klofft said:
I really want to be able to use more of DotU in my present game, and so I pose a question to all of you:
What origin stories have you used for "dark elves" in your game? Any ideas? Anything that has worked well in your own games as an alternate origin of drow?
Here's an origin from
Blood and Shadows: the Dark Elves of Tellene (heavily abbreviated for space - and so as not to give it all away...)
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"You cannot have peace or harmony any longer, my children. No emotion will ever again be pure for us, because everything is hate and anger now that the sun hides behind the stone. "
- the Book of Scorn
"We were not always as you see me now. Back in that far off time, we were the twilight elves. Our skin was pale, and our flesh was statuesque, not unlike alabaster or marble. Our hair burned radiant gold and copper like the metal ores in our mountains. We towered over our lowland cousins, standing even taller than you Brandobians do today. We were the most beautiful of the beautiful, with the pride to match. Moreover, why should we not be so? Our castles rested upon the tops of the mountains themselves; we lived in the very firmament of heaven. We taught our lesser cousins the art of working metal for tools and jewelry, and we were the greatest wielders of magic and science of the Dawn. We looked down from our thrones in the sky at our cousins, bewildered by their need to live amongst beasts and dirt. Of course, of all the sins absent at the Dawn, envy was not one of them. Our cousins' jealously of our lofty home in the clouds was subtle at first, but soon became more apparent. Naturally, this only served to increase our pride, and so only worsened their hostility.
The sages and leader of both the lowland and twilight elves discussed the matter at length, finally agreeing upon a diplomatic solution that your people are often fond of employing - an arranged marriage between the most beautiful and respected of both races, to bridge the gap between heaven and earth. From the lowland elves, Solethius, prince of Lathlanian town, would be the groom. From the twilight elves, a bride from the Halibeth family was thought best.
Joleriel was a ravishing maiden of only 95 summers, but with the wit and intellect of one sevenfold her age. No suitor could match up to her impossible standards, for she saw herself worthy of no less than a man of god-like stature. In fact, she prayed each night to all the gods, daring them to come and court her in mortal fashion. And, eventually, one did.
By the time of the wedding, Joleriel had already amassed a rather sizeable cult to her god, The Despiser. With this small army of followers at her disposal, the young maiden hatched a plan to bring her lover’s wishes into fruition.
Other than the house guards of the two families, there were no armed guards at the wedding ceremony, which worked to the advantage of Joleriel. Her followers, disguised as Lendalian elite guards, entered the chambers of their mistress’ family and slew her parents and siblings. They made as much noise as possible while carrying out this grisly act, making certain they were seen as they escaped into the hills. News traveled quickly back to the temple grounds and, upon hearing of her family’s death, Joleriel made a great show of false anguish, claiming the wedding was a trap of the lowland elves. The Halibeth guards quickly drew their swords. As the now confused Solethius tried to explain that there must be some sort of misunderstanding, Joleriel pulled the ceremonial gaz'zirad (a long, double edged dagger with weight and length comparable to a short sword) of her people and buried it into her groom’s heart. Violence washed over the temple, and the true Lendalian guards were easy work for the twilight guard. Very few escaped this massacre, and Joleriel’s followers left the once peaceful town to burn to ash.
Two distinct versions of the Leucaunth Massacre cropped up soon after among the elves, though I imagine the story told by the scant number of survivors was closer to the truth. The horrified elves managed to find their way back to their respective homes, reporting that the twilight elf princess had lost her mind with grief, and became mad with vengeance and bloodlust, brutally slaughtering many in her pain. Of course, Joleriel told us a much different tale. Not only was the wedding a trap set in order to destroy the Halibeth family, but also as a precursor to an invasion of the mountain kingdoms. Only through the guidance of her god was she able to turn the tables on our treacherous kin and turn defeat into victory. She then “reluctantly” took the crown of her father. Only a few hours after her self-coronation, the confederacy of the mountain kingdoms declared her Empress under martial law (thanks to her followers in key houses). Her first decree -war with our traitor cousins.
The war went exactly as the Empress wished - prolonged strife with no clear way of winning. Although the lowland elves outnumbered us four to one, we had the defensible advantage of high ground, and a near monopoly of metal ore to create weapons and armor. Nevertheless, as I said, a long, strife-ridden war was exactly what the Empress desired in her scheme to win the Despiser's love.
Imagine a besieged city walled with strong defenses along the turrets. Yes, food, water and weapons are inexhaustible, but consider the mentality of the citizens in such a prolonged siege. They live in constant fear and uncertainty, desperately relying on their leader for comfort and guidance. With our society molded to her desires, it was now time for Joleriel to execute the final stage of her plan: lose the war.
The Empress arranged for our military forces to make critical errors on the western front, losing large amounts of ground. While our Empress let hundreds of our soldiers die needlessly, her speeches turned from victory to exodus. She told the people that Hatemonger came to her in a vision, telling of a promised land deep within the mountains. The true destiny of our people, so she said, lay within the caverns below, and that we must travel to it.
As we often mined the earth for ore and gems, we were no strangers to traveling underground, and thus did not suffer the fear of small, closed off spaces attributed to our cousins. However, spending a few hours a day in a mineshaft is much different than spending the rest of one’s life miles underground, and denied the sun and the sky. Asking the elves of the firmament to live in the foundation seemed as logical as asking an eagle to spend the rest of its days in a badger den. Finally, the Empress' word was being questioned.
To this, Joleriel responded by increasing the number of critical errors made by our military. Now, thousands were dying, and the invaders moved at tremendous speed towards our borders. With the collapse of the Empire seemingly imminent, even the most stubborn sheep lifted their hooves from the mud and corralled into the darkness. The military then reduced, buying enough time to organize and execute the evacuation. By the time the allied elven armies marched upon our capital, there was nary a soul to greet them. My people call this the First Exodus.
Our once joyous race was now hardened by the ravages of a prolonged war, and cold-hearted from the loss of the open skies and warmth of the sun upon our faces. The Unwritten Page did not portray Hatemonger in benevolent tones for us; it was not necessary anymore. The House of Hope revealed itself as the House of Scorn, and its bigotry we welcomed with open arms. Distrust towards those not of our blood dominated our hearts, and hatred for our cousins burned in our souls hotter than any forge. Hatred consumed us, for we no longer hated because we were taught and told to do so, but instead we hated because we wanted to. With our fate sealed for eternity, our race no longer walked the path of the righteous, but instead sprinted down the road of corruption.
The elves of the wood eventually discovered what we had truly become, but they never attempted to hunt us further. We had gone where they feared to tread, and I think I have already made clear their method of dealing with horrible memories of the past. As debased as we had become spiritually, a fierce pride drove the people to not only adapt, but to thrive.
For some time, our Empress bore nothing but worthless sons, even though she used male concubines as often a washerwoman uses rags, trying in vain to find one who could sire her daughter. Her persistence eventually paid off, and on the 350th year of the First Exodus, Empress Meluria I produced a daughter. More precisely, two daughters – she had given birth to twin girls. While one had skin of marble and hair of reddish gold, as was common with the twilight elves, the other had skin the shade of night and hair the color of bone. My people took this to be a mark of Hatemonger's approval, and rejoiced in the good fortune of our Empress. Truly, her child must be blessed.
You can imagine it was of some small surprise when the next child, born of a cleric, was also so marked. As was the child of a mason, and as were the next, and the next… It quickly became clear to all that the shadowy children were our future, and we reveled in our own damnation. The twilight elves were dead, and the shadow elves stood in their place."
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Now go buy the book!
