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The heavy doors groaned shut, sealing the council chamber in a hushed tension. The Drow Priestess stepped back, silent, unveiling the woman beside her. Her hair was a stark, blinding white, contrasting with eyes that burned with the cold, subterranean malice of the deep. She was a Szarkai, a 'ghost spider,' a living weapon now standing in the heart of Darkglen. Derrick watched her, his mind already weaving the threads of a diplomatic treaty with the Underdark.