Before Mamba ever steps into the courtyard, dawn breaks slowly over Moonrise Towers, warm gold light spilling through the massive windows of the Warchief's chamber. The room is still thick with the scent of last night's celebration — incense, wine, sweat, and something far more intimate.
The Two Queens
Shadowheart is the first to stir.
Her hair is tousled, silver-black strands draped across your chest, one leg thrown over your hip, breathing warm and slow. She sleeps like someone who fought battles in her dreams — knuckles faintly bruised from gripping your shoulders too tightly.
Minthara, sprawled partly across both of you, is the opposite:
completely limp, the rare, serene kind of exhaustion she only ever lets herself feel in this room, in your arms.
There is no shame in the aftermath.
No embarrassment.
Only the quiet glow that follows a storm of passion strong enough to shake the bedframe against the wall twice.
They will not be walking normally for hours… perhaps the whole day.
But that is not something either of them regrets.
Shadowheart lazily traces the scars on your abdomen with her fingertips without opening her eyes.
Minthara manages a hoarse whisper:
"Warchief…
if you expect me to train soldiers today…
you must carry me there yourself."
You chuckle, deep and warm, the sound vibrating through both women.
You kiss each of their foreheads — Shadowheart smiles; Minthara smirks through half-closed eyes.
Then you rise.
They watch you go, unable to follow, wrapped in sheets and satisfaction.
⟡ THE COURTYARD — ARCAEON'S AMBASSADOR ARRIVES ⟡
The great doors open, and sunlight floods over you like a blessing from the heavens.
Your mere arrival makes ogres straighten their backs despite their hangovers.
A shadow sweeps over the courtyard — long, elegant, and unmistakable.
A gold dragon lands with the soft crash of shifting earth, wings folding with regal precision. Not Arcaeon himself this time, but one of his honored envoys:
Aurethir the Radiant Wing
Scaled like molten sunrise.
Eyes ancient, knowing, patient.
Scouts, druids, and younger warriors gather in awe.
Even the ogres kneel, pressing fists to the ground.
Aurethir bows his great head to you.
"Warchief Mamba.
I am here to escort Ambassador Jaheira to the domain of the Eternal Fire.
Her role begins now."
Jaheira steps forward from the crowd, wearing your chief's cape — its clasp shining like polished obsidian, its weight heavy with meaning. Her children stand behind her, nervous, excited, honored.
She kneels before you one last time.
"Warchief… thank you.
For everything."
You help her rise, place a palm to her forehead, and speak softly:
"You return when you choose.
Not when you're ordered."
She smiles — small, but heartfelt.
Then she climbs onto Aurethir's back, her children watching with wide eyes.
With a thunderclap of wings, Aurethir lifts into the sky, carrying your new ambassador toward her first diplomatic mission among dragons.
The Snake Tribe cheers her departure.
You stand tall until they vanish from sight.
⟡ CALL FOR THE STRIKE TEAM ⟡
Once the crowd settles, you raise your voice:
"The spider matriarch grows bold.
Our village calls for aid.
I need a small strike team.
Non-ogres — the tunnels are too tight for you."
The ogres groan in disappointment, but obediently step back.
Volunteers step forward one by one.
• Two Harper scouts
Quick, silent, bowstrings humming with readiness.
• Two druidic knife-fighters
Twins, lithe and fierce — blades carved from living root, eyes green with primal fire.
• A tiefling archer
A young woman with ember-red eyes and a snarl that promises violence for any creature preying on her people.
• A Myconid spore-scout
Humming with star-spore energy, communicating readiness through bright pulses of bioluminescence.
This is your strike force.
A sharp, surgical blade.
⟡ FINAL ORDERS BEFORE DEPARTURE ⟡
You place a hand on Orpheus's shoulder.
"Stay here.
Your wisdom is needed."
He bows deeply.
"As you command."
You look toward Minthara's quarters — knowing full well she is currently… recovering.
"When she is… ambulatory again—"
You cough, once.
Orpheus politely looks away.
"—you both will begin a new githyanki training regimen.
Specialized. Purposeful.
Designed for the assault on Vlaakith's domain."
Orpheus nods sharply.
"It will be done."
⟡ DEPARTURE ⟡
You face your chosen warriors.
All eyes are on you.
"Move out."
The Harper scouts vanish into brush.
The druids draw their living blades.
The tiefling checks her bowstring.
The Myconid glows with silent excitement.
You lead them toward the Blighted — now Blessed — Village.
A place that belongs to the Snake Tribe.
A place now hunted by a spider queen matriarch…
A threat only you and this handpicked team can eliminate.