Strange that a tiefing should be so judgmental, Elkvein thought. Oh, well. I can't blame her; I wouldn't trust me, either.

She didn't know why she'd chosen the name Elkvein. Her actual name was much better, but this one had just slipped out of her lips like so many other lies riddled with bits of truth. She wondered if Shakairra's true name was Shakairra. It sounded like an eladrin name, really; that wizard's apprentice Shanairra.

She'd hated me with a passion, Elkvein reflected as she followed the tiefling down the corridor. That hatred had only been overpowered by ambition. Few eladrin held such powerful emotions, especially ones so negative. Usually that was reserved for their two cousins: some unsavory elves and almost every drow.

Walking in the sewers made Elkvein feel at home and uneasy at the same time, but that was what a life in the Underdark would do. These crusted cement sewers with only a few feet of dirt separating them from fresh air was nothing compared to the infinite, treacherous Underdark. Here they only had to worry about a few goblins. Where Elkvein was from they'd have to worry about hook horrors, driders, poisonous mushrooms, ropers, other drow...really everything that lived in the Underdark.

The deva towering behind her was slowly regaining his strength, but even at full power she'd probably be able shove him aside with a blast of thunder, or simply bull over him. She could probably outrun the rest of them...

Elkvein shook her head and continued to follow Shakairra as the sewers led to a hallway which led to a spiraling staircase winding down down down. After what must've been at least half a mile, and Elkvein thought she may wind up back in the Underdark, they came upon another door.

Quarrel-Karn jiggled the knob. "Locked."

Elkvein slipped out her knife. "I could-"

Rain shoved Quarrel-Karn aside and bashed the door down with her shoulder.

"Or, we could resort to violence."

Quarrel-Karn gave her a dark look, but Shakairra had a wry smile as they filed into the room. It was older than the rest of the cavern, and large enough to comfortably house half a dozen giants. Perhaps once, centuries ago, it had been richly decorated. Now the few statues that remained were crumbling ruins that looked vaguely humanoid. On the opposite wall from the group a roaring fire pit gave the room a mean red glow. In the center of the room was an elevated sarcophagus big enough to hold either a very large orc or a small giant. The lid had been removed and was leaning against the side like the wall of a tent. Dancing and jumping in circles and somersaults was a goblin shaman, richly dressed in only half-decayed rags and clattering bones.

He paused when he saw them. Elkvein glanced around for any guards, but there was no one. Could this seriously be "the Great One"?

The goblin beamed and spoke in perfect Common: "Are you here to help me raise the great Meshecca?"

Even Shakairra seemed at a loss. "Uh..."

"Yes!" Rain blurted.

"Wonderful!" The goblin resumed his dancing with greater fervor.

Quarrel-Karn snorted. "We're dealing with idiots all right. These are not the steps for any raise dead ritual I know."

"Well, goblins aren't exactly known for their intelligence," Shakairra muttered.

Rain turned back to them. "So? What do we do?"

"Kill him," Quarrel-Karn suggested.

Elkvein barely heard them. Her mind was deep beneath the earth, years ago. Goblins lived in the Underdark, too, though more often than not served as slaves to the drow. They were allowed their holidays and minor festivals so long as it did not interfere with their work. One day a goblin was gathering water from an underground river during one of these goblin holidays. When none of the guards were looking, he started doing a little dance. Basic, at first, just a little bob of his head to an inner beat. Then his entire body got involved as he filled his bucket and hopped to the wagon, getting some smiles from the other slaves with ridiculous twists and tricks, until one of the guards saw him and shot a crossbow bolt in his belly.

With part of her mind still in the shadow of memory, Elkvein pushed past Quarrel-Karn and approached the goblin.

He paused when he saw her, blinking when he realized what she was. "Oh. Hello."

"Hi." She smacked him in the head with her staff.

The goblin dropped to the ground, creating a tiny waterfall out of drool as his mind swam in unconsciousness.

The four adventurers were staring at her when she turned around. Elkvein shrugged. "What?"

Shakairra was the first to crack a smile and chuckle. "Rain, tie him up. We'll bring him back to Loudwater and let the courts deal with him."

He'll probably die either way, Elkvein realized as the shifter moved to obey. Oh, well. At least he has a few more days to make peace with his gods.

"What do you think's in the next room?" Quarrel-Karn asked, the goblin tied and gagged over his shoulder.

"Whatever it is, they certainly didn't want it coming out." Shakairra ungagged the goblin, who was just coming around. "What's your name?"

The goblins spat, aiming for her face and getting her shoulder instead.

"I'll just call you Mr. Sulk," she decided, wiping the spittle away with her sleeve. "The steel door upstairs, the one barred on this side. Where does it lead?"

"A room."

"What's in this room?"

"Merchandise."

"For the firepowder?"

Mr. Sulk didn't answer.

"Fair enough." Shakairra shoved the rag back in his mouth. "Looks like we get some spoils after all."

They dumped Mr. Sulk in the corner once they reached the sewer and the steel door. Rain unbarred it and brandished her hammer as Quarrel-Karn cracked it open.

The room was dark as pitch, but generations in the Underdark had conditioned Elkvein's eyes to peer into the gloom, to see heat instead of light. She knew what they would find before Quarrel-Karn's sword cleared a path into the darkness and Rain gasped.

Elves, humans, and half-elves chained to the walls. Some had been here only a few days, others for weeks, given the states of their beards and bodies. Most looked like hunters in cloth and leather, but there were a few in the same uniform as Shakairra.

"What the hell?" Quarrel-Karn demanded once they'd stepped into the room.

"The villagers who've gone missing the past month," Shakairra explained, examining the nearest lock. "Elkvein, a little help?"

They'll try to tear me to pieces, Elkvein thought, catching the dark looks the elves gave her. Part of her hoped they'd try, just so she could zap them with lightning or blow them apart with thunder.

She kept a solemn face as she took out her knife and began tinkering with the locks.

Gundar disappeared from the room, then reappeared with a set of keys. "A gift from the head shaman."

"I don't get it; why kidnap people?" Quarrel-Karn asked, taking the keys and undoing chains as Gundar and Rain searched for wounds.

"Firepowder's expensive," Shakairra replied through gritted teeth. "So are slaves."

"Anyone who left this room never returned," a half-elf huffed, rubbing his chaffed wrists once Elkvein released him. "We thought we were being executed."

"Just sold to a life of labor and misery," Elkvein said, keeping the cheer out of her voice. That was no more than what these people deserved. They'd failed to defend themselves; ergo, they owed their lives to the warriors who'd conquered them. Whether that meant death or a life of servitude was up to the masters, and Elkvein found the prospect of goblin masters over elves endlessly amusing.

The half-elf struggled to his feet as she moved on to the next victim. "I thank you for your help, drow," he said cautiously, "but unfortunately the city of Loudwater will not allow you past the walls."

You mean the wall with a giant hole in it? "I hate cities."

"I'm gathering my gold tonight and leaving in the morning," Shakairra said, looking over a nasty cut on a woman's arm. "If the captain really won't let you into the city, I'll give your share to you then, Elkvein."

Elkvein found herself remembering something her tutor had told her as a child, years before she'd been sold into Patron Jarlaxle's service. "Tieflings are the descendants of humans and devils," she'd said. "They are a vicious and conniving and sinister people, who cheat everyone the first chance they get. They'd be high in Lolth's favor if they had any scrap of honor."

You'd better have a code of honor, Romazi, Elkvein thought, or you'll find yourself a corpse.