Dalhar sighed as he settled into a seat in the corner of the Purple Lantern Tavern. He had come here to see if he couldn't find some other Drow that were here on the surface. He knew he couldn't be the only one, and he had been told that the Purple Lantern was the best place to find them. He sighed, and shook his head. This didn't look much different from one of the taverns in the Underdark, so he didn't doubt it. Looking over at the bar, he called out, Barkeep! Bring me an ale!

He glanced around again, looking over the various patrons of the tavern. He could see a couple Drow here, but they didn't seem to show any interest in him. So he settled back to wait. He had spread the word through the city, and throughout all of Imythess that he was looking to find some more surface Drow, maybe form an information network for them, and now he just had to wait.

Eliel Strode into the dark tavern with a look of curiosity on his face. He had been approached by a small drow saying that there was a man looking for drow in the purple lantern tavern. He was told the man was also a drow, with a scimitar and chainmail.

So here he was, his ever-gloved hand flexing. He walked along and took a swig of ale from a sleeping patron and set the mug down on a table on his way to the corner. He stopped as a light flashed, his drow eyes burning from such a sudden light. turning to see the source, he saw a scimitar gleaming from the light of the door opening. Eyes moving up, he saw the man was wearing chainmail. 'there we go.' he thought to himself cheerfully and walked over, taking a seat across from the man without invitation. He studied the man intently, taking in all the small, vague facts about him to piece together what he was like without meeting him. He was becoming quite skilled with this, as he did it quite alot. He shifted to a more comfortable position and projected a thought at the drow. 'Hello there. forgive me for such an intrusion of your mind, i am not normally a rude person, but i am mute. I hear you are looking for surface drow?'

Dalhar's eyes turned slightly to take in the Drow that had just sat across from him. He raised a finger, beckoning the barkeep over to bring the newcomer a drink before leaning forward and placing his arms on the table. "No need to apologize," he said quietly, and smiled. "I can understand that. I have met a few in the Underdark like you. Great warriors, to be sure, but they give no satisfaction, because they cannot scream when you kill them," he said with a mocking grin to show that he was merely joking.

"Yes, I am seeking other surface Drow, it is true. But first before I tell you PRECISELY why, rather than the vague rumors that I spread out, I am looking for the surfacers of my kind -- OUR kind -- I must ask what it is that you do up here on the surface?"

Silendra drifted into the Purple Lantern Tavern, her gown swishing about her as she took a seat at the far end of the bar and cuaght the attention of the barman, ordering a light wine from his to sate her thirst as she glanced about and noticed a few other Drow here. It seemed she had stumbled upon a meeting of sorts of her kin and she was curious as to know why they were here. The greater number of Drow chose to remain in the Drow City but it was not uncommon for the younger or restless Drow to go adventuring, having become satisified with the Drow City. She was one of such Drow, she had become bored and left to explore the other lands. She had seen a little of Imythess but still had much yet to see, the barman returned with her wine and she slipped some coins across the table to him before taking a sip.

Eliel laughed coolly, enjoying the dark humor of this man. “And I enjoy the screams of those who cross me.” He winked and ordered an ale of his own. He took it from the waitress and sipped, not noticing the drow woman who entered after him. He had to invent a story. Not hard, as he had one he had been using for the short time he had been on the surface.

“I'm here on lookout for a house in Menzoberranzan. Looking for anybody who would like to, say... help us, eradicate, a rather bothersome house.” He smiled and winked again, drinking the ale. As he drained it, he dropped a few coins into the mug and handed it to the waitress. “What about you? What brings a warrior such as you to the surface?”

Dalhar's eyes took in the female that walked in, making a note of her, in case she proved worth his time. He leaned forward. "I'll make it plain. I hold NO loyalty to ANY house in Menzoberranzan. Nor do I plan on going back there for ANY reason," he said in a low hiss. "They betrayed me, and they can all rot in Hell for all I care."

He shook his head, and leaned back, taking a sip of his wine. "So if that is what you are hoping for from me, you can leave. I'm not interested." He closed his eyes, and shook his head again. "If you're here for any reason OTHER than that, then you're good. In that case, you're welcome to share my table."

Eliel grinned and listened to him, leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. So this one was an outcast as well. He debated whether to show himself or not, to share his past with the new man. Still, it was so close to past events, he may not be able to handle it...

He ran a hand over the scar at the base of his neck without thought, reflecting over the injury and what value it held. It was his last remembrance of his life in Menzoberranzan, a reminder of what he had done, who he was. His Gauntleted hands also served some memory, but it was faint. The scar was his link between his calmer, more caring self and his evil, drowlike self. It was a mark that had happened when the two met, blending together in a few brief moments of pure insanity. The scar was the bridge.

It was a natural wound, so it could be healed, but he was not sure if he should break his silence yet. the hand reached to his pocket, feeling the small stone statue there, a bishop. It held the power to heal the wound and return his voice. But not yet, he decided.

Leaning forward, he grinned at the drow. "That's good. Exactly what i'd hoped to hear." He smiled warmly. "I have no more link to the houses of menzoberranzan than you, dear brother. They betrayed me and my heart. I'm just glad to see that there's someone else who shares my decision to abandon their drow heritage." The projection was kind, full of warmth. Truth.

Silendra sat at the bar, sipping an ale but her senses still acutely focused on those around. She was not one to be caught of guard, ever. She saw the Drow man watching her but did not deem to notice his gaze, she took another sip of her ale and her dark eyes flicked about the room, taking in all and picking out several escape routes if neccessary. But she would not back down from a fight, she was not afraid of those who claimed to be tought but had no idea, she merely took a bit of her meal and watched the Tavern's other patrons with cool interest and a careful eye.

Dalhar held up a single hand. "A moment, friend," he said quietly, and pushed his chair back rising slowly, his peace-bound scimitars slapping at his hips as he walked over to the female at the bar. "You know, it's kind of hard to find out what my friend and I are doing if you don't come over," he said with a slight grin.

He hooked a finger. "Come. I think you might find our conversation of interest." With that, he turned his back, seeming to glide back over to the table, where he settled back in.

"Sorry about that. But she seemed to have shown an interest in our conversation, and I figured I should invite her to the table. We'll see if she joins us. Until then..." Here he paused, glancing around the room.

He smiled. "I get the feeling you're being honest, and I like that in my brethren. The REASON I'm seeking the others of our kind..." He shook his head. "We have lived in darkness and shadow for far too long. We may not be many, but we are more than enough. I'm looking for enough Drow to help me carve out our niche on this surface world that we have no real place in. Some time soon, we will want a place to call home, and a place that we can exhibit as proof that we belong here just as much as the Elves of the Sun, or of the Moon."

Eliel smiled at the woman, not paying her much attention. He pulled out his scimitar while he spoke to the woman and inspected it once more. The smiths had done a fine job, moreso than expected. The Blade was as beautiful as it always had, shimmering blade a blackish steel, a property of being forged of metals wrought from the darkness itself. The thing had been his brothers, a symbol of recognition in the underdark. It had been passed down through his family for generations, shattered by Eliel's own hand. He had taken the pieces for himself, kept them in his study while he searched for a smith with the skill to reforge it. It had cost him a good amount, but it was worth it. Only one piece was missing, a sliver. Not enough to count for anything, but it was noticeable. The last shard remained in his throiat, a reminder.

The Drow returned and explained. Eliel merely nodded and continued his admiration for the blade. His new friend seemed to dislike the drow, and the blade stood for recognition in the underdark. Eliel wanted to see his reaction to it.

"I agree, to some extent. The drows have been cooped up for so long. But truly, do we not belong there anymore? We have found a place to live as a race, have grown to a great power of the underdark. Our entire culture is based there. Would it be so right to make them change their ways?" He enquired, looking to him for a moment.

"I am sure there are those who agree with you. I intend to travel to the underdark soon, to find answers to questions unasked. Perhaps i will pay a visit to the isles, where there are more drow like us." He smiled, fingers tracing the golden thread that ran across the hilt, a singular, bright beauty in the dark and cruel blade.

Dalhar ignored the blade, not caring that it was a sign of recognition. He shook his head. "The Drow have a place true, but what about those of us that are outcast by our own society?" he said, shaking his head again.

"We have no place to call our own, and it's about time we had one. I'm tired of living off the land, I'm tired of having to roam with no place to TRULY call home."

He sighed, and grumbled. "Like as not, most Drow will disapprove of what I am trying to accomplish, but it must be done. We cannot constantly be outcast by all society. We MUST have a home."

He looked up. "If you are not interested in helping, then I suggest you leave," he said, and stood to move to another table.