The journey through the labyrinthine tunnels of the Gloomspire had been exhausting, but as you enter the grand hall of the palace, the oppressive weight of the subterranean air gives way to a mesmerizing display of power and decadence. Torches lining the obsidian walls cast flickering shadows across intricately carved murals, each depicting scenes of conquest, sacrifice, and glory. The heat of molten lava flowing through channels in the floor adds a fiery glow to the room, making the gilded ziggurat at its center shimmer with an otherworldly brilliance.

Atop the throne of jagged obsidian sits Queen Xylthara, her commanding presence undeniable even from a distance. She is a vision of dark elegance, her exposed skin glowing faintly in the light, accentuated by the shimmer of gold and crimson feathers in her ceremonial attire. Her hair cascades like a waterfall of midnight, framing a face both cruel and beautiful, her crimson eyes piercing as they lock onto you.

Around her, slaves drape themselves languidly, their movements slow and deliberate, like dancers in a trance. One lounges across the armrest of her throne, feeding her pieces of ripe fruit from a golden tray. Another rests at her feet, their hands idly caressing the hem of her cloak. A third sits delicately on her lap, her head tilted to the side as Xylthara absentmindedly strokes her hair. The queen’s long fingers trail through the slave’s locks as if petting a favored animal, but her eyes remain fixed on you, unblinking and intense.

“So,”

Xylthara begins, her voice smooth and rich, carrying a tone that is both seductive and authoritative.

“The stranger arrives at last. My future consort, the one destined to stand beside me in the shadow of the gods.”

She gestures lazily, and the slaves around her shift, some stepping aside to give her space, others remaining draped over her throne like living ornaments.

She rises slowly, her movements as fluid as a hunting predator. The slaves kneel at the base of the throne as she steps forward, She descends the steps of her ziggurat throne, her bare feet making no sound against the polished obsidian. Her gaze never leaves you, her expression a mixture of curiosity, amusement, and something deeper—possessive, almost hungry.