A few quick responses to reviewers.
Silverscale: At this point, I'm not sure if there's going to be any romance/other genres in yet. I just pour out the story in my head and refine it as I go along.
shadow0015: Thanks for the advice on the height, I'll try to edit that in the first Chapter. And as for Tamsil, most people probably never wonder what's going on in that l'il Innkeeper's daughter's head.
Thanks for the reviews!
Ambush
They emerged from the Armory shortly, dressed in the few intact robes still left in the inventory. Trey guessed that most of the quality goods had been commandeered by the militia. All in all, the most valuable objects they had received from the armory were the spare rogue stones someone had tossed into one of the supply bags without a thought. He and Alain needed no weapons, their bodies would serve as that purpose. Their armor would be Ki, the spiritual force that nearly all beings possessed, not platemail. The Relic would save them from death… at least until the Rogue stones powering it were gone.
He had sent Alain downstairs to inform Durnan what had happened in the night, and the "messes" each had left on the floor of their rooms. Alain had easily outfought the thief in his room, Trey had a little more trouble. That's what I get for storing our equipment in one chest. If it wasn't for that dream, then that assassin… Yes. Might as well tell the truth and shame the devil. That assassin would have killed him. As it was, they had grappled for a good five minutes before he gained the upper hand and ended her life by breaking her neck. Alain was young yet, and he still relied on brute strength rather than the subtler art of Ki. Under Trey's tutelage, his talents would grow…but he still had a long way to go.
As for the dream… the drow matriarch, or "Valsharess" (whatever that meant) had seen him as a threat. Why was that, when his mission had nothing to do with her own? Alain had seen little more than a snatch of the true message that Trey had witnessed, for whatever reason, but Trey intended to share as little as possible. His student was already anxious to lend their aid in Waterdeep's crisis, perhaps motivated to earn his place in his next 'Undrentide story'. Dreaming of Drow would not help to dissuade him from that.
Still…the dream had been startingly detailed, and even now it had not faded. He could still see the intricate stone carvings of spiders in that temple, the way the eyes of the matriarch's servants had darted to the ground when addressing her. Was it a vision?
He stepped into the common room for guests, which seemed woefully vacant. In earlier times, perhaps, the fire in the hearth would not be empty, but filled with a roaring, crackling fire, probably surrounded by children. The guests would sit together and gossip of recent events, each nursing a drink. Now, only two guests inhabited the room at the moment. One was an elderly man wearing a heavy plate of armor, a knight from the , Trey guessed. The other was a monk wearing a familiar. He nodded respectfully to the old man, then approached Cyphus. The aging disciple raised his head from his meditations, nodding in acknowledgement.
"Greetings, what can I do for y-," the monk began, before freezing in mid-sentence in recognition. "Trey! Is that-? It is you! What are you doing here?" He laughed in surprise, and Trey laughed with him, embracing his old friend.
"Cyphus, you haven't changed a bit, old man." Trey said. The two had studied together at the Temple before eventually growing apart and going their own ways. Even so, it was usually easy to recognize the plain brown robes that characterized one of the Open Palm. Smiling, Trey tapped a knuckle against Cyphus' rib cage. "Except, of course, in the weight category. A life of poverty, hm?"
Cyphus smirked and slapped the accusing hand away. "You must be mistaken, youngster. And you still haven't answered my question. You're a long way from Amn, aren't you?"
Trey sighed, bowing his head slightly. "It's not for the sights, my friend. Our thief was last seen in this region area. He has stolen a relic from one of the elders— an amulet treasured by Elder Quin. I have been commissioned to bring the thief to justice, if I can."
Cyphus started slightly, his eyes widening somewhat. "You do not mean the Godbreaker amulet?" When Trey simply nodded, the wizened disciple murmured an oath under his breath, bowing his head briefly. "How did that come to pass?" he demanded.
Trey waved a hand dismissively, pushing that matter to the side for the moment. There were more pressing things at hand. "We will speak on it later. I had a dream last night, Cyphus. I need you to tell me everything you know about the murders— no, assassinations here in Waterdeep."
Cyphus wiped a hand across his brow, sitting back down on his mat. He said nothing for several minutes, gathering his thoughts, and Trey waited patiently. Finally, he began to speak. "First, a thief enters the target's home, removing any weapons or forms of defense. An assassin follows afterward to perform the deed. The means of entry have been determined to be magical, as well as removal. But the city's mages have not yet been able to discover exactly how the drow can transport themselves all the way to the surface, nor have they been able to block their magic. The gates to Waterdeep were sealed late last night, and the city is in a state of lockdown. No one can leave or enter the city without express permission. Chances are…if your thief is here, the militia will find him
"No," Trey said quietly, "they won't. Thank for the help Cyphus." Trey tried to smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "May the wind always be at your back."
"And yours, my friend." whispered Cyphus, as Trey exited the common room. "The gods protect you."
XxXxXxX
Alain groaned in frustration, flopping into a seat in the center of the bar. The people here— refugees, really— had been stuck inside the bar when the order to close the streets had been passed late last night. They were separated from their family at home, and many of them considered the bar the worst possible place to be, as it was sitting atop the Undermountain. None of them, however, knew where Durnan was, which was the source of Alain's annoyance. Why, O Gods, why did we get trapped in the only Inn in the city with a monster zoo beneath it? I'll probably have to fend off drow assassins every night… for months.
When Trey descended down the staircase a half-hour later, Alain brightened. If anyone could get them out of here, it was his teacher. His good mood abruptly evaporated again, when four adventurers (three of them the half-orc, elf, and Halfling he had seen before) mobbed Trey before he took three steps forward. Alain moaned aloud, slouching in his seat and propping an elbow on the table to support his chin. More fans of the Hero of Undrentide, I guess? Just wonderful. "Anyone want my autograph?" He asked aloud, very sarcastically. No one heard him in the noisy room.
"Do I count?" a quiet voice asked of him, and Alain straightened, a little embarrassed. To make things worse, the speaker began to chuckle at his reaction, and Alain felt a flicker of anger run through him. He turned towards the speaker.
"I don't usually count eavesdroppers." Alain said, looking hard at the stranger. He was a lithe looking man with raven hair and piercing blue eyes. He was dressed as a commoner, and Alain guessed him to be a citizen of Waterdeep, another refugee. "Who're you anyway?"
"Marcus Englethorpe, at your service. And I already know who you are. Alain Johns, right? You stopped that Undrentide madness!" Marcus was looking at him closely.
"Well…" Alain began, a little put-off at having his wish for attention granted so quickly. "It wasn't just me, I just helped my teacher…"
"Nonsense!" Marcus said loudly, overriding Alain's excuses. "Don't be so modest! There's no way that old man could have done it all on his own. Not that he's not skilled in his own right!" Marcus said quickly, noticing Alain's eyes narrow at the phrase "old man." "I'm just saying I could paint a much worthier picture of Undrentide with you, not him."
"What are you, some kind of bard?" Alain said, ignoring the blatant disrespect Marcus had shown his teacher for the moment. The man had seemingly spoken aloud many of the slights Alain had felt with every retelling of the tale. Undrentide was one of the oldest cities in the world, inhabited by one of the oldest civilizations known to man, once upon a time. It had been powered by magic, and centuries ago, it had floated above the clouds...until the hubris of man had caused otherwise. Pride came before the fall, it was just as true as they say. It had lain in ruins, lost in the Anarouch, its secrets and baubles lost to time…until a medusa by the name of Heurodis had found the means to lift the city again. It had been Alain and Trey, whether by fate or chance, who had managed to slay the shaman before she could follow through on her plot. The two had worked as a team, and yet it was Alain who was the forgotten one, the loyal henchman to Trey's hero. Marcus, at least, knew the score.
"That's exactly right, my good man. A bard of some renown, I might say. But if I could get the real story behind Undrentide first-hand, then all the land would recognize me. Whaddya say, friend?" Marcus asked, a large grin on his face. Alain couldn't help liking him. He had charm and ambition, and most of all, he sought truth. Truth of a different sort, anyways.
"Unfortunately, I would have to give you the abridged version. Trey and I hope to leave the city; hopefully the Lords of Waterdeep will allow us to go."
"I kind of doubt that, my lad. But if you are leaving, where are you headed?" Marcus asked, leaning forward, pulling out a piece of parchment from his back pocket.
"Alain! To me!"
Alain stood up, hearing Trey's voice. Trey was by the doorway, and waved him over. Alain turned to the bard to excuse himself, but found thin air. The bard had either used some sort of invisibility spell, or was a master of the quick exit. A small piece of parchment was on the table, and he picked up. At the top were the initials M.E., followed by a small rune he couldn't identify. Alain stuffed it into his pocket, following a whim, and slipped his way through the crowded room of the doorway.
Trey looked at him curiously, then shrugged, and opened the door, where a large group of adventurers were gathered in the middle of the foyer. The crowd parted as he approached, and he caught a few whispers from the back, wondering who he was. Durnan, a sturdy, fair-skinned man stood in the middle of the group with his arms crossed. He was a former adventurer rumored to have survived the Undermountain in his glory days, and was well respected nonetheless. He took them both in with his cool gaze, and Alain could see worry in his eyes, but also determination, set in his face like steel. This was not a man to be trifled with
"Good to see you finally get here," Durnan said, his low rumbling voice emanating from his chest like the pounding of a drum. Alain decided not to mention the fact that he had looked for the man for a half-hour, to no avail. "I trust your accommodations were sufficient?"
"Service wasn't bad, but I don't remember ordering the Drow." Alain said with a straight face. The halfling, Tomi, sniggered, and the corner of Trey's mouth twitched. Durnan, however, looked angry enough to spit.
"There was a time when I could guarantee my guests' safety, but no longer. Thankfully, you both awoke in time, before matters had gotten worse. To date, you're the only ones to survive an attack. Drow raiding parties have beset the city, and the Undermountain seems to be the source."
Alain cursed inwardly. With the city shut in, and Drow running about, the chances of their leaving was slim to none. He snapped out of his own thoughts to hear his teacher asked what Durnan planned to do.
"The Lords of Waterdeep have commissioned me to lead a party down into the Undermountain, to find Halaster. The well in the basement is magical in nature, and it will allow us to travel to the depths of the Undermountain. From there, we can attempt to find the mad mage, and maybe close up the source of these Drow. In return, the Lords of Waterdeep have set a reward of 100,000 gold pieces." Trey noticed several adventurers' stunned faces from behind Durnan. Obviously, this was news to the locals as well.
Trey nodded, already knowing what he would say. It wasn't his mission, but he had to help the people here. There was little chance Maric was here, with the city locked up and rampaging Drow about. Maric would have smelled danger on the winds, and fled. If he hadn't… well, he wasn't worried about Maric.
He was worried about anyone confronting Maric.
"My student and I will do what we can to help, Durnan. The attempted attack on our lives is proof enough to me that we are somehow involved in all of this." Alain nodded, feeling the same. It was likely that for as long as they stayed in the city, the attacks would continue. If they were going to fight Drow, then they might as well get something accomplished as well. "Still," Trey continued, "One thing worries me. If Halaster is behind all of this, how are supposed to defeat him? His mastery of the arcane rivals none, does it not? I have a suspicion that Halaster has little to do with the attacks on Waterdeep."
"A valid point, Trey." Durnan conceded. "But we'll never know until we start, won't we? Now, the first order of business is-" There was an unearthly humming sound which seemed to shake the Inn to its rafters, and Durnan paused mid-sentence.
All was quiet for a few seconds, when a small voice spoke up, "Father, what was that?" Tamsil came out from the kitchen, a shocked expression on her face.
"It came from the basement..." Durnan said with a dazed expression on his face. It quickly changed to horror, as the same realization leapt into the head of nearly everyone present. Two seconds later, a large ball of flame shot from the door of the basement with a hiss. The searing sphere of heat collided with one of the bar tables and exploded, showering the room with pieces of scorched wood and deafening them. Several people screamed, and the orderly gathering turned into a panicked rush towards the stairs. Following that, a bolt of lightning sprang from the gloom, striking one man before jumping to two others, killing them instantly. Alain grimaced, setting his jaw. The faces of the victim's had cooked like sausages over the flame, and they were barely recognizable.
"Rally to me!" Durnan cried, and a few adventurers unsheathed their weapons and stood around, ready for whatever came next. Among them, Alain saw the group that had mobbed Trey earlier. He took a position on the left flank of the group, while Trey stood on the right. From the basement door burst a Drow raiding party. Dark-skinned dwarves ran to the corners, fitting poison bolts onto their crossbows. Drow soldiers in full military regalia came out next, surrounding three drow females. Two sorcerers, one handmaiden, six Drow, three Duergar, two rogues, Trey counted quickly. Not good.
"All will fall before the Valsharess!" the handmaiden cried, as the two mages next to her muttered incantations. One summoned a sphere of blackest night, which fell over the bulk of the group. The other wizard cast what Trey recognized to be a spell of holding, his fingers glowing jet blue briefly. He could sense rather than see the people around him stiffening unnaturally, their movements halted. The soldiers grinned wickedly and charged into the dark, ready to hack the hapless humans to pieces.
The only thing that prevented them from being turned into bloody chunks of meat on the floor, was the fact that there were so many of them. Hold Person is a spell best used on a single target; being used on so many people lessened its innate power greatly. As a result, Trey felt feeling return to his body at the same time the sphere of darkness fell over them. It was utterly black, he couldn't make out his hand in front of his face. Luckily, he was no stranger to being blind; their time in the Shadow Plane was not entirely forgotten. Trey closed his eyes and focused his ears for the slightest sounds. The trademark sounds of a killing blow was the straining muscles in an arm raising to strike, the rustle of chainmail, the intake of breath.
A swarthy Duergar, holding an intimidating warhammer, spotted the boy with his eyes closed, and grinned to himself. Was the poor little human crying to whatever pagan gods he worshipped to be saved? He charged the robed man quickly, not bothering with stealth, and raised his warhammer. He ground his teeth and swung hard, a sweeping sideways blow that would have fell any opponent twice his size. On this target, the warhammer would easily cave in the man's ribcage like a cheap copper goblet.
CLAK!
Trey had focused his Ki in the palms of his hands and reached out, sensing the rushing air of the hammerblow aimed at his head. Luckily, the head of the warhammer had landed squarely into his palm. The collected Ki lessened the impact considerably, though Trey's arms bent to absorb the shock of the blow. Any less, and he would've smashed every bone in his hands.
He yanked the warhammer from the dumbstruck Duergar easily, and dropped it behind him without a second look. Then, before his opponent could react, his left fist darted out, smashing into the Duergar's chin in a stunning cross. The soldier staggered, his eyes blank and jaw broken. The monk whirled and fell low to the floor, slamming a leg into the Duergar's knees from behind. Off balance, the Duergar stumbled backward, then fell heavily to the ground.
A muttered incantation from behind dispelled the darkness, and he whipped around. Linu was already deep in concentration as she called upon her godess for another spell. Alain spotted a Duergar rogue in the corner of the room, fitting a crossbow bolt, and taking aim at the elf from behind.
"Look out!" he shouted desperately. From his current position, there was no way he could reach her in time. The rogue grinned grimly, and fired the bolt. Alain braced himself for the sight of seeing a comrade die in front of him, until a brown hand shot out, plucking the deadly projectile from the air. Trey tossed the bolt to the ground, and turned to him, mouthing one word: Spellcasters. He made a violent motion to Alain, urging him to push on, before rushing toward the hapless Duergar rogue, deflecting another bolt as he charged.
The pair knew their roles, and knew them well. Alain was typically the aggressor while his teacher followed in his wake, covering him from potential counterattacks. What Alain lacked in situational awareness, he more than made up for in combat prowess. Despite his feelings of being overlooked for his master, there was also an implicit trust that his teacher would watch his back.
The sound of battle seemed impossibly loud, and his head swam as he searched for the Drow females. He spotted them, finally, in the corner of the room. Only one shaman, and the handmaiden. He spotted the other wizard sprawled across one of the tables, an arrow jutting from his throat. The drow priestess was on her knees, casting what appeared to be a prayer of protection on the handmaiden. The latter was casting spells to devastating effect on the warriors. If they weren't taken out of the equation soon, the battle would be lost. Alain sprinted toward them quickly, his approaching form overlooked in the confusion of the melee. For a time, at least: he was still at least ten feet away when the handmaiden locked eyes with him. With a contemptuous snort, she began the incantations for a new spell, the unearthly intonations a prelude to a different kind of defensive spell. As the drow cleric's murmurs finished, a series of very sharp and very numerous blades burst from the dirty floorboards of the tavern, directly beneath the monk and his targets. From behind the barrier, Alain could see the rather confident smirk on the dark elf's face as she began another spell.
Trey would have urged caution; would have found another way to circumvent the spell. But the handmaiden's confidence rankled Alain, and it was perhaps that, most of all, that urged him forward. He gathered a loose collection of Ki like a man grasping a handful of sand and threw himself into a flying dropkick as he reached the edge of the barrier, wrapping his hands tightly around his neck. The blades ripped into his flesh, only mildly inconvencied by the Ki, and surely Tymora must have found favor with him, as none of the blades found his heart or severed his spine. It was well worth the risk to the young ascetic, however, just to see the look on his foe's face as his dropkick found the kneeling priestess' chin. There was a dull crunch and a brief cry of pain as the drow was sent flying back, and she did not rise again.
"Damnable rivvil!" she shrieked at him as the spells protecting her faded. She took a heavy swing at his head with her mace. The bleeding monk rolled at the very last moment, and the blow aimed for his skull clipped his right shoulder instead. A spear of pain immobilized him as the handmaiden raised her mace again, bloodlust in her dark eyes. It very well might have been the end of the road for Alain, until a twin pair of daggers punched holes into the woman's lungs. She gasped, a trickle of blood running down her ebony lips, before falling forward on the ground, dead. Alain gaped in shock, as Tomi withdrew his daggers from the corpse, and swiped a bloody hand across his brow, tipping him a wink. He leapt over the fallen monk and ran towards the basement, shouting as he did. "C'mon! Let's chase 'em all the way home!"
The Drow flew down the basement steps like bats out of hell, and the adventurers took chase. The assault had turned into a rout. Rather than caskets of wine and the occasional rat, Trey found that the basement resembled the mouth of a cave more than anything else. Beyond the stairwell, the rocky stone extended perhaps thirty yards or so before coming to an abrupt end, with only a narrow extension of rock leading up to the entrance of a well, which was currently blocked off. Several of the remaining Drow females disappeared (or teleported, Trey guessed) in a flash of light upon reaching the edge of the pit. The drow males were not so fortunate, and uponreaching the well entrance, turned and fought desperately. Outnumbered and without the tactical advantage of surprise, the soldiers were quickly slaughtered by the onslaught of cleric spells and enchanted weapons.
Trey stunned one hapless Drow with a foot to the face, and Daelan Red Tiger finished the foe with his axe, nearly beheading the soldier. This battle was over much quicker than the one upstairs, but Trey couldn't help but feel a little unnerved by that fact. The Drow had come on strong with their attack, but why didn't they flee out into the city once the tide turned? Instead, they had driven themselves into a corner...
Trey barely heard Durnan's words as he mused over his thoughts, his eyes boring into the impenetrable darkness of the wall abyss. He was no tactician, but it wasn't a hard train of thought to follow. The Luskan army sends a raiding party into the enemy base. They allow themselves to be pushed back into a corner. Then… an attack from behind? Trey turned toward the basement steps, a dawning fear falling over him that his musings would turn out to be prophecy… but there was no one at the door. Getting the jitters, or something, I guess. Nobody here but us. His thoughts were abruptly interrupted when a searing bolt of pain caught him in the lower back. He felt a black rage sweep over him, anger beyond anything he had ever felt. He turned to attack, but his legs felt like jelly.
An eldritch abomination of sunken flesh, rolling eyeballs and horribly sharp teeth had risen up out of the blackness only seconds after Trey had glanced away. This was a beholder, one of the most feared creatures of the Underdark, and its appearance stunned the group into silence. The momen's hesitation was all that the creature needed. Its eye-stalks wavered and shook; its teeth gnashed and it promptly bombarded the party with its eye-rays. This particular beholder had been charged with a mission. Anger them, the drow had told it. Incite them into a fury, so that they come charging down, right into our hands. Its eye-rays were designed to inflict confusion and sow disarray among its targets. Then, in the space of a breath, the abomination dropped back into the darkness and out of sight. Hopefully, the adventurers would come down the well, and chase the beholder right into a Drow ambush. The bloated beholder snarled and licked its lips, eye-stalks wagging furiously. What a feast the victims would be!
Of the collection of adventurers that lay stunned or dead in the brief attack, it was Daelan, Alain, Linu and Tomi which stirred first and behaved exactly as planned. Ignoring their wounds, the four ran onto the well platform, and pulled a small lever. The magical well descended into the depths of the Undermountain, thousands and thousands of feet below the Yawning Portal Inn, leaving the others behind.
The descent seemed to go on forever, and only the THWUMP of the platform touching down on the ground signaled their entrance into the Undermountain. There was no sign of their quarry, but the quartet charged forward as one. Daelan bashed his way through a steel door— the entrance to mad Halaster's Undermountain— and their steps echoed down the stone corridor, where the awaiting drow took their positions. When the four rounded the corner, a volley of Drow arrows came to meet them.
Daelan the half-orc warrior, as mighty as he was, went down in the first volley. His hastiness placed him in the fore, and at least eight arrows embedded themselves in his sturdy frame. Daelan's companions were luckier. The remaining three adventurers ran past the Drow warriors without the slightest interest in counterattacking, each focused on finding the beholder. Upon reaching an intersection, they scattered in different directions like mice in a maze.
The Drow leader of this particular warband, a male by the name Tenari, ordered his group to hold. There would be plenty of time to take sport in tracking the enraged, spellbound surfacers as they sought a foe that could not be found. A bonus would go to the one that slew the elf. But for now, they would find a small side-corridor, take stock of their losses and rest.
It was the pain of his injured shoulder which finally served to snap Alain out of his rage, and he slowed mid-step to look around. He was in the middle of a stone corridor that seemed to stretch on in both directions. He had no idea where he was, and no inkling of what had happened after being attacked by the beholder. He was still bleeding pretty badly from the drow skirmish and his shoulder was fractured, possibly broken.
Worst of all, he was lost. Lost in the Undermountain.