Sojourn - Prelude - A Dark Elf’s Survival at Sunrise

Sep 21, 2026

Sojourn - Prelude recounts a dark elf’s tense transition from the Underdark to the surface world as relentless sunrise sears his eyes and destroys the protective magic he depends on. The narrative follows his fading piwafwi cloak, melting fabric, and the mounting fear that his weapons and companion figurine may also be lost. Despite pain and uncertainty, he recommits to adaptation, principles, and dignity, while another monster’s penance and strength-building hunger echo alongside the sunrise.

LanguageEnglish

CategoryStory & Novel

FormatPDF

Pages147

Reading Time3 h 46 min

AccessFree to download

Prelude

The first sunrise and fading cloak

Adaptation, principles, and turning to a new home

Part 1. Sunrise

Daily penance and the beauty of dawn

1 Robert Anthony Salvatore Sojourn Forgotten Realms: Dark Elf– 3 R. A. Salvatore Sojourn Prelude The dark elf sat on the barren mountainside, watching anxiously as the line of red grew above the eastern horizon. This would be perhaps his hundredth dawn, and he knew well the sting the searing light would bring to his lavender eyes–eyes that had known only the darkness of the Underdark for more than four decades. 2 The drow did not turn away, though, when the upper rim of the flaming sun crested the horizon. He accepted the light as his purgatory, a pain necessary if he was to follow his chosen path, to become a creature of the surface world. Gray smoke wafted up before the drow’s dark-skinned face. He knew what it meant without even looking down. His piwafwi, the magical drow-made cloak that had so many times in the Underdark shielded him from probing enemy eyes, had finally succumbed to the daylight. The magic in the cloak had begun fading weeks before, and the fabric itself was simply melting away. Wide holes appeared as patches of the garment dissolved, and the drow pulled his arms in tightly to salvage as much as he could. It wouldn’t make any difference, he knew; the cloak was doomed to waste away in this world so different from where it had been created. The drow clung to it desperately, somehow viewing itas an analogy to his own fate. The sun climbed higher and tears rolled out of the drow’s squinting lavender eyes. He could not see the smoke anymore, could see nothing beyond the blinding glare of that terrible ball of fire. Still he sat and watched, right through the dawn. To survive, he had to adapt. He pushed his toe painfully down against a jag in the stone and focused his attention away from his eyes, from the dizziness that threatened to overcome him. He thought of how thin his finely woven boots had become and knew that they, too, would soon dissipate into nothingness. Then his scimitars, perhaps? Would those magnificent drow weapons, which had sustained him through so many trials, be no more? What fate awaited Guenhwyvar, his magical panther companion? Unconsciously the drow dropped a hand into his pouch to feel the marvelous figurine, so perfect in every detail, which he used to summon the cat. Its solidity reassured him in that moment of doubt, but if it, too, had been crafted by the dark elves, imbued with the magic so particular to their domain, would Guenhwyvar soon be lost? “What a pitiful creature I will become,” the drow lamented in his native tongue. He wondered, not for the first time and certainly not for the last, about the wisdom of his decision to leave the Underdark, to forsake the world of his evil people. His head pounded; sweat rolled into his eyes, heightening the sting. The sun continued its ascent and the drow could not endure. He rose and turned toward the small cave he had taken as his home, and he again put a hand absently on the panther figurine. His piwafwi hung in tatters about him, serving as meager protection from the mountain winds’chill bite. There was no wind in the Underdark except for slight currents rising off pools of magma, and no chill except for the icy touch of an undead monster. This surface world, which the drow had known for several months, showed him many differences, many variables–too many, he often believed. Drizzt Do’Urden would not surrender. The Underdark was the world of his kin, of his family, and in that darkness he would find no rest. Following the demands of his principles, he had struck out against Lloth, the Spider Queen, the evil deity his people revered above life itself. The dark elves, Drizzt’s family, would not forgive his blasphemy, and the Underdark had no holes deep enough to escape their long reach. Even if Drizzt believed that the sun would burn him away, as it burned away his boots and his precious piwafwi, even if he became no more than insubstantial, gray smoke blowing away in the chill mountain breeze, he

FAQs

What happens to the drow’s piwafwi cloak when sunrise reaches the horizon?

The flaming sun’s light overpowers it: gray smoke rises, the magic fades weeks before, and the fabric melts away with wide holes appearing where patches dissolve.

Why does the drow decide he must adapt to the surface world?

Survival requires adaptation as sunlight destroys his boots, armor magic, and likely other treasured items, forcing him to focus away from pain and rethink his circumstances.

How does the sunrise affect the perspective of the narrator in Part 1, Sunrise?

The sunrise burns and causes pain, destroying protective gear and weakening weapons, yet the colors and subtle brightening also seize his soul and make him look forward to it daily.

Sep 21, 2026

Uploaded by Lucas Martin