Shadowstone (Dark Elves)

[TheWhiteBull]

The setting for this story will be a Drow or dark elf city in the Underdark. If you're familiar with DnD/Forgotten Realms then great, it will help out. If not, no worries; I'll provide a little backstory/lore here to help you out.

Drow are a race of evil subterranean elves with black skin, white hair and red eyes who live in an authoritarian and matriarchal society and worship an evil Spider Queen goddess. This is open to anyone who wants to join. If you do want to however and there are already others on the thread then I would appreciate a pm first so we can work you in fluidly.

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Khazz’t’s crimson eyes looked over the bound and sobbing captives. The raid has been too easy, as all such forays against the surface dwellers were. He was a Drow; a dark elf of the Underdark and the captives were moon elves, inferior cousins of the night above. The Drow had left their caverns for a chance to strike at their eternal rivals, killing and enslaving as many as possible in one night.

Khazz’t himself heavily resembled the fresh slaves. A rare albino, his skin was pure ivory, matching his bone-white hair and standing in stark contrast to his comrades ebony skin tones. Considered by some to be a blessing from the Spider Queen, his appearance allowed himself to act as a useful decoy and infiltrator on excursions such as this. In fact Khazz’t gave most other dark elves pause as he was also favored by the Goddess as one of her holy warriors, granted divine spells to accompany his martial prowess. Thinking of the Goddess’s gifts made him smile as he recalled the pleasure of plunging his sword into an elven priest’s back earlier that evening. The fool had been confused by the multiple images of himself that he had conjured and already weakened by the poison his faith magically coated his blade in.

The raiding party numbered approximately two dozen; himself, two priestesses, a mage and the rest all warriors. They had fallen upon a celebration as a migrating band of wood elves was visiting the moon elves’ village. Slipping into the festivities undetected (the smallest of dweomers subtly altering his pupils to a more appropriate shade), he had laced the peaceful celebrants’ feywine with powerful Drow poisons and narcotics. After an hour or so of intense intoxication followed by debilitation that left them perfect targets for his brothers-in-arms. Nearly three dozen slaughtered and the same number now shackled and shambling through the swamps which guarded the entrance to the tunnels that would lead him home.

Walking near the middle of the line, he decided to stroll further up and take a good look at their catch. They would reach the tunnels soon and would camp shortly after that. He wanted to find a plaything for the rest of the return trip. As formidable as he was with a blade, and as blessed as he was even Khazz’t was not completely protected from the whims of his city’s matrons and like most males he often found the best part of a slaving run to be the fun one could have with the female captives. A sort of escape from the usual realities of his existence.

Though they were tired and dirty he was certain there must be at least one with the proper potential among them...

 

[lickquidsecksy]

Relmin Lightfinger

https://i.pinimg.com/236x/89/5b/dc/895bdc35ab8c5c6758ef24fb6d55c2ee.jpg

Relmin looked at the drow prince, watching as he examined the captured slaves.

He'd worked for various mercenary bands, acting as a guide or mage in the Underdark. As a deep gnome, he found he could pass for either. An illusionist can be as dangerous underground as a druid is in the wild. His ability to see in the dark and generally 'keep up' with the sorts of adventurers that required that skill had earned him a decent reputation down in the holler.

The prince and his raiding party didn't seem particular but they were specific. Now, drunk on victory and already embellishing the stories they'd tell their weird spider wives, they'd forgotten the insignificant little svirfneblin they'd paid a fistfull of silver to pick locks and distract guards while they raped and pillaged.

Looking over the captives they'd saved for themselves, Relmin took a quick count and wondered which one he'd claim as his own. He'd already pocketed himself a pouch of silver guardsman rings (might have grabbed a few gold to sell to the next human he came across) in the wake of drow bloodlust and he felt like pushing his luck. After all, getting shitfaced on underdark blue could only be improved with some elf or halfling twitching on his cock.

Relmin looked at the shivering, pale prisoners staggering back and forth between each other, the shackles on their hands and feet, and the occasional strike from a dark elf gauntlet.