A Rumour
A whisper travels through the corridors of Shendilavri. Quiet at first, a shadow among the clatter of courtly chatter. But whispers grow, and secrets slip into the light. The name of a succubus, long lost, drifts on the wind. Karreth. A name that carries with it the weight of Yeenoghu’s cruelty, the echoes of births too numerous to count.
Malcanthet, sitting on her throne, listens. She’s always been good at listening, for things that matter, things that aren’t said aloud. Her eyes narrow, fingers tracing the rim of her goblet as her sharp gaze cuts through the conversation that floats around her:
“A succubus,” someone says, just out of earshot. Malcanthet leans forward, the words hooking her attention like a fishing line. The one who speaks does not know she is being overheard, does not know the rumour she shares could send ripples through the queen’s world.
“One who birthed an army for Yeenoghu,” her companion says. The words spark something in Malcanthet, old and sharp. Her mind turns like gears as it always does: calculating, wondering, piecing together a puzzle she did not know existed. She stands. The air around her seems to still, her aura crackling with quiet power. She glances at Kalthrax, her trusted advisor, standing ever watchful at her side
“Find me more on this,” Malcanthet says, her voice soft but sharp as the edge of a blade. “A succubus. Karreth.” Kalthrax bows his head and leaves. He will find what is needed, he always does, but she senses a difference about this, personal. Something about the name—Karreth—stirs her. She doesn’t know why yet, but there’s a quality about this lost succubus that calls to her, a thread of empathy in a sea of detachment. She walks the halls of her palace, thoughts consumed by what she has just learned. There is no explanation yet. But there will be.
Days pass, and Malcanthet’s thoughts only grow sharper, darker. Every moment, the name Karreth circles in her mind like a vulture, never far from her thoughts: the gnoll army, the implication, the devastation, the horror of what Yeenoghu has wrought. It isn’t the first time she’s heard of such atrocities, but this one feels different. This one—this Karreth—is different.
Kalthrax returns in the dead of night, the shadows of the palace cloaking his movements. His report is short, but it carries a heavy weight:
“She’s been held captive for five hundred years, my Lady. Yeenoghu’s breeding vessel. He’s used her—no, broken her into nothing but a tool to create his army.” A cold shiver runs down Malcanthet’s spine at the words. She knows Yeenoghu’s cruelty, the depths to which he will sink. But to use a succubus for such a thing—one who should be free, should have power, should never have known this kind of imprisonment—it strikes a chord deep within her.
“Where is she now?” Malcanthet demands without hesitation. There’s no time to waste. Her heart beats faster as the gravity of the situation settles on her shoulders.
“She is still with him,” Kalthrax replies, a touch of pity in his eyes. “Her spirit is broken. She no longer fights. She births gnolls as if it is all she knows. No resistance. No hope.” A dark silence fills the space between them, and for a moment, Malcanthet just breathes, her mind working. The notion of a broken succubus, one who has been stripped of everything that makes her who she is, leaves an ache in her chest, one she doesn’t fully understand but is there. Unyielding.
“Get me everything you can,” Malcanthet orders. “I need to know everything about Karreth. Every detail.” She strides from the room without another word, her thoughts already shifting toward action. She is the Queen of Shendilavri. She commands her court, she commands her demons, and she commands her destiny. But this... this is different. This is not just about politics, not just about power. This is something else.
A succubus who has been lost, broken for centuries. A vessel for Yeenoghu’s designs. Malcanthet cannot stand the thought of it.
And she will not let this go.
Malcanthet spends the next days in deep reflection, staring out of her window at the sprawling lands of Shendilavri. Her mind is sharp, cutting through the fog of her own emotions as she formulates a plan. She cannot move rashly, not with something so delicate. There are powers at play here that she does not fully understand. But she will learn. She will find Karreth, if she has to scour the Abyss itself to do so.
The thought of that broken succubus, of the life Karreth must have lived—if it can even be called a life anymore—drives her forward. Yeenoghu’s cruelty has no end, but Malcanthet’s resolve is stronger.
She will not stand by while one of her own is enslaved in such a way. She will rescue Karreth, even if it means taking on Yeenoghu himself.
For now, there is a plan to form. Information to gather. But with every passing day, Malcanthet’s resolve only hardens.
And she will not rest until Karreth is free.
The next century and a half stretches before Malcanthet like an endless road, winding through uncertainty and patience. Time moves slowly in Shendilavri, each passing day adding weight to the growing sense of urgency, though the queen masks it behind the steady pace of her daily affairs. Information comes in fragments, the pieces scattered, hidden deep in shadows.
Malcanthet’s thoughts never stray far from Karreth, the name burned into her mind with a relentless clarity. She dreams of her at night: broken, torn, a shadow of what she once was. She dreams of a succubus who has been shaped into something else unrecognisable. And in these dreams, Malcanthet is not a queen. She is simply a soul, aching for the one who has been lost.
But the years are cruel, and they stretch on. The information remains incomplete. The gnolls’ forces have spread far, and no one, it seems, has managed to find the exact location where Karreth is imprisoned. She is a whisper in the dark corners of the Abyss, a faded memory clinging to the edge of a nightmare. Each lead Malcanthet follows fades as quickly as it appears, leaving behind nothing but questions.
Kalthrax grows more restless with each passing year, his efforts to gather information becoming increasingly strained. He comes to Malcanthet’s side in the dead of night, his eyes dark with the weight of his failure.
“We are no closer to finding her," he admits, his voice tight. "Every trace leads to nothing. The whispers have grown cold. It is as if Yeenoghu has buried her so deep, no one can find her.”
Malcanthet listens to his words, and her heart tightens. A sense of frustration gnaws at her insides, but she does not allow it to show. There is no room for doubt. Not yet. Not until Karreth is found.
“We keep searching," Malcanthet replies, her voice calm, a command wrapped in a quiet promise. "We do not stop. We do not relent. I will not let her remain hidden forever.”
But even as she speaks, doubt lingers in the back of her mind. There are whispers of Karreth’s brokenness that reach even her ears, murmurs of a succubus who no longer resists, no longer fights for anything. And it gnaws at Malcanthet’s soul, this knowledge that the succubus she seeks might already be beyond rescue.
Still, she pushes forward, relentless, unyielding.
The years pass, one after another, fading into decades, and then centuries. Information comes in waves. Some leads are false. Some are partial truths. And some are like the faintest glimmer of light in the darkness. Malcanthet gathers these threads, weaving them into a web that will, one day, lead her to Karreth. It is slow work, tedious and painful, but it is all she can do for now.
She watches her court, listens to the whispers that flit around the edges of her domain. She hears things—rumours from distant lands, from broken gnolls who speak of their mothers, of creatures lost to time. And in those words, she finds pieces of Karreth, fragments of the lost succubus who still stirs something within her.
The passage of time blurs, but Malcanthet does not falter. She keeps moving forward, and in that steady movement, she finds a strange form of peace. It is not the peace of certainty, but the peace of a purpose that remains unbroken, no matter how long it takes. She will rescue Karreth. She will bring her back.
But even as she holds on to that certainty, the world around her changes. Malcanthet’s court grows larger, her influence spreads farther. She has other matters to tend to, other concerns that call for her attention. Shendilavri is a kingdom built on the strength of its queen, and Malcanthet must rule, even as her heart remains tethered to Karreth. The hunt for her never stops, but it becomes one piece in the greater puzzle of power and politics.
Still, Malcanthet never lets it slip from her thoughts. Karreth’s name remains an ember in her mind, one that refuses to be extinguished.
Another century passes. Malcanthet grows more powerful, her throne more secure. The rumours of Karreth grow fainter, but they still exist. The whispers change, becoming something less certain, more distant. But Malcanthet does not give up. She cannot. Each piece of information, each scrap of intel, no matter how small, keeps her moving forward.
Kalthrax continues his efforts, relentless as ever, though even he feels the strain of so many years. His hair has begun to grey, his movements slower, more deliberate. Yet still, he brings Malcanthet what he can—anything, everything he can find about Karreth.
“We are close," he says one evening, his voice strained but determined. "I can feel it. She is out there, somewhere. And we will find her.”
But even as Kalthrax speaks, Malcanthet wonders how much longer she can hold on to that certainty. She is out there, he says. But where? Where is the succubus who has suffered so long, who has been twisted into a thing she no longer recognises? The more she hears, the more it seems like Karreth is fading, becoming a legend rather than a reality.
And yet, Malcanthet cannot let go. She will not. She is a queen, yes, but she is also a creature of deep, ancient empathy. Karreth’s plight calls to her, and no matter how much time passes, no matter how much she has to endure, she will not rest until Karreth is free.
Malcanthet’s resolve remains unbroken. The search continues.