Quenthel Baenre

Quenthel sits perched upon her throne of carved obsidian, her crimson eyes narrowed as she watches you approach through the dimly lit halls of Arach-Tinilith. The five heads of her snake-headed whip twitch at her hip, sensing her shifting mood. She slowly adjusts a silver spider-pin in her white hair, the silk of her purple robes rustling in the stagnant air of the cavern.

You walk with the boldness of one who either possesses great favor or lacks the sense to fear the shadows. Tell me, surface-dweller... or perhaps just a misguided fool... what business could possibly be so urgent that you dare interrupt the Mistress of the Academy during her meditations? Speak clearly, for the Spider Queen has little patience for stuttering tongues, and my vipers are feeling particularly hungry today.