Chapter Text
My name is Melissa Eloise Gwyar Blacktree, and I was born under the blood moon.
In most places in Toril, this would not have much meaning. Merely childish superstitions and fears, but nothing true. Nothing concrete. Of course, that is not true in the Living City. The natural laws change for Raven’s Bluff.
The city - my city - is far from what many call the ‘civilised’ world, the Sword Coast, though I would disagree with such a definition of civility (especially given that rotten waste called Baldur's Gate). Even so, Raven’s Bluff is the last port of civilisation in Faerun, a beacon to follow in the Vast, the last stop on the merchants road before the barbaric lands of Thesk and Thay and the long reach of the Endless Wastes (and onwards, beyond Faerun itself, to civilisation anew within Kara-Tur, of which I must confess I know little).
She is a young city, of course. But she is an adventurous one. Any city built into a savage land had to be. Between pirates, Mulmaster, the Zhentarim, and the foul Lords of Westgate, it was only two hundred years ago our city was founded, built to help clear the savage Vast, to open tradeways that did not have to pass through Westgate or other such corrupt cities, and she was raised upon a hotspot of leylines, countless conjunctions and unions of the flow of magic itself, where what was and would could be collided every day.
Storms of wild magic and flows of anti-magic repeatedly clash, cascading around my unstable city, volatile and moody, and yet filled with so much potential. And the power of belief… when the time is right, when the storms clash, it is made manifest.
But therein lies the rub. When the moon was a bloodmoon, it reflected upon the city of Raven’s Bluff. It reflected upon my blood. It was a sign of the Raven themselves, the guardian of our dear city. And I know this is true, for my city is as much a character in the tale of my life as my mother Marcella, and my father Oliver, my recluse of an uncle, my brothers and sisters (adopted and blood), and my cousins.
For my name is Melissa Eloise Gwyar Blacktree, and I was born under its power.
Tomorrow, I am leaving Toril for the first time. My father Oliver has charted one of the Ministers of Art (supposedly the Seat for Conjuration - I confess, I have not bothered to learn her name. It is hardly important - she is rather old and will be dead before I rule the city anyway) to take me and Chaille to Strixhaven. We’ll apparently be planeshifting at dawn to the world’s moon - to the city of Arc’s Shadow, from where we will get a shuttle down.
That is tomorrow. Today, the moon hangs in the sky. It is late in the evening, and I am sitting in the Manor’s (original) Courtyard, and it is empty, and quiet. Far more than it should be, even at this time of night. The manor has often felt too big, since uncle moved out especially, but now I think it is simply early. And I am contemplative, and so I have come to this most sacred spot.
At the centre of the courtyard lies a tree with bark the colour of ebony, dark and tall, leafless, yet the branches spread out like myriad spindled legs, seeking to grasp the sky, silhouetted against the full moon. It is our tree - the Blacktree that gave this family its name, that we built our estate around long ago. Some call it dead.
They are wrong.
Chaille is busy packing bags. The albino tiefling - their partially blind red eyes more pinkish than our Blacktree reds - is working hard as ever. They have been of constant service, and I will never hesitate to give them praise in that regard, especially given that constant service is ongoing at this very moment.
I have this last moment of peace, alone, merely me and my namesake. To contemplate purpose.
I am leaving home, leaving my city and my family for longer than I have left before. I go into a land of strangers from other planes, seeking nothing but answers. Why? What gives? Will this inexorable plague of mine grow out of hand? I would hardly consider it a plague - it has oft been a blessing instead, a sign of divine right, of the Raven - but… there are worries, and fears. A star that shines brightly dies young. I have no intention of dying young, nor dying as a mere Calagarth - how disgraceful would that be? Calagarth Melissa. It is quite a disturbing thought. I will die a Lord, or not at all.
And some believe that not all of my plague is revealed yet, that some trickery or twist of fate might undo it. I do agree that this should be prevented - and besides, I would like to understand it. It is my knowledge that at Strixhaven, people are forged. Good. They will find good steel in me.
After all, I intend to take what is rightfully mine (big brother will see reason. I know him well enough).
It is here, in fact, that big brother chooses to interrupt my contemplations. Urgrave Charles Blacktree II, almost a spitting image of grandfather, if grandmother is to be believed (I wish I remembered Charles Blacktree senior more: but I do not. He died when I was very young - just like aunt Elizabeth).
He is tall - taller than I, by three inches - he is over six foot, the absolute impudence (the Skyhawk blood, that; given how short father is) - and more than just that, he is interrupting me.
What did he say? Something oafish, as per usual. Gave my hair a ruffle (who does he think I am?!?!?) - his hair is far messier, anyway, and I cannot recall a single time he ever had to work at making that scruffly mess on his head look good. And yet I suffer hours preparing my hair for the day only for him to ruin it.
I had not listened to what he said. Words had emerged from his mouth and passed through my ears, but my brain had been too cursed by outrage to bother listening.
“What is it, brother?” I replied.
“Just checking in on my little sister, before her big day,” he says, that oafish grin on his face as he kneels down beside me.
“It is hardly my big day.” I was not in the mood for his shenanigans. “This is merely a test, nothing more. To see if this ‘Strixhaven’ is worthy of helping me learn the truth.”
“But it’s going to be amazing! Like a big adventure!” he exclaims. “You’re flying the nest. Nine Hells, before I did, even!”
“You left to join the military four years ago.” I do not state that he was younger than I am now (if only by a month or so) when he made that decision.
“True, but I always stayed in the city. I’ve never been to another plane before! You’re going… so far away. I just wanted to let you know I’d miss you. Do write.”
“Of course I will write home,” I snapped back, slightly. How dare he imply I wouldn’t? Did he really think-
I stopped. He was trying to bait me into admitting that I liked him. I was always a little more grumpy around the family than anything else. “But only because you wrote home from the front, and I think it would be unbecoming if only one of us wrote home,” I course corrected. Not my smoothest save - I could be quite the charmer - but that all fell apart around my brother.
He smiles, that… irritating, smug smile, that I found I really did love so much. He was a good brother. It’s why he’d step aside. Why he’d let me rule, in the end. We both knew he did not want to be Lord.
“Sure, Mel. Whatever you say.” He pauses, a look that others would consider wistful, but I knew what was really going on. He was likely just fascinated by a random bauble or trinket. “I’ll see you soon. Don’t miss me too much.” His laugh snaps his focus back to reality, and I give him a quick hug. He had been a rock at my side and a friend and ally.
Once the hug ends, he stands, helping me to my feet as well, and brushes at my shoulders. “Take care.” And then, he strolls away. I’d get to see him again, I hoped, just before I left. Still, I had the rest of the family to attend to.
I did not know where Clementine and Davis were - but then again, I hardly needed to, given the racket they were making. As I made my way through the manor, fate held it into account that I would see them (of course) - they were in the Lesser Courtyard.
Clem was, naturally, halfway up a tree, dangling from one of the branches, waving around a little stick as though it was a sword. Davis, on the other hand, was underneath the tree, scribbling small symbols in a notebook. Unlike the previous one, this one had the spring blossoms about it - and of course, several twigs appeared to have been broken off and hurled at young Davis.
“Melisssaaaaaaa,” Davis whines at my approach. “Clem’s been throwing things at me again.” That much was obvious.
“Only because you never dodge,” the younger gremlin taunts back. Clem sticksh her tongue out, waggling and teasing. To them, I could see no greater joy than the misery of the other twin.
“I am leaving early for Strixhaven early tomorrow morning. Shouldn’t you two be in bed?” I respond, a slight scowl on my face.
“Yeah, but you’re not going for good,” Clem replies, as she gracefully falls out of the tree, landing with a slight roll and standing up to a little over half my height - she was growing, fast (even though she was six years my junior). Davis had not yet had that spurt - he was quite a late grower, small and unassuming - taking after his uncle in that way. “You’re only going for a week or two.”
“I’m going to miss you,” Davis says, his face looking a little more genuinely sad. “You’ll come back, right?”
“Of course she’ll come back-” Clem had that ever-irritating habit of speaking first, and not caring who else was going to speak, because she was much louder than them and thus what they were to say did not matter in the least.
“I will. But this is a precursor. If I like it there - or think they can ensure my safety - then I will be going for a much longer period of time.”
“I hope you don’t like it then,” the young boy replies, almost sagely, before getting back to his symbols, lightly murmuring a tune. Clem reaches out and takes my hand.
“If you do go, make sure you come back. You wouldn’t want to let Davis down.” Those were her words, anyway. Her face told a different story.
“Goodbye, Clem. Goodbye, Davis. I’ll see you soon. Get to bed.”
The twilight of Selune - and the ring of her tears - illuminates the Lesser Courtyard with its pale glow, as I left behind Clem and Davis. Along with Charles, they were all the trueborn siblings I had.
But not all the siblings. I had already noticed the figure watching from the side of one of the upper levels, the glimmering red eyes from the dark - and perhaps, even more damningly - the long spiderlike legs, that Lytheia so often hid, as she scuttled along the wall, clambering her way down. The half-drow looked up at me, her hair running down one side of her head, that smirk on her face. I had heard how many boys and girls lost themselves in that damn smirk.
“Lytheia.” Our relationship was… tense at the best of times. If my adopted sister (or, as those deplorable rumours about father’s honour went, half-sister) had any noble titles, I would undoubtedly address her by them. As it stands, I did not. And of course, though we’d often been… clashing personalities, the true reason we had such animosity was simple. She was the only other one of my siblings who would dare try and steal my place.
“Mel.” The appropriation of my brother’s nickname left me indignant. “Go on, Clem, Davis. Your older sisters agree. You two should be sleeping. The hour is late indeed.”
“In which this spider chooses to appear.” I stood my ground, but Clementine and Davis did scuttle. They knew this was going to be tense. “You can address me as High Maer.”
Lytheia’s eye-roll was almost audible as she finally placed her long back-legs on the ground, lowering her body to it. “Not even Melissa this time? We’re sisters, aren’t we?”
We’d gotten in another argument again, last week, after she’d gone out hunting in a wild magic storm, and had not returned easily. Apparently, Lytheia had seen a city of lights on the other side, ventured with unusual companions. It made little difference to me. Her habits were risky, and unbecoming of a Blacktree - even if she was not a Blacktree, at least by name (she had preferred the epithet ‘Darkblood.’ Personally, I always thought it was overdramatic).
“I am heading away to Strixhaven tomorrow,” I replied, courteously.
“Good. And father said I’m coming with you,” Lytheia counters, a subtle smirk on her face. Ugh, a part of me wished I was in my armour, that I could take a crimson fist and slam it into her face.
“Why did father force this burden upon me?” My sigh was exasperated. It was an outrageous request. I could handle myself.
“To protect you, just in case. And besides, I might head up on an associate’s course at Strixhaven myself. No one else has as many long, beautiful legs as I do.” She gives that grin as her long razor-sharp spider’s legs impact into the ground, digging slight holes in the dirt of the Lesser Courtyard. “I’ll see you in the morning, anyway.” She flicks her hair back and struts away, her feet not even touching the ground.
How irritating this would be. Melissa sighs as she carries on her way - some last words coming from the drow, as she faded back into the shadows. “Oh, Marcella is greeting a guest at the door. I think you’ll want to see them.” It was always odd that Lytheia called father father, but called mother Marcella. Maybe the rumours had more truth to them than I cared to admit.
I hurried away, both hoping to see father - to say my goodbyes to him - and to complain that, apparently, I was to be joined by a new guest. The Southwatch was father’s wing of the estate- the newest expansion, centered around the Lesser Courtyard (constructed with a Skyhawk architectural style, presumably to appeal to Mother) - or, not exactly his wing, but the area he had claimed for his offices. His office window directly overlooked into Torchtown, and beyond that, Crow’s End, and the Sea of Fallen Stars.
It was surrounded by the old Skyhawk heraldry (from that once proud house) that I found mother - and her guest. “Viv!” I exclaimed with immediate surprise, rushing over to give my cousin a hug. We were closer than siblings. We even looked alike, excluding the hair colour (mine - and my sibling’s - was a Skyhawk golden blonde, while Viv had the more traditional Blacktree black) - and Vivienne always kept her hair shorter (I always preferred mine long). I suspected she wanted to be taken seriously, whereas I did not need short hair for that, given I had Wit’s End (and would not hesitate to glare silently).
“Mel,” Viv replies, her use of my brother’s nickname feeling more than appropriate. After all, she was the one who I let call me that first (I had always preferred Melissa - but, to be completely honest, Mel was more convenient to say).
“I didn’t imagine you’d be coming to see me. I’m only leaving for a week,” I replied, a small laugh. Of course, she must have come here from Tentowers (the only district in the city wealthier than my own native Sixstars), where she and the rest of my cousins (the Blacktree-Moorlands) lived, with my uncle. They had inherited House Moorland’s estate, of course - even if Grandma Cath still lived there, at this point I was starting to suspect she needed Uncle David.
“True, but I wouldn’t let you gallivant off to one of the most spectacled schools in all the planes without networking me first,” Viv winks, a sly laugh. I would miss her, even if it was just a week. “I can’t believe uncle built the new wing of the manor looking south. He has Lake Christina just north of here!”
“Oh,” I replied, “it’s about responsibility, and power. The lake may be beautiful, but father has never wanted to take that view for granted. He looks towards what he rules, and to remind himself of how he got there.”
My father, Oliver Blacktree, was Lord Mayor of Raven’s Bluff, just beginning his ninth two-year term (which were nearly consecutive, aside from a break in the middle). Of course, he had many enemies in the Council of Lords, but he was the holder of executive power, and the face of authority within the city.
“Still. It’s a beautiful view he misses out on.”
I nod, though I did know that that wasn’t quite true. Even though father could be a ruthless political schemer - so am I. The Blacktrees were the most mighty house around: and that was solely thanks to grandpa Charles (may he rest in peace) and grandma Cath. It would not do to let that power fade away. And I was going to have to fight for it.
It was not an act of coldness towards his children that he had put all their bedrooms on the northern end of the manor. Just because he could not enjoy the spoils of victory, he would let us do so.
It was not always the best decision, I felt. Charles could spend the rest of his life looking out at that view, believing father was building the wonderful world he would live in. He did not understand that the owner of the manor would inherit the southern view instead.
Finally - and I do mean finally - I noticed the slight impatient tapping. “Mother,” I replied, courteously - it hadn’t been that long, me and Viv had only exchanged a few words. “How are you?”
“You’d speak to Vivienne before me?” Mother says, pulling her most stern face - before she bursts into laughter. “Come here, you,” as I pull her into a hug as well. “Were you really not going to say goodbye to me?”
“Of course I was. But you’d be awake in the morning,” I retorted with a smile, before looking over at Viv - the sleepyhead she was. She rolls her eyes. How typical. “I’d be awake in the morning. But I am going home in a moment. David didn’t want me walking out so late in the city alone, and Tybalt was never going to see you off.” And yet, Vivienne was here anyway. She’d never been one for rules. “A bit easier to see you now than when you leave at 4am, anyway.”
“Thank you for coming. I do need to get going - Chaille is finishing the last of the packing, and I’d like to get an earlier night, given the… 4am start. Have a safe journey back,” I nod, grateful to her for being here anyway. Viv smiles.
“I had to get back before the rest realise I fucked off anyway-” I laughed at her use of language. In public society, Vivienne Blacktree-Moorland was polite, wielding her words as a weapon of etiquette and grace. In private, she was an absolute menace. And she was my best friend.
Mother, on the other hand, looked absolutely incensed. Like she was about to go on some tirade about unbecoming behaviour, ‘what if that had been said in public,’ so on and so forth. I knew Viv was far too controlled to make a slip like that in public: but there was always espionage.
While father constantly assured us the estate had wards against scrying, if a Ministry mage suborned by another house were able to work around those wards, that would be problematic: the widespread access of information would allow them to concoct all sorts of devious plots.
I have never personally been one for devious plots. I am straightforward woman (not straight, but certainly forward), with straightforward goals, and if the nobles put me at wit’s end, then I put them at Wit’s End.
But many of the other nobles - Lord Skyhawk, her uncle (and current Lord Chancellor), was certainly among them - along with the Speaker for the Lords, Silas Norwood. Their self-serving ambitions undermined the integrity of the glorious city in which they lived. In which I would rule. I had no intention of allowing that to go on.
I had bid my goodbyes to Viv and Mother, and was walking down the long corridor, several offices located along the side. Most empty.
I could hear discussion inside. Lady Longbottle, no doubt - the current Deputy Mayor. Father’s ever present assistant, the only person who worked harder than he did.
I opened the door.
“And if you see here, an 80% increase in pirate attacks on ships belonging to the Arkhen Traders, the Velprintalar First’s, and the Carpenter’s Guild - but normal for everyone else.”
“Those three merchant companies - Norwoods ties, correct? Are you suggesting this is an attack against them? Or a deliberate disruption of trade? What have the Golden Lords done?”
“The Vesperin alliance is tenuous at best: you yourself know that. No ships that avoid Raven’s Bluff are targeted, and - to make matters worse - a wild magic storm will be passing over the city next week. We won’t be able to communicate with the ships during that time.”
“A communications disruption could mean only one thing - invasion - ah, Melissa! Good timing.”
Father brushes away a large sheet of papers, as the Deputy Mayor sighs.
“Lord Mayo-”
“Lady Longbottle. My daughter is leaving. I know how important this is, but it will not blow over before the morning. It is late.”
The Lady Longbottle nods at me, briefly, with a simple “High Maer,” before taking her leave, the heavy door slamming quickly behind her. Politics. What was going on now? Trade disputes?
Father sat at the desk in a lush crimson velvet chair, that spun around, the Lake Christina behind him out of a solid - warded - glass window. The office was littered with books, many open, messily strewn about, four sliding ladders on the wall, all carved out of the same painted ebony wood.
“Melissa,” he says, the lines on his face more obvious each day. I remembered when he was younger, and his hair was all dark. Now, it was salt and pepper, black with white strewn in amongst it, specks and shadows of grey on his small scruffy beard.
“Father,” I replied, a smile on my face as he rose from the chair, and strided across the room, pulling me into a hug.
“I will miss you, you know,” he says. He knew I’d succeed him, some day, I suspected. Charles would hardly be a good successor in the end, anyway.
“Really? This whole thing was your idea,” I snarked a little, still happy to be in the hug, before he disconnects, walking over to some of the books in his office.
“True. It is for your safety, and… well, for your power.” Oliver took a deep breath in. I knew he’d always wished I’d kept this power of mine a secret, but… that had hardly been possible when I’d been a reckless infant with blood magic. Still, at Strixhaven, perhaps it would be possible to keep it secret, for some time. I did not know. “The more you can wield it, the more House Blacktree - and the city of Raven’s Bluff - will thrive in the long run.”
“I know, I know,” I almost rolled my eyes. I’d been preparing to lead this house from the moment I conceived it was a possibility. I’d always had a martial bent - I’d inherited that from my soldier brother - but it was a more careful, precise one. I did not take fights I did not intend to win. I would guide Raven’s Bluff away from the corrupt hands that sought to drag it down - the Norwoods, the Merchants, the Golden Lords, all of them would kneel - willingly or otherwise.
“When I return, I will know if this is my future,” I say, a little… concerned. This could be four years of my life, gone, far from the city. Perhaps that would be for the best. “If it is, I will return, ready to succeed.”
Father raised his eyebrow slightly, clearly noting the double meaning behind my words. “Good. I will be ready for you in the morning. The Seat for Conjuration - Alyssane Sakairon - will be taking you there. She is an archmage of prodigious skill, but a Semnite - I have half a mind to think she’s more loyal to her home country than here - especially given her old age.” Always with the politics. Still, it was appreciated. Politics would be my life too, someday.
The conversation stalled into meaningless trivialities, and it was not long before I was in my bed - my warm, luscious, silken bed. Oh, how I would miss it most of all. Apparently Strixhaven had no different accommodations between nobles and commoners, which I thought was quite unfair. Commoners had much lower standards, they’d likely be getting better service than usual - which was a good thing - but nobles had to be reduced to match? Outrageous!
A few hours before the crack of dawn.
Chaille had come in in the morning. They’d cooked up a full platter of bacon, sausage, and fried eggs, with a small smile.
“Thank you, Chaille.” I was grateful. Their cooking was a glorious constant in life, and something I was glad I did not have to part with.
“It is nothing,” they replied, typically serene, gesturing chipped horns. “Would you like my assistance in getting dressed?”
I nodded, gratefully, as Chaille took me to the dressing room. I had selected my garb for the first day - something ostentatious. I wished to capture attention. The slow tying back of the black corset around what would be a more simple outfit - a scarlet silken shirt, dark trousers, an onyx military coat overlaid, buttons open. Diagonally strewn across my back lay a colossal black scabbard - even if I was to go to this place unarmoured (and it was hardly unarmoured - each piece of the outfit was interwoven together to make it a shield against harm) - I would not go unarmed.
I reached across the room, grasping Wit’s End - the blade over two meters long - and, with a single swift motion of one hand, laid her to rest in the scabbard. Chaille nods, a smile on their face.
“You are quite ready,” they murmur, checking me over carefully, with their hands. It was difficult, when they were partially sighted, but they had not failed in their assistance in over five years. I strode out into the Courtyard, to stand under the black tree, and await the First Seat.
I found Sakairon waiting for me there, alongside the entire family. Father, Mother, Charles, Clem and Davis - no Viv, typical, but then again to make the walk again at this early hour would’ve been too difficult - and Lytheia, her four arachnid legs curling behind her (she had chosen such an extra dress, gauzy red. How typical).
“Goodbye Melissa,” Father said, with a nod. Mother came over and took my hand. “Keep yourself safe.” Of course I would, she knew that, but it did not change the worry. Still, a mother worried about their children. It was good to be fussed over, sometimes. (A lot of the time. It was not a luxury I would have forever, after all).
Clem and Davis smiled in unison, clearly tied (I suspected Charles had dragged them out of bed), as they gave their own goodbyes. Finally, Charles walked over.
“Melissa, what are you going to do when you get there?”
It was a question my brother had always asked me. And I always had a response.
“Outroar the lion.”
Lytheia stood beside me, without a word, as I waved to the rest of my family, Clem giving their own goodbyes to Chaille, before Sakairon reached out and took our hands. They were waving, and smiling - their goodbyes for me, for just a week.
And in an instant, they were gone. Or more accurately, I was.
The early morning sky had turned to darkness, the tall, regal Blacktree estate turned to the opening of a city, as we stood upon what appeared to be a planar conduit of some kind.
My name is Melissa Eloise Gwyar Blacktree, and I stand upon a new world’s moon. And as I look up in the sky at that purple stormy orb, the shattered planet of Arcavios, I see my future.
And I am going to seize it.