A Drow Child's Book of Fairy Stories (Chapters Eleven to Thirteen)
Title: A Drow Child's Book of Fairy Stories
Setting: Forgotten Realms
Genre: Humour
Summary: Witness classic fairy tales converted into counterparts one might possibly encounter in Menzoberranzan. Marvel at the drow idea of a 'happy ending.' Mind the jade spiders if you pinched this off a drow kiddie to read!
Disclaimer: The Forgotten Realms setting, Drow and other mentioned races, species, spells and objects originated with TSR, Inc. and Wizards of the Coast. The fairy stories used, on the other hand, are public domain.
Part One: (Chapters One-Three) [ Here]
Part Two: (Chapters Four-Six) [ Here]
Part Three: (Chapters Seven-Ten) [ Here]
Part Four: (Chapters Eleven-Thirteen) [You Are Here]
Part Five: (Chapter Fourteen - Holiday Special) [ Here]
A/N: This story is based upon an old Celtic tale, known in at least one of its many variants as 'Hudden and Dudden and Donald O'Neary.' The protagonist showing great cunning after being initially wronged is common to the original tale, which perhaps suggests that it is not wise to underestimate even the lowliest...
Duergar, Lake, and Clever Donaz
Once, there was a very poor drow, Donaz by name, so poor that he owned but one rothé, and there were many that looked down upon him. Shamefully, even some outsiders felt they were above him by reason of their greater wealth.
One day, a pair of duergar merchants whose last sale had gone amiss decided that perhaps the shred of profit that would come from the beast belonging to Donaz would give them the money they sought. And so they crept to it while he lay resting, and cut its throat, so that it died without a sound.
But Donaz, wakeful, rushed to his rothé, and found it dead upon the cold stone. He sighed and resolved to get some money for it however he could. And so he skinned it, and sold the meat, and brought the coins from the meat along with him when he took the hide to sell.
But he cut slits into the hide, and slipped some of the coins into those slits.
Now Donaz went to the tavern where a servant of the merchants was drinking, and there he feigned getting drunk, and extolled the virtues of his marvellous enchanted rothé hide. He slapped it with one hand, and out popped a coin.
The merchants' servant stared, eyes all beady with greed. "I'm thinking to buy that off you," he told Donaz, sure that the profit he could turn here would make the merchants value him greatly.
"Ah, but this hide is my livelihood," Donaz protested. "It has kept me in the money I need for so very long." He slapped the hide again, and out popped another coin.
"I can make you rich quickly," the servant promised.
And so they began to bargain, clever Donaz slapping the hide each time the haggling slowed, until he'd regained all the coins he'd put there. And then he sold it for a fat purse of gold, and hurried away, counting himself fortunate.
The merchants' servant, meanwhile, tested his new trinket; finding it useless, he blamed another servant for the gold lost, and thus preserved his own skin.
Donaz, on the other hand, was checking his new coins when the merchants came upon him next. They were amazed to see him with so much money, and asked where he'd got it.
"Why, from the beast you so kindly helped me slaughter," he said. "The carcasses are going for a fine price just now."
Seeking profit, the duergar bought up many rothé, and slaughtered them, selling off the carcasses. But their asking price was so high that all thought them mad, and one offended noble took every last carcass from them without granting them a single coin.
Furious, the merchants vowed to take revenge upon Donaz for lying to them. They stuffed him in a sack, so that they could take him and throw him in the lake. They had errands, however, and so left his sack beside their wagon.
Donaz, angry, began to put together a plan. "I won't have it, I won't," he called ceaselessly from inside the sack, until a passer-by, a human trader of the bazaar, asked what was going on.
"I won't have it, I tell you," Donaz insisted.
"Won't have what?"
"I won't be presented to the Matron, for all she vowed to grant me my weight in gold." And so he spun a tale of how he had routed a foe and a reward had been insisted upon, but how he preferred his rivals not to know who he was, and greatly feared for his life should he be presented.
So compelling was his story, that at length the trader let him out and changed places with him, greedy for his weight in gold.
Donaz slipped away and took over the man's stall, the duergar returned, and without further ado, they took the sack to the lake and threw it in.
They were shocked beyond belief when they returned to find Donaz alive, whole, wealthy, and happy to see them.
"Thank you, dear friends," he said exuberantly. "For without your aid I'd never have had the courage to enter the lake and find any of the treasures hidden there. But there was so much I couldn't carry it all, and so I've found potions to let me breathe underwater, so I can go back and get more."
The duergar, stunned, begged to come along, to find the precise spot with the treasure. Once there, they grabbed his potion bottles and drank them down, leaving none for him, and dived into the water.
Donaz stood on the lake's edge and laughed at them. "Happy are dwarves who down poison so readily," he gloated, as the liquid stole their strength and let them slip into the dark water, never to return.
Then, greatly pleased with himself, Donaz returned to the city, claiming all the goods of the two duergar. With these new treasures, he bought greater comfort for himself, and lived amid the luxuries bought by his wits.
The Princeling and the Pebble
There was once a drow princess of a great House, who sought for herself a fine consort, who might become her patron if she became Matron Mother. Her servants searched all through the city, and even looked to drow from other cities, but no House's son was all that she desired, and she would not content herself with less than her ideal.
One cycle of Narbondel, much like any other, a drow male in ragged clothes, yet with the fine long hair of the highborn, sought entry into her House. He claimed to be a prince of his House, a direct son of its Matron.
"We shall see," said the princess, and directed the princeling male to a guest chamber.
There, a servant slipped a tiny pebble beneath a great many mattresses and blankets.
The night passed, and when she met her guest, she asked how he had rested.
"Oh, lady," he said, reverently, "it was a terrible night. Some great boulder bruised me mightily, and I could not enter Reverie at all."
The princess had the pebble brought to her, and realised that this male must be sensitive indeed to have felt it through so many layers.
And so she tormented him for many nights, exploiting his sensitivity, precisely as he deserved for being both so weak and soft, and so foolish as to have complained and revealed it. And his pain taught her much of the nerves of a body.
She then went out and found a stronger male to be her consort, and thus avoided bearing weak or stupid children who would bring her House into disrepute. And so her success pleased her greatly, and her consort served her well.
A/N: The original of this tale always bothered or irritated me a little, glossing over as it did that the primary purpose in those days of 'finding a princess' was to locate a suitable woman to give one an heir. How would a woman dainty enough to feel a pea through mattresses get through childbirth? Fortunately, the drow are pragmatic and would prefer strong bloodlines, not dainty weakness, to be passed down to their daughters.
The Matron's New Clothes
A pair of human tailors once attached themselves to a trade caravan, and found their way into a drow city. Once there, they began to hawk their wares; they claimed they could create so beautiful and mystical a cloth that it would tap into the Divine Realms, and only those deemed unfit to live by their patron deity would be unable to see it.
The retinue of a Matron Mother, hearing of this, brought the tailors into her household, and commissioned them to make for her a fine new costume of this magnificent fabric.
The tailors were delighted to think of the money they'd make, and set themselves up in a secluded room. There, they lounged about, enjoying luxury and ease, for in truth there was no such cloth at all.
Now and then, the Matron sent servants to check up on their progress; afraid of being considered unfit to live, these servants reported back that the cloth was beautiful beyond compare.
At last, the day came when the tailors claimed the clothing was ready. The Matron stood before a mirror, and watched as they pretended to drape the 'clothing' about her naked form. Her servants praised the clothing once again, but the Matron seemed unmoved.
At last, she smiled, and told the tailors how pleased she was with their work. As payment, she said, she would give them wondrous armour, which could be seen only by those who had not cheated others that day.
The tailors struggled to hold their smiles in place as drow servants pretended to place armour about them.
"Now," the Matron said, "you are safe from any threat in the Underdark, I am sure. But I must put upon myself my jewellery." With that, she donned jewelled cuffs, belt, and necklaces of such ornate kinds that they covered some of what was lacking; and, indeed, the ornaments were enchanted to protect her so well that she needed neither armour nor clothing.
And the tailors stared in dismay, for the Matron had no flaws to hide beneath cloth, and thus felt free to bare her skin and prove this.
They had given nothing, been given nothing in return; worse than nothing, for they were driven out of the city, where the beasts of the Underdark soon killed them. The servants foolish enough to lie were punished, and the Matron reigned over her House, bringing fear and envy to the hearts of her rivals with her daring and her unflawed and unhidden form. And the Spider Goddess was pleased, for shame and doubt ill befit her chosen people.
A/N: Drow, of course, seeing clothes as either tools of protection or covering up flaws, aren't big on this whole 'modesty' thing. So a Matron's a bit harder to humiliate than an Emperor... and has probably planned for your attempt well in advance.
Setting: Forgotten Realms
Genre: Humour
Summary: Witness classic fairy tales converted into counterparts one might possibly encounter in Menzoberranzan. Marvel at the drow idea of a 'happy ending.' Mind the jade spiders if you pinched this off a drow kiddie to read!
Disclaimer: The Forgotten Realms setting, Drow and other mentioned races, species, spells and objects originated with TSR, Inc. and Wizards of the Coast. The fairy stories used, on the other hand, are public domain.
Part One: (Chapters One-Three) [ Here]
Part Two: (Chapters Four-Six) [ Here]
Part Three: (Chapters Seven-Ten) [ Here]
Part Four: (Chapters Eleven-Thirteen) [You Are Here]
Part Five: (Chapter Fourteen - Holiday Special) [ Here]
A/N: This story is based upon an old Celtic tale, known in at least one of its many variants as 'Hudden and Dudden and Donald O'Neary.' The protagonist showing great cunning after being initially wronged is common to the original tale, which perhaps suggests that it is not wise to underestimate even the lowliest...
Duergar, Lake, and Clever Donaz
Once, there was a very poor drow, Donaz by name, so poor that he owned but one rothé, and there were many that looked down upon him. Shamefully, even some outsiders felt they were above him by reason of their greater wealth.
One day, a pair of duergar merchants whose last sale had gone amiss decided that perhaps the shred of profit that would come from the beast belonging to Donaz would give them the money they sought. And so they crept to it while he lay resting, and cut its throat, so that it died without a sound.
But Donaz, wakeful, rushed to his rothé, and found it dead upon the cold stone. He sighed and resolved to get some money for it however he could. And so he skinned it, and sold the meat, and brought the coins from the meat along with him when he took the hide to sell.
But he cut slits into the hide, and slipped some of the coins into those slits.
Now Donaz went to the tavern where a servant of the merchants was drinking, and there he feigned getting drunk, and extolled the virtues of his marvellous enchanted rothé hide. He slapped it with one hand, and out popped a coin.
The merchants' servant stared, eyes all beady with greed. "I'm thinking to buy that off you," he told Donaz, sure that the profit he could turn here would make the merchants value him greatly.
"Ah, but this hide is my livelihood," Donaz protested. "It has kept me in the money I need for so very long." He slapped the hide again, and out popped another coin.
"I can make you rich quickly," the servant promised.
And so they began to bargain, clever Donaz slapping the hide each time the haggling slowed, until he'd regained all the coins he'd put there. And then he sold it for a fat purse of gold, and hurried away, counting himself fortunate.
The merchants' servant, meanwhile, tested his new trinket; finding it useless, he blamed another servant for the gold lost, and thus preserved his own skin.
Donaz, on the other hand, was checking his new coins when the merchants came upon him next. They were amazed to see him with so much money, and asked where he'd got it.
"Why, from the beast you so kindly helped me slaughter," he said. "The carcasses are going for a fine price just now."
Seeking profit, the duergar bought up many rothé, and slaughtered them, selling off the carcasses. But their asking price was so high that all thought them mad, and one offended noble took every last carcass from them without granting them a single coin.
Furious, the merchants vowed to take revenge upon Donaz for lying to them. They stuffed him in a sack, so that they could take him and throw him in the lake. They had errands, however, and so left his sack beside their wagon.
Donaz, angry, began to put together a plan. "I won't have it, I won't," he called ceaselessly from inside the sack, until a passer-by, a human trader of the bazaar, asked what was going on.
"I won't have it, I tell you," Donaz insisted.
"Won't have what?"
"I won't be presented to the Matron, for all she vowed to grant me my weight in gold." And so he spun a tale of how he had routed a foe and a reward had been insisted upon, but how he preferred his rivals not to know who he was, and greatly feared for his life should he be presented.
So compelling was his story, that at length the trader let him out and changed places with him, greedy for his weight in gold.
Donaz slipped away and took over the man's stall, the duergar returned, and without further ado, they took the sack to the lake and threw it in.
They were shocked beyond belief when they returned to find Donaz alive, whole, wealthy, and happy to see them.
"Thank you, dear friends," he said exuberantly. "For without your aid I'd never have had the courage to enter the lake and find any of the treasures hidden there. But there was so much I couldn't carry it all, and so I've found potions to let me breathe underwater, so I can go back and get more."
The duergar, stunned, begged to come along, to find the precise spot with the treasure. Once there, they grabbed his potion bottles and drank them down, leaving none for him, and dived into the water.
Donaz stood on the lake's edge and laughed at them. "Happy are dwarves who down poison so readily," he gloated, as the liquid stole their strength and let them slip into the dark water, never to return.
Then, greatly pleased with himself, Donaz returned to the city, claiming all the goods of the two duergar. With these new treasures, he bought greater comfort for himself, and lived amid the luxuries bought by his wits.
The Princeling and the Pebble
There was once a drow princess of a great House, who sought for herself a fine consort, who might become her patron if she became Matron Mother. Her servants searched all through the city, and even looked to drow from other cities, but no House's son was all that she desired, and she would not content herself with less than her ideal.
One cycle of Narbondel, much like any other, a drow male in ragged clothes, yet with the fine long hair of the highborn, sought entry into her House. He claimed to be a prince of his House, a direct son of its Matron.
"We shall see," said the princess, and directed the princeling male to a guest chamber.
There, a servant slipped a tiny pebble beneath a great many mattresses and blankets.
The night passed, and when she met her guest, she asked how he had rested.
"Oh, lady," he said, reverently, "it was a terrible night. Some great boulder bruised me mightily, and I could not enter Reverie at all."
The princess had the pebble brought to her, and realised that this male must be sensitive indeed to have felt it through so many layers.
And so she tormented him for many nights, exploiting his sensitivity, precisely as he deserved for being both so weak and soft, and so foolish as to have complained and revealed it. And his pain taught her much of the nerves of a body.
She then went out and found a stronger male to be her consort, and thus avoided bearing weak or stupid children who would bring her House into disrepute. And so her success pleased her greatly, and her consort served her well.
A/N: The original of this tale always bothered or irritated me a little, glossing over as it did that the primary purpose in those days of 'finding a princess' was to locate a suitable woman to give one an heir. How would a woman dainty enough to feel a pea through mattresses get through childbirth? Fortunately, the drow are pragmatic and would prefer strong bloodlines, not dainty weakness, to be passed down to their daughters.
The Matron's New Clothes
A pair of human tailors once attached themselves to a trade caravan, and found their way into a drow city. Once there, they began to hawk their wares; they claimed they could create so beautiful and mystical a cloth that it would tap into the Divine Realms, and only those deemed unfit to live by their patron deity would be unable to see it.
The retinue of a Matron Mother, hearing of this, brought the tailors into her household, and commissioned them to make for her a fine new costume of this magnificent fabric.
The tailors were delighted to think of the money they'd make, and set themselves up in a secluded room. There, they lounged about, enjoying luxury and ease, for in truth there was no such cloth at all.
Now and then, the Matron sent servants to check up on their progress; afraid of being considered unfit to live, these servants reported back that the cloth was beautiful beyond compare.
At last, the day came when the tailors claimed the clothing was ready. The Matron stood before a mirror, and watched as they pretended to drape the 'clothing' about her naked form. Her servants praised the clothing once again, but the Matron seemed unmoved.
At last, she smiled, and told the tailors how pleased she was with their work. As payment, she said, she would give them wondrous armour, which could be seen only by those who had not cheated others that day.
The tailors struggled to hold their smiles in place as drow servants pretended to place armour about them.
"Now," the Matron said, "you are safe from any threat in the Underdark, I am sure. But I must put upon myself my jewellery." With that, she donned jewelled cuffs, belt, and necklaces of such ornate kinds that they covered some of what was lacking; and, indeed, the ornaments were enchanted to protect her so well that she needed neither armour nor clothing.
And the tailors stared in dismay, for the Matron had no flaws to hide beneath cloth, and thus felt free to bare her skin and prove this.
They had given nothing, been given nothing in return; worse than nothing, for they were driven out of the city, where the beasts of the Underdark soon killed them. The servants foolish enough to lie were punished, and the Matron reigned over her House, bringing fear and envy to the hearts of her rivals with her daring and her unflawed and unhidden form. And the Spider Goddess was pleased, for shame and doubt ill befit her chosen people.
A/N: Drow, of course, seeing clothes as either tools of protection or covering up flaws, aren't big on this whole 'modesty' thing. So a Matron's a bit harder to humiliate than an Emperor... and has probably planned for your attempt well in advance.