Beyond the brass gates sprawls Erelhei-Cinlu, the ageless seat of the dark elves' power. For uncounted aeons, the city has spread like a cankerous growth in the bowels of the earth, fed by the undying hate of the drow and watered by the leperous light of the Vault. The chaotic city seems to grow like a forest of fungi beneath the disturbing violet glow, weird shadows and shapes bending in the fey gloom. The architecture is bizarre, the buildings and streets weaving into a thick maze of overhanging balconies and gates. It is sometimes hard to distinguish the structures from the ubiquitous glowing growths that coat them. The streets are made of tightly laid mauve bricks; they gleam with the sheen of moisture, and it is not uncommon to find long cold pools of standing water along their length, and muddy ponds at intersections. Street corners are illuminated by the unhealthy glow of fire beetles and witch-fire. The overwhelming sense is of unending decay.
Odd lights pierce the gloom from curtained windows, flickering points of red, gold and blue. Strange chimes and inhuman instruments join to create a cacophony of unease and dread. Before cloistered storefronts hang luminous plaques bearing alien runes. Dark-garbed figures walk the slick streets on unknown errands, while greencloaked foreigners furtively skulk with evil designs.
The dark elves walk the streets openly here, resplendent in hues of violet, black and fitigin, the darkest of all colors. The nobles ride about in abominable carriages, without heed to pedestrians, some drawn by charcoal-black horses with licks of blue flame for eyes and tongues, others drawn by things far worse. All manner of wicked creatures throng the tangled thoroughfares of Erelhei Cinlu. Dark-visaged magi rub shoulders with derro, goblinoids, ogres and illithids. Here and there, vile fey creatures flit about the lights and crooked rooftops. Ghastly things gibber and pounce in the shadows. Fiends walk abroad, scattering all except the drow before them.
All about are curious shops, open-air tables of bizarre and occult wares for sale, steaming apothecaries, noisome taverns and dangerous unlit clubs. Yet, even more common are the houses of decadence, where the dark elves drink in and delight in the torment, anguish and pain of others. You pass by the glazed stares of those beyond all hope at the slave markets, the bordellos, the torture parlors, vivisection saloons, blood-sport clubs and even less savory places. There is no love here, no joy. There is neither delight nor bliss. There is only despair and hate. This is Erelhe-iCinlu: all hope dies here.
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