On Meetings

It tends to be the assumption of most people, particularly in Galasthin, that my hatred of the drow is exclusively because of the pre-existing tensions between my kin and the disgusting reality those monsters hold. This isn't entirely accurate. I do recognise these beliefs. How could I not? I am a scholar and a soldier; I have seen the bloody history of the drow in books and in bodies. But to say that is the sole reason for my distaste is to ignore the facts that shaped my childhood.
 
In truth, it was the drow themselves who began this feud. The general public can continue believing what they will, but I suppose a written record of this truth wouldn't go amiss. Perhaps Ilurae will one day find this journal - when she is grown, and no longer has regular nightmares. Or perhaps Daeris will stumble across the leather cover next time she visits and be reminded of why perusing my books is something not done lightly. I digress.
 
It started in a forest. Not the dark grasping forests of nightmarish fairytales either: I may have been a child, but I have never entirely been a fool. Bright rays of Summer's sun tumbled through the leafy canopy to cast green light across the forest floor. I was far younger than my daughter is now, yet my guardian was familiar with the area and thought little of my wandering. Naturally, childish curiosity drew me out of the safety they'd promised. My parents would have been furious, but neither was present. Both were members of Galasthin's military forces and had been sent far away from me. I was upset by their absence, of course, but this wasn't an unusual occurrence.
 
I suppose that was why I never felt malicious in leaving Ilurae alone. I was doing my duty, and besides, I at least stayed in contact. My parents did not do so. It was too dangerous for them.
 
In any case: the forest. I stumbled away from my guardian and found myself wandering tracks rarely used, staring at Melaeden's odd surrounds in some form of awe. It was a pseudodragon - small and whimsical - that drew me off-track completely, for I recall clearly the noise of it flying into a nearby bush as I turned back to the now-absent path.
 
I will not detail my full reaction. It was not calm. The sun had begun to set, as the greenish light from the canopy had faded into a burnished orange, and my parents had always informed me of the dangerous creatures lurking in the shadows. Evil fey looking for young children to steal away (though at this point, I would have seen them as heroes). Hags wishing to dine upon young bones. Drow seeking victims to torture.
 
I did not imagine the sound of metal nearby, nor the dark hissing tones in a language I would later come to recognise as Undercommon. If I had seen them, I would have likely panicked. Thankfully for my continued survival, the gods were watching that day. Thoughts of the dark entities I had overheard were driven from my mind by the sudden explosion of light and noise before me as an angel came to my rescue. It was that, I suppose, that impressed the importance of the other planes to me. My teachers became exasperated by my constant questioning. Had I caught sight of the enemies lurking so close to where I had found myself, I guarantee my questioning would have changed - perhaps I might have given up on the arcane and focused instead on forms of defence.
 
This is quite enough content for one journal entry, however, and so I shall continue to expand on the drow in the next. There is much to be said about how my parents were lost. I believe a bottle of wine would do well in accompanying that retelling.