As the old-woman entered the house’s expansive library; a cavernous chamber of tomes and legers of the Highborn family, the Lady of the Mists dropped her elder pretext and appeared younger and vibrant, a contrast to her previous portrayal. She loved masquerades and the joy behind playing different roles; everything she did was shrouded in layers of illusions and lies.
The library was diamond-shaped with a raised central dais that featured a large oaken table under a model of the Savage Frontier on the vaulted ceiling; the Star Mountains being a central source of light.
Elsewhere in the room, illumination came from small glass bottles that sit stoically on shelves; shelves that are placed over paintings of several Waterdeep’s most notable and distinguished historical figures. The glow gave them a dark sinister look.
Embers glowed blissfully in the fireplace keeping the winter chill at bay but produced no meaningful light for the women attending the tomes and scripts. In the corners of the archive were smaller study areas where the best chronicliers of the house worked for at their goddess’ need. Whispers danced at the limit of sound as not to disturb researchers in their holy work.
Leira ascended to the table, her footfalls light and graceful, to find all Lilith’s dark—angelic duplicates pouring over texts, records, and books; volumes all thought to be exhausted or eliminated from their research.
“Starting over again? I thought these tomes to be irrelevant… we eliminated them ourselves.” Leira said apologetically though secretly enjoying the misdirection inherent in these endeavors.
“Jarred Mallred does not know anything. Incredible really that someone like Mallred who inherits the wealth of history and knowledge that is Blackspire Gap and still be utterly ignorant to the things occurring right before him. He is useless and I hope someone ends his idiocy soon before it spreads.” Lilith said absently while paging through her latest book.
Leira, silent as a thought, took stock of the nature of Lilith’s research as one by one each of the Lady of Loss’ replicas finished their read and joined their host.
Leira’s eyes fell upon Historica-Magica a record book that documented houses with any arcane magical talents be they sorcery or wizardry. “What of the godson? Was he not gifted with insight as to the Aspects of Magic?” Leira asked wistfully her fingertips walking across the covers and bindings of the books. From the darkness a cleric requested an act of contrition and Leira acquiesced with a task: "Send word to Hlantos Melshimber that I wish to speak to her for tea."
At this Lilith asked, “Why do you not punish for incompetence? Instead you send them on…”
“The fruits of my labor are slow to flower, Lilith. Sometimes even I do not know—for my efforts are is still shadowed in the mists of Time, but I have belief in my followers. One does not need to overwhelm with fear; delicacy works better than blunt terror but one needs to have patience.”
::Sigh:: “No, the godson is just an idolized tiefling.” Lilith spat. “He knows nothing... and therefore he is now nothing—a ‘god’ with no pantheon. He is abandoned and mayhap begging for scraps as we speak.” She purred at the loss and ruin. “... neither did Huld Belabranta or anyone else know—it is clear we must focus our efforts on their guild sister… someone within the Order of Magists and Protectors must know of the shape or existence of the Aspects of Magic.”