Drow Campaign Kicker

[Paka]

The Drow Empress summons you to her throne room. She has ruled the Underdark for tens of thousands of years, uncounted generations, but rather than growing powerful the years have made her bent and crone-like. Her skin is white as virgin ivory from never seeing the sun and her eyes are dark as stormclouds.

She speaks in a raspy chuckle, "Child, come closer," she clutches your hand tighter than you would have thought possible, like a vice of bone. "Child, once we were so proud. Once our Goddess spoke to us from her Demonweb pits and we had slaves from every above-ground continent the sun ever touched. Once we invaded the Above every generation.

"We haven't invaded in 10 generations now, child. And 10 of our generations is quite a while indeed.

"I've chosen you to go above. Go forth, take a Quaggoth with you for protection, dearie. When the sun touches your skin it'll burn for the first day, turning the color to pitch black, or maybe you'll burn into more of a purple tone. We used to call those who colored like that bruises, y'know.

"A dragon lives above, in a mountain that dominates the horizon west of the portal that will bring you under the stars. That dragon was once my lover, you know. Yes, quite a wild lady, I was. He will give outfit you, see that you aren't a pauper.

"Go forth, find the rule of these lands and give them this, my writ, my proclamation. They think we're evil, child. They say we're worship a terrible demon. I know not what they'll do when they meet you. They've been known to burn women at the stake or dunk them under water until they drown.

"But you're a sly lass, you'll find a way to get along. Be my ambassador to the above world, learn their ways, train in their traditions. I am curious about what they have to offer. Spiders will come to take your missives to me so I know how you fare.

"Good luck, child. I am jealous of you, I've heard stories about how beautiful the stars are, gems in the sky, they say. Some day before I am done here and go to Hell in order to ask Lloth why she has forsaken us, maybe you could return to describe the stars to me. I'd like that, like it very much."

 

[Paka]

Your father has been to the surface. One of the Empress's nieces was sick and only a flower from the Above would cure her. The sun burned his skin into a deep black. His cheeks turn purple when Mother says something bold. Most of the time when anyone asks him about the above he only mumbles some unintelligible into his ivory-colored handlebar mustache.

Last night at dinner he confided in you, "I remember looking up at the stars and not being able to believe that my ancestors were such fools to give up the sky. Then a few hours later the sun was beating down on us. We found a cave to camp in for the day but the glare seemed to invade our eyelids no matter what we did.

"Good luck up there and remember that as far up as the stars look above us, that is how deep the hells are below."

Mother was more pragmatic and reminded you of your history, "Remember that the Elves and our race were once one. We went to the Gods and petitioned them with prayer and sacrifice. Once we had their attention we asked for a soul. We knew they existed, humans had them.

"The Gods declined.

"We asked every power we could before the Demons whispered to us from Hell. The men ruled us then and they voted to go into the deep, where the Devils and Demons whispers could be heard more accurately.

Down we went into the Deep led by men." She says the final word like a curse. Your father excuses himself from the table and leaves the dining hall. Slaves clean up his spot at the table, eyes downcast.

"The souls we were given were the broken souls the Demons and Devils of the deep could offer us. Now only women rule the Drow. Men had their time and their time was filled with fumbling and foolery. Our eras have brought us conquest and power.

"Take the thirteen daggers of your ancestors. Each dagger bears the name of one of the Matriarchs of this clan. They will grow in power as you do.

"Good luck in the Above, daughter. Serve the Empress well and do our family's name proud. Remember that your name is only borrowed from your ancestors and one day you will have to return it. I know you will return yours untarnished."

 

[Paka]

Kazyrd, your raptor steed is saddled up. Kazyrd scartches the ground impatiently, puts his nose in your hair and snorts, excited to be leaving. A breast plate over some chainmail are on to keep you safe, all covered with a cloak. A silver-worked spider holds your hair from your face. Only the strongest Drow Magic will survive the sun's touch and so of all of the magick available to your Clan, only your family's Matriarchal Daggers will go with you. A sword is on your hip, made of Dwarven steel, taken in a raid centuries ago.

Orroz, your family's Quaggoth servant is standing on the other side of the stall, keeping a safe distance from the raptor's claws. He seems ready. He is tireless, often running beside you while you've taken your rides in the past. Orroz seems excited, almost as if he can tell this isn't just another run through the Underdark.

An Imperial Slave, wearing the Empress's colors approaches respectfully with a silver tray. On the tray is a note, tied with a red ribbon. He offers it to you silently, pale skin seeming almost transluscent from a lifetime of underground servitude. When you take the note, he leaves, quiet and respectful as a breeze.

The note is written in a flourish of handwriting, like a dance across the paper:

"Child,

Good luck in the above. I hope you are received well. Perhaps the short-lived races have forgotten the ill-will between our peoples that has raged in past eras.

Your task is a tremendous one. I offer you anyone in the city, any one vassal of mine you wish to bring with you. Show them this writ, with my seal and they will know it is the will of the Empress. Choose wisely, an old veteran might be a good choice but they could die of sun shock once they get to the surface.

Someone just a bit older than you might want the glory for themselves and attempt to wrest leadership of the ambassadorship from you.

Someone younger might be an impediment.

Consider this your first test, the first of many to come.

Ever and ever,

Empress Marique of House Karrisloddeth"

 

[Paka]

These were a series of e-mails I sent to a player I might run on a solo game with this as the premise based on what kind of character the player said she wanted to play.

FYI