I had the first drow on the server, there was one drow-tanar'ri offspring but he hardly counted as one of the drow. :ph43r:
Anyhow, my original drow is now long gone, thus I got a whole new dark elf to roam the planes. Instead of being a primer, he originates from Svartalfheim of the realms found on the plane of Ysgard.
wrote:Svartalfheim:
Character: Preferring darkness to light and tunnels to the deep forests, Svartalfheim is a land of secrets. Its elves do not share their joyes and sorrows with anyone outside the realm, and every caverb seems rife with mysteries. Although constantly and unfairly accused of dark and vile deeds, Svartalfheim's spirit never falters, because the petitioners know that what others think doesn't matter.
Power: In keeping with the realm's love of secrets and mysteries, the power of Svartalfheim isn't clear but may well be Eilistraee the Dark Maiden, the goddes of good-aligned drow. Her Music is said to be woven into every fiber of the realm. Others claim that Erevan Ilesere keeps this realm as a retreat from Arbora's stifling goodness, or even that Loki rules in magical disguise. Those that know won't tell, and those that tell do not know.
Description: The dwarves believe that "Dark Elf Land" is a realm connected to the Demonweb Pits of Lolth in the Abyss, and to the Underdark domains of the drow in the Prime Material Plane by matureconduits. It's inhabitants are chaotic, unpredictable, and utterly ruthless in opposing the dwarves and gnomes. Sections of Svartalfheim are rumored to be constantly shifting across the boundary into Pnademonium and even into the Abyss.
  In fact, the dark elves ain't so bad as all that. They rule the tunnels near the surface, and often hunt there, but they like to be left alone, which is no more than what most Ysgardians want.
  The tunnels of Svartalfheim are warm, heated by sulphurous springs and underground geysers. Even some of its rivers run hot, bubbling through the stone and shedding steamy mists. The stone of Svarttalfheim glows silvery, and the mists and heat make each drop that fall into a pool of water sound like a clear bell.
  Most sectionsSvartalfheim are gaudy, full of glitter but as thins as harlot's curtain. The Wild regions are crowded with underground forests of strange woods that need no sun, only the earth's heat. The finestcaverns of Svartalfheim are carved from clear quartz or studded with shining mica nad pyrite, both worthless to a jeweler but just the sort of glittery stuff the dark elves enjoy. Like the elves, the realms is a place of display, not of substance. Do not buy jwels from the dark elves: they may not be trying to cheat their customers, but they think as much of paste as they do of rubies.
Principal Towns: The inhabitants of Svartalfheim are scattered throughout many caverns and small settlements, and ruled from the twing capitals of Dokkar and Yggwyrd. Dokkar and Yggwyrd are the centers of commerce and religion, respectively, and Dokkar is by far the larger of the two.
  Dokkar is a bustling town of weights and measures, bright ribbons and scented cloth, a thousand porters, and narrow streets. Oddly, none of the merchants haggle; they look their patrons up and down, deice a price they like, and then name it. They never budge once they set a price, not for princes or paupers. The dark elves claim it saves time, but visitorsusually leave with a sene that there must be some secret ritual to bargaining with an elf. After constant bumbs, jostling, and bruisesm a berk feels a sense of relief at leaving the crowded corridors full of dance and song: Dokkar makes Sigil seem spacious.
  Yggwyrd, the city of the Ancestors, is empty by comparison, or at least empty of the living. Yggwyrd contains shrines to every elven god, hero, mastrer abrd, and saint. Dark elves make pilgrimages to Yggwyrd to ask the help of their ancestor's spirits for great undertakings, and somehow, within the city, every elf can speak with the elven dead. That's why all dark elves plan to die in Yggwyrdm if they ain't lucky enough to die in battle. They do not make it to Yggwyrd, but the unlucky elves who die outside the city are always brought to the clan crypts in Yggwyrd for burial, so they can speak to their children and grandchildren. Every elven clan crypt is guarded by a single young sentinel, but the real guardians are dark.
  The resless guardian ghosts of elves who died outside the city and whose bodies were never recovered let pious dark elves by, but they forbid nonelves to visit the city. The banshees, haunts, and other spectral undead do not allow nonelves past the gates for any reason, and they do not hesitate to attack those who insist.
  The great entryway to the Lower Planes is Elkhounds's Gate, watched over by Leif and Olaf Persson (Both of them neutral Fighter/Wizards, Eldricth knights.), two brothers in war and magery. Both waear monstrous winged helmets and carry staves of ironwood that serve them as staves of the magi. Their duty's to prevent anything entering from below, so they pay little attention to thosegoing the other way. They allow most brave bashers past without a word, but they aid the truly clueless, often giving a bit of advice or helpful equipment.
Special Conditions: Svartalheim is a realm of silvery light, dimmer than the glow of Alfheim but enough to illuminate tunnels and caverns. But it's glow isn't the half of it. All the realm's caverns and tunnels make sounds sweeter, make echoes richer so that even the clanking thuds of miners sound like the enticing song of a harpy.
  Because of Svartlfheim's magical acoustics, all bard abilities function 3 levels higher. All visitors - even a croaking slaad - can sing adequately while in the realm. Thi's probably a function of the tunnels' acoustics, since the ability disappears as soon as a basher leaves. Recent visitors never realize that they've lost their golden tones, and often won't stop singing after visiting Svartalfheim unless physically prevented.
Principal Nonplayer Characters: The rulers of Dokkan and Yggwyrd are General Jan Thorinsen (Fighter/Thief, CH) and his consort Dagmaer Atheling (Cleric, CG), the Woman Without a Shadow. Jan is respected but not loved,; he watches over the courts, the organization of festivals and the appointment of elves to the nobility. Dagmaer is beloved among all her congregation, because for them she is a shining example of all that is best in the dark elven race. Dagmaer is a skilled musician, alore mistress and a compassionate priestess.
  The Witch-mistress of Yggwyrd is Ingrid Liansdottir (Wizard, CG), the Keeper of the Mysteries and the Wyrd. Her curses are powerful, and her song can bewitch even the coldest hear. She keepsto herself, tending her empty city with devotion and ignoring most request for audiences.
  Majarenna the Dancing Priestess is the greeates of the realm's raiders against the dwarves, (Chaotic good paladin, perhaps a duelist in 3.5). Though she is siad to have never killed an opponent, her outrageous thefts, pranks, and insults have been poorly recieved by the dour dwarves. Majarenna is a lithe, quick-thinking blood who enjoys a scrape or thumble, especially when her speed lets her make the Ysgardian dwarves look like clumsy leatherheads.
Services: Svartalfheim somehow brings forth bounty from stone, heat and water. It's known for it's mushroom wine, its ironwood carvings, and, most of all, for its exquiseite carved gemstones, many of them magically encahnted to glow, sparkle, or protect their bearer from poison or blades.
  The bars of Svartalheim rattle their bone-boxes less about glory of death in battle. They sing the joys and praises of the moment. For a small fee, they'll sing praises of something near and dear to visitors' heart: a lover, her past glories, a basher's features or whatever she requests. Anything's better than their constan harping about dance, they joy of song, true love, anf the glorious future. It's such a pure pap that it makes a basher long for the honest grime of Sigil.
  Svartalfheim's weavers are the finest of Ysgard: their cloth holds color well, it's soft but also warm, and it resists tears and cuts. Mages say the best of it's good enough to be enchanted into magical cloaks, hats, and other garments. The weavers sell their goods to gnomes and other more respectable middle mien. The artisans say they learned their art from the Norns, who weave the threads of life and fate, but only the clueless would believe that rot.
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From Planescape: Planes of Chaos, pages 127-128.
And of course, if a berk appears uninvited, he will be greeted with sharp blades. :P
