Art by The Golgari Guildhall was an arched subterranean cathedral surrounded by an immense circular maze of fungal hedgerows and overgrown, moss-encrusted ruins. Known as Korozda, the Maze of Decay, the structure loomed, an imposing shadow in the semi-darkness of the Undercity. At its center stood the cathedral itself—Svogthos. Denizens of Above would whisper of how the cathedral was beautiful, once. Its curved arches and stony towers glistened with obsidian and silver in days gone. But the wear of centuries left it cold and damp, heavy with the smell of staleness and soil. Denizens of Below knew it had never stopped being beautiful.
Sobeslav, assistant to Guildmaster Jarad, sat cushioned in the comfort of the Guildhall. His desk attached to that of Jarad vod Savo, who could usually be found wandering the maze outside, avoiding the gaze of the public. Liches were not the social type. Sobeslav understood this and usually found it best to leave his master be when dealing with matters of state.
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At that moment, he was working his way through a pile of letters atop a mushroom-lit desk. His elven eyes (hooded, tired, a bit too far apart) scanned the news of Above, and he tutted and tsked at the mishandling of affairs in the well-lit places of the city.
Shuttering of communication between the Orzhov and the Azorius. It was for the best that the Golgari stayed below—unfortunate happenings were afoot now that the Guildpact could walk and talk and just up and leave.
As he finished reading them, the elf tossed the bulletins into the rot-pile at the end of his room. The worms had more use for this news than he did. A letter at the bottom of the pile caught Sobeslav's attention. It was written on well-pressed paper and smelled of delicate moss. A shining black seal was stamped on the front.
Tied to the ribbon on the front was a single mushroom. Sobeslav set the mushroom aside and opened the letter gently. The ink that was used to write was exquisite, but the handwriting was a mess of scratches and incomprehensible flecks. After a moment, Sobeslav made out what it was. 
It was an invitation.
From Mazirek of the kraul. Sobeslav laughed. He crumpled up the paper and threw it into the rot pit in the corner of his office. It landed with a soft squish. Sobeslav chuckled.
Nobody outside of the kraul cared much for the kraul. Why would they? The kraul were a recent addition to the Golgari. For centuries, they had been an unguilded mass of insectoid brutes. They lived on the peripheral of society and only recently had declared allegiance to the Golgari Swarm.