RP:Crown for the King Under the Mountain

Part of the Surface Tension Arc

Synopsis: After Matron Obleven's death, her crown was pilfered by a common drow. The commoner, unaware of the crown's importance, but knowing it would fetch a pretty penny, fled Trist'oth to meet with a fence. Before he could reach his destination, he had the misfortune of encountering an angry dragon, Gheneroc, who had just been stood up by Gevurah. The dragon sensed the important artifact, killed the drow with his acidic breath, and took the crown for himself.

Dead End (Underdark)

Gheneroc burrowed through the earth as naturally as a fish swam through water. Magic fueled Gheneroc's travel and rather than appearing from above, an opening gaped in the side of the earth to make room for the large, wingless dragon. The drow had made contact via the dwarven embassy and Gheneroc, the self-proclaimed protector of the dwarves came to respond. There were others present, others that were adept at blending into the shadows and contours of the earth. The dragon stood, proudly in his gaping tunnel as he expected to see the drow party here to meet.

Gevurah isn’t here. She’s too busy dealing with a Trist’oth political crisis. Indeed a drow party had been promised to meet with Gheneroc, but it seems that Trist’oth’s internal troubles have taken priority and the dragon is completely snubbed, right in his big ugly snout. Another drow is here though: a shifty-eyed commoner with no knowledge of the arranged meeting (or his kin’s failure to show) who frequently looks over his shoulder and startles at the dark. One arm wields a short sword of unimpressive make, and the other curls against his side under the cover of his piwafwi. The stiffness of that arm suggests he carries something, and it’s very likely that the true source of his fear lies beneath his arm rather than behind his back. Dragons with a nose for enchanted treasure would be especially drawn to this otherwise unremarkable dark elf. As soon as the drow notices Gheneroc, he gasps the drow equivalent of “Oh fu--” and turns to run. Fast.

Gheneroc acts quickly. The dragon roars his spell and collapses the drow's escape path, and bends the earth and rock to his will. The stone dragon growled low, threateningly to the cowardly carrier. Knowing his prey was cornered, the dragon relied on his thick hide to protect him now. He growled a challenge in ancient drow, but maybe someone not so noble wouldn't understand. "You have something for me." Gheneroc's own tunnel had closed behind him, as if he had never opened it in the first place. Magic thrummed around the dragon as the rock and dirt moved to his whim. He breathed in and exhaled quickly. A dark purple haze started to leak out - his caustic vaporous breath quickly filled the confined space.

The commoner has no idea what Gheneroc said, and wonders if playing dead would discourage the dragon. The drow heard rumors that works with predators of the surface, but he can’t think of a single creature of the deep who’s ever been dissuaded by a corpse. With his escape blocked, he must turn to face the dragon, possibly soiling himself in the process, and whimpers, “I’m a lowly drow with not enough meat for your belly or coin for your horde.”

Gheneroc looms over the drow. By now, surely, he must be feeling the sting of Gheneroc's miasma. The dragon understood perhaps two words the drow spoke but the tone was clear enough. The dragon still gazed at the commoner expectantly, however. He sniffed the air sparingly but drew closer to the diminutive creature as more gas filled the chamber.

Gevurah's player is an idiot and forgot to take into account the breath. Yes, of course. As soon as the commoner saw the purple tinge of dragon breath, he lifted his piwafwi to create a small barrier between himself and the oncoming plume. None can resist the chance to purchase a couple more minutes before facing the unfeeling black void of death. But the darkness, the True Darkness, comes for us all - even piwafwis. Gheneroc’s breath eats through the cloak, then the drow’s arm, then face and chest. The drow howls in pain and something more primal than that: fear. His screams echo off the chamber walls, into Gheneroc’s ears. The drow’s heart gives out first, and his cries cease with it. His body goes limp as it turns to sludge. The dragon would be wise to rescue the enchanted item hidden on the drow’s person before his breath destroys it. An iron ring clatters to the ground. Its enchantment protects it from Gheneroc’s breath, but not indefinitely. Already it is starting to erode. The ring is unremarkable to look at it. It’s roughly the diameter of a drow crown. Its deep, dark magic is unmistakable. If worn (perhaps Gheneroc can wear it as a bracelet?) it performs two functions. The wearer’s enemies see a cowl of shadows that cloak the wearer’s visage. To the wearer’s allies or neutral parties, the crown turns into a stately, regal affair with jewels and precious metals. Gheneroc is old enough to know the drow myth of the Order of the Shade. This could be one of the legendary items, the one alleged to have belonged to Matron Obleven before she met the True Darkness herself recently in Trist’oth’s Arena. https://www.hollowgame.com/wiki/Crown_of_the_Shade

Gheneroc peered over the crown, reading its secrets. While he was not directly familiar with the artifact, he moved his hand, encasing the artifact in protective stone until he could leave with it safely. The two-story tall dragon lumbered away, his prize in tow and the poor drow left to be found by his kin. The tunnel opened back up, releasing Gheneroc's haze to flush through the tunnels. Surely it might even manage to poison the city of Trist'oth! Certainly the dragon's hope. The crown whispered its magics, told Gheneroc its purpose. Further study would be required as Gheneroc retreated back to Craughmoyle - back to the dwarven smiths and enchanters he had befriended. The evil dragon would grin at his small triumph.