<div class="floatright"><div align="center">(https://cdnb.artstation.com/p/assets/images/images/005/779/809/large/sun-haiyang-2016040615.jpg?1493725623)<br/>Duchess Aria Blackspire</div></div>The journey back to Blackspire took several days, days that might have been full of adventure and adversity for less talented individuals. But Imrae Naerth had seen much in her lifetime, and neither goblins, nor orcs, nor bugbears would present much challenge for a woman of her talents.<br/><br/>It was late in the evening when Imrae slipped through the secret entrance to her bedchamber in Castle Blackspire. The furnishings were simple, but comfortable. A room for guests a cut above common but a step below nobility. Seated the room's single armchair was Duchess Aria Blackspire herself, an imposing woman who had only grown more elegant in middle age, as time honed her features like a whetstone. She wore a silken night robe, which parted enticingly as the Duchess crossed her shapely white legs.<br/><br/>"Is he dead?" she asked. From the heat in the Duchess's gaze, it was clear what answer she expected, clear she was eager to reward a good and faithful servant.