T
The Underdark Rises
Guest
Original poster
The damp and dreary tunnels of the Underworld had a way of blotting out all sense of time. Without the sun and the moon, without the passing of seasons there was little means of marking the hours; let alone days. For two years she had survived on her own within these twisted narrow passageways. The stale stagnant air and stalagmite ceiling bringing with it a sense of dread. But what concerned her more than the beast lurking in the shadows, what frightened her more than the flesh eating fungus men or the local Illithid or Drows. Was the isolation wrought by such a cursed fate. For it was an enemy ever vigilant; one no steel or flesh could thwart. And no matter the waking hour or passage of time, it always seemed to be stalking but a few steps behind her.
Mur'dallia had never seen the sun, nor the twin moons spoken of by her captors. When she was but a toddler a Drow war party crept to the surface world and snatched her from her bed. Burning her village and all family she might of had to ash. Her entire life was spent as a rothe (Cattle) serving the house as a maid and laborer and sometimes the male Drows play things. But one day her innate prowess with magic displayed itself, as well as her natural finesse. It was at this point she became fodder for their army. After a decade of service she finally was able to break free, slitting the throat of one of the Head Matrons favored daughters. An action that undoubtedly failed to elude the attention and ever watchful gaze of Lolth, their insidious dark spider goddess.
Only death awaited her back in those obsidian and web carved walls. The same death that would in due time claim her within these cramp tunnels and open fields of vividly glowing mushrooms. It was in such a clearing she could be found, gathering two canteens of water to last her the day, while her eyes frantically surveyed the scene. She had no way of knowing how close she was to the surface world of her fathers; in her eyes she still rested within the heart of the Dark elven dominion. Or perhaps worse; near the mastermind and Pale queen of the vile Illithids.
Her body was covered in dirt. As makeshift bandages shielded fresh and healing wounds alike from the natural bacteria. Hey body adorned in rigged armor melted together through fire magic and sown together using the rough leather of the skin of the giant crabs who stalked the nearby water sources. Mur'dallia's eyes were heavy, sleep rarely found her in such a hostile realms. Both out of paranoia as well as conflict. The constant fear and alertness necessary to endure had taken it's toll on her mind; causing her to long for contact. Sometimes she watch as the dwarves toiled the stone, wanting nothing more than to say hello. Knowing full well that she'd sooner meet a bolt from their crossbow than a friendly gesture.
Once she had drawn her water, the faint yet unmistakable sound of a rock rolling down a slope teased her ears. With unparalleled grace and speed she bolted, climbing up a pile of rocks as she crouched behind the waterfall. Shielding her battered petite frame from unwanted eyes. Quickly she gathered her composure, her hand grasping the hilt of her enchanted saber she stole from the Drow on her way out. Her breathing was calm, as she called upon the animal that has kept her alive thus far; that animal being instinct...The very thing she felt her humanity slowly become consumed by, and they very thought terrified her more so than death itself.
For through solitude only insanity and bestial urges can remain...