Entry

At first glance the structure looks rather unremarkable. The square, gray blocks of stone making up the bulk of the rectangular shape are covered in yellow-green lichen. The number of balconies facing the rising sun is balanced by an even number opposite. And the dark wooden roof is nearly hidden behind the three-step wall. Yet upon closer scrutiny there seems to be a faint magic to it. A pale glow, like moonlight over a deep lake, is scarcely noticeable against the brightening sky. The two obsidian statues depicting dancing, female elves and standing to flank the large double doors seem strangely ethereal and yet, somehow, almost alive.

Approaching the entry across the wet grass you notice a shadow of movement and a glimmer of red eyes at one of the unlit windows. They know you are here. This is proven even more when the doors creak open as you near. In the opening stands a comely woman—a child really—short of stature, crowned in long, white hair and possessed of the elegance of her elven ancestors. But unlike the fair folk her skin is blacker than a starless night, marking her a drow. With a ready smile on her dark lips and a joyful sparkle in her red eyes she greets you. “Welcome,” she says in a voice sweet as evening dew, “welcome to the Chosen of Eilistraee.”