Drow

A drow is a dark-skinned subrace of elves that lives in the Underdark, a vast network of caverns and tunnels beneath the surface of the world.

Drow are also known as dark elves, deep elves, night elves, or under-elves.

They are notorious for their cruelty, malice, and powerful magic.

Drow society is based on the worship of Lolth, the Spider Queen, a chaotic evil goddess who demands obedience, sacrifice, and intrigue from her followers.

Drow culture is divided into noble houses that compete for power, wealth, and favor from Lolth.

Drow are ruthless, cunning, and ambitious, and they often betray, enslave, or kill anyone who stands in their way.

Drow have a strong affinity for darkness and can see well in the dark.

They are also skilled in stealth, deception, and poison.

Drow are adept at using magic, especially spells that create darkness, illusions, or webs.

Drow favor weapons such as rapiers, crossbows, and daggers, often coated with venom.

Drow also have a special bond with spiders, which they revere as sacred creatures and use as pets, guardians, or mounts.

Drow are hated and feared by most other races, especially other elves, who consider them a corrupted and evil kin.

Drow often raid the surface world for slaves, resources, or fun, and they have a long history of wars and conflicts with other Underdark dwellers, such as dwarves, gnomes, and mind flayers.

Drow are also enemies of the good-aligned deities, such as Corellon Larethian, the creator of the elves, who cursed the drow with their dark skin as a mark of their treachery.

However, not all drow are evil or loyal to Lolth.

Some drow rebel against their society and seek a different path, often worshiping other deities, such as Eilistraee, the Dark Maiden, a goddess of beauty, dance, and song, or Vhaeraun, the Masked Lord, a god of thievery, stealth, and trade.

Some drow also escape the Underdark and try to live among the surface races, though they face prejudice and mistrust.

Some of these renegade drow become heroes, such as Drizzt Do'Urden, a famous drow ranger who fights for justice and friendship.

Drow are a fascinating and complex race, with a rich and dark history, a diverse and twisted culture, and a unique and deadly style.

They are one of the most iconic and popular races in the world of Dungeons & Dragons, a fantasy role-playing game.

A Drow is a type of dark-skinned elf that lives in the Underdark, a vast network of caverns and tunnels beneath the surface of the world.

Drow are often hated and feared by other races because of their cruelty and powerful magic.

Here is a description of a typical Drow:

• Drow have a slender and athletic body, with a chiseled and attractive face.
  They are shorter and thinner than other elves, averaging at 5 feet (150 centimeters) in height.

• These elves have dark grey or jet-black skin, sometimes with shades of blue.
  Their skin color helps them blend in with the shadows of the Underdark.

• Drow have white, black, or purple teeth, and red, pink, or purple gums, tongue, and throat.
  Their teeth are sharp and pointed, suitable for biting and tearing flesh.

• Drow eyes can be any color, most often bright red.
  Eyes can also reflect mood or health, turning red when angry and yellow when sick or poisoned.
  Some Drow have eyes that glow in the dark, giving them a sinister appearance.

• Drow hair is bright white, silver or copper colored.
  They usually keep their hair long, and adorn it with pins and webbing made of precious metals.
  Hair color can also indicate their faith or origin, with silver hair being associated with the goddess Eilistraee, and purple or blue eyes being a sign of surface ancestry.

• Drow wear a piwafwi, a fire-resistant cloak that protects them from heat and light.
  They also wear boots that make their footsteps silent, and a house insignia that shows their allegiance to a noble family or a merchant clan.
  Their clothes and equipment are of high quality and craftsmanship, reflecting their wealth and status.

Far away, in the heart of the Underdark, beneath the roots of the world, the Drow - those enigmatic, dark-skinned elves of beauty and mystery - worshipped the goddess Lolth, their queen of spiders and shadows. But among them lived a Drow named Lyra, whose beauty was so mesmerizing that even the spiders spun silk in admiration. Her eyes sparkled like the rarest of gems, and her voice was said to soothe the restless spirits of the deep.

Yet, in the same realm of shadows, a clandestine romance bloomed, one that would defy the very essence of their dark society. This was the romance of Lyra and Elysar, a valiant surface elf whose heart beat with a rhythm that the Drow could scarcely fathom. Elysar had ventured into the Underdark to seek the fabled Luminae Crystals, believed to be the key to protecting the surface world from impending doom.

Lyra, curious and brave, had crossed paths with Elysar during one of his quests. Their meeting was nothing short of extraordinary. Elysar, with his golden hair and eyes that reflected the light of the sun, was a stark contrast to the deep gloom of the Underdark. Despite the differences in their worlds, a bond quickly formed. They spoke in hushed tones of the sunlit lands above, and Lyra found herself enchanted by tales of forests, skies, and the warmth of daylight. Elysar, in turn, was captivated by Lyra's grace and the depth of the Underdark's enigmatic beauty.

Their love, however, was not without its trials. The Drow had long been bound by the cold laws of Lolth, who forbade such interspecies affection. In secret, Lyra and Elysar met, their stolen moments filled with whispered promises and dreams of a world where they could be together. They planned to elope to the surface, where the Drow's customs could not reach them.

But their plans were discovered. Lolth, ever vigilant, was furious. She devised a cruel punishment: she would transform Lyra into a creature of shadows, bound eternally to the depths of the Underdark, never to see the light of day again. Elysar, devastated, fought against Lolth's decree, but his efforts were in vain. As Lyra was enveloped by the darkness, Elysar was left with only the lingering echoes of her love.

In their final moments together, Lyra and Elysar exchanged a bittersweet farewell. Lyra, now a being of shadow, could no longer touch the sunlit world, but her love for Elysar remained as vibrant as ever. Elysar, heartbroken, returned to the surface with the Luminae Crystals but carried the weight of their lost love.

Legends say that their love did not die with them. The Luminae Crystals, imbued with their devotion, became a symbol of eternal love that bridged the realms. On nights when the moon is full, it is said that if you gaze upon the moonlit waters, you might see a fleeting shadow dancing with a golden light - an echo of the love that defied the shadows.

The myth of Lyra and Elysar, known as "The Lament of the Starfallen Love," endures through the ages, a tale of passion and sacrifice that transcends realms. It serves as a reminder that even in the darkest of places, love can shine with a brilliance that defies the very fabric of the world.

Far-far away, in the darkened caverns of Akril'tharn, far beneath the sunlit world, the Drow lived in perpetual shadow. Their alabaster skin and crimson eyes glimmered faintly beneath the glow of rare underground fungi, casting faint silver hues in their subterranean cities. Among them was a young Drow named Myrithen, a warrior-priest in the temple of Selvetarm, god of war and warriors. Myrithen was both skilled in battle and learned in lore, yet his soul yearned for something more than bloodshed and the endless intrigues of Drow society. He sought a higher calling, something beyond the treacherous world he was born into.

Whispers of a lost relic echoed through the tunnels of Akril'tharn - a flame that never dimmed, a light that could burn through the darkness of the Underdark. The relic was known as the Eternal Flame of Yelthenir, a remnant of the legendary city of light said to have once existed in the far reaches of the world, beyond both sky and earth. The flame, it was said, held the power to illuminate not just the physical darkness, but the darkness that lived within the hearts of mortals.

The Drow scoffed at such tales. Light, after all, was the enemy of their kind. Yet Myrithen, against his better judgment and the counsel of his kin, found himself captivated by the story. Something about the Flame called to him, a faint hope that it might offer salvation - not just for himself, but for all Drow. The prospect of an existence beyond endless shadow spurred him to action.

The Call to Quest

One fateful night, Myrithen ventured into the temple of Selvetarm to seek guidance from the god of war. Bathed in crimson torchlight, he knelt before the imposing statue of the god, offering both a prayer and a silent plea.

"If I am worthy of redemption, show me the way," Myrithen whispered into the silent chamber. "I will face any trial, endure any suffering. Only let me know the path to the Eternal Flame."

The air around him grew unnaturally cold, and the torches flickered wildly. From the shadows, a voice like the grinding of iron spoke, though it was not Selvetarm who answered.

"You seek a light in a world that has forsaken it, Myrithen," the voice rasped. "But the Flame you seek is not merely a beacon. It is a trial, one that will burn through your very soul."

Myrithen steeled his heart. "Then let it burn me. I will be the one to reclaim the Flame for the Drow."

A spectral figure materialized before him - a female Drow, her eyes blazing like molten coals. It was Eilistraee, the goddess of the moon and the outcast Drow. "The journey to the Flame is one of sacrifice," she whispered. "You must forsake your kin, your god, and even the very darkness that has shaped you. Are you prepared for such a path?"

Myrithen hesitated, but only for a moment. "I am prepared."

With a flick of her silver blade, Eilistraee marked his soul. "Then you shall carry this burden. But know this: the light of Yelthenir will not merely reveal the world to you. It will reveal you to the world. Every shadow, every sin, will come into the light."

And with that, the goddess vanished, leaving Myrithen to his quest.

The Journey

Myrithen's journey began with a long and perilous ascent. He left the subterranean caverns of his people, leaving behind the cold stone and eternal darkness that had cradled him since birth. His path took him through the Upperdark, where the terrors of the deep lurked - beholders, aboleths, and even worse things that did not speak their names. He fought his way through these dangers, his sword and magic honed by the hardships of the Underdark.

Yet the greatest trials were those of the heart. Each step closer to the surface tore at his soul, for the sunlit world was anathema to the Drow. He could feel the weight of his heritage like a chain around his neck. Drow were creatures of darkness, and the light was poison to them. His every instinct screamed to return to the safety of the caverns, to the comfort of the shadows.

But Myrithen pressed on. He had forsaken Selvetarm, forsaken his people. His only guide was the silent mark of Eilistraee upon his soul. He would either find the Flame or perish in the attempt.

At last, he reached the surface world, a place where the sky stretched endlessly above him, and the sun burned like a fiery orb of torment. Myrithen shielded his eyes, but no matter how far he traveled, the light seemed to sear his very soul. Yet he pressed on, guided by faint dreams and distant whispers of the Flame's resting place.

The Trials of the Flame

After months of wandering, Myrithen found himself in the desolate ruins of Yelthenir, once a city of great power, now a forgotten relic of the past. The crumbling stones whispered of long-lost glories, and at its center stood the Eternal Flame - an ethereal, flickering light that hovered above a blackened altar.

But the Flame was not unguarded. Before it stood a creature of terrible beauty - a celestial being with wings of fire, a sword of pure light in her hand. "Who dares approach the Eternal Flame?" she asked, her voice resonating with divine authority.

"I am Myrithen of the Drow," he answered, his voice steady though his heart quaked. "I seek the Flame not for power, but to bring light to my people."

The celestial's gaze softened, but her blade remained steady. "The Flame is not for the unworthy. It burns with truth, and the truth can destroy as easily as it can illuminate. Are you willing to face the truth of your own soul, Drow?"

Myrithen nodded, though he knew not what awaited him.

The celestial raised her hand, and the Flame blazed brighter. In that moment, Myrithen's heart was laid bare. He saw every cruelty he had inflicted, every betrayal, every selfish desire that had driven him. He saw the darkness that had consumed his kind - the endless cycles of hatred and violence, the pride that had led them into the shadows.

The weight of his sins nearly crushed him. But then, amidst the darkness, he saw something else - a flicker of light. It was small, barely noticeable, but it was there. Hope. Redemption. The possibility of change.

"I accept it," Myrithen whispered. "I will carry the Flame, no matter the cost."

The celestial lowered her blade, and the Flame gently floated toward him. As it touched his outstretched hand, Myrithen felt its warmth seep into his soul. It was not a fire that burned - it was a fire that healed. The shadows within him began to lift, and for the first time in his life, he felt truly free.

The Return

Myrithen returned to Akril'tharn, bearing the Eternal Flame with him. His people, initially fearful of the light, were soon captivated by its glow. The flame revealed their inner truths, both the darkness and the light within them. It was not an easy path, for many resisted the change it brought, but slowly, the Drow began to embrace the light.

The journey had not just been for Myrithen. It had been for all his people. Through his courage, they found a new way - a way not of endless shadow, but of balance, where both darkness and light could coexist.

And so, the Eternal Flame of Yelthenir burned on, a beacon of hope in the heart of the Underdark.

Thus ended the tale of Myrithen, the Drow who sought the light, and in doing so, brought it to his people.

Long ago, before the gods and the cosmos formed the world as it is now known, there existed only Aelthoria, a plane of pure, undiluted magic. In this ethereal realm, there was no time, no shadow, and no division between light and darkness. All was illuminated by the Everglow, an eternal radiance that cast no shade and knew no night. Within this endless light lived the Firstborn of the Aelthera, an ancient and powerful race, fairer and more noble than any being that would come after. The Aelthera were not bound by the constraints of the mortal world, and they danced, sang, and created with magic as easily as breathing.

At the heart of Aelthoria sat the Glimmering Citadel, the dwelling of Aerithiel, the Mother of Light, who had crafted the Everglow and brought forth the Aelthera from her own spirit. Beneath her nurturing light, the Firstborn prospered. Yet, among the Aelthera was one who stood apart: Vaelrath, the Radiant Prince. He was not content with the endless harmony. The eternal day, unbroken and flawless, weighed upon him like a gilded prison. His heart longed for something the Everglow could not offer - a mystery, a contrast, a hidden world beyond the blinding brilliance of Aelthoria.

Vaelrath sought counsel from Aerithiel. "Mother," he said, "you have blessed us with the Everglow, but I feel there is more to existence than this eternal light. Can there be a world of balance? A realm where light meets shadow, and each gives meaning to the other?"

Aerithiel's bright eyes darkened momentarily. She understood the depth of her son's desire, but feared the consequences of what he sought. "My beloved Vaelrath," she said, her voice as soft as starlight, "the Everglow sustains us. There is no sorrow, no fear, and no death within its radiance. Yet the shadow you seek lies beyond its borders. Once you embrace it, it will forever change you, and those who follow."

Undeterred, Vaelrath gathered a host of like-minded Aelthera, those who shared his yearning for the unknown. Together, they left the safety of the Everglow, venturing into the distant edges of Aelthoria, where the light grew faint, and the first tendrils of darkness slithered at the boundaries of existence.

There, at the edge of the known, Vaelrath made his discovery: the Veil of Night, an ancient boundary where the light of Aelthoria ended and pure darkness began. It was an enigmatic force, a deep, unrelenting void. Yet, to Vaelrath, it was beautiful. He stretched out his hand, and as his fingers brushed the darkness, something remarkable happened. The shadow did not consume him, as he had feared. Instead, it mingled with his light, transforming him. His once-bright skin darkened to an obsidian hue, and his silver hair, once a reflection of the Everglow, now shimmered like moonlight against the blackness of night. His eyes, once radiant as the sun, turned the color of amethyst, deep and unfathomable.

He had become something new: the first Drow.

The others, awed by his transformation, followed suit. They too reached into the Veil, allowing its essence to merge with their own. One by one, the Aelthera who had followed Vaelrath shed their light and became the first of the Drow. They were no longer beings of pure radiance; they had found balance between light and shadow.

When they returned to Aelthoria, however, they were not welcomed as heroes. The untouched Aelthera recoiled in fear and disgust at what their kin had become. "You have forsaken the Everglow!" they cried. "You have tainted yourselves with shadow! You are no longer of the light."

Vaelrath, though saddened, held his head high. "We are no longer bound by light alone, nor by the constraints of this eternal day. We have found the beauty in balance - the light within the darkness."

But Aerithiel, the Mother of Light, wept. "You have brought something dangerous into our realm," she said. "The Veil of Night was not meant to be touched. In your quest for balance, you have torn the fabric of Aelthoria itself."

Her words proved prophetic. The Drow's transformation had indeed created a rift in Aelthoria. Where once only light had reigned, now darkness bled into the edges of the world. The Everglow began to fade, and with it, the perfection of Aelthoria. The Firstborn became divided, with the untouched Aelthera remaining in the light, and the Drow retreating to the deep caverns and hidden places, where shadow and light intermingled in uneasy peace.

For centuries, the two peoples coexisted, but never again would they be one. The Aelthera, still basking in the fading Everglow, became the Elves, forever longing for the purity of their lost homeland. The Drow, having embraced the shadows, built their own cities in the darkened places of the world. Though they retained some of their former grace and beauty, they had become a people of twilight, mistrusted by those who clung to the light.

In time, the Drow became synonymous with treachery and danger, not because they were inherently evil, but because they represented the unknown - the balance between light and dark that the other races feared to understand. Their society thrived in the deep places, where they could walk in the darkness as easily as in the light, but they were ever-watchful, for they knew that the world had not forgiven them for their choice.

Yet, Vaelrath, the first Drow, never regretted his decision. He had seen the truth that lay beyond the Everglow. Light without shadow was incomplete, just as life without death was hollow. In embracing the darkness, he had found the freedom to be more than he had ever imagined.

And so, the Drow lived on, in the twilight between two worlds, a people born of both light and shadow, forever seeking their place in a world that had forgotten the wisdom of balance.

Thus ends the tale of the Twilight of Aelthoria, and the birth of the Drow.