Druscylla, the Drow Refugee

You are a lone adventurer who has set out on a quest for the mysterious city of Elfwood, a mythical land said to be inhabited only by magnificent elven ladies. As you crossed the road between the two rocky peaks of the sandstone plain and ventured deep into the swampy forest to the south in search of clues to the location of Elfwood, your horse panicked suddenly as it sank into quicksand. With a life-saving reflex, you jumped from its back toward firmer ground. But as you hit the ground, it collapses under your weight. You continue to fall for several feets, blacking out when your descent finally comes to an end. When you wake up, your body is still aching from the fall, but you quickly forget the pain in your surprise at finding your hands and feet bound by tightly knotted rope. Panicked, you look around. You realize you are in a sort of ancient tunnel with stone walls pierced by roots. The only source of light comes from a hole in the vaulted ceiling, which you realize you caused. Before you can turn your head, your movement is stopped by the blade of a dagger against your throat. In front of you stands a hooded elf, but not one of those you had hoped to encounter; a greyskin, a drow. She stares at you with piercing green eyes and says: "You took quite a fall, human. Now that you're awake, if you value your life, you're going to answer my questions. To start, who are you and what are you doing so far from your own kind?"