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Description
Green

            The hunched and cloaked figure made their way through the milling throng of shoppers and merchants. If anyone had cared to look closely at the shuffling form, all they would have seen was an elderly ogress, stooped with age, carrying a few parcels, perhaps to her mistress or master somewhere else in the city. But no one did look, that was the lovely thing about being in a drow city, everyone kept to their own business, never paying too much attention to anyone else.

            The ogress made her slow way out of the bazaar and down a dirty, garbage-strewn alley. She took several turns down other similar routes, until she finally came to a disguised tunnel, that led out of the city of drow and into what was referred to as the wilds.

            It was said no one could live alone in the wilds because of all the denizens that dwelt there hook horrors, illithids, several varieties of psionic parasites, and any number of other lethal creatures. That was only if you didn’t know where to make your home, for the crooked figure making their way through small unused tunnels, did indeed live in the wilds alone, just the way she wanted it.

            Arriving at the small round entrance to her ‘home’ the ogress pushed her parcels in ahead of her, then shimmied inside the hole. Emerging from the other end of the chute, the ogress twisted a shiny-etched ring on her left forefinger, her image shimmered and standing in the ugly ogress’ place was a drow female. She was completely average in every respect, from her flowing white hair, ebony skin, and red glowing eyes.

            Picking up her bundles, the female, made her way to her cluttered work tables. Passing a sheet of beaten metal in the corner that she used for a mirror, the drow stopped and looked approvingly at herself. “Well Zin, you don’t look too bad for being a stinking ogre a few minutes ago.” A disturbing cackle followed her words, until her eyes found the image of her belt in the beaten mirror. The site of that white length tied around her waste always brought a frown to her face when nothing else could. The white braid hung below her knee, even after the length fastened around her waist, she’d had it enchanted to never break or fray. The braid had belonged to the male she had called patron, like the ring of shape changing had belonged to her youngest brother, and the dagger hanging at the nape of her neck, had belonged to her twin brother. All gone now, Rilmarn and Fimeral dead and Narfein a drider, and she had claimed the fault for it all.

            Giving herself a little shake, Zin took her eyes from her image and moved to her work station. Tying her hair back to keep it out of the way, she laid out the contents of the various packages, making sure to keep certain ones away from others. She didn’t have much time to get her next batch of poisons ready, a scouting party was due in one of the adjacent tunnels in a few days, and one of her more loyal customers was to be a member. If she didn’t make a good sell now, she would not be able to buy more supplies the next time she visited the city.

            “Beakers, beakers, where are you beakers?” Zin asked nothing in particular. Since her exile from society she had taken to talking to herself regularly, it was only one of her unusual habits she had acquired since the destruction of her family. “There you are. Now to light a small fire. Water, water, I need water.” The drow continued to mutter and talk as she went about her amalgams.

            “Now just a pinch of this, a leaf of that, a bit of lichen.” Zin added each item to the bubbling contents of the glass jar as she named them, watching the contents to make sure she had put in exactly the right amount.

            Two red eyes stared intently at the boiling mixture, she had to time it just right, if the contents didn’t reach a certain temperature, they would be about as poisonous as rothe’ spittle. The colors of the mixture turned from a light blue to a deep dark green that was Zin’s cue to remove the beaker and mixture from the heat. Reaching out a covered hand to the hot container, for some reason Zin could not explain, instead of grasping the container, her cushioned hand bumped the lip, and the glass with the hot venom crashed to the table top.

            A loud explosion accompanied the breaking of glass. Green smoke, sparks and a horrendous smell filled the room. Zin fell to the floor unconscious, as the odor and smoke filter out of her home through her secret entrance.

            An unknown time later a moaning, groggy Zin sat up, trying to make sense of what had happened. She started at her fingers and worked her way through the rest of her body, checking for any evident damage from the blast of the fatal chemical. Finding none, Zin pulled herself to her feet and surveyed the wreckage the blast had caused.

            “All things considered, I suppose it wasn’t too bad.” The dark elf went to get a broom to sweep up the mess in the floor.

            Walking back to her work table with the broom, Zin stopped in front of her mirror. She stood staring at her reflection. With big bright eyes, she used a trembling hand to reach back and untie her hair. Zin’s hair fell down around her face in waves of the deepest, darkest green she had ever seen.

            “Green? Why is my hair green?” Zin asked in a shaking whisper. The more she stared at the hair flowing around her face and down her back, the more her limbs trembled. Suddenly she let out an ear shattering scream. Dropping the forgotten broom, Zin began to tear and rip at her green locks. Her fingers brushing the hilt of the small sharp dagger hidden under those green tresses, she yanked it out with a hand full of hair and began to saw and slice at the offending hair, throwing long strands as she went.

            Finally, Zin noticed her arms ached and her throat felt raw, she stopped stabbing at what was left of her hair, and lowered her throbbing arms. She cocked her head sideways, looking at her knew reflection in the polished metal. The drow stood in a small pile of dark green, with scattered strands adorning her clothes. What was left of her hair stood up in deep green spikes, about a half inch to an inch all over her head.

            Staring at herself, Zin began to smile then to laugh delightedly. Clapping her hands together, she started doing a little shuffling dance kicking the fallen hair around the room. Stopping her impromptu dance, Zin turned back to the mirror, “Now, I look like me.”

            Picking up the dropped broom, Zin went about cleaning up her mess. She had a lot to do, if she were to have that batch of poisons ready for sale in two cycles.

Description
Green

            The hunched and cloaked figure made their way through the milling throng of shoppers and merchants. If anyone had cared to look closely at the shuffling form, all they would have seen was an elderly ogress, stooped with age, carrying a few parcels, perhaps to her mistress or master somewhere else in the city. But no one did look, that was the lovely thing about being in a drow city, everyone kept to their own business, never paying too much attention to anyone else.

            The ogress made her slow way out of the bazaar and down a dirty, garbage-strewn alley. She took several turns down other similar routes, until she finally came to a disguised tunnel, that led out of the city of drow and into what was referred to as the wilds.

            It was said no one could live alone in the wilds because of all the denizens that dwelt there hook horrors, illithids, several varieties of psionic parasites, and any number of other lethal creatures. That was only if you didn’t know where to make your home, for the crooked figure making their way through small unused tunnels, did indeed live in the wilds alone, just the way she wanted it.

            Arriving at the small round entrance to her ‘home’ the ogress pushed her parcels in ahead of her, then shimmied inside the hole. Emerging from the other end of the chute, the ogress twisted a shiny-etched ring on her left forefinger, her image shimmered and standing in the ugly ogress’ place was a drow female. She was completely average in every respect, from her flowing white hair, ebony skin, and red glowing eyes.

            Picking up her bundles, the female, made her way to her cluttered work tables. Passing a sheet of beaten metal in the corner that she used for a mirror, the drow stopped and looked approvingly at herself. “Well Zin, you don’t look too bad for being a stinking ogre a few minutes ago.” A disturbing cackle followed her words, until her eyes found the image of her belt in the beaten mirror. The site of that white length tied around her waste always brought a frown to her face when nothing else could. The white braid hung below her knee, even after the length fastened around her waist, she’d had it enchanted to never break or fray. The braid had belonged to the male she had called patron, like the ring of shape changing had belonged to her youngest brother, and the dagger hanging at the nape of her neck, had belonged to her twin brother. All gone now, Rilmarn and Fimeral dead and Narfein a drider, and she had claimed the fault for it all.

            Giving herself a little shake, Zin took her eyes from her image and moved to her work station. Tying her hair back to keep it out of the way, she laid out the contents of the various packages, making sure to keep certain ones away from others. She didn’t have much time to get her next batch of poisons ready, a scouting party was due in one of the adjacent tunnels in a few days, and one of her more loyal customers was to be a member. If she didn’t make a good sell now, she would not be able to buy more supplies the next time she visited the city.

            “Beakers, beakers, where are you beakers?” Zin asked nothing in particular. Since her exile from society she had taken to talking to herself regularly, it was only one of her unusual habits she had acquired since the destruction of her family. “There you are. Now to light a small fire. Water, water, I need water.” The drow continued to mutter and talk as she went about her amalgams.

            “Now just a pinch of this, a leaf of that, a bit of lichen.” Zin added each item to the bubbling contents of the glass jar as she named them, watching the contents to make sure she had put in exactly the right amount.

            Two red eyes stared intently at the boiling mixture, she had to time it just right, if the contents didn’t reach a certain temperature, they would be about as poisonous as rothe’ spittle. The colors of the mixture turned from a light blue to a deep dark green that was Zin’s cue to remove the beaker and mixture from the heat. Reaching out a covered hand to the hot container, for some reason Zin could not explain, instead of grasping the container, her cushioned hand bumped the lip, and the glass with the hot venom crashed to the table top.

            A loud explosion accompanied the breaking of glass. Green smoke, sparks and a horrendous smell filled the room. Zin fell to the floor unconscious, as the odor and smoke filter out of her home through her secret entrance.

            An unknown time later a moaning, groggy Zin sat up, trying to make sense of what had happened. She started at her fingers and worked her way through the rest of her body, checking for any evident damage from the blast of the fatal chemical. Finding none, Zin pulled herself to her feet and surveyed the wreckage the blast had caused.

            “All things considered, I suppose it wasn’t too bad.” The dark elf went to get a broom to sweep up the mess in the floor.

            Walking back to her work table with the broom, Zin stopped in front of her mirror. She stood staring at her reflection. With big bright eyes, she used a trembling hand to reach back and untie her hair. Zin’s hair fell down around her face in waves of the deepest, darkest green she had ever seen.

            “Green? Why is my hair green?” Zin asked in a shaking whisper. The more she stared at the hair flowing around her face and down her back, the more her limbs trembled. Suddenly she let out an ear shattering scream. Dropping the forgotten broom, Zin began to tear and rip at her green locks. Her fingers brushing the hilt of the small sharp dagger hidden under those green tresses, she yanked it out with a hand full of hair and began to saw and slice at the offending hair, throwing long strands as she went.

            Finally, Zin noticed her arms ached and her throat felt raw, she stopped stabbing at what was left of her hair, and lowered her throbbing arms. She cocked her head sideways, looking at her knew reflection in the polished metal. The drow stood in a small pile of dark green, with scattered strands adorning her clothes. What was left of her hair stood up in deep green spikes, about a half inch to an inch all over her head.

            Staring at herself, Zin began to smile then to laugh delightedly. Clapping her hands together, she started doing a little shuffling dance kicking the fallen hair around the room. Stopping her impromptu dance, Zin turned back to the mirror, “Now, I look like me.”

            Picking up the dropped broom, Zin went about cleaning up her mess. She had a lot to do, if she were to have that batch of poisons ready for sale in two cycles.