The Heroes Rest- Neverwinter Fan Site

A slight, shaved-headed half-elf from the shattered remnants of Netheril, Seri Threadweaver stitches runes, sigils, and pocket-realms into cloth—turning wizardwear into walking spellwork under the quiet gaze of Mask.

Seri Threadweaver is small even by half-elven standards—barely over five feet, light as a whisper, and sharp as a razor quill. She keeps her scalp shaved, gleaming like polished obsidian, a quiet declaration of her mixed heritage: Shadovar and sun-touched elf, woven together by fate rather than diplomacy. She hides nothing. Mask teaches that secrets carefully chosen are more powerful than secrets compulsively kept. Her family line has lingered in the Realms for five generations, descendants of those who survived the fall of Netheril—not the glorious cities, but the drifting enclaves that sank screaming into shadow. Her great-great-grandmother, Vaelra the Unmoored, escaped the catastrophe with only a satchel, a loom of midnight thread, and a devotion to Mask so fervent it was said her own shadow followed her at a respectful distance. Each generation inherited the same gifts: uncanny dexterity, an intuitive feel for Weave-threads, and the Shadovar knack for twisting magic through fabric, knot, and fold. Seri, though, was different. While her elders wielded their talents in hushed circles and back-alley rites, she saw clothing not as concealment but as architecture. Runes could be stitched. Sigils embroidered. Pocket-space woven. Glamours hemmed in. Her first robe was sewn entirely from the shed skins of magical serpents she found coiled around Netherese ruins—an act the elders called “unwise but promising.” Her second robe caught the attention of a priest of Mask, who took her aside and whispered, “You aren’t hiding, child. You are shaping the shadows themselves.” Seri left Netheril’s scarred remnants shortly after. Dreams pulled her north—dreams where cloaks fluttered like wings over the Sea of Swords and a single masked figure beckoned through the fog toward Neverwinter. When she arrived, tailors scoffed. Wizards doubted. Rogues watched her warily. Spellcasters who donned her designs reported cleaner incantation flow, quieter footfalls, and an unnerving sense that the shadows stepped aside just a little for them. Now she runs Threadweaver’s Atelier in Neverwinter—a discreet tailor’s shop for those who understand that robes can be as dangerous as spellbooks. Her garments hang like secrets on silver hooks, each one a careful compromise between Mask’s love of hidden truths and Seri’s refusal to hide who she is. Those who walk out wearing her work rarely go unnoticed… but they almost never get caught.