Chronicle of Wayward Roads

Tharz Dosha

Prelude: Dark City

Ched Nasad - City of Shimmering Webs - Uktar 3, 1372 DR - The City's final day.

The irony of that statement: "The City's final day."

A Race Through Dark Places

City At the Edge of Eternity

Yellow Snake Pass

The steady creak of the wagons, the roll of the wheels was settling for Dosha, as he rested under the canvas of the wagon. Michoslin had quickly grasped the terror that the sun held for Dosha, and had been very persuasive to the other members of the group that Dosha's night vision was worth more to the them than a day time watcher. There were also advantages to keeping his being secret from those passing the other way. No matter the assurances of the group he traveled with, most surface dwellers defaulted to trying to kill any drow they meet. The dark elves were just too feared and known for their penchant for death and mayhem. So Mochoslin had bartered and cajoled until Dosha was allowed to ride in the wagon with the chests.

The road out of the gorge wasn't terribly busy, and most of the traffic seemed to be going west toward the coast. When other groups went by Dosha stayed down and out of sight. As evening came and the sun dipped out on the plains, Dosha got down and ran or walked along with the wagons until the group stopped for the night at the bottom of the pass. Dosha worked alongside his team, helping with the horses and the wagons. To begin with Dosha was unsure of these big animals, but soon took pleasure brushing them and caring for them. Though very different they reminded him of his time caring for the cavern oxen from Nelaenaserin. While more than willing to be cruel to other sentient beings, Dosha liked their gentle bumps with their heads and grunts of pleasure from his touch.

Caring for them allowed him to ground himself in their sides and not be overwhelmed by the wide open sky above him. Mostly through the day Dosha kept his head down, avoiding the huge screaming vistas before him. While the bright blue of the gorgeous mountain sides was terrifying, the night was almost worse. The darkness pinpricked with stars, a great roof that always seemed to be only moments from crashing into him. The moon would come and bring some perspective, giving him something to show the sky was held in place.

Land of Mists

The Cat's Paws

The dreams of Elves are not like the dreams of Men. Reverie it is called and in quality it is more like a malleable hallucination than the hazy musings of the human mind. I make this rather academic point for one reason only, the Elven races control and manipulate their dreams at will. This ability improves with time and practice, but Elven children are born doing what human wizards and Psions must spend years or even decades to accomplish. We of the Elven peoples control our dreams rather than our dreams controlling us. But this time it was different.