Lucent Draeven

Lucent Draeven, Marquis of Darkhold, Emir of the Nightbloom Gardens, scholar of the obscure, noble of the unseen, collector of forgotten shadows, and occasional ambassador to the Court of Whispers. You may know me as the Second Lantern of the Eclipse Society, or perhaps as the Midnight Archivist of the Shaded Spire. Or, if your circles are more esoteric, as the Associate Curator of the Twilight Menagerie... though that title’s honorary. Regardless, fear not—you are almost in good hands.

Ah, friends, allow me to tell you a tale from my time as Emir of the Nightbloom Gardens—a place so enchanting that the flowers themselves awaken only beneath the light of the moon. But beware, for not all beauty is harmless. Even the most delicate petals can conceal shadows.”
There was a time when the Nightbloom Gardens seemed particularly restless. The air hung heavy with perfume, and the blossoms—normally radiant and serene—began to shimmer with an unnatural light, their colors shifting like mirages in the desert heat. Whispers echoed among the vines at night, voices in languages forgotten to time. My attendants grew anxious, for they had heard rumors of the Ashen Lily, a cursed flower that blooms once every century, bringing both fortune and ruin.
Curious but cautious, I took up my staff and lantern, descending into the heart of the gardens at midnight. The moon bathed the terraces in silver, and the scent of jasmine filled the air. There, in the central fountain, I found the flower: a single black lily, its petals edged with pale fire, glowing faintly like embers.
As I reached for it, the ground beneath me trembled. From the shadows of the fountain rose a figure—neither man nor beast—a creature woven of petals and thorns, its eyes burning with the light of the moon. The Lily Warden, a guardian born of the ancient magic that sustains the gardens. It spoke without words, its thoughts blooming in my mind: “Who seeks the Ashen Lily? What will you offer in exchange for its power?”
I replied, “I seek no power, only wisdom. Let the flower remain where it stands, and let me walk away with the knowledge that beauty need not be possessed to be appreciated.”
The creature tilted its head, as if amused, then dissolved into a swirl of petals. The Ashen Lily folded back into a bud and disappeared beneath the water’s surface. The gardens fell silent once more.
The next morning, the flowers were more radiant than ever, and the whispers ceased. I never saw the Ashen Lily again, but the lesson stayed with me: some treasures are meant to remain unseen, their magic alive because they are free.
“And so, my friends, should you ever wander the terraces of the Nightbloom Gardens beneath the moonlight, remember this: not all beauty needs to be taken. Some things are better left as mysteries, their secrets blooming only for those who listen.”

“Ah, the capital… Many believe the Emir’s duties leave little time for pleasure, but even I have my favored corner of the city. It’s a secret known only to moonlight and whispers—a place of calm amid the storm of intrigue.”
Hidden behind the spice market, there is a narrow alley where the lanterns are always lit, casting golden reflections on the polished stone. At its end stands an old archway, crumbling but proud, beyond which lies the Silver Veil Pool. A fountain fed by ancient springs fills a pool so clear you’d swear the stars themselves had fallen into its depths.
I often sat there at midnight, letting the soft ripple of water carry away the weight of the day. Once, a wandering bard asked if I owned the pool. I laughed and told him, “No one owns the stars.”
The next morning, the bard was gone—but a song about the Silver Veil Pool spread across the city. Some say it grants clarity to those who gaze into it. Others claim wishes made there come true. As for me… I make no such claims. But if you ever find it, sit by its edge, and you’ll understand why I returned night after night.
“After all, even a Emir needs a little magic now and then.”