Of Rosey Cheeks and Onion Bread

"Truly, it is wonderful - splendid - utterly astounding honestly to have you within our company!", exclaimed Cherish Goodsoil. She set a platter of specially-prepared breads, cheeses, and jams on the table and poured her guest another mug of sweet ale. "Never had I ever thought such a noted personality would grace our humble home in the Parishes."

The doppleganger that appeared to Cherish Goodsoil like Tolman Greenholm - the celebrated and renowned hero who had only recently recovered the lost writings of Gammon Brandyford the Brave - graciously accepted the ale and brought the mug to his lips. Tolman the Doppleganger agreed with her. "Yes! It is indeed a magical day for you! I have plenty of stories to tell, and some of them are half-entertaining."

Cherish blushed and waved her guest away. "Oh, Mr. Greenholm, you're so modest. Re-reading the Journals with my son has been truly bonding. I've never seen a boy so proud and full of wanderlust. Your efforts to recover Gammon's lost work will inspire a whole new generation, sir!"

Tolman the Doppleganger was busy smearing a pasty smelly cheese across a slice of onion bread and then stuffing it into his mouth when Cherish finished whatever she was saying, and he nodded complacently in agreement before rapidly swigging down the last of the ale. He put the cup back on the table, wiped his damp mouth with his sleeve, and pointed at the mug as to insist Cherish refresh it immediately and - predictably - she hopped right to it.

That's the thing with people, the doppleganger noted. So accommodating. So accepting of what they see; they're so swift to believe it, as if the belief satisfies something they deeply want.

After eventually swallowing, the Doppleganger said, "My work has taken me from the frozen plains of Floreth and their Pax Arcana, through the pass of the Dhark Keep, through the Wildes and finally, here, in the Parishes. It's been a long journey. Yet having arrived just yesterday, I must tell you: I never expected such a warm reception from strangers like you, Ms. Goodsoil. Usually when I meet people for the first time, they just run away and scream their little heads off."

Cherish giggled delightfully and poured her guest more sweet ale.

Tolman the Doppleganger quickly consumed another slice of bread with a side of the sharpest cheddar he (or his previous host) had ever experienced, yet - curiously - that still didn't satiate him. It was curious. Here was a bounty of good food that he had quickly pushed into his gullet yet he didn't feel at all satisfied; a hunger of a sorts that made his bones ache, and the saliva pool under his lip. Tolman the Doppleganger had felt that hunger before when meeting random strangers along the road and - having spent a pleasant evening in conversation with them, and, in consuming the sustenance of their generous nature to share food - he awoke the next day deeply satiated and further along the road south than he remembered. Only twice before had he experienced these odd black-outs. He had dismissed them as a blissful, hard, satiated sleep. And he felt that hunger gnawing at him, swelling in his gut.

He smiled at Cherish. "You've been so kind. I'd like to repay you. A son, you said? Where's your boy now?"

"Oh," she smiled, "he's at the farmhouse. Chores and the like. He'll be here before sundown."

Tolman the Doppleganger nodded and cocked an eyebrow. "Before sundown. That's great. Well, when he gets here, I'd suggest we have a hot mug of hot chocolate ready for him, we retire to your sitting room aside that lovely fireplace, and I will tell you both the story of lost Dwarven mine I explored, far away from here, on the isle of Rhackdalia. Would you like that?"

Cherish put her hands together and sighed. Her red rose cheeks practically radiated a burning heat of their own that Tolman the Doppleganger was - strangely - acutely aware of. "Yes, Yes, Mr. Greenholm. That would be wonderful. Here, I'll just tidy up."

"Of course," the Doppleganger smiled as he took another slice of onion bread from the table and dipped it in jam. "Please. Call me Tolman."

Saille's Story

Saille was a beautiful tree nymph. A dryad.

She wore no clothes. Her skin was smooth, eternally youthful, and pale green; her hair flowing locks of brown.

Saille lived in a willow tree. It was her home.

Her home was deep in a very old forest far away from anyone.

Saille had responsibilities. She was a dryad, a guardian spirit, after all. She tended the forest, the trees, the birds and insects and animals. Saille helped heal the sick. And she kept the fire away.

It was this way for Saille since she could remember and Saille had a long memory.  She recalled when the towering evergreens were just saplings, and when the biggest elms fell to rot, decay, and produce acres of mushrooms; when the chipmunks' litters were due; when the each acorn would fall from the trees. She recalled exactly when the winds would blow and litter the forest floor with branches and leaves, and when the grasses would grow, and when the rocks would be dry. Saille knew exactly when the colors of autumn would explode, and when the new blossoms were exposed to the sun. And she remembered the day when the earth shook all around.

Saille remembered that day, that day the most.

She remembered that day because it was the last day that she felt good inside.

Saille awoke that day to many aches and pains. She felt intense cramps in her legs. Her home - her tree - had a coldness in its roots that spread throughout its trunk, branches, and droopy limbs. It shivered, as did she, for both of them were afflicted. She felt a sincere sadness deep within her, but yet not within her, for the sadness was projected from elsewhere; it was the culmination of fear, horror, terror, and grief that flowed south-by-southwest, through the roots of every tree in the forest, to touch her tree. Emotion transmitted instantly from hundreds of miles away. She felt an intensity of sadness from others of her kind, and from the grasses, the shrubs, the trees, the forest itself, just as the very earth violently erupted and convulsed. The earthquake shook the land. It uprooted and toppled both young and old tree. It bludgeoned the tendrils of tender roots and vines and plant stalks.  The forest writhed in pain.

And the pain manifested in Saille's body just as you or I might feel the punishment of a sledgehammer, swung high and brought down upon our bodies to smash, pound, break bone, and bruise flesh. She felt all of it - the fear, the pain, the terror - and she felt such immense sadness.

The earthquake would soon end and for days on end the aftershocks jolted Saille, made her flinch, disrupted her sleep. She couldn't shake the sadness, the feelings of fear and regret. In the moons that followed, the animals would sense the wrongness of things and pursue unusual patterns - walk when they should fly; sleep when they should hunt; hibernate when they should be shedding their fats; stay under the rocks instead of greet the sun. The whole land mourned and Saille mourned with it.

Then one day, the spots appeared. Brown spots that raced up her legs, over her hips and chest, and covered her arms. The spots was an aggressive fungus. A disease to Saille and to her home, for the willow also contracted the brown spots all across its trunk and leaves.

She concentrated, tried to communicate to the fungus to ask it, Why? Why do you harm me? But the fungus would not obey her. It ignored her, in fact, and spoke nothing to the nymph. It only wickedly tried to consume her. She tried to repel it, but it was too strong. She tried to undo it, but the fungus was too tenacious. It just kept on coming.

Moons would pass and Saille realized that her life was in jeopardy: the fungus was like a poison and it would literally end her physical expression unless that she took action. Realizing that her final days were upon her, she commanded her home to wrap her, strap her against the bark of her tree, to keep her flesh warm and close, to hold and hug her in the final days. At her call, vines wrapped about her and lashed her to her tree. Her body would soon atrophy, her flesh become bark, her skin the texture of leaves, as her body was absorbed into the willow tree.

Throughout those long, last days, as she endured the poison coursing through her being, she tried to reach out to her sisters, other nymphs who were connected to the forest as she was, only to realize - with fearful dread - that they, too, were under attack. That her sisters were equally the target of the encroaching fungus that consumed their physical beings. She would die soon, she knew it, and she reached out her mind into the forest.

Everywhere is pain, said the trees. Can you help?

Saille said. I cannot; I am dying.

The trees shuddered. Unfortunate. We suffer together.

I am covered in brown spots - a fungus attacks me and I cannot control it.

Wicked spots. Many of us are covered in spots. The spots burn.

On her deathbed, her body slowly being absorbed into her home tree, Saille concentrated with the last scrap of will that she could bring rise to.  

From whence come the spots? From whence comes the scourge?

Many of our kind suffer in the northeast, replied the trees. Their wails and intense sorrow and pain and fear can be felt all around. 

I feel it, said Saille.

Isn't it beautiful, asked the trees. It is a singular and most perfect horror.

The trees were quiet for a while.

Saille asked, What drives this pain?

And the trees said nothing.

Answer me, commanded Saille. What drives this pain?

There was silence.

Saille, weak as death was befalling her, poured the last of her energy into her question.

Answer me, she commanded again.

When the trees spoke, they spoke with a different voice. They spoke with the inflection of a separate, more alien consciousness, that was not that of the trees, but that of something more angry, more bitter and spiteful, than what any tree could possibly be, as if the voice of the trees were quieted and suppressed as another spoke:

Wytchweed, it said. It comes from ... me ...

And at that moment, Saille's physical form expired. Her body exhaled its last breath. Saille the Dryad was no more.

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Describing Elfhome (Zalam Medina)

The Elfhome (Zalam Medina) is a place of dispair and darkness.

It's nested within a network of caves and tunnels in the Underdark that resemble a sponge: circular caverns, porous, cut from both ancient lava and water. When the party approached this geologic formation, they noted that it would be easy to get lost in these tunnels, and that it was like a maze. You'd have to be very good at direction-sense to find your way in and out. Khal'd'fae seemed intimately familiar with the caves. It took a two-day march through these caves to arrive at the Elfhome.

There are hundreds of small to medium caves throughout the network of tunnels; there are relatively fewer larger caves where a hundred people or less could gather; there are just two main caverns which could be seen as major concentration areas and where larger structures are found.

The colony of Drow number to nearly one thousand and most live in absolute squalor. Their clothing are just tattered rags and cloth. Most familial units live together in open tunnels or caves that they've claimed over the years. They amass their meager belongings and property into these spaces and subsist, raise young children, or idle their time. Some live eight to fifteen in a single small cave.

There are some places and homes with doors, reinforcing beams, furniture, or ladders crafted from the wood of the strange Underdark trees. There are many objects crafted from stone - and not by chisel and hammer, as Gorbash and Tamroohk would note - but by some force of will or magic. Most of these things the Drow created are functional in nature. But there are some structures that have been carved from wood or stone that are amazing pieces of art that showcase their talents and heritage. Intricate carvings,

It is quickly noted that not all Drow are equal here.

Most of the citizens are smelly, dirty, unbathed, black-skinned and bright-white haired with almond-shaped silver eyes, and they only speak their native language. The population is obviously young, breeding, and thriving - it's overbalanced in youth, in fact, with very few elder populations. They spend their days performing labors, working together for a common whole. All resources like food and water are rationed and redistributed in orderly ways to the masses. There are domesticated forms of protein (goats, sheep, dogs, chickens, smaller birds that resemble quail but aren't) that they keep in cages within the caves; they appear sullen and sickly, their interbreeding obvious. There are vegetation farms in other caves where they harvest eatable tubers, plants, and mushrooms that can grow in the Underdark. Water is amassed from a variety of sources - you learn - that exist within a 50 mile radius of the Elfhome. Water and food are redistributed every day through a centralized process.

Yet there is a subset of Drow that are well-groomed, bathed, their hair braided and combed, who live in private caves with doors and shuttered holes in their caves that function as windows. Some of them wear brilliant jewelry. Some of them would appear quite older than the young unwashed masses. These Drow would appear to be part of a patriarchal aristocracy. Those in the aristocracy form their political leadership and make decisions for the entire colony. But even the aristocracy is found standing in those lines for food and water. The party would be surprised to note that some aristocrats actually help with the labor and manual chores too eek out a living here. Despite their trappings, they're just as much at the mercy of their citizen's good graces to eat every day, and although they carry a certain dignity about themselves and their manners, they're still just as hungry as everyone else. Some of these aristocrats are kind and compassionate. Others are spiteful and full of repressed rage.

There is a militia comprised of perhaps 150 young Drow who would remind you of Abja'fae and Qazan'fae: extremely young, untrained, untested, just coming of age. Like the Drow party you've encountered, their weapons are primarily bow and arrow and spear; they have little to no armor; they're trained to do little more than hunt and crowd control. They help with resource distribution and keeping the peace.

The militia is commanded by five veterans who've seen war and conflict, and who've some seasoning. Khal'd'fae is one of them. Khal is recognized as their leader only by birthright - he is not their senior - and there is one of these veterans who might be two hundred years older than Khal with more military experience, but is still subordinate to Khal's family. In meeting them, the party would note that they've ancestral weapons and armor that've been handed down through generations - they've long lost the ability forge and craft intricate weapons made from steel. 

The Dwarves are immediately accepted by these veterans who wish to speak of military matters, mining, basic forging techniques, help with maintaining their ancient armor and weapons.

The oldest veteran's name is Dwa'd'fae, and he is a Battle Master of sufficient level that could train Gorbash to 8th Level. Another veteran is Wyan'd'fae, a Champion, would could train Tamroohk to 7th Level. The veterans would be willing to train them in exchange for knowledge and understanding of basic dwarven mining, forging, metalwork, and weapons upkeep.

Another veteran - Qwyn'd'fae - is of sufficient level in Ranger to train Elan to 8th Level. Qwyn'd'fae is a Beast Master and has a kettle of trained hawks that he would proudly show to Elan. They hunt for small game in the Underdark. His favorite hawk is named Emerald Sun in Elvish, and she is beautiful. Qwyn'd'fae would be happy to train Elan and show her the Faewalks in this part of the Underdark for a small piece of her soul. Qwyn'd'fae says Elan's soul is unique and seems extrasensory. Elan was slightly taken back by that, but, there's apparently a blood ritual that the Drow perform that promises a sliver of her soul be pledged to Qwyn'd'fae in the afterlife. Qwyn'd'fae almost trivializes it, and in conversations with Khal, he explains that he's seven pledges of his soul to other Drow ... in a space where nobody has anything but their souls and bodies, it seems to be fair currency.

Tolman would be quick to note that there's an underground organization here - a thieves' guild - that Jeu'd'fae would be more than comfortable to introduce him to. Jeu would also characteristically be shy about mentioning an assassins' guild or where he - sometimes - disappears to, but it's obvious to Tolman that the cunning nature of the Drow race would only preclude that kind of thing. The guild exists mainly to punish others who thieve without sharing with the guild and its members, and to distribute exotic things pilfered from the aristocrats, or, found by happenstance in the surrounding caves and environs. Tolman is quickly accepted here - the Drow seem to identify with an "other" very easily - and Tolman's experience with magic makes him easy to get along with. Yet if you asked Tolman if he'd like to spend more than a few hours alone with anyone from the guild in those dark lonely caves that even he's uncertain how to find his way around without Jeu ... well, he'd be extremely nervous ... but Jeu'd'fae does introduce Tolman to some nameless Drow that could train him in general Rogue skills and Assassin skills, but alas, no Arcane Tricksters. Tolman can be trained, but the mysterious Drow who won't give their name wants a tribute - money, gems, jewelry, something - to conduct the transaction.

There are no magicians or schools of magic here, as one of think, as the Drow live in abject ignorance and poverty. Ma'yah feels very out of sorts here as this setting would be tremendously afar from her wealthy, learned upbringing in Rhackdalia. She would feel most comfortable around an elder aristocrat woman named Rhand'fae who Khal'd'fae introduced the party to. Rhand'fae is a wizened woman who has spent many years on this earth and has many stories to tell - histories, lore, tall and small tales. She is charming, kind, artistic, graceful, and speaking with her in her native tongue is like listening to poetry. She is so old that she speaks even a variant form of Elvish ... something older than what all of these other Drow are using. It was Rhand'fae who revealed the history of the colony and their exodus from the Northern Palasades, a thousand miles to the west of the Aljahim Alssahra.

Rhand'fae is a Bard of significant level. In listening to her stories, Llew quickly summizes that she's better than a college - she's centuries of experience. With help interpreting her language, Llew could be trained by Rhand'fae to 8th Level Bard.

Further, there are no Drow clerics here. None. Rhand'fae is able to tell Siegride of legends long past, worship of Loth, that was worshiped by her grandmother, but it has been so very long that even Rhand'fae doesn't remember too many details about those practices. Loth was sinister, evil, angry. It was the worship of Loth that was a factor that pushed the Drow from the Northern Palasades. Rhand'fae says that they abandoned Loth as She abandoned them.

But that doesn't preclude one cleric, a Priest of the Faceless God, Jake Ross. Jake Ross has a cave that he's called his own for several years now, and it's there that he privately studies, prays, pays homage to his deity. With his newfound ability to create food and water, to heal, and to talk more about hope than about death and survival, it is not long before Jake Ross has attracted two Drow females interested more in Phedarge, and spend time with him as he prays, and he begins training them in the ways of Phedarge in his meager cave. In his conversations with the Drow, Jake draws on his experience traveling between here and Seattle - by way of Tanelorn - to find his way. In conversations with Siegride, Jake confides that he will need to find a larger cave by which to attract more people and to build his ministry, and is already speaking to others about that. It's obvious to Siegride that Jake has a captive audience here ... thirsty for something else in their lives besides survival. They seek meaning. Jake will flourish here, over time.

Daemon sticks close to Ma'yah. He doesn't trust any of these Drow and he's very frightened. He carries with him the crystal globe that was given to him by his master, to aid any of the party for returning to a place of their choosing.

The party discover other useful things about the Drow and their Zalam Medina.

• There are wild magic sorcerers and novice/amateur traditions. The Drow have innate spellcasting abilities and Ma'yah finds that intriguing. Ma'yah is curious about these wild magic casters, and would be curious in watching their rites and rituals and processes.
  
• The twins Qazan and Abja have many friends, and they're now the most skilled of their generation. They talk of the strangers as near Gods-on-Earth who make water and food, call lightning from the sky, battle masters who kill with deadly skill, and shoot with even Elvish precision. They talk the party up and everywhere the party goes, they are revered and respected to some degree (if not viewed skeptically or even with impolite long stares from others).
  
• Siegride often finds herself wanting to be alone. Where ever she goes in the Elfhome, there are reaching hands from the impoverished and hungry. They call for food, water, hope, health, insight, wisdom ... they are so needy ... and she's rightfully afraid to just start helping just one Drow, for the cascade effect that may create. They are so needy. Jake may help fill that void, over time, but not in the short term. And Siegride sees the stares, the skepticism, the fear, from some of the elite, the aristocrats, who look at Jake with such vile hate that Siegride fears for his life. Siegride reminds herself of what Rhand'fae pointed out, that it was religion - faith - in Loth that undid these Elves and cast them away from the Northern Palasades. Memories run long here. Jake may be in danger.
  
• Jeu'd'fae receives training in his discipline and often disappears for lengthy times.
  
• Khal'd'fae receives training from Qwyn'd'fae as well.
  

More to come.
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