Brief History
Early Life
Only child born to
Eshenesra Daepetos and
Arther Delarosa. Raised by her mother and other
[Drow of the Daepetos family.
Falling into Sannish as a teen which soon lead her down a dark path eventually to the early
Cult of the Dragon. She left home to join Arther Delarosa on his way to the
Candlekeep to retrieve the original and complete
Tome of the Dragon just as the
Spellplague began.
-----
Fate of Her Soul
Eshenesra pleaded to
The Raven Queen to bring her back.
She did.....for a price
- took all memories of her from her mother and vice versa.
- released her soul back into her body where she was seen rising from the dead and thought to have been chosen by Lloth
- Was not a chosen of Lloth, but Lloth went with it becuase it gave her more power over people as she had not thought of having any kind of "chosen" and she thought it funny that a girl named after her daughter who was always a thorn in her side would be such a good asset to her religion
- Gale's Master (one of the original Emissary for the raven queen trying to have the life he never did now in his eternal servitude)
Eilistraee (named after Lloth's daughter) the chaotic good drow goddess of song, dance, swordwork, hunting, moonlight, goodness, and beauty
Treated as a messiah of Lloth
Rose to power in the church eventually Killed by an emissary
-She was his mission from the queen ("I only make deals once")
In the quietude of a moonlit glade, shadows danced, and the whispering leaves of the ancient trees seemed to murmur secrets known only to the night. There, beneath the canopy, sat Eilistraee Daepetos, or as she was commonly known among a few chosen confidants, "Stray."
I approached her with a cautious curiosity, for hers was a tale woven with the threads of darkness and the frail light that lingered within. Her gaze, the color of obsidian, betrayed the countless trials she had weathered. As she looked up, the moonlight caught in the silver strands of her hair, each strand a testament to the passage of time.
"Stray," I began, choosing my words with the care one reserves for delicate artifacts. "Tell me of the night your mother led your people from the abyss below to the sheltering boughs of the surface. What stirred her heart to defy the very nature of drow existence?"
Eilistraee's eyes held a distant reflection, as if peering into a realm beyond the physical. "Mother, she saw a vision of harmony. A place where the moonlight could wash away the stains of our past, where the dance of blades could be replaced by the dance of leaves. It was a dream of redemption, a hope that our people could break free from the shackles of the Underdark and embrace a life beneath the stars."
Yet, Stray's tale was not one of unbridled triumph. Her village, a fragile sanctuary, crumbled in the face of betrayal and the insatiable flames of hatred. The tragedy marked her as an outcast, a wanderer, forever pursued by the specter of a burning home.
"As the embers of my village died, I became a wanderer," she continued, her voice a haunting melody. "No place could hold me for long, for darkness clung to my footsteps like a persistent shadow. They called me Stray, a name that echoed my existence – drifting, rootless, and hunted."
I inquired about the mark on her back, the proverbial target that followed her like a vengeful ghost.
"The mark is a curse, a brand that identifies me as the daughter of a rebellion," she revealed. "Those who seek revenge, those who crave the chaos of the Underdark, they yearn to extinguish the glimmer of hope that lingered in my mother's vision."
As we spoke, the moon ascended its zenith, casting an ethereal glow upon Eilistraee. The forest seemed to hold its breath, as if the very essence of her story resonated with the ancient trees.
"Stray," I said, acknowledging the complexity of her journey, "where do you wander now, with the weight of your past and the uncertain path before you?"
A wistful smile played upon her lips, and she responded, "I tread the boundary between light and shadow, seeking a place where drow and surface can coexist. My journey is one of redemption, an attempt to rebuild what was lost. In the dance of the moonlit forest, I find solace, and perhaps, a chance to create a new home – a haven for those who dare to stray from the darkness below."
User
Absolutely perfect. I really like the way it felt like an interview while not losing the neil gaiman vibe to it. This first entry sets a good tone for more to feel even more like Neverwhere.
ChatGPT
I'm delighted to hear that you enjoyed the tone and feel of the interview! If you would like more entries or have specific aspects of the story you'd like to explore further, please feel free to share, and I'll be happy to continue weaving the tapestry of Eilistraee Daepetos' dark fantasy tale in the style of Neil Gaiman. Whether it's delving into her encounters with otherworldly beings, navigating the intricacies of the moonlit forest, or confronting the shadows of her past, the story is yours to shape, and I'm here to assist you on this journey.
User
For the next entry, it has only been days since the last entry, but for her it has been years. Not sure how many since she is a drow and that fae ancestry makes her age hard to gauge, but one thing is certain, they have not been kind. She has grown into a bit of a femme fatale with lots of leather, slicked back hair, and daggers.
ChatGPT
The moon hung low in the midnight sky as I found Eilistraee once more, the forest draped in a silver glow that mirrored the turmoil within her. In the span of mere days, time had carved its marks upon her visage, etching a story of hardship and survival. As I approached, the air seemed charged with an energy that spoke of unseen battles, both within and without.
"Stray," I called out softly, acknowledging the passage of time that had worn the edges of her soul. She turned, her eyes a mirror to the shadows that clung to her past. The once-moonlit glade now whispered tales of her transformation.
Gone was the innocence that lingered in the first interview. In its place stood a woman shaped by the crucible of adversity. Leather adorned her frame, a second skin that whispered tales of silent movement and deadly grace. Her hair, once a cascade of silver, now slicked back, framed a face that bore the weight of unspoken sorrows.
"Time is elusive in this moonlit realm," she spoke, her voice carrying a hint of both weariness and defiance. "Days may pass for others, but for me, they stretch into years. The forest has become my silent witness, and with each stolen breath, I weave a tapestry of survival."
She unsheathed a dagger with a fluid motion, the blade catching the moonlight as it danced in her skilled grip. "The shadows have become my allies, and the moon, my confidante. I have embraced the dance of blades, for in the wilderness, only the swift and the cunning endure."
I inquired about the challenges she faced, the trials that had molded her into this new incarnation of Stray. Her eyes, once filled with a distant reflection, now held the glint of a hunter.
"The creatures of the forest, they are both friend and foe," she explained. "I have navigated the delicate alliances of fae beings and confronted the dark spirits that seek to corrupt the moonlit haven. In the dance of life and death, I have honed my skills, learning the language of the shadows and the rhythm of survival."
As we continued our conversation, a distant howl echoed through the trees, a sound both haunting and familiar. "The pursuit has not ceased," she confessed. "Those who bear the vendetta of the Underdark still chase my footsteps. Each encounter is a reminder of the flames that consumed my village, an echo of the past that refuses to be silenced."
Yet, amidst the darkness, a spark of determination flickered in her eyes. "I am Stray, not a victim of fate but a wanderer who shapes her own destiny. The leather-clad femme fatale that walks the moonlit forest is a testament to the strength forged in the crucible of loss and the relentless pursuit of redemption."
As we concluded our conversation, the moon cast its final glow upon the forest, and Stray vanished into the shadows, leaving behind a tale of resilience and transformation that echoed in the heart of the moonlit glade.
User
Try that again. This time focus more on writing like Neil Gaiman using Neil Gaiman's writing style
ChatGPT
In the glade, where moonbeams wove silvery tapestries through the ancient trees, I found Stray
Comments