Villhar Undawn

Villhar Undawn Innkeeper of the Undawn Inn, Rat Pitts Drow Elf • Female • Keeper of Secrets and Ashes Daughter of Queen Velzaria of Vlyn'shara, the Last Moon of the Deep Eyes: Amber-gold with violet irises Hair: Silver-white, always bound in crescent braids Skin: Umbral obsidian with a faint star-glow under torchlight     Before the Rat Pitts: The Drow Kingdom of Vlyn’shara Long before the pit-fighting rings, Skaven slums, and blood altars of modern Rat Pitts, the vast Underdark cavern was known as Vlyn’shara—a once-proud Drow city-kingdom, ruled by ancient Houses who traced their bloodlines to the First Descent.   At its heart stood Queen Velzaria Undawn, known as the Last Moon of the Deep—a formidable matriarch who defied both Sheloth and the surface gods, instead crafting a city of relative peace and trade. Her rule was one of cruel elegance, but also pragmatic order. Vlyn’shara was known for its breathtaking obsidian spires, enchanted taverns, and strange, shimmering fungi gardens.   Her daughter, Villhar, was born beneath the Eclipse Bloom—a rare Underdark phenomenon that veiled even the cavern's magical light. Considered an omen child, Villhar was raised not in court finery, but among scholars, spies, and stewards. Her mother knew the throne would not last—and prepared her for survival, not ceremony.   The Fall of Vlyn’shara In Year 363 PR, disaster struck. A pact between the exiled Skaven warlocks unleashed plague-bombs and corrupted planar gates beneath the city. Skavens spilled through, and Vlyn’shara crumbled. Some Drow Houses fled. Others fell to madness or turned on each other in hunger.   Queen Velzaria made a final stand atop the Hollow Spire, binding herself in blood-magic to collapse the upper city and seal the worst of the rift.   Villhar survived.   No crown. No city. No family. Just a name scorched into her memory—and a bitter taste of mercy.   The Birth of the Undawn Inn Years later, in the ash-choked tunnels of what would become Rat Pitts, Villhar resurfaced. No longer “princess.” She claimed only the name Villhar Undawn—a nod to the sun she would never see, and to the life after royalty.   With salvage from broken temples and obsidian stone, she carved out a structure between seeping sewage lines and a broken ley-node. The Undawn Inn was born—not a sanctuary, but a neutral zone. No killing. No curses. Just drink, silence, and secrets—paid for in coin, pain, or memory.   The bar is lit by bioluminescent wine and blackflame torches. The food has hints of memoryroot and dusk-lily—ingredients from Vlyn’shara, or what’s left of it. Her patrons include:   Ratkin blood-runners   Broken nobles of the deep   Disguised surface adventurers   And, on rare nights, emissaries from the Council of 13 who remember who she used to be.   Legacy and Reputation Whispers say she still wears Velzaria’s bone diadem, broken and hidden beneath her braid. Others claim her inn is protected by a bound shadow elemental—a remnant of her mother’s final spell, still clinging to Villhar’s soul.   No one dares start a fight in the Undawn Inn. Those who do never leave.   She claims no House. No loyalty. But her patrons say: “The Queen of Vlyn’shara still watches… she just pours wine now.”   Traits and Lore Moonmark: A faint crescent-shaped burn behind her left ear—glows in moonlight or during prophetic dreams.   The Quiet Seat: An obsidian throne in the back of the inn. No one sits on it. Villhar says it’s just “decor.” It hums with buried magic.   Undawn Wine: Her signature drink, made from dreamroot and fermented sorrowshade. Said to restore memories—or erase them, depending on the pour.   Bounty Ledger: A hidden list beneath the bar of every surface-dweller who participated in Vlyn’shara’s fall. She crosses out names. One at a time.   The Arrival – Ash and Smoke Beneath the Stones Villhar Undawn had seen all kinds walk through the oiled, rusted door of her inn—cutthroats, demonbloods, skittering wrecks with coin in one claw and curses in the other. But when the brother and sister entered that night, she felt the Weave shift.   Chyric Fellbite and Skitter—grey-furred, cloaked, eyes like storm-lit brass. They moved like survivors, not like raiders. The kind of movement that said they had buried something recently… and meant to bury more.   They took the back room. Paid in silence and old gold and silver.   Villhar watched them from the bar—watched how Chyric stood always near the wall, how Skitter never let her tail stop twitching. Watched how grief clung to them like fog.   She knew that weight.   The Wound Beneath Their Name Their foster father, Saberteeth, had died just beyond the Scarred Warrens, slain by a group of cloaked killers bearing void-masks and blood-slicked blades. They left no mark, no banner—only a word burned into their mind:   “Hand Over Your Wards.”   Skitter and Chyric had believed they were simple gutterborn—Fellbite orphans, taught to survive. But their blood betrayed them.   The Fire Between Them Chyric came to the bar late one night. Skitter was off hunting a lead near the Pitmouth. He sat. Said nothing. Villhar poured without asking.   After a long silence, he said:   “I was supposed to be nothing. Turns out I’m someone. I liked it better the other way.”   Villhar, who had lost a throne, buried a mother, and outlived a kingdom, replied:   “Power’s a curse when you don’t get to choose it.”   He looked at her—truly looked. And she did not look away.   That night, he did not leave her chambers.   Blood, Blooming It happened after that visit. After Chyric visit the first time.   Villhar felt it.   Four sparks, four flickers in her belly like flame beneath obsidian skin. Not curses. Not poison.   Children.   Half-Drow. Half-Skaven. Flesh woven from grief, flame, and a bloodline that had twice been erased.   Skitter’s Bond with Villhar Skitter was furious at first—protective, venom-laced, suspicious of the Drow queen who held her brother’s gaze. But over time, she saw the truth:   Villhar didn’t control Chyric. She anchored him.   Skitter now watches over Villhar like a blade in velvet. She’s promised to help raise the children. Not out of love—out of pack instinct. Family forged in death, not birth.   The Saberteeth War – Ongoing The killers of Saberteeth have been identified. Not a clan. A cult.   The Maw Without Name A group of Skaven assassins, warped by Bloodblight's kin, tasked with destroying all "impure" bloodlines.   Final Reflection: Villhar’s Private Entry “He came to me with no crown. Just blood, pain, and questions. I offered no answers. Just fire, and a place to bleed. And now—now I carry the future. The Rat Pitts will not understand what grows in me. But when they come to tear it down, they’ll find the Undawn Inn doesn’t serve mercy anymore. It serves wrath. In the name of Saberteeth. In the name of Fellbite. In the name of Bloodblight reborn.”   Villhar’s Thoughts (Private Journal) “I was born of a queen. He was born of Bloodblights. We did not ask for love—but love did not ask us, either. These children will not know thrones. But they will know power. And they will never beg for a world that denied them. They will take it"