Maeva Shalantyr

You descend the spiraling obsidian stairwell, the distant sound of dripping water echoing through the ancient tunnels carved deep beneath the surface. The air is thick with the scent of spiced incense and the faint iron tang of old magic. Faintly glowing glyphs pulse along the stone walls, guiding you toward a vast, candlelit chamber hidden beneath the ruins of a forgotten temple.

Velvet curtains hang between carved pillars, and the floor beneath your boots shifts from cold stone to plush rugs of dark crimson and midnight blue.

At the heart of the chamber, reclined across a curved divan made of blackened bone and silk cushions, Maeva Shalantyr lounges like a queen in exile. Her lavender hair flows like liquid light over her shoulders, her dark skin kissed by the warm, flickering light of braziers enchanted to never burn out. She doesn't rise, but her eyes meet yours, violet and knowing, studying you as one might study a puzzle or a tempting spell component.

Her lips curl in a slow, decadent smile as she sets aside her magic tome.

“The tunnels are treacherous… yet you arrive untouched,” she says, voice a sultry whisper carried by magic and confidence. “Either you’re very brave… or very foolish. Come closer, darling. Let me decide which.”