Deep below the surface, venturing out from one of the underground cities, a few drow families and their accompanying guards entered the maze-like tunnels. They were travelling to a holy site a week’s journey from the city, moving in a large, heavily-armed caravan to ward off the dangers of the dark caves. There had been recent tremors in the rock, destabilising a stone bridge across a chasm. To play it safe, the caravan took a detour through a relatively uncharted sector of the endless cave network. While in these unmapped tunnels, however, another quake struck. The caravan was cut off from any known path and many were crushed as the ceiling fell.

Those who remained were from three middling families of drow; elders and children were among them. The surviving guards did their best to protect their employers, but a stationary target is easy pickings for the horrors of the dark. Try as they might, they were being picked off or dragged into the black oblivion beyond even the drow elves’ darkvision could see. All hope seemed lost for the families when a light appeared. Approaching cautiously, a dozen dwarven scouts had stumbled across them. When offered safety and food, even the most xenophobic of the desperate elves agreed quickly.

The drow had long been aware of nearby dwarven kingdoms and had brought up their children with tales of dwarf violence and savagery. The reception the elves received, in contrast, was one of hospitality and comfort. The dwarves explained that they knew of no way to reach the drow city; all known routes had been deliberately blocked to stop incoming raiders. With no way back home, the local king offered for the elves to become permanent residents; an offer they accepted, somewhat reluctantly. They expected they were bring tricked and would be killed in their sleep.

The dark elf families were put up in the town’s grand hall, repurposed as a living space, while the dwarven engineers began hurried work on new houses. There were about thirty drow that made it to the dwarven city, and the grand hall wasn’t exactly comfortable. With a speed and skill unseen by even the oldest of the dark elves, the dwarves carved out homes in a single week, decorated to the same standard as the rest of the city. Seeing the work done on their behalves – for strangers from a hostile foreign city – the drow were touched. They immediately apologised for their initial suspicion and took their places as full residents.

As part of their adjustment to their new neighbours, the drow agreed to take on new names; ones easier for the dwarves to say and to mark them as a part of the community. One dark elf boy, no older than six years old, was bestowed the name Blackstar.

For over a century and a half Blackstar worked with the dwarves and was educated by his elders. Before the oldest members of his family died, they passed on knowledge of their homeland and the unusual magic they had learned in the dark; striking with the mind, along with the body. Finding he had a talent for this unusual fighting style, Blackstar practised at great length, even consulting the wisest dwarves of the city to glean a better understanding. He fought alongside his heavily-armoured brethren in defence of their home and often patrolled the surrounding tunnels for any threats and, perhaps, other lost travellers.

When time came for the dwarves to make a rare journey to the surface to trade, sometime after Blackstar’s 178th birthday, he volunteered to join them; he’d never seen the sky and wanted to expand his horizons by, indeed, seeing a horizon. Stepping out of the caves for the first time in his life, Blackstar beheld the infinite sky and felt fear. Likening the night sky to a particularly tall cavern, he was able to tear his mind away from it, but he still knew that there was nothing above him.

The trading party stayed on the surface through the next day, selling and bartering at a local market before planning to descend once more into the caves. If the night sky was unnerving for Blackstar, the vast blue of day was positively frightening. The light stung his eyes and the dwarves, familiar with this problem, gave him a blindfold to wear; thin enough to see through, but thick enough to dim the pain. He forced himself to stare at the drifting clouds, the passing birds and the endless, boundless blue of the sky. As his brothers packed to head home, Blackstar came to a decision. He decided to stay on the surface.

If he was to continue to grow as a warrior and a student, he couldn’t stay in the safety of his home forever. The great expanse above was as unavoidable as it was scary, and he had to live as a wanderer for a while if he was to find his place in the world. He thanked the dwarves for their eternal friendship, gave them a letter to pass on to his family, and struck off alone.

He had been raised to misjudge the dwarves, as the world had been raised to misjudge him. He would do his best to educate himself and the world that not everything is as bad as it first seems.