Read about what is new for the Chosen. Go to the entry hall and read our introduction. Go to the inner sanctum and read Eilistraee’s Dogma. See who are currently among the chosen. Learn to speak the language of the drow.
Go to our forums and talk with the Chosen of Eilistraee. Enjoy some roleplaying with the Chosen of Eilistraee. If you want to join us then this is the place to do it. Download some of the things us Chosen have made. If you must leave then these are places we think you might enjoy.

Eilistraee’s Drow Translator

Softly you close the door behind you, not wanting to disturb the lady any more in her work. Strangely enough your guide doesn’t seem to be there, so instead you stroll down the hallway, not content with waiting in one spot. As you walk past a door that’s slightly ajar you hear a voice that sounds familiar. Your curiosity roused you approach the door for a closer look, pushing the door further open to provide a wider view.

Behind it you find a beautiful garden, lush and green. Sunlight filters in through the open roof, enough to cast shadows off the tops of the trees, but not enough to cause too much brightness for sensitive eyes. The walls of the courtyard are all but hidden by bushes, vines clinging vast to climb high and in one corner a pile of rocks forming the base for a cascade of water falling down to a shallow stream. The current passes under a small, curved, wooden bridge and near it stand five figures in the grass, apparently in discussion.

Nearest to you and with her back towards you is someone you have met before, the person whose voice you recognized. The young, dark elven woman with the braid and the green dress is silent now, listening instead to a drow man with a number of skulls hanging from his belt. “…orn naut fre’sla whol ol.” He sounds displeased, even through the dark musical flow of his words.

“Fridj tlu gladare il alissus dos ulu nindol talthalra.” This comes from the third drow there, a woman dressed in practical clothes, a sword at her side and her left hand missing. Her tone is hostile and directed at the skull-adorned man. “Lu’mayoe dos inbal phor’umaus dosst al’doer.”

“Nausfi,” says the woman in the green dress with a kind voice that makes the language dance in the air, “amadaster ukt… erg’lesizil… zhaduren uk zhah al’doer ulu zexen’uma ‘zil verve ‘zil uk dyunhk. Yewlus uk jouse udossa l’toha bel’lain rena uk zexen’umae d’heen.” The last comment was with a small nod towards the drow man.

“Dos ph’khr’uss mzild ishrass’ur taga Usstan orn’la inbal tlus,” says the fourth person, a man with a thick beard, wearing a long chain-mail shirt and holding up a metal goblet. The words don’t flow from his tongue as easily as it does for the three dark elves in the garden, making it clear he’s unaccustomed to speaking the language. “Jhal mayoe naut ‘zil ishrass’ur ‘zil dos ann’ish.” He suspiciously yet none too subtly looks sideways at the two women.

“Will yea quit yer daft babblin’?” Though heavily accented this voice you understand, spoken in common by the fifth and final member, a dwarven woman gently tucking her curly beard. “I’m nay ‘ere to list’n to yea gettin’ on in da fancy chatter oh yous all day.”

“Ideed,” says the drow man as he toasts his goblet to the bantam woman. “As I was saying… Who is that?” He points with the hand holding the goblet towards you and the others turn to look at where you are standing.

While most of them regard you with stern looks the young woman in the green dress only smiles at you. “Pardon me a moment,” she says to the others and then approaches you with fluid steps. When she stands before you she gives a small bow and says: “My apologies, for I should have locked the door. But we are in rather delicate diplomatic discussion, something not for ears other than those here. So if you would be so kind as to leave us.” She escorts you back into the hallway and with an apologetic smile she closes the door before you. With a ‘clunk’ you hear the lock being closed as you are left wondering about the musical language these Eilistraeen dark elves and their evil brethren employ.

“Oh, there you are,” you hear as you cast one last look at the door and wonder about the discussions being held behind it. With a joyful skid in her steps comes the drow girl, looking cheerful as ever. “Sorry about that, I was called away on another errand. That happens sometimes you know, they ask you to do one thing and then halfway through ask you to do something else in between. Not that I mind, either task that is, but it just shows you why I wasn’t there.” It is obvious that she is back to her old self.

“Right, there is one more thing I’d like to show you. I have a small surprise for you and I think you’re going to like it. This way please.”


Follow the girl to whatever surprise she has



The Chosen of Eilistraee homepage
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Shir'le E. Illios, high priestess of Eilistraee

This page was last modified on
Monday, the 3rd of October 2011, 22:45