Drow Art and Stories

[Shan]

Tales of the Drow ( none of this is my work )



Skin of black, hair white like a spider's web illumed in the night. They are the dark elves. And their stories are told here.

Do you dream? Can you fathom a world of unsounded depths, of hundreds of miles of encasing stone? Do you know of beauty in the darkness? Do you know the darkelves? Perhaps your tale can be told here...

The Dreamer dreams and yet needs the dreams of others to feed on in the night. Join him in telling the tales of a lost race of elves. The whispered stories of the darkelves.

[Shan]

Kel'han's Lament By Queva Shee Mhor

Look all around you
Under the Linth'el Hills.
This was our realm.
We walked amidst the splendid palaces
That glimmering water carved for us
In the dawn of time.
We moved
By the music of falling drops
And the secret rhythms
Of our hiding companions,
Their deadly, shimmering threads,
Whispering softly in the breeze
Of our passage.
A secret world of shadows
Was our home.
Its endless, untold beauty
Our garden.
And darkest, most beautiful gem,
Precious was my love;
His embrace
A dream of silk and ebon,
Eyes as deep as the waters
Of this lake.
Precious was my love
And I, his queen.
What is left to me now?
Empty is the palace,
His laughter does not echo
Throughout the ancient halls.
The lake does not mirror
Any longer
His gentle face
As he sat singing for me
The melodies of old.
My jewel was taken,
And the sudden silence
Is filled
With the bitter dirge
Of his entire world.

[Shan]

[Shan]

Twlight Hunters by April Lee

[Shan]

The Dreamer's Descent By Oscar S. Cisneros

I have dreamt the glazier’s dreams for many months now. They are always the same: molten glass burning white in the darkness, the orange of the kiln bathing the scene. And the rods, always the rods -- thin purple steel plunged into glass, beauty shaped every night.

There was an enchantment about the rhythm that drew me to him, something alluring about the heat. So many dreams like blades of grass I have seen in this world. And yet the glazier’s dreams for all their monotony have stayed with me.

I have found good company, here among the dark elves. I sleep dormant among them and know them only through their dreams. The echoing caves of the drow can at times be no different than an urban alley at night or a country road stretched far into the black forest. The sun’s rays can never reclaim me in this Underworld; I no longer fear that dreaded orb.

I had dreamt the dark elven city long before I made the dangerous descent through untold tons of rock. It was in a dream not my own. It was in the glazier’s dreams. There, I made myself known to him. To him I said this:

"I know the wolf’s hunger. I know about his lean days trekking through snow and mountains with nothing more save his will and an acid emptiness in the gut. So have I marched through the world, empty and with longing.

I am the lurid dreamer sleeping dormant amongst the tree’s tangled roots. I am the dreamer whose thoughts take form as clouds far above lazy landscapes of hills and labyrinths. In my dreams, flower petals rain down on lovers tensed in motion. In my nightmares, lightening splits the sky.

I am the palm tree whose roots stretch far and wide, not deep. Every drop, every drizzle of rain that falls within my root’s grasp is devoured in a parched-mouth lick of the sands. I am the palm tree and you are the rain."

"Who are you?"

"I am the dreamer," I said. "I have been here for many nights besides you, feeling the heat of the kiln and the warmth of its light on my body. I have watched every twitch of the rods, every long arc of a swan’s neck burning from white molten glass… I have seen a dragonfly’s wings crystallize from the cool blast of your lungs. I have felt the force of your mind shape floating things of beauty in the air -- Crystalline creations whose delicate bodies now ring with the strength of steel. The tireless touching. The impelling of some force a will whose weak ebb moves slowly, but with the strength of with a mountain. Every night you dream this dream. And everyday you bring it to life."

"Will I remember you when I wake?"

"Of course, if you’ll have me. But beware: I could dabble the firelight of your creations as if it were a color smeared on a palette for my brush. Nightmares, I sculpt. Dreams, I ply. But I tread lightly in your world, Rizzlin, and I will not use your dreams to haunt you."

"Tell me of oceans. I have never seen one. In the Underworld we have only the Black Sea whose waters drown hundreds of miles of caves in darkness. You speak of swooning waters, of waves and of islands and of sky. I know not these things."

"In time, Rizzlin. In time you will know these things. You shall dream them. But first you must walk me down to your city through the hidden passages ways of the Underworld whose doors appear translucent in your dreams. I want to know your people. I want to dream your dreams."

[Shan]

Drow Archer




"The Drow, or "Dark Elves" were originally surface dwellers. After a series of cataclysmic magic wars, they were driven beneath the surface to what was to become known as the "Underdark". The warlike drow nature did not change when they escaped their surface foes during The Descent. In fact, they immediately launched a series of wars to establish territories. They began by stealing and seizing dwarven magical items, and using them against the dwarves - establishing an enmity that is still strong today.

Followers of the Spider Queen Lolth, the dark elves of Ilythiir gained a new name of "dhaeraow" from an ancient elven language Tethir, meaning "face of shadow, heart of night, traitor".

Over the long ages that followed the term "dhaeraow" became corrupted to Drow, the name given to the Dark Elves today."

[Shan]

An anime drow by Amber Thomas.

[Shan]

Drow Priestess by Julia Doering

[mobbie]

Whoooaa Thanks SHAN!! A drow thread!! Be careful, I might fall in love with you, lol ;D
I love every single one, fully, and I love the stories too. Especially the poem

Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks
SHAN

[Shan]

You're welcome.

I'm glad you like what I've posted so far.

It is really hard to find pictures of drows that look good. I'm still looking though.

I also found a few more stories too.

If you have anything you want to add to the thread Mobbie, do it. I don't mind.

[Shan]

Be careful, I might fall in love with you, lol ;D

You know you already are. ;D

[mobbie]

Yea I know, finding goodie drow-pics is incredibly hard, that's why I'm so proud of finding the one I'm using for avatar ;D

I might add something to this thread, but not at the moment Will keep eyes open for updates though

[Shan]

Thanks Mobbie.

I think I am going to add the one your avatar is from to this page also. It is a good one and would be really cool to display here also.

[Shan]

Artist's Comments

Another commission, this one for ~Arcanthia of two of her characters she is writing a story about. The male on the left is Le’Norien Phydairre. The female on the right is Shrithra Mae’Lyl.

Per ~Arcanthia’s request I referenced a picture of Le’Norien that was done by *Mistresselysia to get the dragon scale armor right.

There was a lot of blue in this picture and it was hard to keep things from blending in too much, but I think I managed it well enough. I did cheat on the background though (because I still suck at drawing them myself). I read an encounter between these two that ~Arcanthia wrote and it took place on the surface, so I put them on the surface in the pic as well. I made the background by taking a photograph of some trees on our property and then I played around with it on my comp to come up with a simplified background.

Credits:
Characters are © Robin Lynn Race / ~Arcanthia
Dragon Scale Armor References from *Mistresselysia
Art/Image by me, *DarrkestDrow

[Shan]

Artist: lunaseas.

Found at Deviant Art

[Shan]

This one also came from Deviant Art

Dreaming Kallanar for Feraz by =herisheft

[Shan]

The Bliss Bringer By Shawn C. Williams

A lone dark figure sat hunched over an ornately carved desk of obsidian. Oblivious to the world around him, he continued writing in his journal.

* * *

This may very well be my last entry. I have grown very old and though death knocks not at my door, there are other reasons why my demise may be at hand. Whoever finds, or receives in bequeathment, this journal, will see that it is not a chronicle of my life, nor a confession. Rather, these words document the things I have seen and what life has come to mean to me here in the darkened caves and hallways of the Underworld.

For over eighteen hundred years I have lived apart from my brethren, a recluse living by his own rules. Our world is beautiful, yet our world is also horrific. Many of us see the beauty around us but fail to acknowledge it. I am sure that there is love somewhere in these echoing caves, though I have never felt it. Upon occasion I have observed a slave take a beating or even a death sentence in the place of its child, or its brother or sister. This is something a drow would never do and the act has always perplexed me. Our slaves may be dirty, brutish creatures but I have seen love between them. Perhaps, the search for love has been my sole purpose for continuing. I am not sentimental. I have only hoped to find something different, something redeeming in the chaos of my dark elven city.

There is so much pain and misery here that over the years I have concluded that the only true bliss lay in death itself. And so I have become an assassin. I know now that my reasoning was wrong. In the past, I have had no moral objection to murder because I believed that, each time I killed, I delivered my victim from the inevitable pain of a long and brutish life in our society. "In killing, I bring release. In killing, I bring ultimate bliss," or so I once thought. How wrong I have been. I have done nothing but fall into my own self-made web of delusions and lies, taking countless lives with me. But I have made amends. This assassin's last mission may serve to lift the fog of pain from our dark elven society.

The High Council summoned me because of a prophecy. A darkelf child had been born whose fate was to lead a revolution that would end our way of life. The child, true to the prophecy, was born into a powerful merchant family on the eve of a distant lava flow. The Council knew that the child must be slain to avoid the prophetic fate, but the clan's riches brought it awesome defenses even by drow norms. I was summoned for the task of penetrating their compound like a spider in another arachnid's web.

I am not the greatest swordsman; at least a dozen drow come to mind who are far better with a cutting blade than I. Like all drow, I am skilled with magic, though I am not especially gifted. I am tenacious, however, and patient. Time moves differently for those who live for centuries. There have been times when I have taken a year or more to complete an assignment. Patience and intelligence have made me the best. Many other assassins become anxious and overzealous when tasked with an assignment. They rush in and die, or they leave a trail back to themselves or their client. That is not my way. I prefer slow, deliberate and sure.

But the Council, in its fear of the prophecy, ordered me to set aside my measured pace. If I did not kill the child soon, they warned, unchained war would be waged against the family. Citing from the ancient codex that foretold of the revolution, the Council had already demanded the child's death via sacrifice. But the family had refused; its high priestess had cast her own auguries and found that the child possessed exceptional magical potential. They would not cede the child to the Council's fate.

The drums of war beat steadily nearby and this child threatened our very existence. I had to accept the mission -- to not do so would have been treasonous. And besides, I thought, killing the child would only bring it bliss and save it from the wretchedness of our world.

I have completed this assignment in the eyes of High Council and informed them of my wish to retire. Although many lives were lost in my mission, one life was spared and it is my deepest hope that this life, in turn, will save us all.

* * *

Laying the quill aside, the elderly drow stood and walked about the room, stretching tired muscles and stopping in front of a table to pour a glass of Viwagri, a dark and expensive wine brewed only during the third cycle of each year. While setting the wine on the desk, he picked up a candle and used it to relight the ones that had gone out. A sip of the wine was taken and he sat down and began to write again.

* * *

I had to work quickly, since time was against me. The easiest way to get past someone is by distracting them so that they pay no heed to anything else. It took several days and several bribes, but I was finally able to sneak into the kitchen where the slaves' meals were prepared. Once inside, I acted like any other disdainful drow master. I barked commands and threats, sneering at the creatures -- the orcs, goblins and gretchlings. As the terrified slaves kept their eyes from my own, I poured several vials of Terlinyia, a violent hallucinogen, into the vats of foods being prepared for that day. I would make my attack shortly after the midday meal.

It is fairly easy to blend into the chaos of a slave’s revolt, especially when four hundred fever-crazed Unseelie slaves have lost control. No drow will question you, when your sword is freely hacking through his aggressors. She might wonder what your fee might be, but she will not ask you to leave. Nearly two-thirds of the slaves were slaughtered during the battle. Slaves are cheap and the family will suffer no great financial hardship, especially when compared to a destructive war waged by the Council. Only seven drow were killed in the melee; all seven were killed by my hand.

Although it was splendid, I will not share the madness of this fight through hoarding slaves. Instead, I report my first hand experiences with a prophecy becoming reality. Two of the seven drow that I killed were nurses left to guard the child. With every available fighter, magician and priestess fighting the uprising, completing my mission was like sucking the juice from an insect caught and wrapped in the web. Stepping over the two bodies, I approached the crib. Something happened when I looked down at the child. Even though it was much too young to do so, the child stood up and reached through the slats and touched me. It smiled and giggled a little, cooing his pleasure at the color of my robe. Children have never meant anything to me. I have watched my own grow up and die in this battle or another. Two, I have even killed myself, but this child was different. For the first time in two millennia I felt the stirrings of love. Wrapping the child in a blanket, I slipped it gently into my shoulder pack and made my way out. I encountered no drow resistance, only a handful of slaves which I easily dispatched into bliss.

After securing the child at my home I met with the Council. I told them about how I had poisoned the slaves and about the drow and the two nurses that were killed. I explained that after killing the child I weighted its body and dropped it in the lake to be devoured by a water spider. With all of the turmoil, the slaves would be blamed for the disappearance, I reasoned, and the child’s death could not be connected with the Council. The High Council was pleased and extended me a bonus for the added discretion. They questioned why I took the child instead of just leaving it in the crib. I smiled and told them that with all the turmoil I could not resist the added confusion of a missing infant. The assembled members laughed and, in view of my age and impeccable service record, my resignation was accepted unanimously -- as were all of my lies.

Do not think that I underestimate the treachery of my brothers. Even now an assassin could be sharpening a dagger, while waiting for an opportunity at my back. I am prepared to leave my home now. This quiet cave lies hidden in a maze of tunnels dug beneath the passageways of the city. The tunnels were dug, and the home built by my own slaves... slaves whom I killed after the cave's completion in order to ensure its secrecy. Over the centuries, my magical and physical defenses have killed countless intruders and I have furthered the secrecy of this place by spreading false rumors about its location. So if they should come after me, it shall take weeks before they know I am gone.

I will take this child to raise as my own in some drow city far deeper beneath the earth than here. Perhaps I will raise it outside of our society, away from all drow. Only tomorrow’s road knows for certain. My hope is that the prophecy is right, and this child will find a gentler way of bringing bliss than I.

* * *

Laying the quill inside the fold of his journal, he sealed the portable inkwell and then secured both within his pack. The darkelf slipped his arms through the shoulder straps and tugged at the adjustments to ensure the pack rode squarely on his back. Leaning over, he picked up the child and wrapped it in a blanket, placing it in another pack that would ride over his shoulder leaving his sword arm free. He let the candles flicker so they would burn out in his memory and made his way down one of the many corridors of his home, oblivious to the pair of shadows that silently followed.

[Shan]

Souls With Black Skins By Kera -- Drow of the River

I stand before you,
Yet you won't let me in.
You seem to believe there are no
Souls with black skins.

I walk among you,
And you stay away in fear.
Do you believe there are no
Hearts with white hair?

You watch us hunt,
And kill us on sight.
Are we mindless beasts,
Animals that prowl the night?

I stand to greet you,
Yet none will grasp my hand.
Do you believe--?
Does anyone believe?

That the Drow are as worthy as man?

[Shan]

The Lady and the Dragon By Zezii Kaa'Teirn

The tiny town of Acrara lay nestled within a deep valley, rolling hills of verdant green surrounding it on all sides. The villagers there were quite poor, making their living off of the land and the slow, muddy-brown river that wound around the small town in a wide circle. Almost every morning one could see them working the vast fields, their backs hunched over as they toiled under the hot sun. For many years their lives had gone on this way. The peacefulness of their labors probably would have continued if not for the dragon.

Taireth, the town’s leader, was the first to see it, his old gray eyes widening in bewilderment as he spotted the giant shape against the azure sky. Flapping its great leathery wings, the huge beast circled over the fields where terrified villagers scattered wildly. Cold reptilian eyes surveyed the frightened people below, and then its powerful, scaled jaws opened wide, exposing a mouthful of jagged yellow teeth. A sharp sizzling sound erupted from the slavering mouth, and a roaring blast a flame burst out, slamming down to the earth. Wheat and fleeing villagers were instantly charred to black. A searing wind, fetid with the thick odor of death, carried the shrill shrieks of agony as the gargantuan monster settled to the ground, its clawed feet sinking deep into the soft ground. The dragon's thick serpentine neck swung above the screaming peasants as it searched with inhuman eyes that sparkled with cruel malice.

Taireth was stumbling away as fast as his old bones would carry him when a massive four-fingered hand grabbed the back of his tunic. The curved talons sank deep into his soft flesh. The once-strong leader of the village was flipped over like a rag doll abandoned by a child. His head smacked the hard dirt as the thick odor of brimstone assaulted his nostrils. Taireth's eyes widened in absolute horror as he stared numbly into the smoking face of Death.

The flickering light from the fires reflected off of crimson scales and pointed ebony spikes that traveled down the mammoth body, the long spiked tail lashing. Taireth stared up into gigantic green-brown eyes the size of dinner platters, watching helplessly as the beaked mouth opened once more.

Then the dragon spoke.

"Heed my words, human," hissed the winged creature in a deep, raspy voice, "I am Firewing and from this day forth you and your people shall serve me."

The dragon paused, wisps of gray smoke curling up from the fist-sized nostrils, the evil snake eyes boring into those of Acrara’s quivering leader. The pebbly mouth seemed to smile viciously, the black tongue flicking out. The red dragon’s next words chilled Taireth’s heart.

"Or you will die."

* * *

The cool wind howled through the trees. It was the only sound in the forest besides the steady chirping of crickets. Antok Nelgrif held his breath, every muscle within his lean body tensed. Ahead of him, the golden moonlight illuminated the large cottage in a warm glow. There it was -- the prize: Inside of the cabin, at least according to a thief with loose lips, was a treasure chest of jewelry and expensive silks. Antok knew very little about the woman that lived there -- except that her rich husband, Lord Evens, gave her the cottage in the woods. The hardened thief barely believed that a middle-aged woman would live by herself in the forest where bandits and man-eating monsters routinely hid.

"The rumors must be true," Antok thought to himself, wondering why the woman's wealthy family had banished her to this fancy but forlorn home in the woods.

He half-expected hounds to come racing around the side of the cottage when he stepped into the front yard. Nothing moved in the bleak darkness, the chilly wind blowing the black hair off of his narrow face. Keeping low to the ground, Antok dashed to the nearest window and peered inside. He couldn’t make anything out, so he pressed his slender hands against the glass, squinting as he pulled out his leather pouch. He imagined the multitude of glittering jewels that would soon be his.

There was a soft, sudden rustle behind him and he felt a sharp blade poking into his back. Slowly, Antok turned his head, the razor point digging into his spine. Raising his hands to show that he was unarmed, the thief dropped his pouch and turned slowly around. Yellow moonlight outlined the tall, delicate figure and its fiery copper-colored. The person was obviously female with the thin, graceful body and pointed ears of an elf. A drow, he realized grimly, though like none he had ever seen before. This dark elf, though very lithe, had the height and muscles of a human, with dusty gray skin and intense emerald eyes that gleamed with a feral savageness. The elf-creature was in a loose dress and carried an antique sword in one hand.

"Please, I’m just lost," Antok tried to explain, staring at the bizarre elf that leered at him with pitch-black lips curled down into an angry frown.

She raised the sword swiftly as the moonlight flashed off its dull metallic surface. The thief screamed pitifully and collapsed to his knees, wondering if he was doomed. The sword brushed up against his cheek. Its metal was cold against his bare skin.

The strange dark elf remained poised over the cowering burglar when suddenly a feminine voice cried out from the doorway of the dark cottage.

"Ania, stop!" cried a woman whose auburn hair was tied back in a bun. Her wrinkled face was pinched in anger.

The drow whirled around to face the woman, her scarlet hair whipping around her head like a red waterfall. Antok did not hesitate for even a moment; he leapt up and ran off into the black safety of the woods, not daring to look back.

Sara watched from the doorway as the would-be thief disappeared into the thick forest and then shifted her gaze to her daughter. Ania, her grandfather’s old sword still in hand, faced her.

"I shouldn’t have let him get away," she replied in a voice that was fierce and so typical of her father’s species.

"Come, Ania," Sara said gently, trying to comfort her child and refusing to think about the consequences of letting the man escape. Surely he would warn the townspeople of the drow that dwelled within the cabin and then the villagers would come to lynch Ania.

After she had led her child back to her room, careful of the sword and her daughter’s inborn lust for blood, Sara sat back down near the crackling fireplace. She closed her eyes, remembering that day eighteen years ago when she had first married Marn Evens. She recalled walking alone in the woods heedless of the guards' warnings that a dark elf had been prowling about…

* * *

She had been by herself, the warm spring sunshine against her back. Sara was young and not particularly looking forward to her new life. True, she did not really love Marn, an old man who cared little for anything save his numerous possessions, but at least this fate was better than the desolate existence that she had known before.

"Yes, and know you will live a loveless life," a small voice insistently whispered.

Pausing, she lifted her eyes toward the overhead sun, enjoying its heat upon her face and trying hard to think about the deep loneliness that lurked within, until she heard the soft snap behind her. Clutching the diamond necklace that Marn had given her on their wedding day, she whirled around.

There, hiding amidst the thick shadows of the trees, stood a slim man in a black-velvet hood, his flaming crimson eyes staring at her with a mixture of hate and lust. A shock of brilliant white hair contrasting sharply with his midnight skin. It was a drow. Jagged scars ran along his angular face and he leered at the woman. Sara didn’t have time to react before the dark warrior knocked her to the ground.

The drow towered over her, his red eyes greedily playing over her green-clothed body and pale skin. Sara felt no fear when their gazes locked, only an odd heat that spread through her loins. He scowled and his hand momentary went to the katana at his side. The dark elf considered killing her; yet he had never seen such delicious femininity before. Locks of scarlet hair fell over her flawless face, her large green eyes full of desire.

Sara had never seen such a strong man and she felt drawn to him, even as he stooped and uttered strange words in a foreign tongue. His ebon hands gently caressed her body. That night they became one...

Marn did not discover the truth until he saw it in the dark gray skin of his wife's newborn child. He was enraged by the thought of his wife’s infidelity, that his matrimony to her had been violated by a drow elf. He forbade his servants to speak of the scandal and they were bound by his orders, lest they lose their lives or livelihoods.

The unfaithful woman and her inhuman babe were given a cottage in the woods, out of sight and forgotten. From that day on, Ania had been a living reminder of Sara's deed.

* * *

Their worst fears were took shape several days later, after Antok bragged about his "battle with a dark elf" after a few drinks at a local tavern.

"’Tis not true," a barmaid sneered as she handed one of the customers a steaming bowl of stew.

"It is!" Antok retorted, "the drow elf’s as real as the dragon in Acrara!" The barmaid just shook her braided head and moved away to refill some drinks, ignoring Antok and his ranting.

But several bounty hunters overheard the drunken thief and realized how much money a drow elf’s head would bring.

"Do you think he lies?" asked one of the bounty hunters, a husky brute of a man, as he leaned forward across the dirty wooden table.

"Possibly" said a tall woman with straw-colored hair and a wood elf's heritage. "Still, what if he speaks the truth? Many a mage would fill our moneybags for a dark elf’s ear."

The group thought about their prospects in silence as the tavern's revelry raged on. They stood up, resolute, and left their mugs of ale behind. It did not take long for the bounty hunters to round up and anger a mob of villagers. They set off to kill Ania.

* * *

"Mother," Ania said softly, pushing aside the curtains and looking at the wide line of yellow torches approaching their house. Sara gazed up from her sewing and saw the raw terror in her daughter’s eyes. The dreaded day had come.

"Ania," the woman ordered, trying to make her voice calm, "you must get away!"

"But-,"

"Now!" she screamed.

Ania’s deep green eyes widened, and she nodded faster and faster, the orange-scarlet glow of the fireplace illuminating her gray face. Her long dress swirled around her fragile body as she turned and fled, like a nimble gazelle. She took one last fleeting glance at her mother, who had walked over to the window and was peeking through the curtains.

Ania ran -- just as the front door violently burst inward.

* * *

The young half drow did not look behind her; she simply pumped her legs as fast as possible, silently praying to all of the gods that her mother was safe. Her breath came out in ragged gasps as she surged through the words, seeing everything as though it were daylight with her dark elven eyes.

Ania did not know where to go; she had no money, no weapons, nothing besides the housedress that she always wore. The sharp brambles tore deep into her skin, drawing angry red welts across her legs as she moved through the heavy underbrush, heart hammering within her chest.

Finally, exhausted and bleeding from several oozing scratches, Ania collapsed limply to her knees below a bush, supporting her body with her hands as she panted. She did not know how long she had been running, or how far she had run. Her body ached all over and she wanted so desperately to just lie down and sleep forever. The fast panting of her lungs gave way to slow, shallow breaths and then slumber fell heavily upon her.

Ania’s awoke to the voices of women and smelled the strong odor of smoke. Groaning, she stood up and craned her head toward the sound, noticing the first pink rays of dawn stretching through the trees.

"I must have been asleep longer than I thought," Ania realized, stumbling up. She was hungry, and the image of her mother’s face kept appearing in her mind. Quickly, she decided to sneak up to the nearby village and steal some food.

She made her way through the trees silently and then hid behind an ancient oak. There was no one in the village, save for a few chickens that pecked at the brown earth in search of food. Unused tools were piled against the houses.

Ania’s eyes spotted a tattered cloak hanging among other clothes on a thin wire, and she crept toward it, holding her breath, lest she be caught. She did not know why drow elves were so despised by the humans, or why they would hunt her like some beast.

Pulling the cloak off of the wire, her nose wrinkled at its musty smell. Ania glanced about before slipping it on.

"What are you doing?" asked a voice behind her.

Startled, the young dark elf whirled and saw a russet-haired man glaring at her, large patches of greasy filth smeared on his gaunt visage. He narrowed his gray eyes coldly when he saw her gray face and pointed ears. Ania didn’t know what to do; she was terrified.

Just before the man moved forward, a scratchy hiss resounded and they both looked up at the giant red dragon that stepped slowly from behind a hut, its plated wings folded at its side.

"Why aren’t you working, mortal?" it rumbled.

It's forked tongue flicking out as it noticed Ania, who gaped in shock. The dragon's horned head lowered, and the monster studied her with lizard eyes, its hot breath, redolent of decayed meat and smoke, washing across her numb face.

"A drow, I see. I have no need for your gray meat save as an offering to the eternal hunger within," the red-scaled brute thundered, glowering at her balefully. Ania’s agile mind was already working, thinking up a plan to save herself. She had no weapon, except for her wits.

Feigning innocent amazement, she walked forward as might a babe before unicorn. The dragon bared its foot-long yellow teeth in amusement.

"A dragon! What an honor it is to behold such noble creature!"

The dragon hissed proudly, puffing out its armored chest. "Not just any dragon," he stated, "but Firewing, the most powerful of all dragonkind!"

Ania ignored the human behind her, whose face had blanched at the sight of Firewing.

"True," she said slowly, her voice tinged with a hint of feigned doubt. Firewing frowned. His broad pupils narrowed into slits and his spiked tail twitched slightly.

"I sense your doubt, drow," the monster said, unfolding its wings to block the morning sun.

"Well, I do not want to insult the great Firewing, but-,"

"But what?" roared the dragon, its black claws tearing deep into the earth.

She sighed.

"My people are a magical race, and though I am only a half drow, I have heard the legends of dark elven wizards who could transform into any creature imaginable," Ania told the hulking giant. She stepped sideways toward one of the pile of tools, discreetly moving a pitch fork with her right foot. The dragon, whose scales could easily turn away human-made weapons, paid little mind to her motions. Coils of black smoke erupted from its slit-like nostrils as he considered her challenge.

"No mortal can defeat the magic of a dragon! Not even the powerful transmutations of an elder drow can match what we can will with our minds alone" Firewing argued, tendrils of inky smoke and flames drifting from his mouth.

"I do not wish to anger such a magnificent being as your self, great one, but I have seen the scrolls on which were writ the tales of the dark elven mages," replied Ania.

The dragon considered this, then boasted: "I will turn into anything you name!"

Ania grinned within and pretended to think for a while. "How about an ogre? The legends say that the ogre's form is a challenging shape," she said sweetly.

With a guttural grunt, Firewing transformed himself into a hideous ogre, smiling with pride at his victory.

"What about a tiger?"

The ogre form melted into the distinctive black and orange shape as the dragon chanted, its cat eyes glittering. Ania challenged Firewing to turn into a variety of mythical creatures until the monster grew tired of the game.

"Your people are no match for the magic of my immortal race; I am simply better than you dark elven wizards," he bluntly declared, eyeing her hungrily.

Ania swallowed dryly.

"Well, there is definitely one shape that drow can do that you cannot."

"What?" Firewing furiously demanded.

The half elf searched for something, anything.

"A raccoon," she answered.

"That’s it?" The red monster howled with laughter, "I will show you once and for all and then I taste the blood that drips from your heart!"

With that, he shrank and melted into a brown-furred raccoon. Ania slammed her foot on the teeth pitchfork's teeth and the handle shot up into her hands. The creature's new body was still rippling into its furry form when Ania speared him. Firewing shrieked in agony and writhed, crimson blood pooling on the ground below. Then, with a sickening gurgle, he grew limp. Ania dropped the pitchfork as the body violently turned back into its original form, except for a gaping wound above the heart.

The villagers of Acrara, who had been the monster’s slaves, stopped working and huddled around the prone corpse in shock. After awhile, Taireth spoke.

"Where is she? Where is the drow that saved this village?"

But no one knew, for Ania had already disappeared.

[Shan]

Artist - Silent-dream