The Fall of Oloth – When the Tunnels Did Fall Silent

By Eleawen Galathiel

The wind doth carry the lies of men, yet the forest doth whisper truth.

As truly as the waves of Durakiss do lap the western docks, as truly as the shadows of Oloth did long believe they could defy the sun, mine humble self hath seen, with mine own eyes, what many would not have deemed possible: the fall of the Undercity.

But let us take up the thread of this dark tapestry from its beginning, for a tale – like drow venom – doth work best when each layer is understood.

The Assault upon the Dark Forest

It did begin with the march of Elysium upon the Dark Forest. The forces of Elysium, springing from the lands held by Durakiss and Lomidar, west of Delkbrook In – that neutral territory held by the Doomed Woods – did plunge into a forest as dark as the designs of its denizens. The Pact did gather at the mouth of the caverns, deep within that wood, and did launch the assault upon the tunnels.

There, in those bowels of stone where even torches did seem to hesitate to burn, fierce combat did rage. The local fauna – hostile monsters of every kind, as if the Underdark itself had sought to defend its own entrails – did join the carnage. Tunnel after tunnel, hall after hall, the troops of the Pact did advance at a cost of blood that even the priests of Erevan could not have blessed swiftly enough.

And yet – and here doth mine humble self raise an astonished brow – the Drow Matrons, those voices which for so many years have borne provocations as others bear jewels, were absent. Nowhere to be found. All of them. Curious, is it not? Priestesses who never fail to insult the crown of Durakiss do suddenly forget themselves when swords do come. Erevan knoweth that cunning hath its limits… and cowardice, its own.

Remembrance of a Long History of Provocations

For it doth behove us to remember. A high drow priestess – whom mine humble self shall name with the delicacy of an Arche Tower core – did make a specialty of provoking Durakiss. Already, more than six years past, under the reign of the late Queen Zaora Tirngesh, she did dare insult the crown, swearing she had done naught, as if a lie repeated doth become truth. Once, twice, a thousand times: « I have done naught. » The echo of the caverns did perhaps believe her. Not the Gazette.

Later, whilst Durakiss was allied with Oloth against a joint assault upon the Consortium and did occupy White Harbor, this same priestess did multiply her provocations against the forces of Durakiss. To offer the left cheek after biting the right, whilst begging to be spared the first: behold the drow art of diplomacy.

« And if I did tell thee that I already know thy secret… wouldst thou believe me? »

The Taking of the Undercity

After hours – hours that the bells of Durakiss did count one by one – the troops of the Pact, composed of soldiers of Port Elysium, Durakiss, and Sambrune, did take control of the entirety of the city. Even unto the sinister prison. That prison of which, prithee, the Gazette shall never count the war crimes. Some numbers, when spoken, do give the quill a nausea no remedy doth cure. Let us say only this: the walls do remember, and walls do not lie.

The Diversion upon the Western Docks

For whilst this did pass, the Olothians were not idle. In a desperate effort to prevent the Pact from holding the Undercity, they did launch a massive assault upon Durakiss herself – the western docks, where salt, wine, and rumour are unloaded together. A few defenders of Durakiss, God be thanked, did seek to slow the assault. Contained upon the docks, despite the massive number of drow soldiers deployed – a number which, had it been cast into the tunnels of the Underdark, might have blocked the Pact’s assault in the depths – a majority of the troops deployed at Oloth did redirect toward the surface. And thus: the city of Durakiss freed from the threat, and, in parallel, the taking of Oloth sealed.

The vice was as clean as a dagger stroke. The drows, in opening two fronts, did lose both. A jest, verily. A jest without moral… and Erevan doth not love jests without moral.

The Terraformer

But here the Gazette must cease to smile.

During the long battle, sinister news was reported. The drows, in a desperate and – let mine humble self weigh these words – utterly mad effort, did enter the Arche Tower and did activate a machine. It is called the Terraformer. Its age: hundreds of thousands of years. Its purpose: ancient, unfathomable, and terrifying.

They did use it. And Black Lake was struck. A known adventurer did perish in the depths of the ancient ruins of Instarius’ star vessel. One alone, but one too many.

None do know what the drows truly intended. To strike a city of the Pact? To destroy the entire surface of the world? The Gazette cannot say, and perhaps the drows themselves did not know. In any case, they did strike a city whose neutrality in the conflict is known to all. To strike the neutral is as to burn the messenger: it doth not change the message, yet it doth dishonour the one who holds the torch.

The Terraformer, this relic of an age that the drow of Che’El Oloth have used for their crime, is now an open wound. If Erevan doth protect jesters, he hath never protected madmen.

Where We Now Stand

At this stage of the conflict, the Pact doth hold the majority of the surface, and likewise the entirety of the Undercity and its sinister tunnels. The shadows of Oloth, which did dance so high, have fallen silent. And silence, in those caverns, doth weigh heavier than all the provocations ever uttered therein.

The Gazette shall not rejoice. The Gazette observes, records, and whispers. Yet she cannot forbear to ask: when shall the Matrons return? And if they do return, shall they come as warriors… or, as ever, as shadows that deny?

At Oloth, the tunnels have fallen silent. Yet a voice gone still is not a voice repented – and ’tis in the silence of cowards that the cunning of the just doth reveal itself. Let the wind carry this truth, as Erevan doth carry his shifting cloak: shield the weak ere thou pursuest the strong, for the strong of morrow are those one did forget to slay yesterday.