Apparently behind the bar there is a little black box that sits ominously, squat and waiting for--letters (although to be honest, it looks more like it would accept blood, children, and sacrifice.)

Letters dropped inside the box disappear. But randomly, a little red gem atop it glows when there's a letter to be picked up and read in reply.

Beside the gem is an inscription: Ask a drow a question. Get an answer.

((OOC: I thought that this might be something fun and hilarious for players a like who may have always wanted to ask Suliss' something, or approach her, but have been rather off-put by her usual temperament. Or--just fun for fun's sake! Feel free to have your character drop their questions off in the "box," as a reply to this thread. Players can decide whether or not to be "anonymous," in their letter-questions or sign their characters names. :) I look forward to seeing what this thread will do! Enjoy! Or not :D As always, up to you!))

One of his agents roaming the city reported back this strange box and its curious wording. Thus, the Dark Warrior felt the need to offer a sacrifice in the form of a question:

"Do you believe in lollipops, rainbows and unicorns?"

"Do you believe in lollipops, rainbows and unicorns?"

Next time Travanix passed the odd little container, the red gem flickered to let him know he had an answer.

"Unicorns are delicious."

What is a drow?


How that light on the strange box knew when to flicker at the right patron when they passed, at the right time, to indicate they had a message was its own mystery. Probably as well as most possibly a strange sort of magic. Ellen's reply read:

"When you walk at night, after the pregnant moon has long set--when clouds eat at the stars and shadow smothers even the torch lights in the distance. When you walk at night, alone, and you hear the way your breath hitches with the softest scrape behind you and you think: is something there? Is someone following me?

When you walk at night alone in the dark and the silence transforms into the fears that kept you wide-eyed and trembling under the blankets--when the shadows seem to flicker and laugh and laugh and laugh at your thundering heart.
We are that fear.
We are the hands that scale out from under the bed, armed with teeth and knives and poisons and grins white in darkness.
We are the dark.
We are drow. "

Hvordan mange mannlige ofre tar det for ? gj?re en kvinne Drow lykkelig?
Din venn,
~Shy



The black box suffers the viking's curiosity as stoically as any inanimate object might. There's no seam and no appearance of any means of breaking in. Just a place for letters to be dropped into and a place for a letter to be spit out in reply.

The next time Shy made her way past it, the little red gem would wink slyly at her to indicate she had an answer. The black box spit out a small scrap of paper with a single word on it:

"What."

She didn't leave a question. No, Rekah just stuffed a handful of gummy bears into the box along with a half eaten cookie.

She didn't leave a question. No, Rekah just stuffed a handful of gummy bears into the box along with a half eaten cookie.

The next time Rekah passed by the strange black box, it would spit out the gummy bears. All of their heads had been toothily removed.

The cookie, apparently, had been finished.

Do gnomes taste good?

It was a simple enough reply that awaited Icer the next time the scaled one slipped past the box:

"The fat ones do. The fat ones always do. Especially slow-roasted.
The lawn ones don't."

Who am I?
-Skid


The little black box had been untouched for so long, in the midnight...morning, dreary, when even the dragons slept in rafters and the stew pot snored like a drunken dwarf after a night of rabble rousing--she almost stalked right past the blinking thing. Someone had placed a question in it.

Scarred fingers whisked away the dust in an uncaring sweep, then pressed the proper sequence to coax it to give it the question. She contemplated it in the stillness of almost-morning, a flurry of dust motes settling about her.

She wrote for Skid:
"Whatever your heart sings."

"Where did I put my bloody 1/2 socket wrench?"

Eventually the box churned out a reply for Pharlan when next she was near it.

"Is that some sort of sex thing?"