RP:A Different Kind of Drow
Part of the Surface Tension Arc
Synopsis: As Skylei makes the final preparations for her attack, she stops in Xalious to offer prayers to the gods and her ancestors for success where she is happened upon by Parafin, a drow unlike any she has engaged with previous. Though usually willing to spill any and all drow blood at any occasion, the half-elf is not keen to desecrate her prayers. Thus, the two engage in a semi-'battle of wits' and Parafin seems strangely near sympathetic to the plight of the wood elves. Skylei remains unconvinced by her nature.
Scenic View
Skylei is down on her knees just in front of the cliff edge. From where she is knelt there is a clear view both into the village of Xalious and down into the valley and Southern Sage. It’s as close to the forest and as close to the gods as Skylei could think to be without actually entering the occupied land of Sage. Head dipped, but eyes wide open, the leather-clad ranger mutters in the elven language. It’s a prayer for courage and for success in her ventures. It’s a traditional elven rite, one that had been performed in Skylei’s former enclave for centuries before and likely would continue to be practised long after the half-elf’s death. First, Skylei invokes the name of Hind. Then her prayers turn briefly to four of the Ascendi; Xalious, Daedria, Olric and Kanos and then finally to the god that Skylei holds most dear, Arkhen. This is the shorter part of the spoken prayer. The larger part is dedicated to the elves from whom she was descended. The ancient rite of ancestral worship is held so dear to Skylei that she continually invokes the phrase in both elven and common, “Watch over me, father. Fill me with your strength and your courage to face death.”
Parafin comes walking into the area seeking the cam fountain and pretty view. The 4’ drow stops upon seeing the half elf. Her dark blue gloved hands go to her dark blue hood and pulls it up over her head and down a little too obscure her face. She hadn’t had much luck getting along with elves, they seemed to hate her before she even got there. She blamed the drow at large. They made it impossible to live in a world as a drow if you weren’t one of them. Deciding not to bother the woman the spell blade goes over and sits on the edge of the fountain. She had no gods to pray to. She was alone in the world. A singular oddity in a world that didn’t want to give her a chance. The little drow sighs and shifts the short sword that hung at her side. She disliked the weapon more and more every day. She just hadn’t found the courage to walk outside without it.
Footsteps and the shuffling of a sword. Those are the sounds that alert the half-elf of the presence of another. A little white hair and just the tip of Parafin’s nose are all she sees but it is enough for her to know the company is drow. Perhaps it is out of the fear of these people that Skylei is praying with her eyes open. “Watch over me, and should it please you bring me success.” She concludes this portion of her prayer. Parafin thinks correctly. Skylei will hate her on first sight. The age old racial hatred between the drow and the wood elves has only been further cemented into her blood by the tensions in Sage and, of course, the reputation of the drow people precedes them. They are bloodthirsty, sadistic, evil people. That might not be true of all of them, but they are all tarnished with the same paint. Now, Skylei will not sully her prayers with fighting or bloodspill that is not a sacrifice. That would be barbaric. Indeed, that would make her so terribly drow that she’d probably want to commit suicide. But she will sully her prayers with insults. “You haven’t invaded Xalious yet.” Skylei informs the petite drow, “Why don’t you head back to Sage and desecrate the ancestral homeland that you and your people have already damaged beyond repair and leave them in peace.”
Parafin looks into the fountain and sighs. With a gloved hand she pushes back her hood to reveal her face. Her red eyes were large and gentle and her white hair hung to her shoulders. “I have no intention of invading anywhere nor do I have the desire to desecrate anything.” The drow turns her soft eyes on the woman. “I cannot even say that I’d like to desecrate a place that serves for worship of that foul spider my mother and sisters feed blood to.” The tiny spell blade gets to her feet. “As for what has happened in the forests, I have had nothing to do with them. I have only been on the surface a short time and had rarely been out of the house before that. I was not something my family wanted to take the chance that it would speak. I only live because they were desperate and though that enough blood would make me as they are.” The drow smiles gently. “That I did not become them is about the only thing in my life that I am proud of.”
Skylei does not believe the words that come from the drow. Her soul must be as dark as her skin. That is a truth Skylei has been taught from birth about those of drow birth. Those of Parafin’s blood had slayed those of Skylei’s blood and vice versa. Whilst Parafin might have the goodness of heart and the nature that seems inclined to gentleness and forgivness, Skylei still feels the hurt and rage burn within her heart. And so to Parafin’s honesty she would turn, lock gazes with the soft eyed drow and then make a sound of disgust and disbelief. She is a drow and thus, she is an enemy. This close-mindedness, so typical of the racism that infects the elven breed cannot be deemed without reason. Still on her knees, Skylei turns away. Her prayers now grow louder and more ferverent, so that they might reach Parafin’s ears gently, “Drive them back from our home, back into the darkness from whence their vileness spawned. Back below the surface where all of their blood should dwell. Back where they belong.”
Parafin sighs and looks up at the sky. She had not expected understanding from the elf. The one elf she knew that would talk to her probably only softened his heart to her because he saw her at her weakest. Crying and alone. Begging for food and trying to hide the wounds left behind by her flight through the underdark. Her eyes turn to the elf. “Would that make it better? Would blood and fear make things right?” the little drow hops onto her feet. “Violence is not an answer. It is sometimes the only choice, but it is never an answer. Chop a tree down with an axe and maybe the tree falls and dies, but the axe has not come away free of damage. The blade will be dulled and the haft a few shocks closer to splintering.”
Skylei remains unconvinced. How surprising. Where Parafin moves to her feet, Skylei remains on her knees looking out across the view and down to the forest that is at the heart of this hate. Still, she’s convinced enough by Parafin’s words to believe that she’s no threat and being a scholar at heart, Skylei prefers to duel with words rather than swords, “I’m surprised you aren’t dead if you speak like that, drow. Your people don’t tolerate weakness. I assumed you were exiled for your foreign views? Then you’ll know how unforgiving your people are. Imagine the screams and the cries of my people, a peaceful people who merely want to live in their home, their birthright, the land that the gods granted them and then tell me that the violence now is unnecessary. The elves want their homes.” Skylei shakes her head and yet remains on her knees, “And blood for blood. It may not make it right, but justice eases the pain.”
Parafin shakes her head. “I was not exiled, per say. After 20 years of being trained and forced to kill by spell and sword my family decided it was time to find out if I had become acceptable. So they invited me to a sacrifice. I couldn’t watch it. I interrupted the right, set the sacrifice free and ran with all the speed I could muster. It was a little amusing at how everyone was too shocked to do anything until I was already on my way out of the house. I guess they couldn’t believe that I had defiance in me after 20 years of doing as I was told.” The young drow looks down at her gloved hands. “Justice? Is that really a thing? If it is, whose justice is the true justice? Whose gods are the true gods? Who’s way of life is the way life should be lived?” She smiles straight up into her eyes. “I admit, I like the sounds of the life you say your people once lived, but I don’t know if you can give the dead justice by adding more to their number.” The small drow shrugs. “But it is your war, not mine. I have no desire to hurt anyone ever again. Not unless I must and if I must I will see no justice in it.”
Skylei can’t quite believe that this drow is telling her the story of her life and flee to the surface. She stays silent for a moment comparing this drow to the bitch who had cursed her, bust her lip and tried to kill her. The comparison is incomprehensible. Even amongst the wood elves, Sky cannot help but deem Parafin as, frankly, a little soft. In a wood elf, that’s not so shameful but in a drow? Even Skylei is embarrassed for her. “Justice exists. When those who have been wronged have been placated and mollified, that is justice. And it’s not my war.” Skylei lies, “It is the war of my people. If it was my war then you would be dead in a hunt for justice, would you not agree? I would only kill you were you to try first.” The true reason is Skylei’s desire not to add insult to her payers and offend her gods and ancestors. But there’s no way or need for the drow to know that.
Parafin chuckles a little. “The wronged rarely wish to be placated and mollified. They want vengeance. As for whether or not I would be dead, I would prefer not to ponder. Such a fight would be losing for me whether I survived or not.” The little woman would walk towards the elf. About half-way there she draws her sword and looks at it. She spins it a few times then drives it into the ground. Without comment the drow turns back around and returns to the fountain.
“One can be placated through vengeance. Those two concepts are not mutually exclusive.” It is now that Skylei finally rises from her kneeling prayer and approaches the upright sword. With a hand rested lightly on the pommel, Sky turns to observe the conflict-hating drow with stormy eyes, “Don’t expect any of my birth to meet you without strife as I have. In fact, don’t even expect me to meet you in such a way should your path cross mine again.” Skylei pulls the sword from the ground and practices a couple of mock swings. She’s rusty, that’s for sure. But elves grow up with weapons. They are entrusted unto the children from the time they can walk and so she is not without any formalised skill “Without a sword you are an easy target. With a sword, you could be a master fighter. No one is to know unless they meet with you in battle. Without a sword, you’re as good as dead.” The sword is lain down just beyond Parafin’s reach and then Skylei turns and begins her retreat down the mountain path and back into Kelay.
Parafin listens to the elf but only partially as the conversation had already reached its end. The drow makes no move toward the fallen sword. She was no master swordsman. As the elf retreats, she would wait a sufficient distance and then use a little air magic to pinch the woman on the arm, gently. This would send her into a fit of giggles and she would almost topple into the fountain.
Skylei doesn’t realise that the pinch is anything other than her leathers chafing in the wind. Lucky for Parafin too, as elsewise Skylei would have head right back up to the view and tried to toss her from it, prayers or no prayers. No one does anger like a Lucindio scorned.