The Tome Of Drow Lore.pdf - RoseRed

Drem na’Koth leaned on his cleft shield, gasping for breath in the close stillness of the cave. His
jet-black skin gleamed with sweat and his white hair was matted to his scalp like a web spun by a
thousand insane spiders as he dragged stale air into his tortured lungs. All about him, wide-eyed and
frightened, beaten and bloodied, drow from a dozen different clans clutched each other in terror, trembling at
the slightest sound.
Drem knew the drow were beaten, there was no denying that, no way to reassure himself with thoughts and
plans for another push, another counterattack. It was done.
The elves of the surface had learned more of war during their own struggles against the goblins than the drow
had given credit for, that much was clear. They had certainly provided the drow with ample evidence of their
martial prowess during the many years of war between the cousins, the many years that had now apparently
ended with the drow broken and splintered in the unknown depths of the world.
Knowledge had been the key to the defeat of the drow, Drem knew. Lack of knowledge of the surface cousins’
lore of battle, coupled with the drow’s eagreness to share the knowledge they themselves had gained fighting
the goblins had conspired together to leave the drow ill-prepared when the other elves struck, when they
betrayed the drow.
Ignorance of the Underdeep too had been responsible. When the drow first retreated here, Drem had favoured
the decision, believing the surface elves could not hope to fight them in the caves and caverns the dark elves
had inhabited so many years as they held the ground against the unending goblin hordes. He had been proven
wrong and it gave him no satisfaction that the presumed wiser heads of his race had been equally mistaken.
None of them were prepared for what lurked in the depths, the abomination of scaled skin and sharp teeth
that laid low the mightiest of the drow with a glance and a thought. Caught between this new terror and the
relentless assault of the betrayers from above, the drow had been doomed, shattered and sundered into groups
like the one sprawled on the floor of the cave all around him.
Drem nodded grimly to himself with the clarity of hard-won wisdom. It was knowledge that had brought the
proud drow low, whether it be willingness to freely share knowledge with the betrayers, or lack of knowledge,
ignorance of what the surface elves already knew and ignorance of what terrible things laid in wait in the
depths of the Underdeep.
The drow could survive here in the Underdeep, Drem was sure of it, but not without knowledge. Knowledge
was a weapon mightier than any made of steel, stouter than the thickest wall. Knowledge was the one blade,
hidden from the eye though it may be, that none could withstand. Knowledge was the weapon the drow must
have.
First, he would start with the one thing he did know. He cast away his cleft and useless shield, forcing himself
to stand up straight.
‘Come,’ he ordered the other drow. ‘If we remain, we will be found.’
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