>>6210082>>6210085>>6210179>>6210189Dark Elves won, I'm sure we'll see the runner ups at some point lads.
~
It was a night of tears, both heaven and earth bore witness to the terrible battle that turned
the rivers and springs red. Men, Dwarf, and Dark Elf, (Drow in their tongue) fought against each other.
The battle was fierce, no quarter was to be given. From the slopes and crevices of the mount itself, to the
very underhalls of the Dwarven city, the Drow fought fiercely. The very tunnels to their retreat, the
motherland, was closed. There could be no turning back, only the swing of the sword and the choked
pleading to a mad Goddess was to be found here.
This battle, Isto d'krik'vlicss, Battle of Tears, was 10 years ago, in the Year of Shadows. You are
but a small noble house of Drow, who survived the carnage, clinging to the hidden vales and mountain
peaks for survival. Every day was a battle, if not the many foes who gladly chased you over wild
country, but the very elements themselves. Winter came, killing the unprepared, and summer torched the
shade loving skin of your people.
You are Matron Mother Kidane, of House Shi da'ra. Your house was but one of the many minor nobles that
infested the city of spiders, dutifully serving the Goddess, but never earning her favor. You thought she abandoned you entirely when the damned Dwarves ambushed your army. Tasked with securing the crucial flank and an unknown act of subterfuge, they set the mountain on fire, burying entire regiments of Drow alight in fire and churned earth.
You try not to think of that terrible night.
You try not to think of what was lost, the fate that awaits you and your people if they dared to enter the city of spiders. No length of years or distance traveled grants forgiveness to failure. The Goddess is simple in her judgements. Whether cowardly or pragmatism, you console yourself that redemption can be found in the surface world.
A subdued knock came from the wooden door. It was familiar.
"Honored Matron, may I come in?" asked in a smooth tone. It gave no hint of emotion.
"At once, Sinfel. I expected you hours ago." spoke Kidane, not eager to give away if she were fully displeased.
In entered the Weapons Master of her meager house. Sinfel was like any other male, perfectly polite and courteous to females, but he tested the limits of politeness. He must enjoy his disciplining, to flirt with death
so often. He came to a soft bow, palms open and upward, as a pilgrim comes before their beloved god.
"Speak, Sinfel."
Without raising from his form of supplication, Sinfel began to speak in that smooth voice of his:
"Honored and glorious Matron, I've roamed the mountain and hill country to the west, and found no sign of our hated enemies. From the plains and river country, I've found suitable towns for plunder. Minor militias, enemies not fit for the slaughter. It would seem there is a power to the east however, a city envied by all the savages, or so they claim."
1/2
