Starweaver’s Oath
Chapter XVI
Starweaver’s Oath
Mirlira Mialeth
Sanlas Mialeth
Calum, Captain
Crew
Inuknu
The Beast
ciclac, the hunter
Drow troops
The Starweaver’s Oath
The Starweaver’s Oath, so named for the celestial tapestry she seemed to stitch into the sea’s horizon, is a ship designed for commerce and endurance. Her hull is painted a deep midnight blue, nearly indistinguishable from the ocean at dusk, and traced with filigree of silver leaf that catches the light like woven starlight. At over one hundred feet in length, she is neither the largest nor the swiftest vessel in the merchant fleets, but her reputation for reliability and uncanny luck sets her apart.
Her decks, of seasoned teak, gleam with the attention of a fastidious crew. The forecastle rises with a proud curve, offering shelter from the salt and squall, while the stern’s wide, quarterdeck commands a panoramic view of whatever strange tides await. Below deck, spacious holds are designed for cargo—spices, grain, the rare ores of distant coasts—but are now repurposed for the needs of her unusual passengers: the heroes fated for the Island of Terror.
Yet it is her figurehead that draws the eye—a carving of a robed figure, arms outstretched, holding a spindle of stars. Sailors say it was inspired by an ancient legend: that the Starweaver, a forgotten goddess of fate, once spun the destinies of mortals across the sky. To embark under her gaze is to pledge oneself to the unknown.
The crew
A commercial vessel is only as strong as those who guide her. The Starweaver’s Oath is captained by Calum, whose ancestry is whispered to be a blend of sea-faring folk and far-northern mystics. Calum’s voice is as steady as the compass, his hands as sure as the morning wind. He is neither quick to fear nor given to bravado—a rare anchor for the storm of rumors that swirls around their destination.
First Mate Rellin, hawk-eyed and stoic, manages the day-to-day running of the ship. His past is a patchwork of merchant contracts, skirmishes with pirates, and the long silences of far-off waters. The Starweaver’s crew, a mosaic of old hands and young would-be sailors, bring an unspoken comfort: they have seen strange ports and stranger storms, yet they do not balk at the thought of the Island of Terror.
The deckhands whisper tales as they go about their work, recalling the Starweaver’s Oath’s legacy of near-misses and lucky escapes, and the cook, Marra, insists that every meal served below deck is a charm against misfortune. Even the ship’s cat, a lean tabby named Gossamer, seems to sense the gravity of their voyage, prowling the shadows with luminous eyes.
Mirlira & Salans Mialeth
Fate—subtler and more merciless than any drow scheme—wove its own snare. With the seed of forgetfulness planted by cunning hands, the siblings wandered, haunted by a sense of absence they could neither name nor shake. Their memories of the heist, of the locket’s dreadful promise and their spectral charge, faded like mist at sunrise, replaced by a singular compulsion: a gnawing urge to journey to Delgar, the unremarkable village perched where the River Kingdoms meet the restless waters of Kallas Lake.
Night after night, they trekked beneath moonlit clouds, drawn by dreams not their own—visions of crumbling masonry and silver-lit amethyst, of a sunken altar where the boundaries between living and dead grew thin as spider silk. Each step pulled them nearer to the old ruins at Delgar’s edge, where the locket—forgotten yet still clutched tightly—throbbed with nascent power.
There, amid toppled columns and bramble-choked stones, destiny waited. As the siblings will cross into the stagnant hush of the ruin, the locket will pulse with a sentience that defied their dulled minds. At the heart of the shattered sanctuary, a circle of sigils will flicker to life, summoning the cold breath of the world beyond. In that moment, the ancient prison will tremble. The spirit within—Yathrinshee, whose true nature lay buried beneath centuries of drow cruelty— will stir, sensing the threshold of release.
Unseen by the siblings, the shadows thickened, coiling with anticipation. The Umbral Web’s webmasters, having tracked their quarry across leagues of wild country, will lurk in the periphery, ready to reclaim both locket and legend. But as the amethyst will glimmer and the first notes of Yathrinshee’s lament will echo through the stones, the fates of mortals and immortals alike will entwin. The old drow portal—its magic dormant, its hunger undimmed—awaited only the locket’s touch to awaken, threatening to open a passage not only for the spirit’s freedom, but for the return of all that the Umbral Web once commanded.
Yathrinshee
