s doing this time, but as if by unseen will or ancient command.
She stepped through without herald, without entourage.
Shinazazi D’shaverauk, Matron of Yelthazed: if such a place truly exists.
She moved with slow, unhurried grace, and the Council witnessed what they had only whispered of.
She wore armor of spidersilk, layered and black as void, embroidered with 8 jewels that shimmered in colors not seen in surface light. Positioned to represent the eyes of a spider. They pulsed faintly, as though alive, though never in rhythm: gems of unknown artifice, possibly voidglass, soulstone, or worse.
Upon both hips were curved swords, subtly mismatched, the kind seen only among underdark duelists or high priestess executioners. Her belt and boots bore knives and ritual daggers tucked with symmetrical precision: tools of war, not show. Not a diplomat, but a silken-clad specter of assassination, every inch the threat her reputation promised.
And yet:
She smiled.
And spoke calmly, her voice clear, rich, and commanding, as though each word wove a thread through the minds of all present.
“Greetings.”
A tilt of her head, a subtle, inverted bow: not to the head of the Council, but to Lord Commander Drutharn, her most vocal critic.
“My apologies for the lack of decorum…”
“…but it seems you are quite concerned with all my comings and goings, so an explanation might be in order: from both of us.”
A pause. Silence. The Council held their breath.
She surveyed the room, eyes colder than steel midwinter, settling briefly on each face: those far older than her in appearance, but none quite so ageless in presence.
“Honor the pact, as I will honor it. Cease intrusions, attempted intrusions, magical, auditory, or physical upon the tower.”
Her voice, though quiet, echoed with that strange ancient lilt, like spiderweb humming in the wind.
“My defenses are doubled as of this morn.
Should you spy another residing within the tower, know this:
She is under my protection.
Any action against her will invoke the very retribution you fear.”
“And yes,” she added softly, “Yezed is correct.”
“Severer of the Threads.
Remember, I am only the threat you make me.
My ward is as one with my person. Treat them so.”
“Sesspetrali studies with me for the next cycle of Yezed.”
“If you abide, then all will end well for everyone… where we are concerned.”
She smiled again: an expression that held no mirth, only promise.
“Good day to you.”
Then: she vanished.
No word.
No gesture.
No light, no sigil, no sound.
Just… gone.
No spellcaster in the chamber, not even Archmage Vasirial, could sense what had occurred. It was not magic as they knew it, but something older: perhaps divine, perhaps darker.
Council Reaction
The silence after her disappearance was a different kind: weighty, suffocating, not from fear, but from sheer incomprehension.
High Warden Elavaire finally spoke, voice brittle.
“There was no trace. No trigger. She left… as one of the Old Ones might.”
Lord Drutharn remained standing, jaw clenched, eyes darting toward the seat where Shinazazi had briefly stood.
“We… we cannot ignore this. Her presence, her… declaration…”
Sage-Chancellor Vuelin replied slowly:
“And yet, we must. We are not at war. Not with her. Not with whatever Yezed truly is.”
Whisper-Mistress Thilmaris offered the final grim truth:
“She did not come to bargain. She came to issue terms.
We are not her equals in this…
We are her neighbors.”
High Council Missive
Sealed Transcript – Internal Use Only
Subject: Response to the Appearance and Terms of the Drow Emissary Shinazazi D’shaverauk, Matron of Yelthazed (or Yezed)
To the Custodians of Accord, the Wardens of Law, and the Keepers of Treaty Memory:
Let it be known and recorded without embellishment, dramatics, or inferred conjecture: The Council of Accord has chosen: by overwhelming, though not unanimous vote: to honor the pact.
Shinazazi D’shaverauk, emissary of unknown but likely extraplanar or divine alignment, has delivered terms not cloaked in parley or petition, but with certainty and veiled consequence.
Her language was measured. Her tone formal, without threat yet echoing a gravity none could ignore. We are left to conclude, barring credible dispute, that she either speaks as a divine proxy or is herself an instrument of Yezed, a name now confirmed by her as “Severer of the Threads”: a designation recorded in one of Talismonde’s more obscure grimoires.
In light of these facts, the Council affirms:
All surveillance and interference, magical or otherwise, is to cease immediately upon the Tower of the Coin.
No party is to approach or scry upon the entity known as Sesspetrali, now declared under Shinazazi’s protection.
All records concerning the Pact of Ash and Crown (Third Accord, Year 601) are to be reopened and reviewed for divine clauses, enforcement geasa, and referential context. Prior dismissals of this treaty as symbolic are now considered gravely erroneous.
A full roster of Council delegates and security personnel present during the encounter has been submitted to the Archivists of the Vault for memory warding and truth-binding.
Council Discord:
It is also recorded, with deep regret, that this decision has already sundered trust within the chamber.
Lord Drutharn of High Bastion has openly condemned the Council’s choice as “paralysis under shadow,” and has vowed to seek “justice by blade if the law will not act.” He has been censured and restricted from classified intelligence channels, though he retains a minority seat by Charter right.
Archmagus Vasirial has confirmed under oath that attempting to breach the Tower’s wards now may result in feedback curses of unpredictable scope, citing three magical colleagues now in critical condition from attempted remote divination as of the previous moon.
Warden-General Sarmienne has proposed forming a Red Watch: an internal safeguard against rogue actors within the Council or its affiliates who may, out of ideology or vengeance, violate Shinazazi’s terms. This is deemed a necessary, if distasteful, measure.
Final Note:
The Council shall not meet again to address this matter unless summoned by divine writ or the Emissary herself. Any individual member, noble, or auxiliary found conspiring to act outside the bounds of the Accord will be considered a threat to national stability, and will be detained or, if necessary, silenced, for the sake of all we have built.
This is not surrender.
This is pragmatic survival in the face of a force we cannot yet name, chart, or understand.
Let no one forget Taurdain.
Let none forget the silence that follows broken pacts.
Sealed in the Light of Accord,
Vauran Thael, High Chancellor of the Council
Attested by: Quill-Master Rennith, Scribe of the Iron Pen
Filed: Fourth Hour of the Eleventh Bell, Morning of the Spire-Web
Addendum
Filed by the Office of Internal Integrity, Iron Vault Archives
Subject: Unauthorized Operation “Moonthorn” – Lord Drutharn’s Private Retaliation
Security Level: Crimson Tier – Restricted Access
Summary of Events:
Approximately three days following Shinazazi D’shaverauk’s unexpected audience before the High Council, a covert operation was undertaken by a cadre of House Drutharn’s private agents: presumed mercenaries and oathbound ex-militants: without Council sanction or military coordination.
Codenamed Operation Moonthorn, the objective was to breach or disable the primary wardings of the Coin Tower and extract any potential evidence of wrongdoing, hostage taking, or extraplanar corruption. All known participants were handpicked from Drutharn’s shadow ranks and operated without magical comms, relying on signal flares and relic-based navigation.
All contact ceased precisely 2 minutes and 12 seconds after the breach perimeter was crossed.
Incident Details:
No explosion. No scream. No magical residue. The guards on the nearby rooftops: assigned post-accord for passive observation: reported only an absence of wind, bird, or insect song. A stillness. Then the faint sound of chimes, though no such ornamentation exists on the tower.
When agents from the Tower Watch were finally dispatched under emergency protocols (despite Council orders to avoid the site entirely), they found nothing.
No bodies, gear or residual spellwork were detected. No trace of entry, just the courtyard as always, save for shimmering webs that were not present the night before.
A single message, written in Drow High Glyph, appeared on the inside of the patrol captain’s helmet visor. It read:
“The Accord stands. Let none confuse silence with absence.”
Note: The helmet has since resisted all efforts to remove or alter the inscription.
Lord Drutharn’s Response:
Upon receiving the report, Lord Drutharn refused to speak for nearly an hour. When he did, it was to curse the “cowardice of shadows” and decry the Council’s “policy of trembling silence.” He has since been observed speaking in hushed tones to several of the minor lords and has made formal complaints to the military arm of the Bastion Alliance.
However, no reply, formal or informal, has come from Shinazazi.
She has not responded through emissary, envoy, magic, or gesture.
She has not increased her defenses: at least visibly.
The tower remains as it was.
This absence of reprisal is, according to Magister Vaeloss, “the most chilling response of all.” For it suggests she either views the attempt as too beneath her notice to bother with, or fully expected it, and her Tower removed the interlopers as an immune system expels a splinter. Whatever defenses she has they are formidable and unknown. We would do well to remember the nature of the realm she comes from, betrayal, assassinations, espionage at the highest levels are the norm. We should not try to play her game.”
Internal Fallout:
Red Watch Commander Maelle Graeven has filed for emergency authority to place Lord Drutharn under constant magical surveillance and restrict his diplomatic travel. The measure is awaiting vote.
Archmagus Vasirial has petitioned for full invocation of Treaty Clause Kairos, which would treat further incursion into the Coin Tower’s domain as divine provocation and render those involved enemies of the state and treat them as such.
Several junior councilors have withdrawn support from Drutharn, claiming he is endangering the Accord with his pride and personal vendettas.
Conclusion:
Shinazazi’s silence may be the deepest wound inflicted thus far. Not only has she resisted retaliation, she has rendered it irrelevant.
Whether she operates as an emissary of a hidden nation, a divine power, or something altogether outside our current theological models, the fact remains: her rules are clear, her wrath unseen, and her patience… finite.
Let this record stand as warning and testimony.
Filed and Sealed,
High Scribe Toleran Evtas
Office of Internal Integrity – Crimson Tier Liaison
The Dream of Lord Drutharn
Classified Under: Oneiric Interference, Pact Enforcement, Drow Sorcery (Unconfirmed Divine Influence)
Filed By: Luven Thaliel, Grand Thaumaturge of the Azure Circle
Date: Three nights following Operation Moonthorn
Event Summary (as recounted by Lord Drutharn under magical compulsion):
“I had scarcely closed my eyes when it began. I was deep in the dreaming, not fog nor formless nonsense but crystalline, like I was buried beneath glass. I lay in my own bed, yet everything shimmered with an unnatural stillness: the air like stretched silk.*
Then I saw it. A spider. Small. No larger than a fingernail. Emerald eyes like lanterns in the dark. It crawled from beneath the folds of my blanket and sat upon my chest. I was frozen. Not by fear: I am no child: but something deeper, older.
It looked at me. It spoke. The voice… wasn’t voice. It rattled in the bones beneath my ears.”
“Heed the Accord.”
“And then it leapt into my mouth. I tried to scream, to move, to do anything: but I couldn’t. I felt its legs against my teeth, the weight of it on my tongue, and then the crunch… and then nothing.
I woke thrashing, clawing at my throat. I could not breathe. My lungs were full of webs. Or so it seemed. I choked for what felt like hours. My throat still burns. Still itches.”
“I staggered to the basin. Splashed my face. Thought it over. A dream. Just a dream. But then…”
“I looked up. She was there. Shinazazi. Behind me.
But when I turned: nothing.
Only the wall.
And the words. Written in blood. Nor could I scrub it clean.”
“Honor the Pact.”
Magical Analysis:
Spell Signature: Unknown. Standard dream intrusion spells leave arcane residue, but this one presented as anti-sigilic, meaning it erased or obscured traditional magical tracing. It may have occurred outside the Weave, or through a channel of power not native to known arcane schools.
Divinatory Attempts: All scrying attempts to trace the source of the dream or detect lingering influence on Lord Drutharn failed. Divinations returned a single result:
“Do not open what was sealed.”
Residual Effects: Lord Drutharn coughed blood-threaded mucus for over an hour, observed by both his physician and an Azure Circle apprentice. The cause was non-physical, and his esophagus was clear. Psychic trauma consistent with Dream Hex of considerable power.
Interpretation:
The incident represents a personal warning of the highest order. The symbolism of the emerald-eyed spider matches the heraldic sigil of the Fourth House of Mycos Ril’tezz: long believed extinct, and associated with pre-divine Drow rites of judgement and silence.
The mouth-entry followed by real-world symptomology implies the dream was more than psychological. It suggests a true crossing, a seeding of symbolic poison or pact marker: perhaps meant as a last warning.
The appearance of Shinazazi in the mirror with no accompanying magical trace suggests ancient dream-walking abilities, long lost to modern spellcraft. If she has access to this level of Oneiromantic intervention, her power may be equivalent to a demigoddess: or a servant of one.
Council Note:
This event has not been made public. Lord Drutharn remains outwardly defiant, but he has not left his private estate since the night of the dream. His eyes are shadowed. His voice weaker. He avoids mirrors.
The blood-writing on the wall faded by morning. No physical evidence remains. And yet, when asked under binding oath, he admitted he has not spoken a word against Shinazazi since.
Concluding Evaluation:
The dream was not mere symbolism. It was a message, a binding, and perhaps, a final threshold before enacting divine consequence. If another unauthorized act is taken against Shinazazi or her ward Sesspetrali, we must assume any retribution will be swift, untraceable, and absolute.
Let this serve as record.
Luven Thaliel
Grand Thaumaturge
The council chamber was not cold, but each seated ruler felt a chill when they found the letters: impossibly delivered, yet undeniably real: waiting silently upon their chairs at the next session. Heavy, parchment-thick envelopes sealed with wax black as pitch and imprinted not with a crest, but a perfect spider’s web. Not etched, not pressed, but as if spun from silver thread and frozen in place.
No one saw who left them. No guards raised alarm. No wards flared. No invisible hand had tripped so much as a dust glyph. The Tower’s own master of protections, Archmarshal Saedros, was later heard muttering, “Either she bypassed the Weave, or she walked behind it.”
The letters were opened together, as if by silent agreement. All read the same:
**”Unsanctioned attempts do not break the pact,
but subterfuge will not obfuscate intent.
Heel your dogs, lest you lose them.
Yours Truly,
Shinazazi D’Shaverauk
Matron of Yezed, Severer of Threads.
We are content with the chastisement: for now.”**
Council Reaction:
Grave Acceptance (Majority Response):
Most on the council saw the note not as threat, but as a precise and terrifyingly calm boundary-setting. It was a warning delivered with restraint, not wrath: and that made it all the more harrowing. Shinazazi could have struck Drutharn down, or worse, made a spectacle of him. Instead, she imposed a punishment both subtle and entirely within the pact.
The elder Magelord Felraen muttered, “That is not how an assassin speaks. That is how a keeper of old law reminds the forgetful.”
Deepening Fear Among the Arcanists:
The magical elite within the council found the delivery method the most disturbing. The fact that none of their protections, alarms, or counterspells reacted to the intrusion suggested powers long buried: dreamwalking, planar phasing, or divine authority.
The High Thaumaturgist simply said, “This is not a woman. This is a warning given flesh.”
Political Consequence – The Splinter Begins:
Several members whispered that Drutharn must now be removed, or at least stripped of influence. “He poked a sleeping god,” said Chancellor Lirvan, “and she merely lifted her head. Next time, she’ll bite.”
Others argued that backing down showed weakness. These few grew quieter, however, as they saw the rest of the council begin to rally around caution and respect for the Accord.
The Unspoken Realization:
There was one phrase that unsettled all:
“We are content with the chastisement: for now.”
The we. Not I.
It suggested that Shinazazi is not alone in this. That she answers to something: or speaks for something: greater than herself. Perhaps even divine.
The hall sat quiet long after the letters were read. A fire cracked in the hearth, but no warmth reached them. At last, the Councilor of Roads stood and spoke aloud:
“We honor the Pact.”
And each one nodded.
Even Lord Drutharn: silent, pale, and red-eyed: spoke not a word.
The Council Divided: The Aftermath of the Letters
The silence in the council chambers, once solemn, has turned brittle. For the first time in three centuries, factions have begun forming among the elvish high seats: not over land, or trade, or war: but over a single Drow emissary cloaked in silk and secrecy.
What troubles them is not just her power, nor her poise in the face of provocation. It is her choice of words.
“We are content with the chastisement: for now.”
The Royal “We” : A Voice Not Singular
In the courts of diplomacy, the royal “We” is a voice assumed by monarchs and god-kissed lords, used to suggest the weight of their station, their people, or their office. But Shinazazi is not a queen, nor has she claimed station beyond “Matron of Yelthazed.”
And yet she used We: not for affectation, but declaration.
The implications are dire. In this context, the “We” is not plural in politeness, but in presence. Shinazazi does not speak for herself alone. She represents something, or worse, she contains something.
This has led to one terrifying theory, whispered behind silencing wards:
She is either a vessel of Yezed the Hoarder, or she has been deputized by it.
What Is Yezed the Hoarder?
Until recently, most scholars in Talismonde’ treated Yezed as a mythical enforcer, a folkloric terror told in underground circles. Now, the name resurfaces with venomous relevance.
Yezed, the Severer of Threads
Form: Said to be an arachidic godform, vast, ephemeral, and unknowable, whose limbs stretch across layers of the Underdark and time itself. Often depicted as a titanic spider with emerald eyes and mouths stitched shut, save for one , which whispers judgment.
Function: Yezed is the Judiciary of the Drow pantheon, if such a fractured and backstabbing faith can be said to have one. When disputes between Houses grow so irreconcilable that blood and schemes no longer suffice, they call upon Yezed to Sever the Thread: to erase a house entirely, removing its name from the Great Weave. Unmade. Remembered only with dread.
Authority: All Drow Houses, regardless of allegiance, recognize Yezed’s final authority. Even the spider-priests of Lolth are said to hold their tongues when Yezed’s symbol is invoked.
Symbol: The sigil drawn in blood on Drutharn’s wall: translated as “Severs the Thread” or “Ender of Lines”: has now been confirmed as a judiciary mark of Yezed. It is placed only upon those who must be watched, or warned before judgment is passed.
Council Reactions: Factions Form
The Cautious Majority (The Pale Thread)
They now believe Shinazazi to be either the Chosen, Emissary, or even Aspect of Yezed. They propose immediate policy: do not antagonize, do not interfere, and reaffirm the ancient accords.
Some even suggest extending diplomatic protections normally reserved for demi-gods or elder spirits.
Their logic is chilling in its clarity:
“One emissary misjudged could doom not only us, but our names from the archives of the world.”
They advocate diplomacy, observation, and in some cases, subtle appeasement.
The Dissidents (The Thorned Loop)
Led quietly, still, by Lord Drutharn, though his credibility is threadbare. He insists that allowing such a being to walk unopposed within their capital is to invite annihilation later.
To them, the very presence of Shinazazi: and the influence she exerts without throne or army: is a greater threat than war. They accuse the others of cowardice, of letting fear determine statecraft.
“She may not be the sword, but she sharpens it. And when it is drawn, it will not be upon our enemies.”
Some whisper of finding another pact, or even invoking divine right to resist: but few dare take that further after what happened to Drutharn’s cohort… and to his dreams.
A Fragile Peace
For now, the council remains in tense cohesion, bound not by trust in each other, but by the dread certainty that rashness will bring ruin. Even the city itself seems to watch its breath when Shinazazi walks unseen within it.
The web across the Coin Spire still lingers: no wind takes it down, no fire singes it. And from time to time, a spider the size of a thumb is seen crawling along the rooftops, then vanishing into cracks that no craftsman remembers building.
The Pale Thread – The Weavers of Restraint
The Pale Thread consists of the cautious, the pragmatic, and the mystic-minded among the Council. Their emblem is often whispered to be a hand resting on a spider’s web: a reminder that subtlety must not tear what holds the world in tension.
Theories Held:
Shinazazi is the Chosen of Yezed.
She is not a mere Matron, but a conduit of something divine and judiciary. Her presence in Mithrin is a test, and the city is being weighed: by Yezed, or worse, by the entire Hidden Court of the Deep.
Sesspetrali is more than a ward.
Rumors suggest she may be:
A silk-blooded heir to a House once thought eradicated by Yezed,
A soul-fractured vessel bearing ancient knowledge,
Or a baited lure, placed within reach to test the city’s honor.
The Web on the Coin Tower is a silent treaty.
A spell of divine observation, not merely protection. Its presence replaces diplomats, its absence may invite judgment. The most peculiar thing is she continues to operate her Numismatist shop amid all this. And has customers.
Suggested Actions:
Codify a Declaration of Respect:
Draft a formal but non-binding declaration of mutual sovereignty, reaffirming the ancient pacts with the Drow, especially House Yelthazed, citing Shinazazi by title and lineage. The tone must be deferential without being subordinate.
Assign a Watchless Watcher:
Propose a silent observer: an anonymous council mage of great experience: tasked only to sense fluctuations in power or otherworldly presence around the Coin Tower. No interference, only recorded observations, to guard against total blindness.
Scry the Threads of Sesspetrali (with permission):
Attempt to formally request insight into Sesspetrali’s presence: perhaps through a mutually-agreed arcane emissary or cleric: to discern if she is a diplomatic ward, a weapon, or something else.
Placate the Thorned Loop without empowering them:
Suggest temporary containment protocols if things spiral, but forbid preemptive measures. Maintain unity by addressing their fears while denying them free rein.
Risks of Inaction:
Becoming entirely reactionary to Shinazazi’s moves.
Further erosion of confidence within the council and among allies.
Appearing weak to other foreign powers who may misinterpret patience as subjugation.
The Thorned Loop – The Fraymakers
The Thorned Loop represents the proud, the martial, and the unyielding. They chafe at the presence of a foreign power: worse, a Drow Matron: operating beyond scrutiny or sanction. Their sigil is sometimes carved as a broken loop of thorned cord, representing action that cuts through binds.
Theories Held:
Yezed is myth weaponized.
Some believe the spider-god to be nothing but an ancient boogeyman leveraged for political immunity. Shinazazi is exploiting fear, not reverence.
Shinazazi is a scout for occupation.
Her “ward” is a plant, or a seed for something much larger: perhaps a drider-brood hive, a demonic node, or a conduit for Underdark reclamation of surface lands.
The Council is being tested… and manipulated.
The letters, the dream-spider, the blood-written warning: all meant to intimidate the Council into paralysis, leaving Shinazazi free to act.
Suggested Actions:
Sanctioned Surveillance of the Coin Tower Perimeter:
Discreetly embed non-magical agents into nearby properties to watch for movement, not for assault. No scrying, only mundane reporting to avoid triggering defenses.
Diplomatic Summons or Challenge:
Formally request that Shinazazi appear before the full Council for sanctioned diplomacy. If she refuses, the Loop believes it will show true intent: that she wishes to manipulate from shadows.
Draft Contingency Martial Protocols:
Prepare hidden response teams: arcane, divine, and mundane: to intervene if the Coin Tower exhibits signs of extradimensional rupture, soul-binding, or other acts of aggression. These are only to be used in event of active threat, but the protocols would empower Loop factions in case of Council deadlock.
Undermine Pale Thread Influence:
Quietly circulate doubts about the wisdom of waiting, about historical betrayals by Drow emissaries, and about the illusion of “old gods” who do not show their faces.
Risks of Action:
Triggering a true response from Yezed (or Shinazazi) that obliterates the aggressor and potentially the city.
Splitting the Council to the point of civil rupture: the Loop may act without consensus, which could be seen as betrayal or coup.
Exposing the Council to public outrage, especially among citizens who now view Shinazazi as an unseen protector after the Tower incident deterred unknown threats.
The Balance of Action and Inaction
Both factions must now reckon with the same blade:
To act risks bringing calamity upon the city from something ancient and unmeasured.
To wait risks becoming helpless as Shinazazi’s web entangles more than stone.
A dangerous calculus is being drawn in whispered chambers:
“Which is worse: to misjudge a goddess as a diplomat, or a diplomat as a goddess?”
Closed Session of the Acting Council
Upper Chamber of the Argent Echo, Mithrin
The air in the chamber was still. Thick with the kind of silence that builds when too many minds speak at once, but none aloud.
Torchlight flickered against the etched stone walls, but tonight it was the long mirror above the dais that drew all glances: warded for truth, for presence, for deception. It had yet to show anything but the seated twelve.
High Chancellor Vaelgorin, gray-browed and dry of tone, tapped his ringed fingers on the basalt table. “We have heard both paths. Now we weigh.”
A rumble from the Thorned Loop’s end. Lord Vhaen Morshall, martial in pose and iron-collared, leaned forward. “You call that weighing? A half-pact written in the dust of old fears? We speak of a woman who vanishes without spell, who writes in blood, who silences one of our own with a look.”
“Drutharn acted without consent,” came the quiet reply of Councilor Shaleva of the Pale Thread, her voice like cooled glass. “And the Matron did not respond with death. She responded with message. That is mercy, not menace.”
“Then how kind of her,” Vhaen spat. “Shall we kneel and thank her for not unraveling our throats?”
A few chuckles. Not many.
Councilor Tareth Allian, youngest by decades, watched the tone shift like a hawk sensing wind. Sharp-eyed, perpetually quiet, she was still polishing her own perspective a rare trait among the old.
“We fear the tower because we do not know what sleeps in it,” Lord Vhaen pressed. “And we know something does. Yezed? A husk deity from the Deep? Perhaps. Perhaps something worse. But we cannot afford to do nothing. We must at least: ”
“: do not mistake lack of sword for lack of stance,” Shaleva interrupted softly. “The Matron of Yezed came here under banner of Accord. It is our overstep, not hers, that has blooded this air.”
“She is above the rules!” snapped Vhaen. “And she signs her name with a spider’s leg!”
“Better than the blood of a failed strike team,” murmured Councilor Leyo, half-asleep until now.
Tension rippled. No decision had been reached, but something was shifting: the Pale Thread’s calm was holding firmer than expected. Even among the Thorned Loop, a few eyes flicked toward Vhaen with reservation.
Then:
Tareth Allian stirred. Her eyes, sharp and moss-colored, narrowed.
“…There,” she said suddenly, her voice cutting across the chamber like a plucked string. She rose to her feet slowly, pointing: not at anyone: but to the floor beneath the vacant Speaker’s dais, where Shinazazi had once stood that month past.
A tiny form, the size of a small seed, now clung to the dais edge.
A jumping spider. Black, velvet-bodied, and bearing brilliant emerald eyes.
None saw it arrive.
None felt its presence.
No magic had flared, no entry had been breached. Yet here it was.
The chamber went still. All watched it, even as it perched unmoving. But those sharp enough, those old enough, noticed:
Its forelegs were raised in the posture of arcane reading.
Reading them.
And then, in perfect silence, it leapt: backwards: vanishing into shadow so subtly the wards did not flicker.
Silence again. No one spoke.
Even Vhaen Morshall did not reach for words. The echo of the spider’s presence, impossibly light, pressed down like the memory of falling.
Only Tareth, still standing, whispered what none wanted to say:
“She never left.”
The Second Appearance
Council Chambers of Mithrin, two days after the spider’s return
The Council sent no messenger this time.
Instead, a phrase from the Pact, dormant for centuries, was spoken in the sacred tongue of the Trine Accords. Not aloud: but through gesture, scent, and a single glyph burned into a silver dish of salt and blood, placed atop the dais.
They waited.
The glyph evaporated.
Then she arrived, as if she had always been there.
Shinazazi D’Shaverauk, Matron of Yezed, stood again within their chamber, her armor a sinuous weave of black spidersilk laced with eight opalescent, alien stones that pulsed like they knew they did not belong in the surface world of light. Swords gleamed at her hips. Daggers nested at her boots. Her movements were slow, composed, and yet each of them felt: again: as if she had chosen this moment to not kill them.
Her eyes settled on no one and on everyone.
She bowed. A tilt of the head. A predator’s respect.
“Invited. We have come.”
High Chancellor Vaelgorin, carefully measured, nodded. “We thank you for… restraint. And wish to understand: if you would permit it: your continued presence within the City of Mithrin. Not as a warning, but as… a discussion. Of accord.”
Shinazazi did not smile, but her voice, when it came, was cool silk:
“You have held the pact. That is not nothing. We are content.”
“I walk these stone veins not to unmake, but to observe. And now, perhaps, to speak.”
Her gaze slid across them, her presence heavier with every word.
“You fear me. But you do not understand me. That is not new. That is… ever so.”
She stepped once toward the mirror-glass wall.
“You call it the Weave. Magic. Life. Song. Flame. We call it the Web.”
“Everything is tethered. All things tied. Even the Old gods bled themselves into its silk. And now… they are gone. Or sleeping. Or eaten.”
Silence.
“We endure. We grow. That is all our kind have ever done.”
Lord Vhaen, uncharacteristically silent, fidgeted with his gauntlet.
“My purpose here, in your city, this ghost of a greater thing that once was, is to see whether the thread of Honor still runs through its stones. To test if the surface gods pact still has weight. If it breaks, we break nothing… but we will not be broken.”
She paused. Then walked once in a slow circle, not menacing, but coiling.
“There are Drow Houses who wish trade. Contact. Accord. Some call it desperation. Some, opportunity. It does not matter. For it to happen, the Accord must be tested.”
She turned sharply.
“And so, I came. With student. With silence. And your Lord struck.”
No fury. Just fact.
“Yet the council held him back. Bound the leash. For that: we are not displeased. Such tests of resolve are expected.”
Then she said it, plainly:
“So I ask: Who among you has the power to speak for this Nation? For this council? To treat with me: not as suitor or spy: but as peer?”
No one answered at first.
Because what she truly asked was:
Who dares step forward? Who dares bind their name to mine?
A decision must be made: publicly or privately. For now, the council is silent.
Only the faintest sound echoes in the chamber: the rustle of silk, or the imagined skitter of something unseen above the mirror glass.
In the hushed and twilight-wrought chamber of the Mithrin High Council, Lord Vhaen Morshall, scion of the Thorned Hoop and Keeper of the Midnight Ledgers, leaned forward, fingers steepled beneath his sharp nose. His voice, when it came, was cool iron: not the hammering wrath of Lord Drutharn, but something far more surgical. He had not spoken often in this council, but when he did, it was to strike like a blade slid between the ribs.
His distrust had been a quiet thing, but now it found breath.
“You speak of honor and pacts,” he said, narrowing his silver eyes at Shinazazi across the half-circle of moonlit stone. “Of ancient accords beyond our memory and this… Yezed. But what proof have we seen? Why should we believe in your Yezed at all? Is it even real?”
The chamber reacted with a ripple of tension.
A soft inhale from Councilor Serentha Loraen, Lady of the Valebough. She did not speak, but her fingers closed tightly on the curved arm of her chair. Lord Drutharn shifted slightly but, for once, said nothing: though a knowing gleam danced in his cynical eyes, as if daring this spider-woman to reveal too much. Councillor Uireth Ayne sat as still as ancient stone, but his gaze did not leave Shinazazi, waiting: no, bracing: for the answer.
For the first time since she had entered the chamber, the stillness around Shinazazi seemed… less passive.
She did not move. Did not blink. Her voice, when it came, was still soft. Still deliberate.
But something beneath it shifted. Something heard only by the soul.
And then, just as the air began to thrum with a pressure not wholly physical, the manifestation would begin.
But not yet.
For now, it was only the question that had been posed.
“Why should we believe in your Yezed?”
A foolish phrasing. Not hostile, but deeply, gravely ignorant.
And it would be the last question asked in that tone.
In the silence that followed, something unseen began to watch.
The council chamber stills, quiet enough to hear the ancient stone breathe. A question too probing, a slight too close to sacrilege.
Her expression does not change, but the air shimmers around her like heat over a kiln.
Then, just for a heartbeat, something manifests.
From behind her slim, armored silhouette, eight massive, ghostly legs unfurl in a slow, menacing arc. Ethereal and translucent, they gleam with otherworldly silklight: spindly, elegant, and horrifying. Each jointed limb ends in a razored point, twitching slightly as if sensing prey. They rise silently, arching like the limbs of a colossal, half-seen predator clinging to the veil between this world and another.
The air seems to bend around them, as if reality struggles to acknowledge their presence. For the sharp-eyed, they are a reflection of some incomprehensible form beyond: perhaps a projection of Yezed the Hoarder, perhaps something older. For others, they vanish the moment they are perceived, leaving only the burning sting of unformed thought, of wrongness that lingers in the mind’s eye.
A few councilors reflexively look away, blinking tears from stinging eyes. One coughs violently, as if silk had gathered in their throat.
Shinazazi does not move. She says nothing of the sudden apparition. Her hands remain calmly folded, her breath steady.
Then the legs fold back into the void: vanish: and the illusion of normalcy returns, though none truly believe it was ever an illusion.
A silence follows, thin and fragile, like old webbing waiting to collapse.
And then she speaks again, her tone smooth and cool as ever, as if daring someone to ask what they just witnessed.
No one does.
And though no one spoke aloud, the council knew:
The chamber was no longer solely theirs.
And anything said hereafter would be heard.
Councilor Uireth Ayne, Senior of the Old Court, did not gasp often.
In over four hundred years seated upon the High Seat of Autumn Judgment, he had endured the march of kingdoms, the silence of gods, and the twilight of empires. His voice had brokered treaties with deathless lords, and his patience had withstood the rise and fall of ten thousand lesser flames.
But when those legs unfurled: when the air twisted with the stink of truth too ancient for the tongue: he gasped.
It was not fear that struck him, but memory.
A buried ember flared to brilliance.
The breath caught in his throat as his mind was cast backward across the centuries, to when he was a young boy no taller than a sheathed glaive, nestled at the knees of his grandmother beneath the silver-leafed arbor of the Moon Court. She was blind in both eyes but saw more clearly than any Seer. Her hands were thin as paper and cold as river stone, and her voice: so soft it was wind: had whispered of the Ghostwidow.
“Ware her, child,” she had said, with breath that smelled of faded lavender and long-dead tomes.
“The Ghostwidow is not a queen nor a monster, not a demon nor a spirit: but all of these, and less.
She is judgment and vengeance and punishment eternal.
She who keeps the law from the shadows, whose fangs you do not see until your heart lies still.
You will see her one day: I have foreseen it.
And when you do… gods preserve you, child…
Honor the pact. Honor the crown. Or all will be dust and silence.”
That old, creaking voice returned with thunder as Uireth looked upon Shinazazi: those chitinous, ephemeral limbs retreating into the folds of unreality. The faintest shimmer where her form had briefly become something more. The composure. The restraint. The voice that never rose in wrath, yet bore within it the pressure of justice ancient and unrelenting.
And now he knew.
Shinazazi D’Shaverauk: she was the Ghostwidow.
Not merely a scion of power. She was blood of Yezed the Hoarder, the great Arachnid Judiciary, a living edict in silk and shadow. She was the daughter of the Endless Adjudicator, born of the Weave, guardian of unseen contracts and ancient compacts, hunter of oathbreakers in the deep places where light dared not go.
He said nothing.
Echoes in the Web
After Shinazazi’s Second Departure
“She is gone.”
The words came from Councilor Ithain, the youngest of them, though his tone carried neither wonder nor relief. He did not look up from where his hand hovered, still faintly trembling, above the spot where the pea-sized spider had appeared a fortnight before.
It was warm.
The chamber fell into the cold hush of deep stone. Their magic: scrying, detection, wards: none had flared. She had left them as she arrived, without permission.
Without answer.
Councilor Uireth Ayne, Senior of the Old Court (Age: 586)
Thought:
No… it cannot be…
Grandmother’s voice, clear as starlight in winter: “Ware the Ghostwidow, child. She is judgment. She is the end.”
I thought it myth. A warning tale. But those limbs: those legs: the scent of the Void that rode in with them…
Yezed’s spawn walks among us. The prophecy is fulfilled. The Ghostwidow has come to test our honor, our word. Gods preserve us if we break it.
His ancient heart hammered within his breast, not out of fear for his life: but for the city, the pact, the future.
Lord Vhaen Morshall, Thorned Hoop Patriarch (Age: 312)
Thought (fragmented):
What: ?
Illusion? No… not magic. Not arcane. This is something older. Something… inevitable.
I asked a question: gods, all I did was question! This isn’t diplomacy… this is judgment…
I’ve drawn her ire. Or worse… I’ve drawn his.
His jaw clenched, trying to remain composed. But something inside him: some hidden root: withered in recognition of his misstep.
Councilor Serentha Loraen, Voice of the Valebough (Age: 408)
Thought:
They move without moving. Those limbs… not real, yet there. Like whispers you can see.
She warned us. In her way, she warned us.
This is restraint? Then what is her wrath?
We cannot challenge this: only navigate it. There may be grace still. But not if we provoke again.
She averted her eyes subtly, unwilling to let them rest long upon the impossible limbs for fear they would remember her.
Lord Drutharn Tevenil, Lord of Embers and Salt (Age: 461)
Thought:
Well then… the spider bares her fangs.
Not all masks are lies. Some are warning signs, as teeth are to the tiger.
This one doesn’t lie, she waits. She measures. We are ants to her, and yet she gives us… ceremony. Respect.
This is a power that chooses restraint. That is the most dangerous kind.
And yet, he smiled thinly, not in mockery, but in respect for a predator revealed.
High Magus Teyl Arenseth, Magi Representative (Age: 266)
Thought:
The weave trembles around her: my gods, she doesn’t draw from it… she precedes it.
This is not sorcery. Not psionics. Not divine. This is… wrong. Or right, in the way of death and birth.
Yezed is real. I would give a year of my life to study her: and a finger not to be studied in return.
His fingers flexed reflexively, as though to cast a spell: but he knew no ward would avail him here.
Lady Aeliwen Rhuviel, Chronicler of the Dawn Archives (Age: 359)
Thought:
This will stain the records, no matter how delicately I phrase it. There is no poetry for this kind of terror.
Is this what the old tongues called a divine aspect? Or something worse: less divine, more inevitable?
If I write her name, will she know? Gods help me, I think she would.
The Pact of Ash and Crown must not be forgotten. I will find the original.
Her quill hand itched, not with inspiration: but dread.
Councillor Faeram Denlaen, Agrarian Voice, Steward of the Harvest Rings (Age: 226)
Thought:
What does she want with us? What could a being like that want with fields, and grain, and orchard-tenders?
Why am I even here? I’m no judge of prophecy. I’m a farmer’s son.
But she looked at me. She saw me. That’s what terrifies me most.
He swallowed, trying to still the trembling in his hands hidden beneath the folds of his robe.
Lord Caelthon Miravor, Minister of Trade Accords (Age: 417)
Thought:
This was supposed to be a negotiation. A matter of coin, tariffs, goods.
But now we trade in fear, in secrets, in legacies that linger in the walls like smoke.
Still… if we are wise, we can profit. Even in the shadow of such power. Especially there.
If we survive it.
He kept his gaze low, feigning attention to parchment, while his mind raced with calculations: not just of coin, but of consequence.
Thaliar Vemelune, Representative of the Weavers’ Guild (Age: 191, Youngest Member)
Thought:
Spiders. Of course. I saw the one before: on the sill, vanishing where she had vanished. No one else noticed.
She isn’t here. She’s everywhere.
*And those legs… spirits, they weren’t just illusions. They made the air bend. They scratched at my thoughts.
I believe in her. I believe in whatever she is. And I think I believe we must listen.
Despite her youth, his expression stayed calm: though his heartbeat was hammering like a festival drum.
Councillor Velastra Inthorn, Master of Civic Rites (Age: 372)
Thought:
This presence defies ritual. Defies name. Yet, she walks our chamber, speaks in turn, and honors our protocol.
That must count for something…
But what god would recognize such a thing as holy? No. Not holy. Sanctioned. That’s the word. Sanctioned by silence. By blood. By pact.
And we are bound already, aren’t we? Bound long ago.
She clasped her ceremonial rod more tightly, its lacquered wood suddenly seeming flimsy in the wake of ancient forces awakened.
In every mind, the question bloomed like a fungal spore:
Had they just been warned: or spared?
The spider’s limbs were gone. Shinazazi’s mask was returned.
But none would ever quite see her the same again.
Only when the chamber emptied and the last councilor’s footsteps had faded into the quiet marble did Uireth summon those few he trusted: only three, one from each remaining Crowned House.
In a sealed scriptorium beneath the High Archives, lit only by blue witchlights and bound in layers of silence-warding, Uireth Ayne spoke at last:
“I have seen the Ghostwidow.
The daughter of the Thread Severer walks among us.
She is the pact.
She is the price.
From this day, we honor the Accord of Ash and Crown in word, deed, and thought.
Let no one act alone. Let no voice speak in anger.
For if we breach it, Yezed will not come.
They will.”
And they believed him.
For in that dim room beneath the ancient stones, their skin still crawled with the memory of something watching.
“You speak of justice and duty,” he said, narrowing his silver eyes at Shinazazi across the half-circle of moonlit stone. “Of ancient compacts and this… Yezed. But what proof have we seen? Why should we believe in your Yezed at all? Is it even real?”
The chamber reacted with a ripple of tension.
A soft inhale from Councilor Serentha Loraen, Lady of the Valebough. She did not speak, but her fingers closed tightly on the curved arm of her chair. Lord Drutharn shifted slightly but, for once, said nothing: though a knowing gleam danced in his cynical eyes, as if daring this spider-woman to reveal too much. Councillor Uireth Ayne sat as still as ancient stone, but his gaze did not leave Shinazazi, waiting: no, bracing: for the answer.
For the first time since she had entered the chamber, the stillness around Shinazazi seemed… less passive.
She did not move. Did not blink. Her voice, when it came, was still soft. Still deliberate.
But something beneath it shifted. Something heard only by the soul.
And then: just as the air began to thrum with a pressure not wholly physical: the manifestation would begin.
But not yet.
For now, it was only the question that had been posed.
“Why should we believe in your Yezed?”
A foolish phrasing. Not hostile: but deeply, gravely ignorant.
And it would be the last question asked in that tone.
In the silence that followed, something unseen began to watch.
Councilor Uireth Ayne, Senior of the Old Court (Age: 586)
Thought:
No… it cannot be…
Grandmother’s voice, clear as starlight in winter: “Ware the Ghostwidow, child. She is judgment. She is the end.”
I thought it myth. A warning tale. But those limbs: those legs: the scent of the Void that rode in with them…
Yezed’s spawn walks among us. The prophecy is fulfilled. The Ghostwidow has come to test our honor, our word. Gods preserve us if we break it.
His ancient heart hammered within his breast, not out of fear for his life: but for the city, the pact, the future.
Lord Vhaen Morshall, Thorned Hoop Patriarch (Age: 312)
Thought (fragmented):
What: ?
Illusion? No… not magic. Not arcane. This is something older. Something… inevitable.
I asked a question: gods, all I did was question! This isn’t diplomacy… this is judgment…
I’ve drawn her ire. Or worse… I’ve drawn his.
His jaw clenched, trying to remain composed. But something inside him: some hidden root: withered in recognition of his misstep.
Councilor Serentha Loraen, Voice of the Valebough (Age: 408)
Thought:
They move without moving. Those limbs… not real, yet there. Like whispers you can see.
She warned us. In her way, she warned us.
This is restraint? Then what is her wrath?
We cannot challenge this: only navigate it. There may be grace still. But not if we provoke again.
She averted her eyes subtly, unwilling to let them rest long upon the impossible limbs for fear they would remember her.
Lord Drutharn Tevenil, Lord of Embers and Salt (Age: 461)
Thought:
Well then… the spider bares her fangs.
Not all masks are lies. Some are warning signs, as teeth are to the tiger.
This one doesn’t lie: she waits. She measures. We are ants to her, and yet she gives us… ceremony. Respect.
This is a power that chooses restraint. That is the most dangerous kind.
And yet, he smiled thinly: not in mockery, but in respect for a predator revealed.
High Magus Teyl Arenseth, Magi Representative (Age: 266)
Thought:
The weave trembles around her: my gods, she doesn’t draw from it… she precedes it.
This is not sorcery. Not psionics. Not divine. This is… wrong. Or right, in the way of death and birth.
Yezed is real. And so is the Ghostwidow. I would give a year of my life to study her: and a finger not to be studied in return.
His fingers flexed reflexively, as though to cast a spell: but he knew no ward would avail him here.
Each councilor sat still outwardly, as decorum and pride demanded. But within? Storms of understanding, awe, and terror had been born in the space of a heartbeat.
They had seen something true.
And truth, as ever, was the most dangerous thing of all.
Lady Aeliwen Rhuviel, Chronicler of the Dawn Archives (Age: 359)
Thought:
This will stain the records, no matter how delicately I phrase it. There is no poetry for this kind of terror.
Is this what the old tongues called a divine aspect? Or something worse: less divine, more inevitable?
If I write her name, will she know? Gods help me, I think she would.
The Pact of Ash and Crown must not be forgotten. I will find the original.
Her quill hand itched, not with inspiration: but dread.
Councillor Faeram Denlaen, Agrarian Voice, Steward of the Harvest Rings (Age: 226)
Thought:
What does she want with us? What could a being like that want with fields, and grain, and orchard-tenders?
Why am I even here? I’m no judge of prophecy or ghost-widows. I’m a farmer’s son.
But she looked at me. She saw me. That’s what terrifies me most.
He swallowed, trying to still the trembling in his hands hidden beneath the folds of his robe.
Lord Caelthon Miravor, Minister of Trade Accords (Age: 417)
Thought:
This was supposed to be a negotiation. A matter of coin, tariffs, goods.
But now we trade in fear, in secrets, in god-blooded legacies that linger in the walls like smoke.
Still… if we are wise, we can profit. Even in the shadow of such power. Especially there.
If we survive it.
He kept his gaze low, feigning attention to parchment, while his mind raced with calculations: not just of coin, but of consequence.
Thaliar Vemelune, Representative of the Weavers’ Guild (Age: 191, Youngest Member)
Thought:
Spiders. Of course. I saw the one before: on the sill, vanishing where she had vanished. No one else noticed.
She isn’t here. She’s everywhere.
*And those legs… spirits, they weren’t just illusions. They made the air bend. They scratched at my thoughts.
I believe in her. I believe in whatever she is. And I think I believe we must listen.
Despite her youth, her expression stayed calm: though her heartbeat was hammering like a festival drum.
Councillor Velastra Inthorn, Master of Civic Rites (Age: 372)
Thought:
This presence defies ritual. Defies name. Yet, she walks our chamber, speaks in turn, and honors our protocol.
That must count for something…
But what god would recognize such a thing as holy? No. Not holy. Sanctioned. That’s the word. Sanctioned by silence. By blood. By pact.
And we are bound already, aren’t we? Bound long ago.
She clasped her ceremonial rod more tightly, its lacquered wood suddenly seeming flimsy in the wake of ancient forces awakened.
In every mind, the question bloomed like a fungal spore:
Had they just been warned: or spared?
The spider’s limbs were gone. Shinazazi’s mask was returned.
But none would ever quite see her the same again.
Shinazazi’s Final Words in the Chamber
There was no trace of the fury that had momentarily twisted the very air. No echo of the spider-limbs, no hint of strain upon her voice. She stood as she always had: precise, poised, and unreadable.
“We await the answer of the council,” she said, her tone level and judicial, as though presiding from a bench long established. “The old ways dictate one of righteous mantle must treat: one who speaks not only for mortals, but for the powers beyond. One capable of forging binding pact, as was done before. As is done now.”
“Speak when you are ready to treat. We will hear.”
A pause, so brief it might have been a blink in the breath of time.
“We hear everything.”
And then she vanished.
Not in a flourish. Not in a shimmer.
Just gone: like the breath before sleep.
The Council’s Reaction
For several long moments, no one moved. The chamber held its breath.
The old lanterns flickered, not from breeze but from pressure: like something immense had just uncoiled and slipped away into the walls.
Councillor Thaliar Vemelune flinched and drew in a breath as though surfacing from water. She reached to steady her teacup, only to find it shattered, the porcelain broken silently in her grasp.
Uireth Ayne, Senior of the Old Court, leaned back with trembling dignity. His breath came shallow, but his eyes were fixed on nothing: or rather, on a thought he had not dared confront in centuries:
The Ghostwidow walks among us. Her words are law… and she hears our silence, too.
Lord Drutharn, once so bold in defiance, now spoke not at all. He gazed into the space she had occupied, his lips parted but unspeaking, like a man who had glimpsed something older than oaths.
Lady Velastra Inthorn whispered an automatic prayer: but caught herself mid-syllable, as if unsure which god would be listening now.
A subtle sound: Lord Caelthon Miravor closing his ledger. Slowly. Carefully. As if afraid the sound might carry.
“We hear everything.” Gods. Was that a courtesy… or a warning?
A parchment slid from the trembling fingers of Councillor Faeram, drifting to the floor with a sound that suddenly felt too loud.
No one picked it up.
Aeliwen Rhuviel alone began to write, her hand calm, though her eyes shone wide:
“Thus came the herald of pact and shadow, who bore no chain, yet bound us all. We spoke not, yet she heard. And hearing, waits.”
At last, the High Seat remained vacant. All eyes fell to it.
No one dared sit there.
And though no one spoke aloud, the council knew:
The chamber was no longer solely theirs.
And anything said hereafter would be heard.
Synopsis: The Council and the Ghostwidow
The ancient city-nation of Mithrin, long a center of wealth, magic, and political influence, now finds itself in the shadow of something it does not fully understand.
Shinazazi D’Shaverauk, Matron of Yelthazed: known in old whispers as the Ghostwidow: has established herself within the city under the protection of the Pact of Ash and Crown, an ancient agreement forged between the surface elves and the Drow of the deep places. She operates from her tower, a place none dare breach after several failed and quietly erased attempts, protected by ancient magic and the weight of her name.
Despite past provocations, Shinazazi has maintained a calculated, cool restraint, extending no open threat: yet making it clear that she acts not only as a matron or merchant, but as the judicial arm of Yezed the Hoarder, the arachnid god-entity who enforces justice and balance among the Drow Houses. She is no mere emissary; she is divine executor and keeper of the compact.
Through moments both subtle and terrifying: displays of ghostly spider limbs, dream visitations, and impossible infiltrations: she has communicated to the council one unwavering truth:
She, and the power she serves, hear everything. And they wait.
Now, at the climax of this diplomatic tension, Shinazazi has issued a simple, disarming statement:
She invites the council to speak when they are ready. The old ways dictate that only one of righteous mantle: a representative not just of the mortal city, but one who carries the spiritual or political weight to forge a binding pact recognized by powers beyond: may treat with her.
This is no ordinary trade negotiation. It is an opportunity (or burden) to reshape relations between the surface world and the deep: possibly the first overture in a thousand years. But it comes at the cost of terrifying stakes. For the wrong word, the wrong emissary, or the wrong breach of trust could invoke consequences reaching far beyond Mithrin’s borders.
Council’s Current Challenge:
Designate a spokesperson or emissary worthy of negotiating a new trade pact with Shinazazi: one that is recognized by higher powers.
Determine whether this offer is genuine opportunity, divine test, or subtle trap.
Maintain internal unity, as factions (such as the cautious Pale Thread and the hawkish Thorned Loop) divide over how to proceed.
Hold to the terms of the Pact of Ash and Crown, for breaking it risks inviting the punishment of Yezed itself.
The council chamber stands in uneasy silence, knowing that the next words spoken will not be made only for the council’s ears: but for the ancient powers watching behind the Ghostwidow’s calm gaze.
Council Debate: Who Can Speak for Mithrin?
Core Problem:
The old accords specify that only one of righteous mantle: someone bearing recognized authority both in mortal law and among the higher powers: can treat with an emissary like Shinazazi. But the current council is composed of:
- diplomats,
- bureaucrats,
- arcanists,
- scholars,
- and secular lords.
They are highly competent but lack any direct divine affiliation, a reality that quietly unnerves them.
This forces the council into a tense debate: do they choose one of their own and risk being dismissed by Shinazazi, or reach beyond the chamber to a new voice who can carry the mantle?
Major Factions & Their Arguments
The Pale Thread (Cautious Majority)
Position: Choose a senior councilor, likely High Chancellor Vaelgorin or Archmagister Ullenniir, and bolster them with ritual backing (through symbolic gestures, relics, or temporary clerical support).
Reasoning: They believe Shinazazi respects the city’s hierarchy and that it is the mantle of the city that matters: not personal divinity.
Candidate Ideas:
Vaelgorin : Oldest, most senior, represents tradition and the continuity of Mithrin’s rule.
Ullenniir : The arcane authority, capable of grasping the magical and planar layers of the negotiation.
Risk: Without explicit religious standing, they fear the emissary may be seen as insufficient.
The Thorned Loop (Aggressive Minority)
Position: Appoint someone outside the council, preferably a known warleader, champion, or even a half-retired paladin or wandering priest of the old gods.
Reasoning: They believe Shinazazi’s terms are deliberate traps, designed to humiliate or test them: and that only someone with divine ties or battle-forged righteousness can match her authority.
Candidate Ideas:
Lord Vhaen Morshall (reluctantly) : Though not divine, he argues that martial authority and sheer presence can substitute for divine mantle.
External Option: Seek out a known blessed knight or priest from the outer provinces, even if it embarrasses the council to admit their own insufficiency.
Risk: Bringing in an outsider introduces political complications, possibly undermining the council’s authority long-term.
Neutral Observers (The Quiet Voices)
Position: Delay and investigate further; perhaps Shinazazi’s mention of “righteous mantle” refers not to religious standing but to moral authority or some ancient symbolic role forgotten in modern governance.
Reasoning: They point to the fact that Shinazazi has already acknowledged the council’s restraint and suggests she may be looking for someone whose actions reflect righteousness, not just title.
Candidate Idea:
Councilor Uireth Ayne : Despite his age and frailty, he holds deep memory of the old ways and carries a legacy that may resonate in ancient eyes.
Risk: Waiting too long or misinterpreting the requirement could be seen as disrespectful: or worse, cowardice.
Unspoken Tension
Beneath all of this is a gnawing fear:
Is Shinazazi simply testing the council’s honor?
Or is she scouting to see if Mithrin even remembers how to hold divine accord?
If they answer poorly, they risk more than embarrassment: they risk awakening consequences that sleep just beneath the surface of their proud, fading city.
Summary:
The council must decide:
Do they appoint a senior councilor and risk insufficient divine weight?
Do they bring in an outsider tied to divine or righteous tradition?
Or do they wait and probe for the true meaning of Shinazazi’s demand, hoping time favors caution?
Roakland Darkarrow
Type: Renowned Ranger
Deity: Rillifane Rallathil (NG) : The Leaflord, God of Nature, Woodlands, Survival
Background: Roakland is a legendary tracker and forest warden, long allied with the wild gods and protectors of the old woods. Though not politically tied, his reputation as a nature’s champion carries weight even among the highest elves. Known for his pragmatic, unshakable temperament, he is respected by druids, rangers, and the Green Circles alike.
Strength: Embodies the enduring wild pact and holds sway with the forces of nature; might appeal to Shinazazi’s sense of primal law.
Sir Elarion Duskwind
Type: High Paladin
Deity: Corellon Larethian (CG) : The Protector, God of Art, Magic, Beauty, and Elves
Background: Once a battle-leader in the War of the Broken Spears, Elarion now serves as the chief paladin of Corellon’s faith, representing elven creativity, defense, and nobility. Charismatic, bold, and righteous, he is renowned for his refusal to bow to despair or compromise.
Strength: Represents the creative, protective heart of elvendom; his presence would symbolize the deep cultural core Shinazazi challenges.
Naevys Moonfen
Type: Archdruid
Deity: Shevarash (CN) : The Black Archer, God of Vengeance, Loss, and Retribution
Background: Naevys is a striking figure: a druid of the twilight places, a survivor of border wars, and a student of vengeance-rites. Though not a paladin, she channels Shevarash’s fierce, unyielding drive to punish betrayal and defend the elven people. Known for her severe presence and cryptic wisdom.
Strength: Offers an edge of retributive justice, perhaps resonating with Shinazazi’s own judicial stance; could speak to shared values of vengeance and duty.
Elyndor Velasiel
Type: High Cleric
Deity: Sehanine Moonbow (CG) : Goddess of Mysteries, Dreams, Death, and the Moon
Background: Elyndor is the spiritual head of the moon temples, a soft-spoken but commanding presence in religious matters. As a dreamseer and guide of souls, they are respected across faiths and feared slightly for their eerie calm and ability to read omens.
Strength: Could appeal directly to the divine and dreamlike aspects of Shinazazi’s presence; might understand her dream-manifestations better than most.
Valmion Starhelm
Type: Paladin and Holy Tactician
Deity: Labelas Enoreth (NG) : God of Time, Longevity, History, and Patience
Background: Valmion is an elder among paladins, patient and wise, known for his measured approach and deep knowledge of both mortal and divine history. He holds the Starhelm, a relic said to let him perceive the long threads of fate.
Strength: Represents timeless patience and the careful guardianship of oaths and time itself; could speak with measured authority on matters of pact and continuity.
Shaelyra Tidewhisper
Type: Coastal Druid, Keeper of Maritime Shrines
Deity: Deep Sashelas (CG) : God of Sea Elves, Oceans, Knowledge, and Creation
Background: Shaelyra is the leading voice among the sea-watchers and coastal druids, carrying the authority of the tides and sea-changes. She is known for her unpredictability but also for a keen insight into shifting power balances.
Strength: Could bring a fluid, adaptive perspective to negotiations, appealing to change and creation.
Council Considerations
Roakland Darkarrow is highly respected and deeply tied to nature’s divine order.
Sir Elarion or Valmion Starhelm would bring formal paladin authority, though their more militant ties might cause tension.
Naevys Moonfen or Elyndor Velasiel would offer more esoteric, mystical weight: perhaps aligning better with Shinazazi’s eerie, divine-judicial presence.
Council Debate: Choosing the Emissary
The council chamber was heavy with a brittle, suffocating silence.
At last, High Chancellor Vaelgorin broke it, his voice dry:
“We cannot send ourselves. That much is clear.”
A soft murmur rippled through the chamber.
“Shinazazi has invoked not only the old accords, but the higher law,” he continued. “This is not a negotiation of coin or craft. It is a test of binding principle.”
Archmagister Ullenniir folded his hands, pale and still.
“We require someone not merely righteous, but lawful. Someone who understands duty: not passion, not vengeance, not ambition.”
Lord Vhaen Morshall scowled but said nothing. Even he, the sharpest blade among them, knew this was no time to argue.
The Proposed Names
Roakland Darkarrow was the first name placed on the table.
“He is respected,” said Councilor Cearn. “His ties to the Leaflord run deep. He holds the old pacts of nature with sacred precision.”
Ullenniir shook his head slightly.
“Nature bends, adapts, flows. The Ghostwidow does not. She is law: not wild balance.”
Sir Elarion Duskwind was next.
“The high paladin of Corellon,” offered Councilor Maldris. “Brave, noble, unwavering.”
“But not lawful,” murmured Uireth Ayne, voice thin with age. “Corellon Larethian is passion and art. The Ghostwidow is judgment.”
Naevys Moonfen was raised.
“A servant of Shevarash,” said Lady Velastra. “If we are to meet law with edge, her fierce adherence to retribution: ”
“Too chaotic,” Vaelgorin interjected quietly. “Shevarash is vengeance. And vengeance… is unpredictable.”
Elyndor Velasiel was named.
“Sehanine’s dreamseer,” said Thaliar Vemelune. “She walks between life and death, mystery and truth.”
“But mystery is not law,” said Uireth softly.
Valmion Starhelm’s name settled over the table last.
The chamber stilled.
“Valmion,” said Uireth, leaning slightly forward, “knows patience. Knows history. Knows the weight of oaths: not as suggestions, but as truths. Labelas Enoreth is not chaos, nor whim, but time itself. Law, enduring.”
“And Valmion himself is lawful to the marrow,” added Archmagister Ullenniir. “Measured, patient, clear-eyed. He speaks carefully, acts deliberately. And he knows what it means to treat with the divine.”
Council Fracture
The factions were not yet agreed.
The Pale Thread leaned toward Valmion Starhelm, valuing his lawful, patient nature.
The Thorned Loop preferred Sir Elarion Duskwind, wanting a bold, visible paladin figure to demonstrate strength.
The neutral voices admired Roakland Darkarrow’s quiet renown, seeing in him a bridge between ancient wild pacts and civilized law.
But the weight of the moment pressed them.
Shinazazi, the Ghostwidow, had made it clear:
“We hear everything.”
Every hesitation. Every misstep. Every false promise.
If they chose wrong: not merely a strong or holy representative, but one lacking true understanding of Law as ancient, absolute force: they risked offending a power older than the gods they worshipped.
Uireth’s Final Counsel (Behind Closed Doors)
Later that night, in private chambers lit only by witchlight, Uireth Ayne spoke to Vaelgorin and Ullenniir:
“You must understand: this is not about strength. Not about charm. Not about magic.
It is about law. And the Ghostwidow is its vessel.
We must send someone who will not flatter, or defy, or dance with her.
We must send someone who will bind themselves.”
Council Chamber : Private Strategy Discussion Before the Final Vote
The tall windows were shuttered, the moonlight shut out. The air smelled of old parchment, wax, and anxiety.
High Chancellor Vaelgorin pressed his fingers together, eyes heavy with centuries of measured decision.
“We stand before a wall,” he murmured. “Not one of strength, but of fit. None of our offered names match what she demands.”
Archmagister Ullenniir nodded gravely.
“We seek righteous mantle: but we send warriors of passion, not guardians of law. The Ghostwidow is no creature of storm or inspiration. She is the keeper of chains.”
Uireth Ayne, elder of the Old Court, leaned forward slightly, his voice like cracked glass.
“Then we must widen the search.”
Silence settled briefly.
“There is… another,” he continued. “A path we have not walked in long centuries.”
The room shifted, eyes sharpening.
“We must seek among those who serve Vandria Gilmadrith.”
Who Is Vandria Gilmadrith?
The War-Watcher, Guardian of the Bound Word, goddess of oaths, watchfulness, vigilance, and the keeping of promises.
Lawful Neutral, untouched by chaos or emotion: representing pure duty, even above kindness or cruelty.
Rarely worshipped outside of the most devout soldiers, judges, or ritual guardians.
Revered in ancient times among elven battle-clerics, oathsworn defenders, and sacred wardens.
Council Reactions
Councilor Maldris:
“Vandria? I thought no one still kept her altars in Mithrin.”
Ullenniir (softly):
“Some do. In the outer provinces. In old fortresses, old shrines. Quiet watchers who tend the boundaries between war and peace.”
Vaelgorin:
“Then we must send for them.”
The Implication
They realized this was no longer just a diplomatic matter.
They were admitting, in quiet consensus, that none of them carried the mantle Mithrin needed now: not the Paladins of Corellon, not the dreamseers of Sehanine, not the rangers or druids or even the archmages.
They needed one who embodies the spirit of oath and duty itself.
Council Resolution
“We will issue a summons,” Vaelgorin declared, voice gaining weight. “To the temples and fortresses. To any shrine, however small, that still keeps her sigil.”
“We seek one bound not to glory nor ambition,” Uireth added, voice distant, “but to the sacred enforcement of accord.”
“And when we find them?” whispered Councilor Thaliar, wide-eyed.
“Then,” said Ullenniir softly, “they will stand before the Ghostwidow…
And we will see if they can bind a thread between our world and hers.”
Identified Candidates: Adherents of Vandria Gilmadrith
After a frantic, near-sleepless night of inquiries, messengers, and magical missives, the council’s farthest networks return with three names : three individuals who have lived in quiet oathbound service, clinging to the almost-forgotten faith of Vandria, Guardian of the Bound Word.
Each is a figure of strict conviction, bound by law and watchfulness rather than passion or glory. But each comes from a very different path.
Maelis Trueshield
Race: Elf (Highborn)
Role: Veteran Battle-Cleric of Vandria, Warden of the Fortress of Harthalan
Age: ~310
Demeanor: Stern, unflinching, almost unyielding. Maelis speaks in clipped, precise phrases, with little tolerance for ambiguity. She has served as warden over oaths of surrender, wartime ceasefires, and ancient treaties. Revered by soldiers; feared by politicians.
Strengths: Deep ritual knowledge, military discipline, unwavering moral clarity.
Weakness: Little flexibility; she is lawful to the letter.
Corad Helthorn
Race: Half-Elf
Role: Retired Oathsworn Captain, Keeper of the Black Ledger (an archive of broken oaths and pardoned treacheries)
Age: ~67 (but grizzled, battle-worn, and spiritually fierce)
Demeanor: Grim, quiet, with the piercing stare of one who has buried both friends and enemies. Corad has personally hunted oathbreakers, war criminals, and pact violators across decades. His name is a curse among traitors.
Strengths: Deep personal experience in enforcing and negotiating sacred pacts; carries the scars of his service as a badge.
Weakness: Haunted by past failures; carries the weight of many judgment calls.
Velassa Drelnir
Race: Wood Elf
Role: Wandering Oathbinder, known only in scattered temple circles
Age: ~145
Demeanor: Calm, watchful, quiet to the point of unsettling. Velassa roams between ancient shrines, acting as a living reminder of promises made long ago. Where disputes over old boundaries or pledges arise, she appears, mediates, and vanishes again.
Strengths: Neutral, unemotional, sharp as a blade in parsing language and intent.
Weakness: Elusive; even the temples find her difficult to track, and she may be reluctant to take on so visible a role.
Council Assembly: Explaining the Summons
High Chancellor Vaelgorin gathered the council, the chamber somber and tense.
“We have reached beyond the city,” he intoned, his voice carrying the gravity of centuries. “We have sought those who live not by whim or ambition, but by law : ancient law.”
Archmagister Ullenniir nodded.
“We need a representative not only trusted by mortals, but by powers. By those who watch the binding of oaths from the shadows.”
Uireth Ayne, trembling slightly but clear in purpose, added:
“We seek one who venerates Vandria Gilmadrith : the Watcher, the Enforcer, the Guardian of Pact and Duty.”
The council fell silent as the names were read.
“Maelis Trueshield,” Vaelgorin listed first. “A soldier’s heart, a warden of wartime law.”
“Corad Helthorn : the ledger-keeper, the hunter of oathbreakers.”
“And Velassa Drelnir, the unseen mediator, the living witness to promises.”
Explaining the Need
“They must understand,” Vaelgorin continued, “that this is no mere diplomatic task. To treat with the Ghostwidow is to stand before something older than kingdom or crown. She represents law not as we know it, but as it is : raw, absolute, and divine.”
Maldris spoke softly:
“They may not survive it.”
Thaliar murmured:
“They may not return.”
The Council’s Own Volunteers?
A heavy question hung in the air.
Would any among us go?
A few eyes turned : briefly : toward Uireth Ayne, the ancient, who alone understood the weight of the prophecy.
But Uireth shook his head faintly, his hand resting on the table.
“My part is to guide, not to stand.”
Lord Drutharn, despite his bluster, remained silent, his earlier defiance extinguished.
Lord Vhaen Morshall crossed his arms, eyes cold but resolute.
“We must choose carefully,” he said. “Send one who embodies what she respects.”
Final Words
Vaelgorin’s voice dropped.
“When they arrive, we will explain what we ask. They must know:
To stand before Shinazazi is to be measured not by strength, nor wit, nor charm,
but by whether they can bind a pact that will hold in the eyes of ancient judgment.”
A long silence followed.
“We choose carefully, or we invite ruin.”
Council Chamber, Mithrin : The Open Interview
The silver-paneled doors of the High Council stood open, though the audience beyond was kept back by guards and whispering magi.
Inside the chamber, beneath the high banners of Mithrin’s ancient line, three figures were led to stand before the crescent table of seats.
Maelis Trueshield, battle-cleric, in formal oath-plate, her tabard bearing Vandria’s sigil: crossed blades over a bound circle.
Corad Helthorn, grizzled, in a long black coat with iron-stamped gauntlets, his black ledger strapped at his hip.
Velassa Drelnir, quiet, clothed simply in travel robes, her dark green eyes heavy with knowing.
They stood as the bell tolled three times.
At the center of the crescent, High Chancellor Vaelgorin rose.
The Opening Statement
“You stand summoned before the Council of Mithrin,” Vaelgorin intoned, his voice old but unshaken. “Not for war, nor trial, nor coronation : but for something unseen in the memory of this chamber.”
The air hung thick with the smell of candle smoke and quiet fear.
“We have called upon you, rare servants of Vandria Gilmadrith, because the nation faces a challenge of binding law : not the law of treaty or coin, but of ancient accord, bound in divine force.”
He looked at each in turn.
“You are asked not to act as soldier or scribe, but as Emissary. To stand before Shinazazi D’Shaverauk, the Ghostwidow, herald of Yezed the Hoarder, keeper of law beneath the earth.”
The Risks, Stated Plainly
Archmagister Ullenniir rose next.
“Understand what you face:
We know not what she seeks. She has given no demands, no lists, no terms. Only the statement that the ‘old ways’ demand one who can speak for both mortals and powers : one who can bind a pact that will hold.”
His voice lowered.
“What you agree to will hold not just yourselves, nor even the council, but the entire nation of Mithrin, under the eyes of both pantheons : surface and underdark.”
What the Nation Offers
Councilor Maldris spoke carefully.
“We are prepared to open limited trade with the Houses of the Underdark, under strict terms:
: No traffic in surface-slaves or captives.
: No trade in sacrilegious relics or items abhorrent to surface laws.
: No establishment of territorial claims aboveground by underdark Houses.
: No interference in surface governance or law.”
He paused, visibly tense.
“But we also know… their ways may differ. They may offer things taboo to us. They may ask for terms difficult to swallow. You must know, before you stand before her, that to speak carelessly may doom us.”
The Candidate Challenge
Uireth Ayne, voice thin but unwavering, lifted his head.
“You must understand what is offered : and what is given. The pact will not merely be a contract of parchment, but one woven through the Weave, the Web, the very fabric of the old divine order.”
His eyes gleamed faintly.
“You will not only be an emissary. You will be a thread woven into the loom of the old pacts.”
He looked at each of them, sharp and clear.
“Are you willing?”
Candidate Responses (Short Character Moments)
Maelis Trueshield stepped forward first.
“I am oathbound,” she said simply. “I will hold the line. I will not waver.”
Her face was stern, iron set; but some worried she might apply too rigid a blade to the nuance required.
Corad Helthorn gave a grim smile.
“I have chased oathbreakers across three provinces. I know how the line between truth and survival blurs. I can hold it.”
His eyes were old, tired, but still sharp.
Velassa Drelnir tilted her head.
“I know the old songs,” she murmured softly. “I know the weight of an unspoken word. I will walk where you send me : if you are prepared for what I may bring back.”
Her voice was unsettlingly calm, as if she already saw something they could not.
Council Closing Words
Vaelgorin raised his hand.
“We will now deliberate. Know that no matter who we choose, you stand as pillars of this nation. Should you accept, you do so not for yourself, but for all who walk these lands.”
He let the words hang.
“None would have expected such a thing : a binding between surface and underdark, between the old gods and the deep powers. But here we are.”
A long silence followed.
“We will choose carefully.”
Scene One: The Candidates’ Conversation
In a side chamber lined with pale marble and rune-etched sconces, the three candidates sat apart, silent for some time after the formal interviews.
Finally, it was Corad Helthorn who spoke first, his voice low and sandpapery.
“Never thought I’d see the day the council calls us out of shadow to treat with… that.”
He rubbed the scar on his jaw.
“I’ve hunted oathbreakers, sure. But she’s no mere breaker. She’s the blade waiting for you to break.”
Maelis Trueshield frowned sharply.
“Words like that don’t help. Duty is duty. We are called to stand, and we will stand.
This is no different than standing at the border fort or the temple gate.”
Velassa Drelnir, seated cross-legged on a bench, spoke only after a long silence.
“It’s very different, Maelis. This is no border dispute. This is a pact between realms, between pantheons.
Between ways of thinking we have never lived inside. You can’t just stand tall and swing a sword at it.”
Maelis’s eyes narrowed.
“I don’t swing without cause.”
Velassa gave her a slow, unsettling look.
“I know. But cause may look different where she comes from.”
Corad let out a quiet breath.
“We’re all bound to duty. But here, duty is the knife’s edge. Lean too far, and you cut the wrong side.”
They fell silent again, each retreating inward.
Velassa watched the door.
Maelis pressed her gloved hands together in prayer.
Corad rested his hands on his black ledger, his eyes distant.
Scene Two: Council Deliberations and Vote
In the main chamber, the council gathered behind closed doors.
High Chancellor Vaelgorin began.
“We have three.
All worthy.
All dangerous in different ways.”
Archmagister Ullenniir spoke softly.
“Maelis Trueshield: pure discipline. She will hold to duty, but may break under flexibility. She may refuse to bend when bending is survival.”
Councilor Maldris nodded.
“Corad Helthorn: hard-edged, experienced. Knows the weight of compromise. But… haunted. Carries many burdens. May hesitate when we need surety.”
Uireth Ayne lifted his thin voice.
“Velassa Drelnir: the most enigmatic. Unflinching, but subtle. Sees nuance. But she is unpredictable to us, even as she understands the unpredictable.”
They circled the matter slowly.
“We do not need the strongest,” said Vaelgorin.
“We need the one who understands law : not only in the letter, but in the spirit. One who can read a contract spun from silk and shadow.”
There were murmurs.
Then the vote was called.
The Vote
Each councilor placed their voice.
Maelis: strong, loyal : but too rigid.
Corad: experienced, tempered : but worn, perhaps too worn.
Velassa: subtle, balanced : perhaps the best fit for a negotiation where the unseen matters more than the seen.
By a narrow but clear majority, the council rose:
Velassa Drelnir.
Chosen to stand before the Ghostwidow and carry the nation’s hopes.
Velassa Receives the Word
The council chamber door opened with a whisper of old hinges.
A steward approached the three candidates in the side room, hands folded formally.
“Velassa Drelnir.”
She rose slowly, smoothly, as if she had known already.
The steward bowed faintly.
“The council has chosen you to serve as emissary to the Ghostwidow.”
Corad Helthorn gave her a thin, grim smile, dipping his head in respect.
Maelis Trueshield nodded once, sharply, offering a warrior’s salute.
Velassa simply inclined her head in acknowledgment : calm, composed.
“I accept.”
Velassa Addresses the Council
Standing once more before the crescent table, Velassa Drelnir folded her hands before her, her voice quiet but unwavering.
“You have chosen me to speak not merely as mortal envoy, but as the voice through which this nation will bind itself to ancient forces.”
Her gaze moved smoothly along the gathered council, pausing slightly on each face.
“This is not a task of charm, nor even courage. It is a task of perception : of seeing what is offered and what is hidden, of hearing the true terms within the spoken words.”
She drew in a measured breath.
“Therefore, I invoke the Rite of Council under the Pact of Ash and Crown.”
Murmurs rippled through the chamber.
“By that right, two advisers may accompany me, to assist where my knowledge may not reach. This is no weakness, but the recognition that no single voice can know all things : law, magic, history, artifice, divine weave, and mortal craft.”
She fixed her steady gaze upon the High Chancellor.
“I ask this council to name the best minds of Mithrin : regardless of station, affiliation, or personal ambition : to stand as my aides.”
A silence fell, heavy and absolute.
Council Reaction
Vaelgorin leaned back slightly, a faint glimmer of respect crossing his lined features.
Uireth Ayne gave a thin, knowing smile, murmuring softly,
“We have chosen well.”
Ullenniir nodded once, sharply.
“This is wisdom.”
Even Lord Vhaen Morshall, hardened and skeptical, gave the smallest incline of his head, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully.
She sees the full board, not just the piece she plays.
The Path Ahead
The council now faces the task of choosing Velassa’s two aides:
One steeped in arcane or historical knowledge?
One versed in divine or political matters?
Perhaps even an unlikely choice : someone whose thinking is unconventional, but necessary to navigate Underdark politics?
Velassa waits calmly, hands folded.
“Choose carefully,” she says softly, “for what we carry into that chamber… will bind more than our lives.”
Scene One: Council Deliberation : Who Will Advise Velassa?
The council chamber remained closed, the high banners heavy in the stilled air.
High Chancellor Vaelgorin exhaled slowly, fingertips steepled.
“The Rite of Council is rarely invoked. But invoked it has been. We must provide two to stand at her side.”
Archmagister Ullenniir spoke carefully.
“She needs support where even her sharp perception cannot reach : arcane matters, hidden histories, divine intricacies.”
Councilor Maldris added,
“Or trade, diplomacy, and economic nuance.”
They fell quiet, each silently asking the same: Am I suited?
Vaelgorin was the most senior, but age had dulled his edge.
Ullenniir was the brightest arcane mind, but he admitted softly:
“I cannot go. My health, and the wards that bind the city’s heart, hold me here.”
Uireth Ayne, elder of the Old Court, murmured:
“Nor can I. My memory is sharp, but the body… falters.”
Lord Vhaen Morshall almost spoke, then set his jaw.
“I am not a diplomat.”
They sat in sober realization: none among them were fit to stand beside Velassa as full advisors.
The Decision
“We must reach outward,” Vaelgorin declared quietly.
“For arcane counsel : perhaps the Master Archivist, Lysandrel of the Silver Codex.
For matters of trade, balance, and negotiation : Elthar Solmere, the diplomat whose hands shaped the Thylor black powder accords.”
There were quiet nods.
“Neither bound by ambition. Both steady. Both respected.”
Velassa’s Private Preparation
In a quiet study provided for her within the council wing, Velassa Drelnir sat cross-legged, scrolls spread before her : among them the Pact of Ash and Crown, an ancient, brittle text scribed in both surface Elvish and the old Drow glyphic.
Her fingers traced the lines carefully.
One who speaks carries the nation’s name.
One who binds carries the nation’s soul.
She breathed deeply, allowing the words to sink deep.
This was not a battle. Not a test of force.
This was balance.
What did Mithrin need?
Access to the Underdark’s unique materials: rare minerals, enchanted metals, deep fungi and medicinal compounds.
Possibly knowledge of lost weaving-arts or underworld trade routes.
Perhaps, in time, alliances.
But what did the Underdark need?
Velassa’s brow furrowed slightly.
Her mind turned immediately to Thylor : the supplier of black powder and firearms. Coveted, expensive, controlled tightly.
No doubt, the Underdark Houses wanted them.
But they would not ask outright.
They would begin with less controversial things : exotic surface goods, rare surface textiles, information, perhaps alliances against mutual threats.
She knew their approach would be incremental, testing boundaries.
Velassa knew her role was to listen for what was not said : to understand, from the first offers, what the true desires beneath the silk and smiles might be.
Her Private Vow
Sitting alone, she spoke softly into the candlelit stillness.
“I will walk softly. I will not presume strength nor weakness.
I will carry this nation’s name on my tongue, and its soul on my breath.
I will listen. And I will know.”
She rose smoothly.
Tomorrow, she would meet her two appointed advisors.
And then, they would stand before the Ghostwidow.
The conversation dives deep into what Mithrin truly needs, what the Underdark Houses are likely to want, and how to construct a negotiation hierarchy, from common trade to the dangerously coveted black powder and firearms. Their personal feelings color the conversation, making it both tactical and human.
Scene: The Strategic Council
The appointed meeting room was lit by high, narrow windows, pale moonlight lacing the parchment-stacked table.
Velassa Drelnir sat already at one end, calm, her fingers steepled, eyes half-lidded in thought.
Lysandrel of the Silver Codex entered first : a tall, spare elf with silver-threaded robes, his long fingers pale with ink stains, eyes sharp but shadowed with sleepless worry.
“Velassa,” he murmured as he settled, “this pact… it is not simply trade. It’s… a threading of worlds.”
His voice dropped. “I’ll admit it : I am troubled.”
She inclined her head slightly but said nothing.
Elthar Solmere arrived next : younger, vibrant, exuding the smooth charisma of a born negotiator, dressed in understated diplomatic finery. His expression, by contrast, was lit with restless energy.
“Ah, Velassa, Lysandrel,” Elthar greeted brightly, sliding into his seat. “What an opportunity.”
His eyes gleamed. “We stand on the edge of history. Of turning isolation into power.”
Velassa’s calm voice cut gently through the room.
“Let us speak of what we need. And of what they surely want.”
Hierarchy of Needs: Mithrin’s Side
They laid out the surface nation’s needs in a rough trade hierarchy abundant to scarce.
Abundant:
- Surface grains, textiles, woodcraft.
- Certain spices, surface medicines, dyes.
- Skilled craft goods (non-magical).
Moderate Value:
- Arcane components from surface sources.
- Finished magical items.
- Refined metals.
Scarce, High Value:
- Strategic materials (sky-iron, adamantine).
- Advanced enchantments.
- Black powder and firearms (controlled tightly via Thylor).
Elthar spoke crisply.
“Of these, the black powder and firearms are the crown jewels. They’re rare, dangerous, controlled : and the Underdark Houses will certainly angle toward them.”
He leaned forward, fingers laced.
“We must hold them back, Velassa. Use them as leverage, not as initial offering.”
Hierarchy of Needs: Underdark Side
Lysandrel unfolded several old scrolls, brow furrowed.
“We don’t know their full resources, but records from the Explorer’s Guild suggest their exports likely include:
: Rare metals: deep-silver, umbralite, blood-crystal.
: Exotic fungi, alchemical reagents, venom sacs.
: Deep magic techniques : weavings of darkness and stone unfamiliar to surface mages.”
He tapped one long finger on a parchment.
“But we know less about what they lack. For that, I propose we consult with the Archive’s explorer logs : records of the Deep Dark forays.”
Velassa nodded.
“Do it. We need that knowledge.”
Strategic Observations
Elthar smiled slightly, his eyes gleaming.
“They will want what they cannot craft or mine. Wood, for instance, is near priceless below. So are many surface crops, textiles, spices.
But what they truly desire are weapons of reach : like black powder and firearms.”
He raised a brow.
“We must carefully stage the conversation. Start with the least, build toward the rare, and hold the firearms for only the most ironclad terms : if at all.”
Personal Reflections
Lysandrel sighed softly, his eyes faintly haunted.
“I admit, Velassa, this all unnerves me. We are stepping beyond any recorded precedent : tying the nation not merely to mortals, but to pacts threaded between pantheons.”
His fingers brushed the edge of the scroll nervously.
“The consequences of a misstep… could ripple for centuries.”
Elthar, by contrast, gave a quick, almost eager smile.
“And that, dear Lysandrel, is why this is a moment of great opportunity. We stand where no one else has stood : with the chance to forge the greatest trade accord since the Thylor munitions treaties.”
He turned to Velassa, eyes sharp.
“You understand, don’t you? We can reshape our nation’s future.”
Velassa’s Quiet Resolve
Velassa met both their gazes, calm and calculating.
“I understand that this is not conflict, but balance.
They seek what they do not have; we must know what that is.
We need what we can only gain through care, and listening.”
Her eyes sharpened slightly.
“I will listen. You will advise. We will walk carefully, together.”
She looked down briefly at the ancient pact scroll, tracing the words with a fingertip.
“What we agree to will not be a mere trade. It will bind souls, nations, and powers.
And the Ghostwidow… will hear everything.”
Scene: Final Preparations in the Council Antechamber
The council had granted them a secure chamber: tall-arched, walled with silvered runes, its windows curtained tightly against the moonlight. Papers, scrolls, ledgers, and alchemical catalogs lay arrayed on the broad central table.
Velassa Drelnir stood at its head, hands folded behind her back, watching as Lysandrel and Elthar laid out the last of their notes.
Expected Underdark Valuation (Most Desired by Them)
Elthar Solmere, animated and precise, tapped his finger on the parchment as he spoke.
“We have to reorder this from their view, not ours.
What’s common to us is rare to them. What’s rare to us might mean nothing to them.”
He pointed sharply down the list.
Underdark-Desired Goods (Ordered by their Value)
Surface Food and Agricultural Staples
Grains, fruits, wine, spices, honey, oils.
The Underdark can grow some mushrooms, fungus, and dark crops, but surface agriculture is luxury and status.
Timber and Fine Woodcraft
Hardwood planks, crafted furniture, bows, ships.
Wood is near-impossible to source below; shaped wood is more valuable than gold in many Underdark cities.
Fresh Air Products
Perfumes, breathable surface airs stored in enchanted vessels, medicinal herbs.
The deep realms lack the vitality of surface air : this is exotic and prized.
Skilled Craftwork (Non-Magical)
Fine textiles, jewelry, surface weapon designs.
Elven and surface artistry are coveted even without enchantment.
Magical Goods (Surface-Origin Artifacts)
Enchanted items, scrolls, spellcraft unknown below.
These can vary : some Houses will value them, others distrust surface magic.
Black Powder and Firearms (most sensitive)
Guns, cannons, munitions.
Rare, exotic, and highly restricted by Thylor; this is the jewel they will likely aim for, but Velassa plans to hold it back.
What They Expect the Underdark Will Ask For
Lysandrel, thoughtful, voice quieter but certain, laid out his predicted list.
“Expect them to test the waters first : but their long game will be clear.”
Predicted Underdark Demands
Initial, Low-Risk Requests:
Trade of agricultural goods, textiles, and surface luxuries.
Low stakes, opens dialogue.
Intermediate Requests:
Access to surface markets, perhaps controlled embassies or safehouses.
Limited magical exchanges (artifacts, lore).
Here we must be cautious : political footholds are harder to remove once granted.
Ultimate Targets:
Black powder weapons and related technologies.
Shipments of timber for large-scale armament or construction.
Potential alliances against Underdark rivals or enemies.
Team Reflections
Lysandrel exhaled slowly, fingers pressed together.
“I worry, Velassa, not about the first offers, but the shape of the trap behind them.
What do they truly want? What web waits to tighten once the pact is signed?”
Elthar, by contrast, smiled slightly.
“Opportunity, Lysandrel. They want what they lack. And we want what we lack.
We walk into this with our eyes open.”
Velassa’s quiet voice gathered them.
“We will listen first. We will not lead. We let them reveal what they truly want.
But understand this : the black powder must remain off the table until we know exactly what kind of pact they offer.
We trade step by step, not in leaps.”
She placed her hand lightly on the Pact scroll.
“One word, one promise, will bind us for generations. We carry more than trade, we carry the soul of Mithrin.”
She looked between them, calm and unreadable.
“Are you ready?”
Elthar smiled, sharp and eager.
“Always.”
Lysandrel nodded, slower, more solemn.
“We are prepared.”
Scene: The Onset of the Negotiation : Pact of Ash and Crown
The Judicial Hall of Mithrin was a place of rare gravity.
Not a court for common disputes, nor a political stage : but an old, solemn chamber reserved for matters of binding law.
Smooth stone walls rose to meet ancient carved beams, where the sigils of the Pact of Ash and Crown were still visible, though long faded.
No crowds. No witnesses.
The hall was sealed, protected by arcane wards, its only occupants Velassa Drelnir, Lysandrel of the Silver Codex, and Trademaster Elthar Solmere.
Velassa stood at the center, flanked by her two advisors.
Her voice, soft but resonant, carried the invocation.
“We are ready to speak.
We call now upon the keeper of the accord.
We speak, and you will hear.”
A subtle pressure settled in the air, like the silken touch of something ancient brushing along the weave of the room.
Arrival of the Ghostwidow
There was no magical fanfare, no burst of shadow or flame.
Rather, from the wide outer steps, they heard measured, booted footfalls.
Shinazazi D’shaverauk, clad in her dark spidersilk armor, walked calmly and deliberately into the hall.
Her swords rested at her hips, her daggers at her belt.
Her pale, gem-like eyes gleamed faintly in the lamplight, and the eight small, spider-eye-like stones on her armor glimmered subtly, not with menace, but presence.
As she crossed the threshold, she paused, one hand briefly touching the old carved sigil above the door.
She murmured something in her native Drow tongue:
“Inzil’zen vel’klar dalninil.”
(Those who know, watch.)
Then, in flawless High Elvish, she spoke aloud:
“Greetings to you, Representative of the Law, Velassa Drelnir, beloved of Vandria Gilmadrith, Guardian of Oaths, well met.”
She inclined her head : a precise gesture, neither subservient nor arrogant, but recognizing the shared authority of the moment.
“Lysandrel of the Silver Codex.
Trademaster Elthar Solmere.”
A small smile touched her lips, thin but genuine.
“You have invoked the old pact. Well done.”
Without further flourish, Shinazazi stepped smoothly across the room and took her place at the negotiation table, no entourage, no guards, no ceremony.
She sat gracefully, folding her gloved hands on the smooth stone, and spoke in a clear, carrying voice.
“As I am the initiator of this, let me begin the formal negotiations.
I am Shinazazi D’shaverauk, Ender of Lines, Daughter of Yezed, the Ghostwidow.
I speak for House Ulvrael, House Chorzyn, House Draezryn, House Vrinnoril, and House D’Shaverauk : bound by accord and writ to negotiate with our surface kin of Mithrin in matters of trade and diplomacy.
With divine authority to bind pacts and seal treaties between above and below.
Upon my blood and life, these things are true and oathbound.”
She gestured with an open hand toward the surface delegation, her pale eyes steady.
Velassa’s Response
Velassa Drelnir stepped forward with calm, deliberate grace.
Her dark wood-elf robes were simple, her expression tranquil, but her voice was crisp, clear, and unshaking.
“I am Velassa Drelnir, Oathbinder, servant of Vandria Gilmadrith, Guardian of Watchfulness, Keeper of Bound Word.”
She bowed her head slightly : no lower, no higher than Shinazazi’s gesture had been.
“I speak for the nation of Mithrin, bound by the Pact of Ash and Crown, by the mandate of the High Council and the authority granted to me by divine and mortal decree.
At my side: Lysandrel of the Silver Codex, Master Archivist, and Trademaster Elthar Solmere, envoy of commerce.
Together, we stand to engage in formal negotiation under the old ways.”
Velassa’s hands, folded before her, tightened slightly, just a breath’s worth.
“Upon my breath and life, these things are true and oathbound.”
The Table is Set
The room held a soft, heavy silence.
On one side: the emissaries of Mithrin : subtle, balanced, bound by oath.
On the other: the Ghostwidow, poised and patient, speaking for five Houses of the Underdark.
Velassa’s eyes met Shinazazi’s evenly.
“Shall we begin, Daughter of Yezed?”
And thus, the threads of surface and deep, of mortal and divine, were woven into motion : the first strokes of a negotiation that could reshape the fate of both realms.
Scene: The First Request : An Unexpected Turn
The negotiation hall remained perfectly still as Shinazazi leaned forward slightly, her gloved hands resting neatly atop one another, her voice as smooth and steady as the tap of a spider’s leg on stone.
“Within this pact, the Underdark requires an agreement to return fugitives native to our lands residing within the nation of Mithrin.”
There was no shift in her tone, no trace of menace : only the clean, precise delivery of terms.
“At this time, there is an alchemist known as Sqib, oathbound servant of House Vrinnoril and scion to the master alchemist.
We request extradition of this man.”
Mithrin’s Side: Reactions and Rapid Assessment
Velassa, Lysandrel, and Elthar sat quietly for the barest flicker of a moment, outwardly composed, but each feeling the sudden, sharp weight of surprise.
This was not a request they had anticipated.
Trade? Yes.
Magical exchange? Perhaps.
Even political alliances or material resources.
But extradition?
It was a point not governed by the ancient Pact of Ash and Crown.
It would have to be freshly negotiated, and once codified, it would become precedent.
Advisor Implications : Private Thoughts
Velassa Drelnir (Internal Thought):
This seems reasonable. A single fugitive, a simple return. But it opens a door, one through which anything can be demanded later. Extradition laws shape sovereignty. We must tread carefully here.
Lysandrel of the Silver Codex (Internal Thought):
Sqib… I know the name. An eccentric, half-mad alchemist. But if we agree to this, what of others?
What if there are refugees among us with deeper political entanglements : spies, defectors, escaped slaves, dissidents who now hold power or influence? This touches ancient histories… and forgotten truths.
Elthar Solmere (Internal Thought):
Interesting. They lead not with goods, but with people.
This isn’t about trade : it’s about testing our will.
If we bend too easily, they’ll know we can be pressured.
But refuse, and we risk souring the entire negotiation.
Broader Implications
The moment hangs heavy, because agreeing to extradition is not just about one eccentric alchemist.
It raises dangerous questions:
Are there other fugitives from the Underdark who now live comfortably or even in power within Mithrin’s borders?
Would agreeing to this request set a precedent for future demands, perhaps for individuals who, if removed, could destabilize local politics?
Might some of these so-called “fugitives” have left for good reason, as rebels, reformers, or survivors of injustice?
And perhaps most chilling:
If the surface begins returning Underdark-born fugitives, does it open the door for the reverse, where Mithrin’s own fugitives might be returned from below?
Velassa’s Measured Response
Velassa folded her hands calmly, offering no flicker of surprise on her face.
“Your request is heard, Shinazazi D’Shaverauk.”
“Extradition is not a matter governed by the original Pact of Ash and Crown.
It must be negotiated on its own terms, with care, and clarity.”
Her eyes remained steady.
“I will request a full accounting: the nature of the charges, the standing of the individual in question, and the legal bindings that underpin the claim.”
She glanced briefly at her two advisors, then back.
“Understand: when sovereignty intersects with pact, it is no small matter.
We approach this not as a denial nor a concession, but as a point of detailed negotiation.”
She inclined her head slightly.
“Shall we proceed to hear your formal case for this request?”
Setting the Stakes
Elthar’s mind was already racing ahead, calculating:
If we shape the extradition terms now, we can narrow their future scope.
But if we let it sprawl, we risk becoming the puppet of underground politics.
Lysandrel’s brows furrowed faintly.
I must dig through the archives. Who else might they name next? Who else lurks in the folds of our history?
Velassa, serene on the outside, thought sharply:
First the alchemist. Then the nobodies.
Then, perhaps, the powerful.
And so, the opening move had been made, not with gold or weapons, but with names.
Scene: Shinazazi’s Formal Presentation of Extradition Request
Shinazazi sat with perfect stillness, her pale spider-stone eyes reflecting the faint lamplight of the Judicial Hall.
She folded her hands on the table, voice calm and exacting.
“The individual we request is named Sqib : an albino drow, oathbound servant of House Vrinnoril, scion of the master alchemist, and pledged by writ and ritual to serve.”
Her words carried no heat, only the clean precision of stated fact.
“He left his post, crossing to the surface without the permission of his Matron or his House.
In doing so, he has broken oath, pact, and decree.
His actions are not merely wanderings, they are violations of standing law.”
Shinazazi’s eyes rested calmly on Velassa.
“The Matron of House Vrinnoril is… most eager for his return.”
For the faintest flicker of a moment, a trace of knowing amusement crossed her otherwise cool expression.
“Should you wish to negotiate keeping him… we will listen.”
She inclined her head slightly, a gesture equal parts polite and quietly sharp.
Mithrin’s Side: Internal Calculations
Velassa Drelnir remained still, composed, her mind sharpening behind her calm exterior.
This is a test.
Shinazazi leads not with a demand, but with a negotiable offer.
They want to see how Mithrin handles cases of divided loyalty, oaths, and sovereignty.
Lysandrel’s Private Thought
Lysandrel, listening intently, pressed his ink-stained fingers together.
Sqib… yes, I know of him. Brilliant, half-mad, a defector perhaps : but not an enemy of Mithrin.
His mind is valuable, but fragile. He has fled from something : not merely wandered away.
If we hand him over, we set the precedent that surface law yields to Underdark decrees. But if we refuse…
He glanced faintly toward Velassa.
Elthar’s Private Thought
Elthar Solmere, ever the tactician, smiled faintly, eyes gleaming.
Ah. So, they will bargain. This is opportunity wrapped in ritual.
They want something : but they’re willing to let us buy it.
The question is: what price do we pay, and what do we get in return?
He leaned slightly forward, fingers twitching with anticipation.
Velassa’s Response
Velassa folded her hands smoothly, voice soft but unshakable.
“We recognize the claim of House Vrinnoril, as presented through your authority, Shinazazi D’shaverauk.”
Her tone remained perfectly measured.
“As emissary, I must review the charges and the context in full.
Know that Mithrin does not hand over residents lightly, nor break sanctuary without due cause.
Oaths are binding, yes, but so is the dignity of a nation and its wards.”
She inclined her head slightly.
“We are open to negotiation regarding the status of Sqib, but the terms must be clear and mutually beneficial.
What would you offer, should Mithrin agree to his return?”
Shinazazi’s Quiet Approval
Shinazazi smiled faintly, the corners of her pale lips curling just slightly.
“Good.”
Her voice held a subtle undertone : one of quiet approval, perhaps even appreciation.
“We have begun in truth, Velassa Drelnir.
You listen well.”
Unspoken Implications
Velassa’s mind flickered quickly.
If this is how they begin, then:
There are others they might seek : not just eccentric alchemists, but former nobles, escaped slaves, political exiles.
To return Sqib too easily could signal weakness.
But to refuse outright could rupture the delicate, ancient process.
This first dance, about a single fugitive, was not just about him.
It was about drawing the map of what could and could not be demanded.
Shinazazi’s Offer, Spoken in Her Measured Cadence
Shinazazi’s pale eyes gleamed softly in the quiet light, her posture unhurried, her voice as deliberate and precise as a thread drawn through silk.
“As part of this negotiation, I offer something… intriguing.”
She let the words settle for a breath, gaze steady on Velassa.
“There is an individual, one of yours, whose name may stir memory:
Thalanis Veilrun.”
The name rippled faintly through the air; Lysandrel’s eyes sharpened, Elthar’s fingers twitched faintly on the table’s edge.
A noble-born adventurer, presumed long dead, vanished years ago without word.
Shinazazi continued smoothly, hands folding lightly atop one another.
“Thalanis Veilrun was taken prisoner years past, held in the dungeons of House Vrinnoril, one of the allied Houses under this accord.
He lives. His injuries and ailments are known to us; they can, and will, be tended before any exchange.”
A faint smile curved the edges of her lips, though her voice never rose nor warmed.
“His crimes, however, are not inconsiderable.
He stands charged with theft and murder:
Having entered the grow chambers of House Vrinnoril’s rarest fungi vaults,
he and his party slew three guards in their attempt to seize that which was not theirs.”
Her fingers traced an invisible pattern on the table.
“Of those who entered, only Thalanis survived : and before the tribunal, he named as his patron a citizen of Mithrin.
That name, however…”
She paused, eyes flickering faintly with unspoken amusement.
“… shall be withheld, for now.
It will no doubt surface in later negotiations.”
The Weight of the Offer
Shinazazi inclined her head, the eight spider-stones on her armor catching the dim light as they shifted subtly.
“So.
You return the oathbreaker, Sqib, and in return, we shall release Thalanis Veilrun to you, whole and alive.
We may even… consider this an exchange of goodwill, one bound to the early threads of trust.”
She leaned back slightly, her voice lowering, smooth and even.
“What say you, Velassa Drelnir, Oathbinder?
Shall we begin weaving this pact thread by thread, name by name, life by life?”
The Room’s Quiet Tension
Velassa sat perfectly still, her mind turning swiftly behind calm eyes.
Elthar’s jaw tightened faintly, calculating angles and leverage.
Lysandrel’s brows drew together, already thinking through old records, seeking the tangled histories that might soon emerge.
One thing was clear to all three:
Shinazazi was not just negotiating : she was testing.
And the surface world had just been offered both a prize and a warning.
Scene: Calling for Recess : Protocol and Parity
The negotiation hall was still, the air heavy with the layered weight of names, crimes, and offers.
Velassa Drelnir, calm and measured, inclined her head slightly.
“Shinazazi D’shaverauk, Ender of Lines,
by the terms of the Pact of Ash and Crown,
we request recess for consultation.”
Her tone was formal, yet smooth : careful not to offend, yet drawing a clear line.
“As you have requested privacy within your abode, so do we invoke the same during this recess:
That there be no listening, no witnessing, no observation : neither magical nor mundane : upon our private counsel.”
A delicate moment hung between them, like the faint shimmer of a web’s edge in the dusk.
Shinazazi’s Response
Shinazazi smiled faintly, her pale lips curling just enough to reveal the smallest hint of sharp teeth.
“Well played.”
Her eyes glimmered, spider-stone jewels catching the lamplight.
“We agree.
We begin again at three bells tomorrow.”
Without further word, without gesture, she simply vanished : no spell spoken, no flicker of displacement : simply gone, as though she had never occupied the space at all.
The faintest waver in the weave of the room settled with a breathless hush.
The Surface Delegation’s Withdrawal
Velassa remained still for a moment, watching the space where Shinazazi had been.
Then she rose smoothly.
“We leave this hall.
We return to our private grounds to deliberate.”
Elthar Solmere stood with a slow, eager grin sharpening his features.
“She’s sharp, I’ll grant her that.”
Lysandrel, quieter, more troubled, gathered his scrolls.
“Sharp…
and watching.
We must tread with care.”
Adjournment
The three departed the sealed hall, its wards resetting quietly behind them, casting the chamber into stillness once again.
They would meet in their private quarters that night : away from ancient eyes, away from the delicate threads of negotiation : to weigh:
The danger of extraditing or keeping Sqib.
The political value and risk of recovering Thalanis Veilrun.
And the looming shadow of the Mithrin citizen whose name had not yet been revealed.
Tomorrow, at three bells, the dance would resume.
But tonight, they would plot their next steps : and Velassa, Oathbinder, would sharpen her mind for the next twist of the web.
Scene: Private Strategy : Nightfall in the Oathbinder’s Quarters
In the shadowed interior of Velassa Drelnir’s assigned quarters, the long oak table was now cluttered with maps, scrolls, diplomatic ledgers, and hastily assembled legal codices.
Velassa sat with her usual tranquil posture, eyes closed, hands folded before her, listening, thinking.
Elthar Solmere, however, paced sharply back and forth, his long-fingered hands gesturing as he spoke.
“We’re deep into unfamiliar waters here, Velassa. Extradition across realms? Across pantheons?
I’ve handled hundreds of trade deals, territorial disputes, supply chains, but this?”
He shook his head, lips pressing thin.
“This isn’t anyone’s specialty. I suspect, quite deliberately.”
Lysandrel of the Silver Codex, quiet and pale, leafed carefully through an old bound ledger.
“Our codified laws speak of extradition only in the narrowest, human terms.
Petty thieves, murderers, deserters, between provinces, perhaps, or between allied nations.
But with the Underdark?”
He exhaled softly, closing the book with an air of faint exasperation.
“There is… nothing. This is uncharted.”
Velassa’s Calm Command
Velassa opened her eyes slowly, their dark, steady gaze resting on each of them.
“Then we send for one who can chart it.”
She rose, voice soft but edged with quiet resolve.
“We will not draft these protections alone.
Send for a legal master, one steeped in oath-law, compact language, the shape of binding agreements across foreign realms.
One who can hammer the precise wording that, should we accept, preserves the dignity of Mithrin and the balance of this pact.”
Summoning an Expert
Elthar smiled faintly, regaining some of his characteristic confidence.
“I know just the figure.
A sage from the outer barrister’s guild, Amryndel Vathoriel.
Half-elven, sharp as a knife, heart like a vault.
If anyone can draft language protective and balanced, it’s Amryndel.”
Velassa inclined her head.
“Send for them tonight.
We begin with the dawn, they will join our council before the next bell’s meeting.”
Unspoken Realizations
As they worked late into the night, one thing lingered unspoken but present in each of their minds:
This extradition request was not simply about Sqib.
It was a test, a deliberate push into territory where Mithrin had no strength, no precedent, no ready expertise.
If they stumbled here, the surface delegation would reveal a weakness that Shinazazi could quietly weave around, setting patterns, shaping the balance of power, knot by knot.
Final Words Before Rest
Velassa, gathering her scrolls, spoke softly:
“We do not seek to outwit her.
We seek to walk with open eyes, where each word carries its proper weight.
Tomorrow, we walk that line together.”
The others nodded, gathering their materials.
Outside, the night deepened, and across the city, the hourglass toward three bells slowly drained.
Scene: The Arrival of Amryndel Vathoriel : Master of Pact and Pen
As dawn broke pale over Mithrin, the outer courtyards of Velassa’s quarters stirred with soft movement: the swift approach of a lone rider, his cloak billowing behind him like a brushstroke of midnight.
Amryndel Vathoriel, the half-elven master barrister, arrived with the dawn.
Tall, wiry, with sharp-cut features and keen, pale eyes, he dismounted fluidly, scrollcase in hand. His every step radiated quiet confidence, the kind honed from countless legal battles, delicate treaties, and bloodless victories where words, not swords, drew the first and last cut.
Velassa, Lysandrel, and Elthar rose as he entered the study chamber.
“You called for steel,” Amryndel murmured smoothly, “and I bring you the blade.”
He placed the scrollcase carefully on the table, unfurling a crisp document as the others leaned in.
Amryndel’s Recommendations and Cautions
“We have only one formal extradition treaty on file,” he explained crisply, tapping the parchment.
“With Innarlith : the Dragon Queen’s realm, opportunistic and tangled as it is.”
He gave Elthar a pointed glance, knowing well the trade complications with Innarlith’s notorious privateer fleets.
“That treaty covers minor prisoner exchanges, smugglers, ship thieves, captured mercenaries. Rarely, if ever, does it address severe crimes like multiple murder.”
He rapped his fingers lightly on the text.
“And here’s where it turns interesting: the Underdark is a different world. What we call egregious, murder, violence, may be measured by different standards.
In their society, killing a guard during a theft may rank lower in gravity than breaking an oath or deserting a House.”
He narrowed his eyes slightly, sharp as a drawn dagger.
“In other words: to them, Sqib’s oath-breaking and surface flight may be worse than Thalanis Veilrun’s violent crimes.”
Strategic Framing
Amryndel’s voice sharpened.
“You cannot codify an equivalency between offenses across these societies. It’s a fool’s errand.
What you can do is ensure that the language of the agreement:
: Specifies case-by-case review.
: Requires formal presentation of evidence and charges.
: Protects Mithrin’s right to refuse extradition if a case does not meet minimum agreed standards.”
He leaned forward, gaze steady.
“Do not agree to any blanket clause of reciprocity.
Tie each case to a clear, formal process, or you open the door to chaos later.”
Velassa’s Reflection
Velassa sat, hands folded lightly, processing every word.
The underdark sees betrayal and oath-breaking as the highest treason, not merely a private failing, but a crack in the survival structure of their whole society.
To them, Sqib’s crimes may shame his entire line.
But to us, Veilrun’s theft and murder would shatter any surface house.
Her calm voice broke the thoughtful pause.
“Thank you, Amryndel. You have drawn the spine we needed.
We will let them measure crimes in their realm, and we will measure them in ours.”
Elthar’s Thoughts
Elthar gave a small, impressed smile.
“You’ve armed us well, master barrister.
If they want to negotiate on names and crimes, they’ll find we can fence in that arena too.”
Final Counsel
Amryndel inclined his head slightly.
“One more caution:
Negotiate protections for any named citizens, including the right to investigate their claims on our side before agreeing to extradition.
No name must pass from our ledgers to theirs without ironclad review.”
He closed the scroll, his eyes glinting.
“Remember: the web they weave is subtle. But ours can be no less.”
Preparation Complete
Velassa rose smoothly, meeting both her advisors’ eyes.
“We are ready.”
Tomorrow’s negotiations would not only determine the fate of Sqib or Veilrun : they would set the legal and diplomatic foundation upon which all future exchanges between Mithrin and the Underdark would rest.
A razor-thin thread, stretched between two worlds, balanced on the edge of oaths.
Scene: Renewal of the Negotiation : Three Bells
As the bell tower struck its third, the Judicial Hall once again filled with the quiet weight of tension and expectation.
Velassa Drelnir, Lysandrel of the Silver Codex, Elthar Solmere, and now Amryndel Vathoriel, the sharp-eyed barrister, stood ready at their table.
There was no rustle of approach.
No whisper of cloaked arrival.
Shinazazi D’shaverauk was simply there, seated as if she had always been, her dark armor glinting faintly, the eight small gemlike “eyes” on her chestplate shimmering subtly with pale inner light.
She offered them a faint, knowing smile, folding her gloved hands neatly on the table.
“Ah… as it should be.”
Her voice carried just the faintest undercurrent of approval, like a thread of silk.
Shinazazi Speaks
“We thought that the two individuals of interest here were guilty of… similar crimes, in our differing eyes.”
She let the words settle, pale gaze sweeping lightly over the gathered surface emissaries.
“Would a multiple murderer still breathe surface air if they raided a noble House’s grounds and slew its guards, in your laws?”
Her tone was smooth, inquisitive, but edged faintly : a blade still sheathed.
“Likewise, should the Matron see fit, Sqib’s offenses merit death.
But we agree such will not be his fate, should you return him.”
Her pale lips curved slightly.
“His madness is known to us.
It is treatable, but here, in the light of your damnable sun, we can neither help nor use him.
In our eyes…”
At this, the eight spider-stones across her armor gleamed faintly, like eyes catching torchlight.
“… this is a fair and balanced exchange.”
Establishing the Foundation
Shinazazi’s gaze softened slightly, her voice lowering.
“And more importantly, it is the basis upon which we wish to cement the first agreement.”
She raised one long-fingered hand, palm slightly open.
“As a point of protocol:
All agreements between our parties are subject to revision before finalization.
Nothing is set in stone until both parties ink and seal the binding document, with all authority.”
Her hand closed gently.
“We do not bind prematurely.
We do not entrap with half-signed promises.”
Velassa’s Calm Reception
Velassa inclined her head slightly, voice soft but clear.
“We understand, and we mirror the respect of that principle.”
Her eyes flicked briefly to Amryndel, who gave a faint, approving nod, the protections they had shaped the night before aligned perfectly with this overture.
“We will proceed deliberately,
and ensure that the threads of this first accord are woven with precision and care.”
The Weight of the Moment
Across the table, for the first time, something eased faintly in Shinazazi’s posture, not vulnerability, but a trace of genuine approval.
This, Velassa understood instinctively, was the language the Ghostwidow respected most:
Not bluster.
Not bargaining.
But deliberate, balanced binding.
The first stone was laid :
and the real dance was just beginning.
Scene: Mithrin Delegation’s Opening Request : Bridging Worlds
As Shinazazi’s pale, sharp gaze rested steadily on them, Velassa Drelnir drew a careful breath, folding her hands gracefully on the polished table.
“Honored Shinazazi D’shaverauk,” she began softly, “having heard and understood your opening terms, we now present our own opening request : one we believe will be agreeable and establish the spirit of shared benefit between our realms.”
She nodded faintly to Elthar Solmere, who leaned slightly forward, his voice warm, diplomatic, smooth as fine cloth.
“Mithrin requests the right to trade for rare metals and minerals sourced from the Underdark : specifically, deep-silver, umbralite, blood-crystal, and similar raw materials.”
He offered a faint, confident smile.
“These are resources of great use to our artisans, armorers, and mages : materials we cannot source from surface mines, and which, we believe, your Houses hold in ample supply.”
Lysandrel’s Private Thought (Internal)
This should be harmless. Noncontroversial.
We start with resource exchange : common trade goods. Simple.
But even as the words left Elthar’s mouth, Lysandrel’s sharp historian’s mind tingled faintly.
Unless… we’re misreading what they value.
Velassa’s Internal Caution
Velassa, though outwardly serene, felt her own silent calculation ticking.
We assume these metals are simple trade resources,
but to the Underdark, they may carry cultural or sacred importance,
or be restricted by laws we cannot yet know.
What we see as trade : they may see as controlled essence.
Shinazazi’s Measured Reaction
Shinazazi tilted her head slightly, the faintest smile curling her lips : a sharp glint, not of derision, but of intrigue.
“You open with rare metals.”
Her voice carried a soft, almost teasing note, like the pull of a fine thread through silk.
“Do you know, emissary, how many surface dwellers have asked for such things?
Do you know how many have vanished into the deep, seeking them on their own, and never returned?”
She tapped one gloved finger lightly on the table.
“Deep-silver, umbralite, blood-crystal :
yes, we hold them.
But they are not simple trinkets or trade ores.
They are the marrow of our Houses,
woven into our craft,
our defenses,
our lifeblood.”
Her pale eyes sharpened.
“What you ask may not be impossible.
But it will never be cheap.
Never casual.”
Mithrin’s Realization
A ripple of understanding passed silently through the Mithrin delegation.
What they had offered as a gentle, uncontroversial opening :
was, in fact, a signal to the Underdark of just how surface-blind they were.
Velassa, ever composed, gave a small, gracious incline of her head.
“We thank you for the clarity, Shinazazi D’shaverauk.
We present our request humbly and acknowledge the weight it carries in your eyes.”
Elthar’s Private Calculations
Not as easy as we thought.
Not the usual trade deal.
This is not surface-to-surface commerce;
this is reaching into a world where every stone may carry the weight of blood and House.
Shinazazi’s Closing for the Day
Shinazazi, pleased, leaned back slightly, her gemlike eyes gleaming.
“We begin well, Oathbinder.
We open truths, not simply contracts.
We will adjourn for today.”
She smiled faintly.
“Three bells again tomorrow.”
Without another word, she vanished,
leaving the Mithrin delegation once again facing the dense, silent air of the emptied hall.
Mithrin’s Silent Realization
Velassa let the stillness settle before she turned softly to her companions.
“What we think is easy…
may prove the hardest.
And what they ask,
we must learn to hear not just in words :
but in the shadows beneath them.”
Scene: The Next Morning : The Ghostwidow Reveals the True Balance
As three bells tolled, the Judicial Hall once again filled with the weight of expectation.
Velassa Drelnir and her team : Lysandrel, Elthar, and the razor-sharp Amryndel : stood ready, calm and composed, their strategy refined after the night’s long deliberations.
Without sound or warning, Shinazazi D’shaverauk appeared once more, as though she had been there all along.
She sat gracefully, pale eyes glinting faintly, her gem-like spider-stones shimmering in the faint light.
And this morning,
she smiled.
Shinazazi Speaks : The Unseen Exchange
“I knew you would open with the metals,” she said smoothly, voice edged with a hint of amusement.
“You surfacefolk, you think of the deep as a treasure vault : stone, gem, metal, ore :
but you do not see the balance,
the threads that link your desires to things you do not yet understand.”
She leaned forward slightly, her gaze sharp as a blade.
“What you ask of us : rare metals, deep-crystals, umbralite :
these are lifeblood to us.
What you hold,
what you do not even think to guard,
are the rarest of all precious things.”
Her pale hand gestured softly, delicate as a dancer’s.
“Living surface magic.”
The Price Revealed
Shinazazi’s voice dropped slightly, silken, deliberate.
“Do you know how many of our alchemists, our weavers,
would trade vaults of metal
for even a whisper of a living sunrise-bloom :
a flower that drinks the open sky?
Or a vial of surface dew gathered under the true moon?
Or the sap of a dawnwood tree,
nurtured for centuries in the dance of light and dark your world takes for granted?”
Her gem-eyes glinted softly.
“These things, to you, are common :
but to us, they are treasures beyond coin.”
Mithrin’s Quiet Realization
Velassa’s calm mask held,
but across the table,
she felt Lysandrel still faintly,
his mind turning like a grindstone.
We thought we came to buy stone with gold,
but we stand at the edge of trading life for life,
magic for magic,
essence for essence.
Elthar’s fingers twitched faintly, calculating.
Trade equations :
but on a scale no surface guild has ever prepared for.
Shinazazi’s Invitation
Shinazazi leaned back smoothly,
her hands folding elegantly in her lap.
“So, Velassa Drelnir,
shall we speak of proper exchange rates?”
Her faint smile deepened,
cool and pleased.
“Of how many vials of dawn-sap
equal one ounce of umbralite?
Of how many strands of sky-silk
balance a vein of deep-silver?”
Her voice lowered slightly,
almost intimate.
“Let us craft a table not of metal and stone,
but of the rarest of all currencies :
those things
the shortlived races
never know they hold.”
Velassa’s Measured Response
Velassa’s mind turned swiftly,
and then she offered the faintest of nods.
“We hear you, Shinazazi D’shaverauk.
And we agree:
to shape a lasting pact,
we must account not only for what we value,
but for what you value.
For what both our realms
hold rarest of all.”
The Balance Shifts
The room grew still,
the weight of the moment pressing softly around them.
This was no longer a negotiation of simple trade.
This was a negotiation of worlds,
of essence,
of things so rare and subtle
that no merchant’s ledger had yet captured them.
Velassa felt it,
clear as the breath before dawn.
The true weaving of the pact
was only now beginning.
Scene: Private Deliberation That Evening : Drawing the True Lines
In the quiet chambers assigned to the emissary delegation, Velassa Drelnir sat cross-legged on a low cushion, her eyes half-closed, listening.
Around her, Elthar Solmere, Lysandrel of the Silver Codex, and Amryndel Vathoriel stood or paced, the air thick with the sharp scent of candlewax and the metallic tang of worry.
The day’s negotiations had ended on a startling note : not with haggling over ingots or bolts of silk, but with Shinazazi opening the gates to a kind of exchange no surface trade guild had ever dared chart.
What They’re Willing to Offer
Elthar spread his hands wide, speaking first, his voice low and slightly tight.
“Surface crops, fine herbs, exotic spices : these are easy.
Textiles, dyes, alchemical resins : also manageable.
Even moon-harvested waters, dew-gather, or delicate botanical tinctures…
we can scale those as part of controlled trade.”
He paused, tapping his fingers lightly against the table.
“They’ll pay steeply, yes, but none of these are so rare we risk unbalancing our economy or giving away the crown jewels.”
What They Must Guard : No Matter What
Lysandrel, quieter and more thoughtful, unrolled a scroll covered in old glyphic notations.
“What we cannot offer,” he murmured carefully, “are things tied to legacy and bloodlines:
the lifeblood sap of the elder dawnwoods,
the preserved moon-flowers that only bloom once in an elven generation,
or the essence distilled from a starfire orchid.”
He looked up sharply.
“These are not goods : they are artifacts of legacy,
woven into elven rites,
into our own Weave of being.”
His eyes darkened faintly.
“To sell such things… is to sell pieces of ourselves.”
Amryndel’s Legal Caution
Amryndel Vathoriel, seated with one leg elegantly crossed over the other, gave a cool, razor-sharp nod.
“We will need clauses in the trade accord that expressly define
which categories of living magic are exempt from trade.”
He drummed his fingers lightly on the arm of his chair.
“Otherwise, they will press.
They will seek the edge :
and one day, you may find a contract laid before you
where they ask for an unbroken dawnwood sapling,
or the feather of a skyborn phoenix.”
His gaze sharpened.
“We must anticipate. And lock the gates tightly.”
Velassa’s Quiet Reflection
Velassa’s eyes opened slowly, dark and deep, calm as a still lake.
“They value what they cannot reach.
We value what we cannot easily measure.”
She spoke softly, but her words landed like flint against stone.
“If we are careless,
we may find ourselves rich in metals :
but poor in legacy,
empty of the quiet, uncounted treasures
that make the surface world what it is.”
She looked around at her companions.
“We must be wise.
We must know what we can give,
and what we must never place on the scales.”
The Team’s Final Alignment That Night
Offer Freely:
Surface-grown herbs, spices, and crops.
Crafted textiles and non-magical artisan goods.
Carefully portioned alchemical compounds (non-heritage).
Moonwater or dew-gather within reason.
Guard Absolutely:
Any elder tree essences tied to elven groves.
Starfire, phoenix, or unicorn-born materials.
Bloodline-bound magical flora or fauna.
Relics or substances drawn from sacred rites.
Velassa’s Final Word Before Rest
Velassa rose slowly, her voice low and unwavering.
“Tomorrow,
we begin to place the true borders.”
She touched the Pact scroll gently with one hand.
“We will give generously :
but never blindly.
And never
everything.”
As her companions drifted into silence,
the moonlight fell pale across the room,
and Velassa sat once more,
quietly readying herself for the dawn.
Scene: The Third Day : Shinazazi Proposes the Grand Market
As the three bells tolled, the Mithrin delegation took their seats, prepared for another long day of delicate, thorn-threaded negotiations.
Velassa Drelnir sat calmly, flanked by Lysandrel, Elthar, and Amryndel, their scrolls and notes laid out before them in neat, intentional order.
But before anyone on the surface side could speak, Shinazazi D’shaverauk raised her hand slightly, her pale, gloved fingers graceful as a spider’s limb.
Her voice came smooth and unhurried : but with a clarity that silenced the room.
“This group will never agree on the value of such rare items as we have discussed.”
She smiled faintly, the spider-stones across her armor glinting softly in the lamplight.
“We realize such attempts are futile.”
A Radical Shift
Leaning slightly forward, her tone shifted :
not cold,
but edged with calculated precision.
“I propose something entirely different.”
She gestured with an open palm.
“A Grand Market.
A place where the Underdark can sell its wares and rarities such that your surface laws allow :
and a location of similar effect for your traders to negotiate and trade with ours.”
Her pale gaze sharpened slightly.
“The Houses will abide by such a pact.
Would your merchant guild?”
Anticipating Objections
She gave a faint, knowing smile.
“Having access to your market, and you access to ours,
removes the need for painstaking negotiation over each individual item.
Let demand and rarity shape price.”
Her fingers tapped softly on the table.
“The sticking point,
of course,
would be location and security.
We understand this.
We would limit our people to a number you deem reasonable,
to avoid the threat of infiltration or invasion.
You could do likewise.”
Offering the Infrastructure
“We have the magics to create portals from House Chorzyn,
secure, regulated, overseen.
I am certain you have access to the same on your side.”
Her pale lips curved slightly.
“And let us not pretend:
Harker VanClees,
one of your nation’s notable business giants,
would definitely like this.
And Asmith,
your underworld boss,
would dislike being cut out.”
Her voice dropped just slightly, a thread of dry amusement beneath.
“This is one of the things we want.
I believe you want the same.
Negotiations on each item
become unnecessary
if the market is agreed upon.”
The Final Prompt
Shinazazi leaned back gracefully, hands folding in her lap.
“So,
Velassa Drelnir,
Oathbinder,
Mithrin delegation:
What are your thoughts
on this?”
Mithrin’s Silent Weighing
For a moment,
the delegation sat in heavy silence,
their minds racing.
Elthar Solmere : eyes alight, heart leaping.
A grand market : trade open to rare materials, exotic crafts, high-value goods : this could reshape Mithrin’s economic power overnight.
Lysandrel of the Silver Codex : cautious, lips pressed thin.
But what hidden currents might slip through such portals? What unspoken cultural dangers, political shifts, or magical entanglements might follow?
Amryndel Vathoriel : razor-sharp, already drafting legal frameworks in his mind.
Regulation. Oversight. Reciprocal laws. We can build the cages : but can we predict what will crawl through?
Velassa Drelnir : serene on the surface, but within:
This is no longer just trade.
This is the knitting of two worlds :
and if done poorly,
it is a spider’s web
we may never escape.
Scene: Private Deliberation : The Gravity of the Grand Market
Velassa sat quietly, her hands folded, while the rest of the Mithrin delegation gathered in the adjoining chamber.
The door had been sealed with wards, the old symbols of the Pact of Ash and Crown faintly glowing on the threshold to guarantee privacy : no spying, no magic, no eyes beyond this room.
Elthar’s Enthusiasm
Elthar Solmere was already pacing, his words spilling fast and bright.
“Velassa, this… this is huge! A Grand Market? A formalized trade hub between the surface and the Underdark?
Do you know how much merchant power flows through even a modest trade post?
Now imagine doubling or tripling that : with new materials, new markets, new demand!”
He grinned sharply.
“VanClees would leap on this like a wolf on a lamb.
The merchant guilds would fight to be included.
The coffers of Mithrin could swell like never before.”
Lysandrel’s Caution
Lysandrel of the Silver Codex raised a long, pale hand, his voice soft but edged.
“Elthar,
and what of the tides beneath the gold?
This is not just trade. This is influence,
cultural seep,
political shift.
When you open a portal,
you open two worlds.”
He looked steadily at Velassa.
“How do we guarantee security?
How do we protect against infiltration, against entanglement, against the slow creep of their Houses’ political weight into ours?”
Amryndel’s Legal Sharpness
Amryndel Vathoriel, ever poised, leaned forward slightly, his pale half-elven eyes sharp as needles.
“The key is structure.
Tightly written accords,
reciprocal laws,
strict quotas,
independent oversight.
We would need formal observers : from both sides :
and clauses allowing the suspension or closure of trade if violations occur.”
He tapped a finger thoughtfully.
“And the location?
It must be neutral ground,
neither theirs nor ours :
a space governed under mutual terms.”
Velassa’s Calm Assessment
Velassa, still as stone, opened her eyes slowly.
“You are both right.
The opportunity is vast.
So is the risk.”
Her voice remained quiet, but each word struck with precision.
“This is not merely commerce.
This is a permanent joining.
We must be sure
of what we invite
and what we are prepared
to withstand.”
She rose smoothly.
“Let us return and begin framing the questions.”
Scene: Velassa’s Composed Reply
Back in the Judicial Hall, the surface delegation returned, calm and deliberate.
Velassa Drelnir inclined her head slightly to Shinazazi.
“Honored Shinazazi D’shaverauk,
we hear your proposal :
and we recognize its profound significance.”
Her dark eyes rested steadily on the Ghostwidow.
“We wish to begin framing conditions and clarifying questions.”
The Framing Questions
Velassa spoke carefully, each word a measured step.
“First: Location.
Where would such a Grand Market be established?
Would you propose it be surface-bound, underdark-bound,
or in a neutral and independent space governed under mutual law?”
“Second: Security and Oversight.
What formal assurances would both sides provide regarding
the number of traders,
the nature of allowed goods,
and the means of monitoring compliance with our respective laws?”
“Third: Sovereignty.
How do we ensure that trade does not
permit political intrusion,
espionage,
or interference in the internal governance of our realms?”
“Fourth: Governance of Disputes.
What framework would resolve violations or breaches of the accord :
and who would oversee the enforcement of such decisions?”
Velassa’s Closing Note
“We approach this
not as a denial,
nor as blind agreement :
but as the crafting of a structure
that can endure the weight it must carry.”
She inclined her head slightly.
“We await your insights,
so that we may continue weaving
this great and delicate web.”
Scene: Shinazazi’s Declaration : Bridging the Divide
Shinazazi D’shaverauk leaned forward slightly, her pale fingers lacing elegantly atop the table, the faint shimmer of the spider-stones on her armor catching the light.
Her voice flowed softly, deliberate, each word stitched with cool precision.
“We will serve as the Underdark’s oversight and security.
The weight of House bindings,
the oaths we carry,
the accords we represent :
we bring them fully to this table.”
Her pale eyes swept calmly across Velassa, Lysandrel, Elthar, and Amryndel, resting briefly on each.
A Remarkable Concession
“We are willing to allow this Grand Market
to be under your sovereign control,
if you are willing to allow our Houses
to designate tradesmen and tradeswomen
to operate within the market proper,
and to engage freely in commerce
with your city’s market as a whole :
including specialty shops, crafters, and merchant halls :
without undue scrutiny or interference.”
A faint, almost wry smile touched her lips.
“We, of course, offer the same courtesy
to your merchants in our territories.”
A Warning and a Truth
Shinazazi’s voice cooled slightly, growing quieter.
“We are seeking
a true bridge.”
Her pale eyes sharpened faintly, a hard glint beneath her composed surface.
“But make no mistake:
there are those on both sides
who will wish to exploit,
or destroy,
this bridge.”
She paused just long enough for the weight of that truth to sink in.
“The Houses of the accord are not mighty.
They are not the ruling powers.
They are those who seek
a better existence for themselves :
through trade,
through exchange,
through survival.”
A Revealed Surprise
Shinazazi sat slightly back, her hands resting gracefully on the table.
“We have, for this purpose,
purchased, legally and with full propriety,
the entire courtyard surrounding the Coin Tower.”
She smiled faintly,
her expression hinting at amusement.
“If you check the records of ownership,
you will find all has been done correctly,
quietly,
and for this very use.”
She lifted one brow slightly.
“Nothing nefarious is at play :
simply, as you surfacefolk say,
‘greasing the wheels.’”
Pragmatic Considerations
Her voice became almost gentle,
cool but not unkind.
“It is an adequate size for many shops,
and easily cordoned
to restrict access as you see fit.”
She folded her hands again.
“While we would love
to have an open and unrestricted trade market,
such would result in chaos,
given our differences :
but in time,
that is the goal.”
Clarifying Intent
Shinazazi’s gaze focused sharply,
her voice lowering slightly,
the smile fading.
“To speak as plainly as possible,
the Houses seek access
to things they do not have :
and offer the same in return
to your tradesmen.”
She gave a small, precise nod.
“But we require
your enforcement of your own laws,
until such time as we understand them fully.”
An Unexpected Question
Her expression shifted slightly :
not confusion,
but faint curiosity.
“One matter,
of genuine confusion to the Houses:
this matter of slavery.
You say, ‘No slaves’ :
but does this include
intelligent beasts,
familiars,
or exotic creatures?”
Her pale head tilted slightly.
“Because,
they are bought and sold freely
in your city’s markets.”
She fell silent,
watching them carefully,
the glimmer of challenge
and genuine curiosity
mingling in her gaze.
The Room Holds Its Breath
Velassa, Lysandrel, Elthar, and Amryndel exchanged brief, weighted glances.
What Shinazazi proposed was a remarkable concession :
but one that, if misunderstood or mishandled,
could shape the future of Mithrin’s legal, economic, and moral foundations.
Scene: Private Discussion : Drawing the Line Between Ownership and Slavery
The delegation gathered once more in their secured side chamber, the door sealed under the ancient sigils of the Pact of Ash and Crown.
Velassa sat quietly at the head of the table, her fingers laced before her, eyes half-closed as she listened.
Lysandrel paced near the wall, scrolls clutched tightly in his long, pale fingers.
Elthar leaned against the table, brows furrowed, tapping one knuckle anxiously.
Amryndel, seated with perfect stillness, slowly turned his ring over his finger again and again, deep in thought.
Lysandrel Speaks First
“They’ve cut to the marrow.”
Lysandrel’s voice was soft but sharp.
“We call ourselves free and lawful,
but in truth,
we sell creatures :
familiars, intelligent beasts, rare companions,
sometimes even creations like homunculi or bound elementals :
openly,
without calling it slavery.”
He let out a slow, tense breath.
“Yet when they ask :
what is slavery :
we realize we have no clean answer.”
Elthar’s Frustration
Elthar shook his head, frustrated.
“It’s not the same.
A bound elemental or a trained wyvern
isn’t a person.”
He ran a hand through his hair.
“We don’t buy and sell sentient creatures with rights,
at least not under law.”
He frowned.
“…But then, how do we define sentience?”
Amryndel’s Quiet Warning
Amryndel’s calm, razor-sharp voice cut in.
“We cannot claim
that drawing the line
will be easy.”
He folded his hands slowly.
“Because once we try,
we will be forced to examine
our own hypocrisies.”
He glanced meaningfully at Velassa.
“Some familiars are fully aware.
Some bound spirits may be ancient,
with knowledge and memory.
Some rare beasts :
like griffons
may be intelligent,
but sold as creatures, not citizens.”
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“And we have no precedent
for dividing that line cleanly in law.”
Velassa’s Quiet Reflection
Velassa spoke at last,
her voice calm, even gentle.
“This is the heart of it:
Where does ownership end,
and slavery begin?”
She opened her eyes,
dark and steady.
“Is it the presence of will?
Of understanding?
Of the ability to choose?”
Where They Stand
Lysandrel:
We must tread carefully,
lest we expose deep legal gaps in our own society.
Elthar:
We need clear, enforceable definitions,
but making them might fracture guilds and markets.
Amryndel:
We need to codify:
Sentient, self-aware beings
cannot be owned or traded.
Non-sentient creatures,
no matter how rare or magical,
may fall under lawful commerce :
but even this is a brittle line.
Velassa’s Final Decision
Velassa folded her hands tightly.
“We will answer plainly:
No sentient being,
no aware, self-determining creature,
may be sold or traded as property.
Not by our laws.”
She looked sharply at each of them.
“If they challenge that,
if they wish to debate
which creatures cross that line,
we will face it.
But we will not abandon
this fundamental truth.”
Her voice softened faintly.
“Even if our own city
has yet to fully examine it.”
Preparing to Return
The delegation gathered their notes,
their scrolls,
their sharpened definitions.
They would return to the negotiating table
with a line drawn,
clear but fragile :
and they would see
whether Shinazazi
would respect it,
or pull at its threads.
Velassa Speaks : The Line Drawn
“Honored Shinazazi,
you asked a question that strikes deeper than law.
It strikes at the very marrow of our society.”
She paused, letting the silence stretch just enough for gravity.
“You asked us:
What is slavery?
And does it include the intelligent beasts
we buy and sell in our own markets?”
She looked Shinazazi full in the eye.
“Until now,
we did not realize
we had no answer worth giving.”
Framing the Law
Velassa’s voice remained quiet but sharp, clear as river-ice.
“After deep reflection,
our position is thus:
No sentient being:
no self-aware creature capable of will, memory, and the understanding of its condition:
may be owned, sold, or traded
as property
under Mithrin law.”
She raised her chin slightly, unwavering.
“If it can mourn,
if it can ask questions,
if it can fear,
if it can choose:
then it is not a thing to be held,
but a being to be honored.”
The Uncomfortable Line
She breathed once, slowly.
“And yet…
our markets do sell intelligent creatures:
familiars who speak,
constructs who remember,
chimeras with names.”
A faint shadow of regret crossed her features.
“We are not free of hypocrisy.
But we will not pretend it isn’t there.
This pact will be where we draw the line.”
The Question Returned
Velassa stepped back slightly, her voice low, but piercing.
“So I ask in return:
how smart can something be
and still be owned?”
She let it hang in the air like a blade balanced on its tip.
“Because if we are to share a market,
we must share more than coin.
We must share conscience.”
The Hall Falls Silent
The words echoed in the stone chamber.
No breath, no flicker, no sound broke the stillness.
Shinazazi sat as ever, unreadable.
But behind those pale spider-gem eyes,
something coiled:
not anger,
not offense:
but deep and deliberate thought.
Scene: Shinazazi’s Response : Pulling at the Threads
Shinazazi sat perfectly still, hands folded, pale eyes gleaming faintly with the shimmer of her armor’s spider-stones.
Her voice, when it came, was as smooth and measured as ever : but now there was an edge, a flicker of challenge beneath the silk.
“We see this differently.”
The Root of the Matter
She leaned forward slightly, not in threat, but in quiet precision.
“That is the root of the question,
Oathbinder.”
Her gaze swept the delegation, pausing faintly on Velassa.
“In your current law :
how is this actually defined?”
Her tone held no mockery, only the cool weight of a spider pulling delicately on the strands of a web.
“We assumed : as any would :
that it included humanoid creatures,
with language,
with skill,
with familial bonds,
with written language,
perhaps even the requirement for civilization,
or at least
communal groups.”
The Cutting Point
Her pale lips curved faintly, though the smile never reached her eyes.
“But all things fear,
Velassa Drelnir.
Even a rabbit fears.
Even a hunting falcon, bound to the wrist,
knows the moment of death
and shies from it.”
She tapped one finger lightly against the table.
“So under the spirit of your proposal,
none can be sold.”
The Demand for Codification
Shinazazi’s voice shifted slightly, still smooth, but now unmistakably firm.
“Perhaps, then,
the law needs to be codified.”
She inclined her head slightly,
a gesture of precision,
not surrender.
“We propose:
any creature,
be it magical, exotic, or natural,
whose sale or trade is to be permitted,
be submitted for
formal evaluation.”
Her eyes sharpened faintly.
“We ask because
beast trade is one
we wish to deal in.”
Mithrin’s Quiet Realization
Velassa’s fingers tightened just faintly on the table.
Behind her, Lysandrel frowned deeply, his historian’s mind already spinning through past cases, records, exceptions.
Elthar’s brow furrowed, calculating the economic ripple.
Amryndel sat utterly still, his eyes narrowing faintly.
They had not defined this before.
Not fully. Not under test.
And now : they would have to.
Shinazazi’s Calm Closing
“We do not bring this
as an insult,
nor as a wedge.
But if we are to share markets,
we must know
the laws we share.”
She folded her hands again,
patient,
silent,
watching them quietly.
Scene One: Private Conversation : Facing the Uncomfortable Truth
Once again, behind the sealed doors of the side chamber, the Mithrin delegation gathered, tension sharp in the air.
Velassa stood quietly, hands folded, watching as Lysandrel, Elthar, and Amryndel paced or sat, each wrestling with the enormity of the challenge Shinazazi had just set before them.
Lysandrel’s Worry
Lysandrel was the first to speak, his voice low, troubled.
“She’s right.”
He turned, brow furrowed deeply.
“We don’t have a codified definition. We’ve never needed one.
We deal with sentient and non-sentient by intuition, by tradition : not by law.
Our courts have only ruled on humanoid enslavement; beasts, familiars, bound spirits : they’ve slipped through the cracks.”
He shook his head.
“If we start examining it now, we’ll stir decades of legal dust we aren’t ready to settle.”
Elthar’s Pragmatism
Elthar let out a tight breath, running a hand through his hair.
“We can’t afford to sink into endless debate over this.
Trade needs to move, Velassa : the markets won’t wait for philosophers and scholars to argue over where a griffon or a dryad fits on a sentience scale.”
He crossed his arms, jaw tightening.
“We need a temporary framework. Something practical, that lets us move forward, while leaving room to refine definitions later.”
Amryndel’s Legal Precision
Amryndel sat poised, his gaze sharp as a knife’s edge.
“I can draft an interim clause.
Something like:
‘Until formal codification of sentient versus non-sentient trade laws is completed, all transactions involving non-humanoid creatures shall be subject to review by a joint trade council, composed of representatives from both realms.’”
He tapped one long finger on the table.
“It gives us control, buys time,
and signals respect without surrendering principle.”
Velassa’s Resolve
Velassa nodded slowly, her voice calm, certain.
“That is what we present, then.”
Her dark eyes swept the room, steady and unwavering.
“We admit the flaw.
We propose the bridge.
And we promise the work.
Scene Two: Velassa’s Composed Answer
Back in the negotiation chamber, Velassa stood smoothly, hands lightly folded.
“Honored Shinazazi D’shaverauk,
we thank you for your insight :
for pressing us on a question we had not,
until this moment,
fully answered.”
Her voice was quiet but clear,
each word chosen with deliberate care.
Laying Out the Framework
“We acknowledge that Mithrin’s current law
does not yet contain
a complete, codified definition
of sentience as it relates to trade.”
She inclined her head slightly.
“Until formal codification is completed,
we propose the following interim measure:
all transactions involving non-humanoid creatures :
including beasts, familiars, constructs, or similar :
shall be subject to review
by a joint trade council,
composed of appointed representatives
from both Mithrin and the Houses of the Accord.”
Her eyes met Shinazazi’s evenly.
“This council will have the authority
to determine, case by case,
whether the trade of a given entity
meets the ethical and legal standards
of both realms.”
Setting the Tone
Velassa’s voice softened slightly,
but remained firm.
“We believe this framework
offers a path forward :
one that balances respect,
prudence,
and the urgent need
to begin building this bridge.”
She inclined her head once more.
“We await your thoughts.”
The Room Holds Its Breath
The hall fell into stillness.
Shinazazi sat, hands folded, spider-stones softly glinting,
watching,
thinking,
measuring
the weight of the Oathbinder’s answer.
Scene: Shinazazi’s Reaction : Approval and a Pointed Observation
Shinazazi D’shaverauk sat in perfect stillness, the gleam of her pale spider-stones pulsing faintly as she inclined her head.
Her voice flowed smoothly, silk and steel interwoven, as she addressed Velassa.
“Well said, Velassa Drelnir, Oathbinder, Beloved of Vandria Gilmadrith,
Keeper of Watchfulness,
Bearer of the Pact of Ash and Crown.”
There was no mockery in her voice : only the cool, sharp-edged respect of one predator recognizing another.
Clarifying the Position
“The Houses hold no restrictions
on the matter of sentience.
We trade what can be taken,
what can be bred,
what can be bound :
and we measure only by usefulness,
not by the shape of mind.”
Her pale eyes glimmered faintly in the dim light.
“Thus,
the burden of allowance or denial
falls within the jurisdiction of your realm
in this respect.”
She folded her hands lightly, fingertips brushing.
“We will trade what you permit.
We will refrain from what you forbid.”
A Pointed Observation
Shinazazi’s smile curved faintly,
a thin, knowing line.
“I can only assume,
Oathbinder,
that you would also preclude
anyone within your realm
from selling sentient beings
to the Houses.”
Her voice dipped slightly,
smooth but edged.
“Because I doubt
that Harker VanClees
or Asmith the Underboss
would pause long
if the prices were right.”
Her pale head tilted just slightly.
“But if your laws are enforced,
such acts would, I presume,
be crimes :
and punishable under surface law,
yes?”
The Quiet Challenge
Shinazazi sat back,
her pale eyes steady,
spider-stone gems glowing faintly at her throat.
“We do not presume
to police your realm.
But we do ask:
will you?”
The room fell still,
the weight of her words settling like threads
invisible but unbreakable.
Scene: Private Deliberation : The Spider’s Web of Law and Power
Behind the sealed doors once again, the Mithrin delegation gathered, the air tighter, heavier, than on any previous night.
Velassa Drelnir stood at the head of the table, her hands folded tightly, brow faintly furrowed.
The others gathered around her, each showing the strain in their own way.
Lysandrel’s Caution
Lysandrel paced, his long pale fingers tapping the spines of legal scrolls and codices.
“She’s not wrong.”
His voice was soft, but weighted.
“Harker VanClees and Asmith command networks, money, power.
If they sense an opening :
if they believe sentient beings can be bought and sold under some technical reading of the law :
they will exploit it.”
He turned sharply.
“And the question is:
will we be strong enough
to close that door
before it’s forced open?”
Elthar’s Calculated Worry
Elthar leaned against the table, brows drawn.
“We cannot afford to look weak, Velassa.
If we tell Shinazazi we can enforce our laws,
we have to mean it.”
His fingers drummed a restless beat.
“But let’s be honest:
when have the merchant guilds or the criminal houses ever respected restrictions
if enough coin was on the table?”
He exhaled sharply.
“We risk promising something
our nation may not be able to deliver.”
Amryndel’s Legal Precision
Amryndel, sitting cross-legged, gave a faint, wry smile.
“Then we frame it carefully.
We affirm the letter of the law.
We commit to enforcement.
And we leave the mechanisms and penalties
to our own sovereign systems.”
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“That means:
if a Harker or an Asmith tries to break these laws,
we handle it internally.
We do not, under any circumstances,
give the Underdark the right
to intervene on our soil.”
He tapped the table once, crisp and sharp.
“We promise our enforcement.
Not theirs.”
Velassa’s Quiet Resolve
Velassa breathed slowly, deeply,
her mind drawing the threads together.
“This is a web,
and we can already feel the spider waiting.
If we become tangled,
if we hesitate,
we will be eaten.”
She opened her eyes, dark and steady.
“We will promise enforcement.
We will stand by the law.
And we will make clear:
the laws of Mithrin
are enforced by Mithrin.”
Her gaze swept over the team.
“Prepare the language.
We return.”
Scene: Velassa’s Composed Response
Back in the hall, Velassa stood once again, her voice calm, deliberate, clear.
“Honored Shinazazi D’shaverauk,
Daughter of Yezed,
Ender of Lines,
Severer of Threads :
we have reflected on your question.”
She let the silence breathe for just a moment.
Affirming the Law
“Mithrin will affirm and enforce
that no sentient being :
no aware, self-determining creature :
may be sold or traded
within our realm.”
Her gaze sharpened faintly.
“If citizens of Mithrin
seek to break that law,
whether they are Harker VanClees,
Asmith the Underboss,
or any other,
they will face the punishments
prescribed by our courts,
under our justice.”
She inclined her head slightly.
“We will not permit
external actors
to enforce justice upon our soil.
That is the duty,
and the burden,
of Mithrin.”
The Closing Note
Velassa folded her hands lightly.
“We do not promise perfection.
We promise effort.
We promise law.
And we promise
that we do not take this lightly.”
Her voice softened slightly,
just enough to carry the trace of steel behind silk.
“In this,
and in all things,
we seek a bridge :
not a snare.”
The Hall Falls Silent
Shinazazi sat, utterly still,
her pale eyes sharp,
watching,
measuring,
perhaps even:
for the faintest flicker of a moment:
approving.
Scene: Shinazazi’s Acceptance : Formalizing the Structure
Shinazazi D’shaverauk sat with her usual perfect composure, but this time, her voice carried a clearer note of accord, an almost imperceptible easing of the cold web of formality.
“This is accepted.”
She inclined her head slightly, pale eyes gleaming faintly.
“We wished not to intervene in matters not our own.
This forms the law under which we will operate.”
Her hands folded lightly on the table.
“I agree to this now.”
Turning to the Market Location
Her voice shifted smoothly, moving to the next matter.
“Now, on the matter of the market location.
Is the suggested one acceptable :
the courtyard surrounding the Coin Tower?”
She allowed the question to hang for the briefest breath, then continued.
“If so,
what measures do you require to restrict access?”
Her pale brow lifted slightly,
the faintest flicker of challenge or curiosity in her tone.
“If the market is to trade daily,
there will need to be guards,
inspectors,
to verify nothing is unlawful.
We are concerned enough
to require inspections both going in
and going out.”
She gave a small, elegant shrug.
“Not for our protection,
but to enforce surface laws.”
A Practical Proposal
Shinazazi’s hands unfolded, one palm lifting gracefully.
“Would this be provided
by the Houses :
or by the host nation?
Or perhaps some mixture of both,
where the guard force is selected and vetted
by Mithrin,
but paid,
at least in part,
by the Houses of the Accord?”
Her head tilted faintly,
a subtle gleam of approval in her pale gemlike eyes.
“This seems a point
where collaboration
is not merely wise,
but necessary.”
The Hall Holds Its Breath
The Mithrin delegation sat in careful silence,
each member realizing
that this question :
not just of where,
but who enforces what,
would shape the power dynamics
of the entire market.
Scene One: Private Deliberation : The Tension of Shared Enforcement
In the warded side chamber, the Mithrin delegation gathered close, the air thick and strained.
Velassa Drelnir stood perfectly still, her arms folded, while Lysandrel, Elthar, and Amryndel exchanged sharp glances.
Lysandrel’s Unease
Lysandrel spoke first, his voice low, troubled.
“This isn’t just about guards and inspectors.
It’s about authority.”
He turned sharply.
“If we let the Houses supply part of the security :
even if vetted :
we give them a foothold inside the walls.”
He tapped the table hard.
“That may seem harmless today,
but tomorrow,
who answers if something slips through?
Who takes the blame when a forbidden good passes
or a political agent crosses under cover of trade?”
Elthar’s Calculated View
Elthar rubbed his temples, frowning.
“But we can’t carry the full cost ourselves.
A daily market,
with magical goods,
rare beasts,
deep ore :
the inspection force alone would drain our treasury.”
He glanced sharply toward Amryndel.
“We have to let them pay into it,
but we can’t let them control it.”
Amryndel’s Precision
Amryndel, his long fingers steepled under his chin, spoke calmly.
“Then the compromise is this:
Mithrin supplies and commands the force.
The Houses pay into a security fund,
but they have no authority over how it’s staffed,
how it operates,
or what standards it enforces.”
His sharp eyes flicked between them.
“It’s a clear line of command.
And it lets us protect our sovereignty.”
Velassa’s Quiet Decision
Velassa closed her eyes briefly, drawing in a slow breath.
“We will present that.
It gives them voice,
but not hand.”
She opened her eyes, steady, unwavering.
“Prepare.”
Scene Two: Velassa’s Composed Reply
Back at the table, Velassa stood smoothly, her posture poised, voice calm and firm.
“Honored Shinazazi D’shaverauk,
we thank you for your clear question.”
She inclined her head slightly.
The Surface Nation’s Position
“We propose this:
Mithrin will supply, staff, and command
all guards, inspectors, and enforcement agents
associated with the Grand Market.”
Her voice remained even, unshaken.
“However,
the Houses of the Accord
may contribute to the cost :
through a jointly established security fund
set aside for the maintenance
and fair compensation of this force.”
Her dark eyes met Shinazazi’s calmly.
“This ensures
that enforcement remains under surface law,
aligned to our codes,
our standards,
and our systems of accountability.”
The Closing Note
Velassa folded her hands lightly.
“This is not to deny the Houses voice or stake.
It is to protect both parties
from divided command,
from blurred responsibility,
and from the dangers
of unclear authority.”
Her voice softened slightly.
“We believe this structure
serves the shared goal
of a market built
on trust and clarity.”
The Hall Holds Still
Shinazazi sat,
her pale, luminous eyes glinting faintly,
watching Velassa,
measuring every syllable,
every breath.
The weight of the decision hung suspended,
like a spider poised over its web,
ready to strike :
or retreat.
Scene: Shinazazi’s Formal Answer : A Proposal of Merit
Shinazazi D’shaverauk sat in composed stillness, her pale, gleaming eyes steady on Velassa.
When she spoke, it was with her usual cool grace, but now tinged with something rare : a trace of open approval.
“This has merit,
Velassa Drelnir, Oathbinder, Beloved of Vandria Gilmadrith,
Keeper of Watchfulness,
Bearer of the Pact of Ash and Crown.”
She inclined her head smoothly, the faint shimmer of the spider-stones across her armor catching the lamplight.
A New Proposal
“We propose
a levy placed directly upon goods for sale :
five to ten percent,
taken as a fee,
dedicated solely to the guard fund,
making the market self-sustained.”
Her fingers folded gracefully.
“This places no burden on the Houses,
no undue burden on your tradesmen.
Only the buyers
keep it afloat,
as you say.”
She gave the faintest smile, a thin, precise line.
“We suspect this will be sufficient
to provide liquidity
without hardship to either realm.”
Sealing the Point
Her pale head tilted slightly,
watching Velassa with cool, waiting eyes.
“If you agree,
then this matter is settled.”
The weight of finality hung softly in the air :
not a threat,
but the crisp, unmistakable moment
where threads are tied,
knots are sealed,
and the pact is ready to take shape.
Scene One: Private Meeting : The Final Weighing
Back behind the warded doors, the Mithrin delegation gathered for what they knew was the last private conference before sealing the first great accord.
Velassa Drelnir stood near the window, her hands folded, gazing out at the soft glow of the lamps beyond the courtyard.
Lysandrel sat cross-legged on a low bench, brow furrowed in thought.
Elthar leaned forward on the table, knuckles tight, eyes flicking between his companions.
Amryndel, as ever, sat poised, fingers steepled, sharp-eyed and utterly calm.
Lysandrel’s Careful Thought
“It’s a clean proposal,” Lysandrel murmured, voice soft.
“The burden falls on the transactions : not the houses, not the traders, not our treasury.
It’s elegant, really.”
He glanced up at Velassa.
“It creates a self-sustaining system
that, if it works,
could last generations.”
Elthar’s Practical Optimism
Elthar gave a small, eager nod.
“It’s smart.
It ensures liquidity without political entanglement.
The buyers pay to maintain the system they use.
No forced tithes, no coercion.”
He smiled faintly.
“And it shows they understand market mechanics :
that gives me hope
for the business side of this pact.”
Amryndel’s Legal Eye
Amryndel’s voice was quiet, sharp.
“It is mutually beneficial :
so long as the collection and allocation of funds
is handled under strict, transparent oversight.”
He tapped one finger lightly.
“We will need clauses ensuring
that neither side can claim
control or misuse of the fund.
It must exist solely
to sustain the guard force.”
He looked at Velassa.
“But yes.
This can work.”
Velassa’s Final Decision
Velassa turned slowly from the window,
her expression serene,
her voice calm and sure.
“We accept.
It is fair,
measured,
and wise.”
She drew a slow breath.
“Let us return
and begin the sealing.”
Scene Two: Velassa’s Formal Acceptance
Back in the great chamber, Velassa rose smoothly, hands folded lightly at her waist.
“Honored Shinazazi D’shaverauk,
Daughter of Yezed,
Ender of Lines,
Severer of Threads :
we have conferred,
and we accept your proposal.”
Her dark eyes met Shinazazi’s pale, glimmering gaze with steady clarity.
“A fee placed upon goods,
five to ten percent,
dedicated solely to the guard fund,
ensuring the market’s self-sustenance :
this is a fair and mutually beneficial structure.”
She inclined her head slightly.
“We agree.”
The Moment of Accord
The hall fell into a brief, weighted silence.
No magic sparked,
no sudden flare of light :
and yet something shifted in that moment.
Threads, unseen but binding,
wove between the surface and the deep,
between Velassa and Shinazazi,
between Mithrin and the Underdark.
Scene: The Final Matter : The Binding Ceremony
Shinazazi’s voice flowed like silk over steel, carrying a weight that settled deep into the stone bones of the chamber.
She leaned forward slightly, her pale eyes gleaming faintly, her thin smile sharp but not mocking.
“One final matter.
We are certain
the esteemed Velassa Drelnir, Oathbinder, Beloved of Vandria Gilmadrith,
Keeper of Watchfulness,
Bearer of the Pact of Ash and Crown,
foresaw this.”
The Ancient Joining
Shinazazi’s fingers folded lightly atop one another, her voice soft but inexorable.
“The binding ceremony is steeped in old ways and symbology.
There must be a joining of realms :
and as such, ceremonially at least,
there must be a ‘marriage’ of sorts.”
The word hung in the air like the tightening of silk threads.
“A tying of threads
to hold the pact,
to enforce its tenets,
to weave its edges
into the fabric of both worlds.”
An Unexpected Expectation
Shinazazi’s faint smile deepened,
a flicker of amusement at the edge.
“We expected
a male negotiator.
The surface is usually led by such.”
Her pale eyes flicked lightly over Velassa.
“Seeing you was a :
I will not say surprise,
but your selection
was unexpected.”
Clarifying the Weight
She raised a pale hand, elegant, sharp.
“There is no need
for anything beyond the ceremony.
No bond of flesh,
no personal claim,
no mingling of private ties.”
Her voice lowered slightly.
“But it is intense :
and it is unending.”
She leaned forward,
voice now silk-wrapped steel.
“You will be tied to us,
and likewise,
our realms bound.”
The Need for Certainty
Her eyes sharpened,
her tone turning cool and grave.
“You must be certain
of your conviction,
of your commitment
to the law created here,
for our patrons to agree
as well.”
She gave the faintest tilt of her head.
“It is good you were chosen.
The chaotic nature of the light gods
would cause considerable
strain
on such an entanglement.”
The Room Holds Its Breath
Velassa stood perfectly still,
her companions silent,
the weight of the moment
pressing down like the air before a storm.
A ceremonial marriage :
a binding not of hearts,
but of realms,
of law,
of unbreakable oaths.
Once begun,
there would be no untangling.
Scene One: Private Conversation : Wrestling With the Binding
Back in the sealed chamber, Velassa and her team sat in tense silence.
Even Elthar, usually restless and quick to speak, sat still, his hands clasped tightly before him.
Lysandrel stared at the table, brows drawn, while Amryndel watched Velassa with narrowed, analytical eyes.
Lysandrel’s Unease
Lysandrel spoke first, voice quiet, heavy with unease.
“A marriage… of realms.”
He let the words settle bitterly in the air.
“Velassa, this isn’t just symbolic.
It means your name, your spirit,
your oath
becomes the anchor point
for every word we sign.”
He raised his head slightly.
“It will bind you,
personally,
not just politically.”
Elthar’s Practical Alarm
Elthar shook his head, frowning hard.
“This wasn’t what we prepared for.
We thought we were crafting trade.
Not forging you
into the living seal.”
He leaned forward sharply.
“Velassa, this could affect
your faith,
your magic,
your very soul.
The gods of law may tolerate it :
but the other powers…
we don’t know.”
Amryndel’s Calculated Clarity
Amryndel steepled his long fingers, eyes cold and clear.
“But we also know this:
without a living bond,
there is no pact.”
He turned slightly, his sharp gaze cutting through the fog.
“You are the Oathbinder.
You were chosen
because you can carry
what no one else
could bear.”
He let the silence deepen.
“You are the only one
who can stand in this gap.”
Velassa’s Quiet Resolve
Velassa closed her eyes briefly,
breathing once, slowly.
“The Pact of Ash and Crown
is built on the idea
that the strongest
bear the greatest burdens.”
She opened her eyes,
dark and unwavering.
“We came seeking a bridge.
I will be that bridge.”
Her voice softened faintly.
“Let us return.
Scene Two: Velassa’s Composed Answer
Back in the great hall, Velassa rose smoothly, her figure calm, commanding, her voice clear and measured.
“Honored Shinazazi D’shaverauk,
Daughter of Yezed,
Ender of Lines,
Severer of Threads : ”
She inclined her head gracefully.
“We hear and understand
the weight of the binding
you propose.”
Acceptance
“We accept
the ceremonial binding,
the ‘marriage’ of realms,
the weaving of oath and thread
that will tie this pact
into permanence.”
Her voice remained steady,
but the air around her
seemed to sharpen,
grow heavier,
as the weight of the words settled.
“I stand ready
as the Oathbinder,
Beloved of Vandria Gilmadrith,
to carry this knot of worlds,
to honor the laws we have shaped,
and to hold the line
between surface and deep.”
The Moment of Decision
Velassa lifted her chin slightly.
“We will proceed
to the binding.”
The hall fell into profound, echoing silence.
Across from her, Shinazazi sat perfectly still,
the faintest glimmer of satisfaction flickering
behind her pale, gleaming eyes.
The great weaving of two realms
was about to begin.
Scene One: The Personal Meeting : Intimate, Ceremonial
Before the public binding,
Shinazazi requested a private audience
with Velassa alone.
They stood together in a smaller antechamber,
its stone walls veiled with heavy silks,
candles flickering faintly,
the scent of old incense lingering in the air.
Shinazazi stood without armor,
dressed instead in a long, black silken robe,
her pale skin a stark contrast,
her hair loose down her back,
the faint gleam of the eight spider-stones
now nestled at her throat.
Velassa, for once without her formal mantle,
stood tall and still,
clad simply in ceremonial white
with a silver sash at her waist,
the sigil of Vandria Gilmadrith
subtly embroidered at her shoulder.
Shinazazi Speaks
Shinazazi’s voice was softer here,
less the smooth diplomat,
more the ancient emissary
who had lived too long
in the shadows of old oaths.
“Velassa Drelnir.
I wished to speak to you
before the threads are cast.”
She approached slowly,
close enough that Velassa could see
the faint shimmer of unnatural life
in her pale, gemlike eyes.
“This binding :
it is no light thing.
You will carry a mark
that no one on the surface
has borne in centuries.”
Her pale hand lifted slightly.
“I do not ask if you are afraid.
I only ask if you are
certain.”
Velassa’s Quiet Answer
Velassa breathed slowly,
her dark eyes unwavering.
“I am the Oathbinder.
I was chosen
because I carry
what others cannot.”
Her voice softened just slightly.
“This is no marriage of hearts.
This is a marriage of realms.
And for that,
I give myself
freely.”
Shinazazi’s Final Words
For the faintest moment,
Shinazazi’s cool mask slipped,
and something old,
perhaps even mournful,
glimmered in her gaze.
“Well spoken,
Velassa Drelnir,
Beloved of Vandria.”
She inclined her head,
and the moment,
fragile and sharp,
passed.
Scene Two: The Binding Ceremony
In the grand hall,
the ritual space had been prepared:
the floor marked with ancient sigils,
silver and black threads woven
into a spiraling pattern
that joined the two banners :
one of Mithrin,
one of the Houses of the Accord.
The delegation stood in a half-circle.
On one side, Velassa,
flanked by Lysandrel, Elthar, and Amryndel.
On the other, Shinazazi,
flanked by two cloaked House emissaries.
The air thrummed faintly :
a quiet tension of old power
stirring unseen.
The Evocation
Velassa raised her hands,
calling softly in High Elvish
to Vandria Gilmadrith,
Goddess of Oaths and Watchfulness,
the light of duty,
the guardian of solemn promises.
Across from her,
Shinazazi spoke words
in the sibilant, shrouded tongue
of the Underdark,
invoking Yezed,
The Hoarder,
The Ender of Lines,
The Severer of Threads.
For a moment,
the room shivered,
a cold, electric pull
as two powers,
ancient and vastly unlike,
brushed against each other
across the weave.
The Blood Binding
With deliberate care,
Velassa and Shinazazi each drew a thin ceremonial knife,
cutting a shallow line
across their palm.
They pressed their blooded hands
to the Pact scroll,
the parchment absorbing
the symbolic blood of the nation,
marking the agreement
with living, binding essence.
The scroll shimmered faintly,
threads of silver and black
coiling outward,
twining together,
until the runes ignited softly.
The Rush of Power
As the final words were spoken,
and both women clasped hands over the pact,
a rush of unseen power
rolled through the room.
The air thickened,
the walls trembled faintly,
a soft ringing filled every ear :
the unmistakable resonance
of a true binding,
witnessed by forces
beyond mere mortal eyes.
The Weight Lifts
And then :
with a sudden, gentle release,
the pressure lifted.
Velassa felt it first:
a great weight
lifting off her shoulders,
as if a thousand invisible chains
had settled,
but now bore their own weight.
Lysandrel exhaled sharply.
Elthar let out a half-laugh, half-sigh.
Amryndel simply nodded,
quietly satisfied.
The first accord
between surface and deep
had been forged.
Scene One: The Private Words : A Whisper at the Edge of Power
As the last echoes of the binding faded,
and the gathered emissaries and delegates began to quietly murmur,
Shinazazi moved smoothly across the ritual floor,
her black silken robe whispering over the stone.
She stood before Velassa,
close, but not imposing,
her pale eyes calm and sharpened
by the weight of what had just been forged.
Shinazazi’s Quiet Words to Velassa Drelnir.”
Her voice was low,
for Velassa’s ears alone.
“You may feel
some strangeness
from time to time.”
Her pale head tilted slightly,
the faintest hint of something
almost human flickering in her expression.
“Bound as we are,
my trials
may bleed through the threads.
But know this :
even should I fall,
it will not end you.
There is no real danger to you.”
She raised one pale hand slightly.
“But your dreams
may be troubled
in times when my duties
are dark.”
Her voice softened further,
almost like a breath across the skin.
“The same will be for me.
Your pain,
your burdens,
could bleed through the bond,
intertwined as we now are.”
A Rare Admission
For the first time,
Shinazazi’s pale eyes held
a flicker of open trust.
“I : ”
She paused briefly,
choosing the word carefully.
“I trust
you will not falter
in keeping the law,
and the pact.”
Her voice carried the weight of centuries.
“You were
an excellent choice.”
The Ghostwidow’s Farewell
With a graceful, fluid bow,
Shinazazi gave the faintest smile.
“Fare thee well.”
And without flash or sound,
without ripple or shimmer,
she vanished :
gone like a thread
plucked from the weave,
leaving only the memory of her presence.
Scene Two: The Public Announcement : A Promise to Mithrin
Later that evening,
in the grand square of Mithrin,
the Council gathered under the glow of lanterns and enchanted lights.
A crowd had assembled :
merchants, crafters, guildmasters,
traders, and curious onlookers,
eager to understand the meaning
of the long, whispered negotiations
that had gripped the city.
The Herald’s Proclamation
A regal herald, clad in silver and deep blue,
stood at the center of the raised platform,
his voice magically amplified
to carry across the throng.
“Hear this!
By the authority of the Council of Mithrin,
guided by the Oathbinder Velassa Drelnir,
Beloved of Vandria,
Keeper of Watchfulness,
Bearer of the Pact of Ash and Crown,
we declare the forging of a historic accord!”
A Focus on Prosperity
“A Grand Market
shall be established
in the courtyard of the Coin Tower,
where rare goods,
precious minerals,
exotic materials,
and unparalleled wares
shall flow between Mithrin
and distant realms!”
The crowd stirred,
a wave of eager excitement rippling
through the gathered merchants.
“New resources
shall enrich our crafters’ hands.
New materials
shall grace our artisans’ workshops.
New trades
shall open prosperous doors
for every guild and shop!”
Reassurances to the Public
“Let it be known:
this is a trade pact,
an economic accord,
a binding of opportunity :
governed by Mithrin’s laws,
guarded by Mithrin’s watch,
and overseen
with fairness and prudence.”
“The Council assures all citizens
that this is a step
toward greater prosperity,
a bridge of commerce
and mutual benefit.”
The Crowd’s Reaction
Among the gathered faces,
there were grins among the traders,
wide eyes among the alchemists,
and speculative gleams
among the guildmasters.
There were whispers,
yes :
but tonight,
the story was resources,
new goods,
trade boons,
and the future.
Not dark elves.
Not shadows.
Not yet.
Scene One: Velassa Returns to Her Quarters : The Weight of the Oath
Long after the crowds dispersed,
after the final words were spoken and the Council’s seal impressed upon the official announcement,
Velassa Drelnir walked the stone halls alone.
The soft hush of her steps echoed faintly in the twilight corridors,
the cool air whispering against her skin.
She reached her private chambers :
a space usually filled with scrolls, silver glyphs, devotional symbols of Vandria Gilmadrith.
Tonight, it felt…
different.
The Lingering Pull
Velassa stood by the window,
looking out across Mithrin’s rooftops,
watching lanterns twinkle faintly below.
And then she felt it :
not pain,
not fear,
but a thread of presence,
far away,
dark and cold,
woven now permanently into her own being.
She closed her eyes,
breathing slowly,
settling herself.
“Bound as we are…”
Shinazazi’s words echoed softly in her mind.
Velassa pressed her palm lightly over her chest.
“I will carry it.
For the good of the nation,
for the sake of the pact.”
Her shoulders, for the first time in days,
lowered slightly.
The burden was vast :
but it was shared now,
and somehow,
the weight felt lighter.
A Quiet Prayer
She knelt briefly before the small shrine to Vandria,
her voice a soft whisper.
“I stand in the weave,
threaded through law and shadow.
Grant me vigilance,
grant me strength,
grant me balance,
O Keeper of Oaths.”
As she rose,
a faint silver gleam pulsed across the shrine,
as if the goddess herself
had stirred
Scene Two: Preparations in the City : The Birth of the Grand Market
Across Mithrin,
the streets pulsed with quiet, eager energy.
Guild banners fluttered.
Market runners whispered news
from stall to stall.
Merchants sat with scribes,
recalculating ledgers,
adjusting plans,
summoning far-flung contacts.
Guard and Inspector Recruitment
At the city guard’s stronghold,
officers worked late,
drafting new recruitment scrolls.
Inspectors, customs officers,
and magical appraisers
would be needed in unprecedented numbers.
“No ordinary force will do,”
Captain Yraen muttered to his second.
“We’ll need the sharp-eyed,
the incorruptible,
the ones who know
what magic looks like
before it goes wrong.”
Merchants Ready Their Wares
In the Artisan’s Quarter,
bronzesmiths, glassblowers, and jewelers
readied showcases of their finest work.
Textile merchants and exotic spice dealers
hastily placed orders,
hoping to impress
whatever visitors emerged from
the deep.
The excitement in the merchant houses was palpable.
“Rare woods from the surface?
Sun-blessed grain?
Living surface herbs?”
A senior house trader mused aloud.
“They’ll pay,
and we’ll pay,
and by the gods,
we’ll all come out rich.”
Quiet Unease Among the Watchful
Yet, in the shadowed corners,
priests, sages, and a few old veterans
watched the bustle with narrowed eyes.
They knew what Velassa knew:
this was no mere trade pact.
It was a binding :
a joining of worlds
whose full ripples
had yet to be felt.
“Trade,”
an old archivist whispered to his apprentice,
“is only ever the surface.
Beneath it,
always,
are the currents.”
Scene: Velassa’s Private Council Meeting : Final Preparations and Hidden Concerns
The High Council Chamber was quiet :
no public addresses, no heralds, no crowd.
Only Velassa Drelnir and the eleven other councilors sat at the crescent-shaped table,
their faces shadowed by the lamplight,
each carrying the weight of their own thoughts.
Velassa, dressed in formal deep silver robes marked with the seal of the Oathbinder,
stood at the central speaking point,
her hands folded calmly,
her expression composed yet keenly aware.
Velassa’s Opening Report
“The Grand Market opens at dawn tomorrow.”
Velassa’s voice was smooth, controlled.
“The guard force is assembled.
Inspectors are briefed.
The trade levies and fee structures have been finalized.
The merchant guilds are aligned,
and House representatives from the Accord are en route.”
She glanced evenly across the room.
“The infrastructure is in place.
But tonight,
we do not discuss logistics.
We discuss
what we fear.”
The Councilors Speak
Lord Vhaen Morshall of the Thorned Hoop
The stern old elf leaned forward, voice sharp.
“I still question whether we can keep
underdark influence
from bleeding into our politics.”
He glanced at Velassa.
“You are bound to them now :
what happens when they test you?”
Councilor Lysandrel of the Silver Codex
Lysandrel, now seated among his peers, spoke softly.
“The Houses of the Accord are not the ruling dark houses,
but their tradesmen,
their artisans,
their seekers of prosperity.”
He lifted a finger.
“We must remember:
they are not emissaries of conquest.
Not yet.”
Mistress Inaleen Yvaera, Keeper of the Treasury
The sharp-eyed human leaned forward, frowning.
“Velassa,
if the trade levies fail to cover the market guard force,
does the burden fall to our coffers?”
Velassa answered calmly.
“If the system fails,
we renegotiate.
But I believe the Houses understand:
they must keep this market standing
if they want it to survive.”
Lord Elvaris Wynne, High Chronicler
The venerable historian spoke slowly.
“The last surface pact
with the deep
was over four hundred years ago.
It failed.”
He fixed his gaze on Velassa.
“Do you believe
this one
will hold?”
Velassa’s Quiet Response
Velassa drew a breath,
feeling the faint pulse
of the bond inside her :
not pain,
not fear,
but awareness.
“This will hold
because it is forged
not on dominance,
but on need.”
Her dark eyes swept the room.
“We offer what they cannot reach.
They offer what we do not have.
We balance each other :
for now.”
She straightened,
her voice strengthening.
“I will uphold the law.
I will hold the line.
If they test it,
I will not bend.”
The Final Alignment
The councilors sat in thoughtful silence,
the weight of her words settling.
One by one, they gave small nods :
reluctant, perhaps,
but respectful.
Velassa inclined her head.
“Tomorrow,
we present a united face.
We show the people
that this is a moment
of growth,
of prosperity,
of careful, watchful hope.”
The Closing Moment
As the meeting adjourned,
Velassa lingered alone,
her hand resting lightly
on the edge of the council table.
For the faintest moment,
she felt something stir :
a delicate ripple,
like a whisper across a web.
“I trust you will not falter…”
Shinazazi’s voice echoed faintly
in her memory.
Velassa straightened.
“I will not.”
Scene: The Opening of the Grand Market
The dawn broke golden and bright over Mithrin,
and by midday,
the Grand Market : newly established in the great courtyard around the Coin Tower :
roared to life.
Stalls, canopies, and shop tents stood shoulder to shoulder,
decked in colors both familiar and strange.
Where once only Mithrin’s finest merchants had traded,
now stood dark-stone booths from the Underdark,
woven fungal cloth coverings,
and polished deep-metal display cases glinting
beside surface-world glass and silver.
Wondrous Goods on Display
Citizens flocked in from every quarter:
merchants, crafters, nobles, adventurers,
their eyes wide as they took in the wares.
Ore never before seen under the sun,
deep opalescent metals, shifting hues with every turn.
Alchemical fungi, bottled in glass,
their spores swirling with faintly glowing light.
Rare beasts from the deep,
scaled, furred, or skittering,
housed in enchanted cages :
while from the surface,
Momma Toki’s famed living wood limbs and exotic creatures
drew gasps and eager bidding.
Firearms, long coveted,
now openly displayed,
not because they had been handed over in negotiations :
but because, under the open market’s design,
anything for sale was fair game.
Dark-traders from the Houses eyed the weapons hungrily,
weighing gold against power,
seeking out every gunsmith and seller they could find.
Gold flowed like water through the square,
but for the rarest of the rare,
simple coin was not enough:
like for like trade began to emerge,
with masterwork pieces, enchanted items,
or equally rare underdark treasures
traded in delicate, carefully measured exchanges.
The Ghostwidow’s Silent Watch
High above,
from the upper window of the Coin Tower,
Shinazazi D’shaverauk : the Ghostwidow :
stood watching.
A faint smile touched her pale lips,
the faint shimmer of her armor’s spider-stones catching the light.
“Ah.
As it should be.”
A Sudden Presence
Without warning,
without spell or shimmer,
Shinazazi appeared
in the far corner of the market.
One moment empty,
the next :
she stood there,
arrayed in her full battle-worn regalia:
dark spider-silk armor,
bladed weapons at each hip,
the Ghostwidow herself,
unmistakable.
The sun’s harsh light gleamed off her black armor,
off her pale skin,
off the faint spider-gem glow at her throat.
Walking the Line
She walked slowly, deliberately,
through the underdark stalls,
pausing at each,
letting her pale gaze
meet the eyes of every merchant,
every trader,
every emissary.
No words were spoken.
But the message was clear:
I hear all.
I see you.
You will follow the law.
You will not
let this pact
fail.
The merchants, hardened and shrewd as they were,
straightened under her gaze,
aware, as they rarely were,
that failure here
meant not just financial loss :
but consequences
they could scarcely imagine.
The Overwhelming Market
The noise surged and dipped:
the screeches of unfamiliar pets,
the rattling roars of caged beasts,
the clash of bids and negotiations,
the hum of enchanted wares flickering under scrutiny.
Shinazazi paused,
her pale lips twitching faintly in something
between amusement and irritation.
“Ah…
just like home.
But too damn bright.”
She glanced up,
shielding her eyes briefly from the glaring sun.
“Tomorrow.
A silk canopy.
Block the rays.”
And with that,
she moved silently on,
leaving no doubt:
the Ghostwidow’s web was wide,
and her watchful presence
was woven through
every thread.
Scene One: Velassa Walks the Market : Balancing Wonder and Worry
Velassa Drelnir stood at the edge of the bustling Grand Market,
her silver-threaded mantle gleaming faintly under the midday sun.
She watched as crowds wove between the stalls:
traders and guildmasters haggling over raw underdark ore,
alchemists comparing deep fungi to surface herbs,
artisans bartering rare materials for masterwork tools.
The air was alive with excitement,
a strange, humming energy
Velassa had rarely seen in Mithrin :
opportunity, wealth, and a hint of danger.
The Oathbinder’s Vigil
As she moved quietly among the merchants,
she felt the faint pulse of her bond to Shinazazi,
like a thin silver thread wrapped just under the skin.
Not oppressive :
but present.
She knew the weight they both carried.
“Hold the line.
Keep the law.
Balance the realms.”
She smiled faintly as she passed a booth
where a surface mage displayed enchanted jewelry,
while across the aisle,
a dark-elven trader laid out strange jeweled beetles,
their shells flickering with inner light.
Opportunity.
Yes.
But below it,
like a stone in her shoe,
Velassa felt
risk.
Scene Two: A Minor Disturbance : Testing the Threads
Near midday,
a sudden tension flickered at one of the smaller stalls.
A dark-elven trader : a tall figure with sharp silver rings and layered dark robes :
had sold a rare alchemical extract to a human merchant.
The transaction had gone smoothly :
until the human, curious, reached across the table
to touch one of the underdark merchant’s display creatures.
A tiny spined reptile,
resting in a delicate cage of woven blacksteel,
hissed sharply and snapped at the human’s fingers.
The trader responded instantly:
with a flash of his hand,
he conjured a flicker of shadowy magic,
just enough to startle the merchant back.
“Do not touch what is not yours, surfacer!”
Velassa Steps In
Velassa arrived within moments,
flanked by two city inspectors.
Her voice was calm,
measured.
“You know the market rules:
no magic cast against another,
no matter the cause.”
The dark-elven trader’s eyes flicked to her,
half defiant, half wary.
“He reached without permission.”
Velassa nodded.
“And yet :
no harm was done.
No damage made.”
She fixed the trader with a level gaze.
“This is a warning,
nothing more.
But understand:
should there be
another moment like this,
you will answer
to the Pact.”
Shinazazi’s Silent Approval
From the far edge of the market,
watching from beneath the shade of a blackstone arch,
Shinazazi smiled faintly.
She did not intervene,
nor did she need to.
Velassa had spoken the law.
The Ghostwidow’s role,
for now,
was to watch
and remember.
The Market Settles
The tension ebbed.
The merchant nodded,
muttered apologies were exchanged,
and the market resumed its pulse and hum.
Gold flowed,
goods changed hands,
and above it all,
the twin powers of surface and deep
held the line
for today.
Shermans fantasy world 