Jumping Spider--or ju'zhasin orbb in Drowic--is a high-energy dance style characterized by high jumps, fast kicks and quick rotations while maintaining a stiff back. Legs and arms are used for expression and balance.
(Some flashing used for transitions in video)
It can be done alone, but is most impressive when done with a duo or a group to see the synchronicity of the movements. Dozens of boots tapping the ground repeatedly in sync can sound like an army, felt in the chest along with the beat of the music. Dozens of bodies moving in unison, hair flowing, twirling, kicking. Beautiful yet uncompromising and decisive.
The movements, while quick, are precise and perfectly showcase what many drow are inclined towards: athleticism and agility. Performances and competitions like the nedeirra challenge a group to stay in sync, removing those who fall behind in pace until only one remains.
Different styles are loosely named after different species of jumping spiders. For example, the Regal style incorporates more rotations than average, and the Twin Flags style involves more expressive arm movements.
Sometimes, participants will dress up in costumes or outfits which enhance the visuals of the quick movements--loose clothes, ribbons or shimmering colors--but most of the time this is reserved for planned events with coordinated outfits especially made for the performance, otherwise they could pose tripping hazards.
Dalamus knows how to dance in ju'zhasin orbb style, and quite enjoys it. Perhaps not the best at it, but certainly impressive, Dalamus has "won" a casual dance-off or two among peers. He prefers to wear loose shirts, long jewelry, and let his hair down for the dance, to allow it to "flow" with him and hopefully enhance the visual of his dance.
As his health is at the moment, between his lungs and his back, he cannot last long with the exertion. But it does not mean he would not try.
Dalamus' childhood treat, what Nilaufein would make when he wanted to cheer little Dalamus up or reward him, is crimson mosscakes and pan-fried cave grubs!
Crimson moss is actually not moss, nor lichen, but an epiphytic flowering plant native to the Underdark. It is made up of slender stems from which grow long thin leaves in a chain-like fashion, usually draping across and hanging down from mushroom caps. It is not parasitic to the mushroom and has no roots, instead gaining its nutrients from the moist air of the caverns and whatever drips from above. The ends of the pointy leaves help it keep purchase on the mushroom caps it calls home.
The thick net-like structures it creates can make for stable temporary resting sites for insects and animals, assuming its "host" mushroom is healthy enough to withstand the added weight. These visiting animals and insects are what help propagate the moss, with the seeds from seed capsules sticking to their forms to eventually fall into other areas and onto other mushrooms.
The moss itself is mildly toxic to eat raw, and the ends of the leaves are a bit too sharp to chew and swallow comfortably.
To prepare crimson moss for eating, it is boiled twice, changing the water in between each boiling--this is what makes it a treat, as potable water can be hard to come by in the Underdark. Boiling both extracts the poisons from it and softens the leaves for consumption. During the second boiling, seasonings can be added. Nilaufein often added grated bulbfruit for a garlic-y flavor, and funguswood flakes for mild spice.
Once the moss has been boiled at least twice, it is spread out onto a baking sheet evenly, folded over itself at least once, pressed to condense it and help the tangles lock together, then left to dry. Once dry, it can be cut into square "cakes". It remains slightly spongy to the touch while the bite of the leaves is akin to chewing extremely thin carrots. Without spices, it tastes like little more than lettuce but with a very slight bitterness leftover from the toxins, but after boiling it is harmless, at least to drow.
Cave grubs are fairly large larvae for non-monstrous insects, about 3 inches long. They are found within and around fallen and rotting mushrooms, the woodier the mushroom, the better chances of finding them in abundance. Thankfully, they are slow moving and harmless, making them easy to harvest.
They are simple to cook by pan-frying them with oil or butter, or for more intense buttery flavor, rothé ghee, until the skin becomes crispy and golden. For more crunch, they can be lightly coated in seasoned cave cricket flour or bluecap flour depending on flavor preference. The grubs once fried obtain a bit of a nutty flavor in addition to their almost mildly sweet meat. For their size, they are packed with excellent nutrients.
After being cooked, the grubs are placed on top of their mosscake "bed".
You have heard of "pigs in a blanket", but baby Dalamus affectionately called this "bugs in bed" (inlu'thin wun orlingg). Not to be confused with bed bugs, which are less fun and not very nutritional.
Scale insects farmed by drow for various resources. Sizes range from palm-sized to turtle-sized. They feed on the exudates of certain mushrooms.
B'alach Sol waezit (Beholder Eye scale. Not typically farmed. While it produces honeydew, it also sheds a powdery substance that irritates skin and eyes/mucus membranes)
Kuttra Sol waezit (Mushroom Eye scale. Prime choice for honeydew farming. Honeydew is filtered into kuttra ssinhya, aka mushroom honey)
Draakarliik Yiin waezit (Ettin Tooth scale. When dried and crushed, the acid they usually produce to ward off predators becomes a vibrant green dye for clothing or pigment for art)
S'lozan waezit (Slime scale. Farmed for the waxy substance they produce, useful for candles)
Lolthite drow are fairly well-known for being hedonistic, competitive, and having a love of art, as well as shows of wealth, power and social maneuvering. These are sometimes displayed through dances.
Illiyitrii is a formal dance during which nobles gather to feast, drink, and scheme. Nobles use this gathering to display their wealth and power through sometimes extravagant costumes.
Nedeirra is a fast-paced dance typically enjoyed by younger, wilder or more acrobatic drow, sometimes as a competition in which those who misstep are marked by Faerie Fire.
Though sources say Priestess typically do not participate in nedeirra, in one book (Daughter of the Drow), Liriel Baenre throws a party and hosts a nedeirra. Magic was used to speed up both the music and assist the feet of dancers to help them keep up. Liriel uses Faerie Fire on herself to be the center of attention before applying it to all dancers for the spectacle. Also in Daughter of the Drow, it is mentioned that some drow remove articles of clothing while dancing. After nedeirra ends, all participating drow remove their clothing and take a steam bath together.
During many official dances and celebrations, having weapons on one's person or trying to physically harm others is usually explicitly forbidden or otherwise considered a grave insult. Trying to socially humiliate others is usually fair game, if not a main part of the festivity or in the form of a social game like charhylniss.
There is some fancanon about what Lolthite drow dances actually look like. One user suggested Vogue while another suggested something akin to Cybergoth (post here with some info about nedeirra).
Vogue (from the post linked above):
Cybergoth (from the post linked above):
Cybergoth (not in the linked post):
Personally, I am a fan of both ideas, but definitely lean towards cybergoth in my own head, especially for something like a nedeirra. It can be fast-paced while not taking up much room, making it great for a group in a competition.
For a solo dance, something like vogue could certainly be used as a show of elegance and beauty, especially if done with a costume that is not cumbersome.
Dalamus has almost certainly been to illiyitrii celebrations, brought along by Nedvyllanna, who no doubt dressed him up in the best finery and perhaps even elegant costumes to show him off in. Absolutely draped in jewelry, feeling like a prince.
His participation in nedeirra was much rarer, but a fun way to blow off steam and show off jewelry (and long hair) before he got into House Strighym.
A short fic featuring @roquenxnar's Haleth, taking place after this interaction with a sick Belthan.
As Dalamus exits the tent, a sound gives him pause. Pulling the hood of his piwafwi over his head casts a shadow on his face, relieving the glare from his vision, and donning his gloves hides his hands. Sensitive ears pinpoint the sound—Haleth, sitting quietly by herself, occasionally sniffling. Beside her is a little basket filled with long-stemmed white flowers and pine needles, and every now and then her hand disappears into it to grab more.
Allergies, perhaps? Or is she ill? This is exactly why such a young child should not be brought to the surface, he thinks. Aside from being robbed of her chance to become a respected Priestess, between exposure to the sun and exposure to illness she is not accustomed to, it is only a matter of time before—Haleth wipes at an eye with a little hand, then sniffles again, and Dalamus’ mental tirade subsides.
She is upset.
…Well, it is not his problem that she is upset. It is Belthan’s fault for pushing himself, getting himself into this position. If he had not gone into that swamp, he would not be in this situation, and Haleth would not be upset. It is not Dalamus’ responsibility to console her.
“Xal Usstan s’tharl ghil?” he asks. May I sit here? The small girl peers up at him and nods. Redness around her eyes tells him she has been crying, yet the lack of others to console her tells him she has kept it to herself. How very drow, to not alert others to her upset. Frankly, Dalamus is surprised no one else has volunteered to keep the child company, regardless of her emotions.
Dalamus gingerly lowers himself to sit beside her. Haleth’s little fingers work at the stems of the flowers to chain them together, eyes rarely leaving the task at hand. Repetition is an excellent distraction from discomfort. No need to think, or stir the heart, just breathe and keep moving. Muscle memory takes care of the rest. Dalamus knows the feeling. He does the same with his gem polishing.
But her shoulders stiffen as a worry breaks through her concentration, and little hands slow as she tries to push it to the back of her mind again.
“…Haleth,” he says quietly, and the girl lifts her face to him again. A twinge of emotion plucks at his heart as he looks upon her pout and shining eyes. Dalamus clears his throat. “Belthan orn tlu tenu. Zhah ilyithiiri. Zhah gareth.” Belthan will be alright. He’s drow. He’s strong.
Haleth sniffles again and wipes at her eyes with the end of her sleeve, further irritating the sensitive skin. But her little pout eases, and the ghost of a smile tips up the corners of her mouth. She nods in agreement, and returns her attention to her craft.
Several times, Dalamus thinks about leaving. The light and heat are weighing on him. Perhaps get some stones out to polish and get lost in his own craft. But something compels him to stay, and so he remains, rooted to this spot next to the sniffling child. If he had some clean cloth on him, he could at least get her to blow her nose. Alas.
A few minutes later, Dalamus feels a tug on the edge of his cloak, and turns his attention towards the girl again. She proudly presents the end result of her flower chain, a circle of white flowers with long petals and bright yellow centers, the ring a little larger than his palm. He glances from the flower ring, to her, and back again.
“Zhah whol dos!” she chirps. It’s for you!
“…Ussa?” Me?
At her enthusiastic nod, Dalamus carefully takes the ring of flowers from her and examines its craftsmanship. They are simple but charming with their large, fuzzy yellow centers, and the long white petals hide most of the stems. Hiding the connections and joints in jewelry helps it appear more cohesive, though whether this was a conscious thought on the part of the young girl or simply a coincidence, he does not know. Upon closer inspection, the stems appear to have been threaded through each other to create the chain, with the final loop being larger to encircle a flower and act as a fastener.
He removes his right glove and slips his hand through the flower bracelet. A bit big, perhaps, but donning his glove again assures that it will not fall off so easily. The delicate structure holds surprisingly well considering, or perhaps because of, the softness of the stems. Still, it is unlikely to last any significant stretch of time, and will eventually wilt and dry up. But the smile which alights on Haleth’s face right now, in the present, brushes away his thoughts on the ephemeral nature of the little flowers.
“Bel’la dos, Haleth,” he says, thanking her for the bracelet. Again her eyes shine, but not with sadness this time. Rather, a spark of pride and happiness ignites a wide smile and even a small giggle. It is a far cry from the puffy-eyed girl he sat down next to just several minutes ago. It is not his job to console her, he thinks. She is not his responsibility, he reminds himself.
But he does prefer this over her tears.
“…Xal Usstan xo’al?” May I try? He asks. No sooner had he finished the question than Haleth moved the basket of flowers between them, where both could reach.
She picks out flowers and begins showing him how to weave them together. She shows him which flowers are best to use—the ones with longer, more flexible stems, as short stems do not have enough room to split, and dry stems will break too easily. She shows him how to use the sharp end of a pine needle to poke a hole in the soft stem of a flower, like creating the eye of a needle through which another stem is threaded. The process is repeated until the chain reaches its desired length. The final stem must be long enough to accommodate a split which can fit the head of a flower without breaking open entirely, completing the closure.
The result is a large but delicate circle of flowers. To one used to working with metals, it feels flimsy and unfinished in his hands. He wants to embellish it more, to figure out how best to strengthen the chain to last a little longer. A single wrong tug will have this undone in an instant. He could try to double up the chain and weave more flowers in, but does not wish to deplete Haleth’s inventory.
He turns and gently places the large flower ring atop Haleth’s head, white and yellow flowers standing out against her dark hair. A perfect fit, of course. Like a crown.
She beams brightly again, stirring an unfamiliar warmth in his chest, and the determination to keep her from harm—or sadness, if he can help it. He does not know why. Not his child. Not his responsibility. If he cared at all about House politics, he might consider her a rival to his own House. But, well… He is no longer a part of House Strighym, is he? It is not his problem.
Dalamus announces that he is going to return to his tent, to get out of the sun, and Haleth nods understandingly. What he did not expect, however, was for her to follow him there. He sits at the only stool available under the cloth overhang, and Haleth seems fine with standing, placing her basket on the corner of the desk while she watches him. Dalamus makes a mental note to advise her to steal Shadowheart’s stool if she begins to appear tired.
In the spirit of returning favors, Dalamus explains his craft to Haleth and demonstrates with different stones. Though slightly more complicated than flower braids, he does his best to explain in a way she will understand. To shape a stone, one must grind it against grit that is harder than the stone to scrape away the material. As the stone becomes its desired shape, the stone must be cleaned and the grit must be changed, so that it removes less material and the scratches are smaller. Eventually, the grit is so small that scratches are unnoticeable, and a polishing material can be used. Such is the basics, at least, though in camp his materials are not exactly ideal.
He shows her a few different stones and names them, and Haleth makes her best attempts at pronouncing them.
Granite. “Granite!”
Agate. “Agate!”
Quartz. “Korts!”
Feldspar. “Fel… Feldsar. Felsbar!” Dalamus chuckles a little at this.
Dalamus takes a small, circular turquoise cabochon, nearly finished in its polishing, and sets up the final stage for Haleth to try her hand at it, just as she had helped him to create a flower chain. She takes the stone and scrubs it against the grit the way Dalamus showed her not moments before, though he suspects she may not have the arm strength to really finish it off. Once she gets tired, he finishes the polishing, and then hands it to her. She gave him a flower bracelet, and now she may keep the stone she helped to polish.
“Bel’la dos, Dal’mus,” She says brightly and throws her arms about his shoulders, and Dalamus cannot help the shocked gasp which escapes him at the sudden embrace. His eyes immediately seek out Belthan’s tent, worried the older drow might deem this unacceptable. He does not know the rules around the children of other Houses, or if Belthan would apply them here.
When at last he remembers how to breathe, and he is assured that he will not be smote by the Drowic Paladin, Dalamus brings a hesitant hand up to rest upon the girl’s arm, as much a return of the embrace as he can manage at this angle. He is reminded of when his younger sister embraced him, and he had gently pulled her off, discouraging her from doing so again. Not because it was unpleasant—although he was, and is, unused to the contact—but because it is discouraged in Menzoberranzan to show such affection openly. Softness. Weakness. Exploitable. But as Haleth snugs against him, he begins to wonder… why. What is so terrible about this that it must be discouraged?
That is a thought for a different time, and he shoves it to the back of his mind to be dealt with later.
“Dos ph’al’doer, Haleth.” You’re welcome, Haleth, he answers gently.
She releases him and leaves his side. For a moment, he believes she has gone to show Belthan the stone, but a quick scan of camp reveals she has gone to Karlach’s tent to borrow her stool.
Oh. Uh-oh. Haleth is showing Karlach the turquoise cabochon he gave her, and she has pointed to the flower crown on her head. Karlach beams widely, tail swishing with delight as she peers up in an attempt to catch Dalamus’ gaze from across camp, but he tilts his head back down towards his work, allowing his piwafwi hood to hide his face.
By Lolth, she is going to think him soft. All of them will, now.
But as Haleth makes her way back to the desk with wooden stool in tow and places it next to his own, the slight is forgotten. She climbs her way atop the seat, pulls her basket towards her, and begins weaving more flowers together, explaining that she wants to make one for her great grandpa, and maybe it will make him feel better. Dalamus does not argue against this idea of hers, flawed though it may be. Instead, he grabs a stone, and begins polishing.
They sit together in companionable silence—well, aside from the grating of grit against stone—comforted by the repetitive motions of their crafts and, perhaps, by each other.
In Lolthite society, the concept of love is often spurned. Having compassion, empathy, and love for others is easily exploitable, and most Lolthites avoid it, and discourage such displays in their children and peers.
The closest word to "love" that Dalamus knows of in Drowic is ssinssrigg, although it more accurately means "lust" or "greed".
Deep, unselfish love such as Surfacers speak about, is alurlssrin, but this term has been lost from most Lolthites' vocabularies. Followers of Eilistraee know the term--Eilistraee knows of all the Elven and Drow terms for all kinds of love--and keep it from dying out.
When a very young Dalamus heard Surfacers say a casual "I love you" to each other in Common, and saw how it made them happy, he took that phrase home and said it to Nilaufein.
Nilaufein initially gently discouraged Dalamus from ever saying it, but eventually relented to allow it to be said in private between the two of them. He was never to say it to or around others. And he never did.
Does your OC have a go-to insult when people irritate them or let them down?
Kuttrazzn is a favorite. Translated as "mold for brains," it implies that one’s brain has rotted or gone unused for so long that fungus is sprouting from it. It basically means "idiot" but can be silly or incredibly harsh. Emphasis of the K and the double T really help to make it sound harsh when desired.
Other choice insults are:
Wael -- fool
Iblith -- means offal or excrement, can be used as an insult, especially towards those one deems "lesser"
