Emergence Game Thread

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Harp and the Tavern Keepers

The furrow in the Tavern Keeper's brow softens as he looks up from the boots that twinkle in the low light and responds to Harp. "My son, coin is not a motive for kindness, or surely it's not kindness at all." He sets the boots down, and walks over to a stool where he picks up a stack of folded clothes and a towel. "I once fit in these, long ago. I have no use for them now. Verda will have your clothes mended and washed tomorrow, but, you should keep these even after you get yours back." He looks away, somewhere else, and smiles sadly. "They'll smell of ginger and lilac."

Verda interjects, "Child, when was the last time you ate something?" Without waiting for a response, she grabs the towel from the Tavern Keeper and holds it out to you, turning her head away. As you take the towel and stand to dry off, she turns fully away and begins preparing a plate of cheese, nuts, and dried fruit. After giving you a minute to get dressed, she turns and thrusts the wooden plate into your belly. "Eat," she says, and you know by her tone and her eyebrow that it is not a request.

The Tavern Keeper pulls out a stool for the both of you, and Verda returns to the hole in your shirt. You both sit, and the Keeper lets the moment linger as you begin eating. After a few moments, he breaks the silence. "I know it's no business of ours, and if you don't care to share, you won't find any judgment. But, I recognize your look. It's the look of one who has lost everything important in the world and is, as an effect, lost himself. What's happened that has you wandering aimless?"

To'ot at the Temple of Adonai

You fly in through an open window near the roof of the temple and find a shadowy nook in the corner of the ceiling. Several minutes go by without any rustle. You are just getting ready to move when you hear the cry of a baby down the hall. You hear the priest stir from his desk and bumble down the hallway. "Now, now, little one. It's going to be alright." Fosgrous sounds unsure of himself, but not entirely incompetent, as he picks the child up and tries to comfort him.

You are then surprised to hear another voice that you guess is female. "See, Fozzy? It's not so bad. Look at the way he trusts you." The priest responds sheepishly, "I guess," although you can hear the smile creeping into his voice. "He's just so fragile."

Rhiv and Therriend in the Library with the Inkwell

Rhiv and Therrien continue pouring over volumes and volumes of texts and tomes, trying to find any shred of information that would help give them some direction on any of their potential upcoming tasks. As they are researching the legendary city of Ankanalu, Therrien finds a scrap of text that references the idea that the city might be some of the ancient ruins upon and around which a current city has been built. Excitedly, he calls Rhiv's attention, and turns the page to see if there are any details about which city it might be. Rhiv comes around the table and slides onto the bench next to Therrien. As he does, however, he knocks over the bottle of ink that the group had been using to draft notes, dousing the book that Therrien was reading. With the book instantly ruined beyond repair, Dunagan suggests the group move on to another research topic as he gets an attendant to come clean up the mess.

---

The four of you move to a different room in the Myths and Legends wing containing information that you hope will lead to some understanding of the mysterious Left for Red. While your search for information on the group of people with the patch turns up empty, you do find a little bit of material on the folk hero, Red Sandtone, for whom the group is named.

Apparently, Red Sandstone was a soldier in the King's army until he was dismissed without honor after losing his finger in a training accident. It seems that, had the accident occurred in battle, he would have received full compensation. With the royal mark of dishonor on his head, he was unable to secure consistent work, and was forced to turn to begging and stealing to survive. As the story goes, he turned his attention against the authorities that he blamed for his condition.

You research into Red Sandstone begins to fall apart here. But, whatever Red did, it secured his status as a folk hero among the poor and working class people of Redwall (who, at that time, were almost entirely humans).

---

Lastly, as you move to a different wing of the Library, Biri recommends that you be joined by a scholar who might be able to shed some light on the Drow peoples. Cautiously, you assent, and when you arrive in the appropriate section, there is a small gnome waiting to greet you. He is wearing a very curious outfit of reds and oranges, cinched above the knees, giving him the appearance of being constantly in danger of tipping over like a felled tree. He has light brown hair with bright red streaks, and is clean shaven save a long thin beard, maybe an inch wide and a foot long. There's a gleam in his eye as you approach; he is chomping at the bit to share whatever information he can about this mysterious race of dark elves that many people think does not even exist.

"Greetings!" He clasps both his hands around Therrien's and pumps vigorously, then turns to Rhiv and does the same. "My name is Zuallabord Thieldrienteeck, and I am, as far as I know, the world's foremost expert on the Drow peoples. You may call me Zua." He folds his hands behind his back and turns toward a table in the back corner of the medium-sized room. At this point, you can see that he has already built a stack of a dozen books or so to reference over the course of your conversation. "Please, please, have a seat. What would you like to know?"

Harper and the Tavern Keepers

"I don't believe you," the man replies, his words soft but carrying their full impact. As you finally break your gaze with Verda, you turn to see the man hunched over on his stool, looking down at his hands as he picks at a scab on his knuckle. After a few brief moments, he looks up and his eyes are visibly wet. "I recognize the pain of your loss, because I've seen it in the mirror in my own eyes and heard it in my own voice for many years now."

As he's talking you hear the gruffness that was there previously begin to crack and peel back, like paint on a wooden cart that's sat in the sun for a thousand years.

He meets your eyes, and you wonder how deep into your soul he can see.

"There's no shame in showing your pain. And, tonight, here in this kitchen, there's no danger in it either."

You feel Verda's hand gently rest on your shoulder from behind, then you hear her whisper, or maybe shout at the top of her lungs from 1000 miles away, "You don't have to be alone."

Harper and the Tavern Keepers
Verda catches you under your arms and guides you back to the stool. "Child, you aren't alone." Her voice is soft and sweet in your ear, reminding you of the gentle lullabies your father used to play on his harp. She walks around the stool and stands before you, and for the first time you see how beautiful she is. Not a romantic beauty, but a beauty that grows from purity and generosity. You sit quietly, your mind coming up with a million different arguments as to why she's wrong, and you are alone, and you'll always be alone. But you don't give them voice.

"We are here with you. Here. With you. In this moment." She steps forward and gently takes your hands in hers, and the comfort they bring surprises you. For a second time she looks deep into your eyes. You instinctively turn away, dropping your head, but she slowly touches your chin and raises your head to meet hers. "You can choose to be lonely, if the familiarity of that feeling comforts you. But you aren't alone." She again takes your hands in hers.

"Whatever happened before, it cannot be changed. What has been done has been done. What has not been done has not been done. Let it be." She allows space for the words to breath. "Whatever is to come, it cannot be predicted. Let tomorrow worry about itself." Another pause. "The only moment worthy of our attention is the moment we are currently living." She smiles with such compassion and care that you feel as though your heart might explode, as small tears begin to form at the corners of her eyes. "And right now, in this moment, we are your family."

After a long silence, the Keeper steps forward. "And, while your friends are out there in that city tonight, I'd reckon that whatever they're doing, you're occupying some space in their thoughts. Could be that they're your family, too."

Rhiv and Therrien in the Library with the Inkwell
The gnome chuckles, "Well, mayhaps you might benefit from enrolling in my class at the university on the subject! After four months of intrepid inquisition into the matter you would have acquired a stable substratum of knowledge on the Drow commonality." Zua's tone shifts into a more serious nature, but without losing his joyous glow. "I gather, however, that we lack the category of leisure that would allow for such rigor. Let's begin at the beginning."

He reaches over to two towers of books on the table, each a dozen volumes high, of all sorts of sizes and colors. He slides off the top three from the tower closest to him and sets them down, forming a third stack. Picking up the fourth book, he leafs through it before setting it on the other three. Setting the fifth book, a dusty large purple leatherbound tome, on the table in front of him, he opens it and begins speaking. You can tell that he's not reading, but, instead assessing the value of the contents of the pages, while he says, "The history of the dark elves is shrouded in mystery and ambiguity, as is their culture. The most common mythos of their genesis says that when the Elven people disembarked on Arazi, they--" He stops and looks up. "Well, Therrien, I imagine you would be a more authoritative source on the beginnings of the Elves, at least on this continent."

Harp and the Tavern Keepers

Verda blushes, and a few small tears fall from her eyes as she looks away. The Keeper responds gently, "There's no need for that, son, although it's appreciated all the same. We have this place," he gestures to the inn around them, "and, more importantly, I think you have other people who need you more than we do. Despite your friends' efforts, the were unsuccessful in hiding from us the fact that, whatever y'all have going on, they are up against more than they feel confident overcoming. At least without your help, that is." You can tell that he is genuinely concerned, despite the fact that your comments has lightened the mood in the room.

"I'll tell you what, though. Anytime you're in Redwall, you come by the Gassy Gnoll and you'll always have a place to stay, as long as we're here, which will probably be until the next Dark Age." He let's out a chuckle, indicating his high opinion of his own joke. "Of course, you'll have to earn your keep. You know how to use a broom, yeah?" He laughs again.

There is a palpable joy in the room, as the emotional cloud of grief and depression that made the air thick in the small kitchen has been blown out a window with Harp's change of mood. However, he's not the only one who seems relieved, and more than a little excited, about the prospect of this new relationship.

After a few moments of lighthearted silence, Verda says, "Now that we've shared such a touching moment, perhaps we should share our names, and then share the rest of this meal. My stomach hasn't stopped growling like a warg since you woke up in the broth that was going to be our stew tomorrow." She gives Harp a wink. "You heard that I'm Verda. My husband is Jothan. And you, once you've got some food in your little frame there, are going to bed."

The three of you spend another fifteen minutes or so cleaning the plate of the simple, yet delicious, comestibles. Then, with hugs, Harp returns to his room to sleep the rest of the night. His exhaustion, though, forces him into a deep and peaceful slumber, the likes of which he hasn't experienced since... well, since before he can remember. The next day, he wakes late, the sun already many hours past its zenith, and approaching the western horizon and the sky beginning to shift its hue into the beautiful purples and oranges of the mountain sunset. He stretches and puts his feet on the floor. At that moment, To'ot enters the room.

Rhiv and Therrien in the Library with the Inkwell

As Therrien demurs after finishing his story, Zua's head is buried in a piece of parchment, his quill scribbling furiously. When he looks up, his face is beaming. He jumps up on the table, kicking over two books in the process, and begins applauding and moving his body such that you determine he must be performing an odd Gnomish jig. He plops back down in his seat. "Therrien, my friend, that was splendiferous! Sublime! Superlative! Stupendous, even!" He takes a deep breath to calm himself down. The two of you feel a bit relieved that your group is the only one utilizing this room at the moment.

He continues, "Before exacting your departure from me this day, you must expound upon your tribe that I may catalog this version of the combined Elven/Drow creation myth, and how it complements the myriad alternate tellings. But, that is a task better suited for a time that is later than now."

---

Zua proceeds to tell you that the creation story Therrien told more or less falls in line with most other tales with a few notable exceptions. The first (and probably least important) is that there are a number of theories, some realistic and others more harebrained, about the nature of the Elven homeland: where it might be, what it might be like, whether it had any forests, or even whether it was on the surface of the planet.

Secondly, the idea that some elves returned to their land of origin to come back to Arazi as Drow is debated among scholars. One working theory is that the original homeland of the Elves was destroyed completely, and the the idea of the return was created by tribal elders wanting to discourage people from casting off into the ocean toward certain demise. Proponents of this theory suspect that there was some rift among the loose coalition of Elven tribes, the subject of which will likely never be known. Maybe one group wanted to establish a more permanent society while others resisted? Maybe there was a clash among leaders? Maybe a failed unification attempt? Maybe a religious sect chose to leave the larger group for religious purposes?

Whatever the cause, it seems that a group of elves, not insignificant in number, began migrating west. It's likely that once they reached Rupino Mountain Range, they realized that they had neither the resources nor skills to traverse the mountains and their harsh environs, nor did they know what lay across the ridge. Maybe they took temporary shelter from harsh weather in some cave structures. Maybe they made a conscious decision to adapt their lifestyle to underground living and delved into the mountains with gusto. Whatever the impetus, the elves pushed further underground, quickly becoming entangled in a complex ecosystem. They were able to strike a delicate balance: forceful enough to fend off smaller would-be predators, and cunning enough to avoid or befriend the predators too significant to overcome. At some point during this process, there was a significant shift. They began worshipping a new god: Laele, the spider queen.

Now, it seems, their entire society is devoted to the worship of Laele and the enactment of her will. She is the incarnation of darkness and chaos, but not a rash and wild chaos like that of a thunderstorm. Laele's chaos is patient, silent, plotting, then unleashed in a fury. However, not all Drow are evil, even if they are all shaded in some way by living in a society dedicated to the worship of demons and darkness. Just as a human who is raised in a society that values generosity, freedom, and justice can choose to reject those notions and live a life of greed that tramples on the rights of others, so too can a Drow reject the values of their society and choose to walk a different path. As a whole, though, the Drow society is not one that any traveler would feel lucky to have stumbled into.

---

After the lengthy discussion of Drow society and culture (including taking some time to answer questions), Zua remarks that he has an appointment he must keep. He gives you information on how to contact him again and wishes the two of you the best of luck as he starts to pack up his belongings in order to take his leave.

Zua tells you that archaeologists have been hunting for the Drow ingress into the mountains to no avail for as long as he can remember. And, no one has ever mapped out the Underdark, "although," he adds, "if perhaps someone were able to accomplish this foolish and incomparable feat, many obscenely wealthy parties would have great interest in purchasing such a cartograph."

Of all the sentient races, the dwarves would be most likely to have run into Drow, with the remote possibility of repeated trade interactions between Drow scouting parties and Dwarven deep mine outposts. It is unlikely, though, that Drow would be responsible for the creation of any kind of animated metals. Their society doesn't rely on mining for resources, save water or to create more space.

Zua doesn't know anything about a Drow magus, and he doesn't know of any gathering of surface-dwelling Drow or any specific groups of people who worship Laele that are large or public enough to have made themselves known.

He doesn't really understand your question, but responds by saying that there are a variety of methods of moving across great distances. None of them, that he's aware of, are specific to the Drow. Is this question about if the Drow can magically use teleportation?