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Message: <blockquote data-quote="(contact)" data-source="post: 1147" data-attributes="member: 41">25-- Strangers in a Strange Land, Shipwrecked Without a Ship.The wizard's body yields several magical treasures, particularly a brace of offensive wands and a rod that seems to control the visage-less automatons.  There is one of the archers left undestroyed, and using the rod, Thelbar finds that the creature responds to his mental commands, despite the apparent language barrier.A detect magic spell reveals faint traces of transmutation and conjuration magic around the door-lintel of the ruined cottage, but no active spells.  The trio of wounded adventurers explore the cottage's interior and find tracks of several creatures that Taran swears are elvish.  After the group exhausts its healing magic they settle down to wait as Taran slips into the forest for reconnaissance.  He returns with the news that they seem to have stumbled into an area heavily used by small bands of elves, moving with characteristic grace and subtlety, but uncharacteristic haste.  As the group is debating whether to follow the elven trail or avoid it, a veritable swarm of small darts whistle into the cottage through holes in the wall and sink into leather straps with dull thuds, and bounce off of chain armor links with a graceful jingle.  The darts are immediately followed by stealthy and graceful elven warriors, bright silver blades contrasting against their pitch-black skin.Drow!  Bearing a disconcerting surface similarity to Kyreel, the dark-skinned elves pause in their assault, expecting their sleep poison to overtake the nervous systems of their foes.  But their hesitation will cost them their lives, and within seconds, Taran and Gorquen have cut down the nearest drow, leaving the ones further away to taste the fruits of the fallen red wizard's wand-crafting acumen.  Thelbar takes his new wands for a field test, and before they get a chance to reverse their charge, the drow are left unconscious and bleeding-out onto the dusty stone floor.Taran frowns and looks about.  "These drow attacked our strong position with a weak force.  They obviously expected us to become startled and break ranks.  Why in the Seven Names of Ishlok would they think that?"  He paces around the room, poking and prodding at the bleeding drow casualties.  After a moment he answers his own question.  "Because they've attacked humans before.  Many times, I'd wager."  Taran's eyes narrow as he rifles through one of the drow's gear.  "These drow have raided the surface enough to think they know how we'll react.""Yet it is the middle of the day." Gorquen says.  "Who ever heard of Drow raiding the surface in the face of the sun?""Look at their gear," Taran says.  "These drow are carrying no food, or water.  They aren't far from their base, and they were intending on returning soon.  We don't want to be here once they are missed."The group takes a brief inventory of their foe's gear and makes ready to move out.  The question of following the elven trail is settled, and the group decides to make out sunward in the hopes of crossing a stream or trail.  After a few minutes Taran huddles close to Thelbar and Gorquen.  "We've got an interesting situation here, and a dangerous one.  These elven trails look like they're being used by small bands of lightly-burdened raiders, but only one sort of band, do you understand?"Thelbar understands.  The drow are moving through the deep forest as the uncontested masters of the place.  Where are the elves who should be fighting them?  As dusk nears, the group grows increasingly nervous about being caught in dark-elf territory after dark.  Fortunately, a break in the trees reveals the unmistakable twin ruts of a wagon-trail.  Taran assures them that it is fairly well traveled, most of the traffic moving East to West.  After a brief discussion, the group decides to follow the trail against the flow, in the hopes that they would meet some traveler who could educate them about this land.Their idea bears fruit, and within a handful of minutes the group runs across a lone human, leading an ox-drawn cart.  The man's language is completely unintelligible, but a tongues spell paves the way for communication, and the fellow explains that the group is very near a human community called Mistledale, and that they are in a region known as the Dalelands.  The farmer has just left Mistledale, and hopes to reach his homestead before dark falls.  That none of the trio has ever even heard of such a place does not surprise them.  Obviously, they have stepped through a portal into an entirely foreign region, if not a foreign world entirely.  Thelbar, who has some knowledge of such matters, suggests that they have not left the Prime Material plane, but may have traveled to another world.When asked about the Drow, the farmer explains that not long ago, as the humans reckon time, the drow swarmed up from the underdark and conquered the surrounding forests, called Cormanthyr after the ancient elven empire that once held sway here.  There has been no further sign of the normally reclusive Cormanthyrian elves, and the commonly held opinion in the Dalelands is that they have all been slain or driven off. Since the drow occupation, Mistledale has been raided fairly continuously.  The drow seem to be more interested in inflicting small cruelties and generating misery rather than any serious attempt at conquest.  Nevertheless, the populace of Mistledale has grown fearful, and withdrawn.When this is translated and relayed to Taran, he mutters "Small cruelties my ass, they're probing the human settlements and trying to build a combat profile of the humans.  Probably, they've been skirmishing with the day elves for centuries and know how they'll respond in any given situation.  Humans are a new element, and they're just gathering information."Thelbar points out that based on the reaction of the drow in the abandoned cottage, they seem to believe that humans aren't much for fighting."Well, if they're commander's worth his salt," Taran replies, "He'll be doing what he can to deliver a false read, while preparing for the assault that's bound to come."  Taran looks long and hard at the merchant, who grows unnerved at the tough warrior's level stare.  "I feel sorry for these people.  I don't think they have any idea what they're up to their chins in."The group thanks the man, and gets his name, so they might repay him properly should their paths ever cross again.  True to the farmer's word, the group retraces their steps, and finds that they were mere miles from Mistledale where they first encountered the road.</blockquote>

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