Gwindolyn rises from her throne.  The room is massive and almost organic with the spiders of many varieties that roamed this room.  Her throne itself was a large remake of a spider body with a seat where the upper body and head ought to be.  The backing to her throne is layers of web strung tight. She walks through the room, pacing.  It is not often one could spot the dark beauty so restless.  She was one of regal composure.  She may not be a queen in title, but the way she dealt with life would rival any royalty.  The thin whisps of silk that barely covered her 'modesty parts' as she heard some elf call them.  Of course that elf now resides in the afterworld, but that is another matter.  A cruel smile covers her full, black lips as she recalls how that one left this world.  That was a good.<br/><br/>The two giant spiders that guard the steps to her throne begin to chitter.  She pauses to listen to them.  The spider song being something she knew and could speak before she could even speak drow.  She was ushered into the temples before she could properly speak with such a gift from Lloth.  An intense training that lead to her being one of the youngest matrons ever.  She was matron before she was even a hundred years old (translated to a human life, that would be like a 19 year old ascending the throne).  She hears their advice and nods her head.  She turns to the males lined along the entrance to her throneroom.  She looks at one, the only signal she ever need give that his service is about to be used.