Wandering

Trey tightened his belt, his eyes growing used to the deepening gloom as the magical well of the Yawning Portal Inn descended. He double-checked his bag for the rod of Resurrection that the flirty cleric of Sune had given him, and stopped himself from triple-checking, trying to regain his composure. Things had gone wrong since his first step into Waterdeep, like some kind of curse. No sign of Maric, the attack on their lives, the closing of the gates, and now, his student lost to Undermountain. At least Alain held the Relic, so death wouldn't be a problem. Until he ran out of Rogue Stones that is…

The past two hours had slipped away as they only seem to do during an emergency. Both he and Durnan had survived the eye-rays of the beholder through the aid of White Thesta, and were dismayed to find that the other adventurers had fled. A search of the premises had narrowed the destination to only one place: the Undermountain. Trey instantly volunteered to go down into the dark after them. In truth, he could care less about the others; his main purpose was to find Alain. Everything else was strictly secondary. He had gathered his bearings and descended with the Rod, which Thesta claimed would restore life to the lifeless, so long as they wished to return from the paths beyond.

Naïve of me to hope that I won't need it…

The shaft ended on a small plateau of rock. Further down, a passageway of sorts led towards the Undermountain proper. A steel doorway flanked by two torches was to be his welcome mat. Trey stepped off of the well's platform, scanning the area as he strode towards the entrance. His ears caught the clatter of loose stone, and the source of the disturbance soon revealed itself. A pitiful-looking goblin shuffled out from the shadows. The goblin held no weapon, and its obvious desire to parley was obvious to Trey before he even heard the creature's first mewling words.

"Nice hooman! You is not working for anyone maybe? Not pixies, not ogres, no one? Yes, no, maybe?" The goblin whispered, bowing low in a subservient manner. The goblin was a pathetic looking thing; the stained rags it used as a loincloth hung off its emaciated frame.

"I serve only myself, and I have come seeking other humans, that came here about two hours ago. Do you know of them?" Trey asked, watching the creature warily. Despite his belief that this goblin posed no threat, goblins were notorious tricksters. If the creature wanted him to follow it somewhere, he would slay the creature and move on. He had had too many ambushes in the last two days.

"Grovel knows, Grovel knows many things. But maybe you helps Grovel first? Hmm?" The goblin said, eyeing him slyly.

"What exactly do you want? Speak, for I must move swiftly." Trey said, glancing towards the doorway again. The more time he wasted here, the less likely it was that he would find Alain alive. Pixies, ogres, both meant little to him, besides the fact there was most likely some kind of massive war that the goblin had been drafted into.

Grovel gulped nervously, interpreting Trey's words as a threat. Living in the Undermountain was a death sentence in itself, however, and it plowed on with all the conviction it could muster. "Grovel is tired of living here. The mad mage is gone, and stupid creatures here fighting with each other, free from his magics. If you gets Grovel out of here, then Grovel tells you where humans went." It was the most the goblin had spoken in some time, and he fell silent, watching the human carefully for any sudden aggression. Running was one thing Grovel was good at. Running meant survival

Trey spent all of thirty seconds considering the goblin's preposition. He didn't have a clue where to look, and if the goblin could give him a lead… "Deal. Speak." He ordered urgently.

"Grovel saw the hoomans come down from above. Grovel hids, and the hoomans come running inside. Grovel follows. Humans kept running, then nasty dark elfies shoot arrows. Orc man gets hit, other humans run." Grovel spoke haltingly, and Trey fleetingly wondered where a goblin had learned the Common tongue. Maybe he was some kind of translator for his tribe, or some effect of Halaster's magic affected his linguistic ability. Nevertheless, the goblin's information was useful, and Trey nodded his assent.

"You've kept your word, and so bind me to mine," Trey said. Grovel brightened visibly, a toothy grin flashing from the emaciated face. Trey bid the goblin to take the platform to the Inn above, and explained his purpose quickly, before wisahing the goblin good luck. The platform trembled with a second crank of the lever, and then steadily rose up towards the surface. Grovel waved down at him, and Trey turned his back on the platform, starting to descend down the rock slope towards the door once more.

As he came up towards the door, he crouched, noticing footsteps which ended at the entrance. The dirt had been driven against the stone, making the prints visible in the dim light given from the torches. He took this as a good sign, pulling open the heavy door with some effort, and slipping inside before the door slammed shut again.

The slam of the door and the stuffiness of the air gave him the sensation of being locked inside a tomb. He pulled the hood of his cloak over his head and proceeded cautiously. As he turned the corner, he heard a small click as he put his right foot down and jumped to his left instinctively. A split-second later, an electrical trap triggered, a hidden patch of floor glowing a blinding white as thousands of volts came to life over the surface. He grunted, shielding his eyes from the flash. Alain was no lockspringer and trapper, and he had no hope of disarming the innumerable snares that must have awaited him. He had, however, gotten used to avoiding them— if only by the skin of his teeth. He moved more quickly down the corridor, fearful that the trap could attract unwelcome visitors. He was almost at the mouth of the passageway when he came upon the first victim of Undermountain: Daelan Red Tiger, the barbarian from Neverwinter he had met briefly upstairs. His body had been stripped of armor and weapons expertly, no doubt by the drow. Dried blood marked the places where the arrows had punched through, and the half-orc's face wore a horribly pained expression.

Trey took some solace in the fact that Alain did not lie here as well and immediately crushed it.

He pulled the rod of Resurrection from his bag, frowning slightly, then aimed it at the body and spoke the word of command. A great gasping sound was heard; Daelan's eyes fluttered and he coughed twice convulsively, jerking upwards and patting at his chest like a man from a dream.

"W-where am I? W-who are you?" She blurted out in a rush, her eyes flicking side to side in bewilderment. Resurrection was a hard business. After death, a person's spirit naturally left the body to wander towards whatever plane would be their final resting place: with their gods if they were fortunate, and darker places if that was not the case. As the spirit travels, the memories and emotions of past life begins to fade. Only the power of the spell had been able to call Sharwyn's spirit back from the beyond, and into the flesh. Now the memories were slowly coming back.

Still, part of Trey wondered if he would have been better off just leaving him there and continuing the search.

XxXxXxXx

At that moment, some twenty miles away in the northern tunnels of the Undermountain, Alain was running for his life. The layout of the Undermountain was confusing. Dead-end passages and twisting turns were the main attributes, not to mention the strange portals scattered around the dungeon. Alain didn't dare leap into those, fearing being stranded on some Gods-forsaken plane. Instead, he had been trying to find the way back towards the surface, and, deceived by the fresher air which seemed to be wafting from the northern tunnels, went in that direction. But all the young student found were orc and ogre patrols. He had avoided two such patrols already, being lucky enough to hear them coming. The third patrol he had stumbled onto in a stroke of bad luck that Beshaba would be proud of, and acid-soaked darts whizzed after him as the patrol took pursuit.

Almost there… He turned down a hallway that looked all the same as any of the others, and sprinted down the corridor, his pained shoulder creaking in protest. Finally, he found what he was looking for: a small indentation of rock which held a stone statue of a man on his knees, a blade clutched in its grip. He inhaled a last gulp of air and jumped over the patch of floor in front of it. Then he pressed against the wall, trying to hide, and see if his plan succeeded.

The Orcs were much slower in their armor but their tracking skills made up for their speed. Alain tensed as they followed the dripping trail of blood he had left behind, waiting for the moment of truth. As the patrol passed the statue, an arcing bolt of electricity exploded from its torso. The deadly bolt tore through the entire patrol, their armor acting as conductors for the electricity. A sour, rancid smell rose from their corpses and Alain winced as he stepped out from the shadows, and wiped his brow with an arm. His plan had worked perfectly, but he was still no closer to escape.

Trey may have been raised in the monastery, but Alain had come upon the disciples of the Open Palm quite by accident. In the past five years, he had learned much of unarmed combat and the nature of Ki, but he had also never forgotten his other talents— spotting traps, 'loosening' locks and 'acquiring' treasure. Trey had been rather strict on how he utilized these abilities now that he was his teacher, but here, it had saved his life. He had nearly stumbled upon the pressure plate activating the trap on his first pass through this area, and it was only by chance that he had spotted it before it was too late.

Fortunately for him, the trap had proved deadly for the Orcs. Unfortunately, he couldn't loot the corpses for fear of being electrocuted, nor use that trick again on the next group of Orcs, because their dead kinsmen (kinsOrc) would give it away. All in all, Alain had come out of the encounter no better and no worse.

His wandering brought him unexpectedly to a dead-end passage, with one of the numerous portals that dotted the dungeon in front of him. His shoulder throbbed methodically, but at least his blood had clotted over somewhat. Abruptly, he decided to enter the portal. Where could the portal take which was worse than where he already was? Plenty, a pessimistic corner of his mind warned him. Wanna see the Shadow Plane again? Go ahead, jump in! You'll just die faster than you will here! He drowned that part of his mind out and, taking a deep breath, stepped into the portal.

A sensation, not pain exactly, but close to it, ran up and down his spine like wildfire. A strange feeling of being disconnected fell over him, like his mind was traveling while his body stayed in the same position. Images blurred in front of his eyes? Mind? He wasn't sure anymore. He saw pixies fighting Orcs, he saw a sea of lava licking the edge of molten rock shores. He saw a glimpse of Drow soldiers doing battle with orcs, he saw a room of many mirrors, and, briefly, saw his teacher, Trey, speaking with someone else. Teacher! he called, though he had no voice, and he fancied he saw the man flinch, as if he heard him. His heart rejoiced, and then the vision was gone. Quite suddenly, the whirlwind trip was over, and he took a look around. There was no real difference between the halls he had left behind and the halls he stood in now. But then again, he had no idea where he was (Again, the pessimist crowed) or where Trey was… only that the monk was here somewhere. But what could he do? Travel the halls screaming at the top of his lungs, and get devoured by some hungry monster around the corner? Sit on the floor and wait to be found? The answer was obvious.

Alain closed his eyes and stuck out his hand, index finger pointing into space. He turned counter-clockwise three times quickly, then stopped and opened his eyes. His finger now pointed towards an empty corridor, leading west. Alain lowered his hand and started to walk down the corridor, his eyes watching the corners. The answer was picking a direction and hoping for the best.

He crept around the corner cautiously, peeking from behind before exposing his whole body, and maybe that was why he saw the Drow scout two seconds before the scout spotted him. The scout, a female, wore grey leather armor and carried a small crossbow, but was better equipped for escape than combat. It was pure luck that Alain had saw the scout first, or else he would have shot twice before he could have taken three steps. As it was, the Drow still had time to fire a hasty shot at him, as he flattened behind the corner and cursed mentally. Orcs were one thing, a crack team of Drow was quite another.

He risked another look around the corner, and gasped aloud. The scout had turned, and was now sprinting down the hall. Obviously, she didn't know that Alain was alone, and if he followed, he would meet the entire group of Drow. The Drow, expecting a party of humans and finding only one unarmed one, would either kill him or capture him. If he didn't follow, the Drow would come back with more, and then they would know he was alone. He knew he couldn't hope to defend against a Drow ambush; it was pure chance that he had some forewarning this time.

Alain sighed. There was no choice here, not truly. My arm is going to fall off, with all of this running.

XxXxXxX

Trey watched as Daelan took the path he had walked to enter the Undermountain, and wished him well. His memories had returned after some prompting on the monk's part and a few pointed questions. The barbarian had offered to join in his goal, but Trey had refused, thinking it more likely the man would only get in his way. Gallantry, while noble, would get them nowhere. The half-orc was a sitting duck with no weapons, no armor, and no rest, and five minutes into his search, Trey would likely be resurrecting her yet again. Worse yet, he had learned little of the others' whereabouts. Daelan's account of the events after the beholder attack confirmed his earlier musings: the adventurers had run straight into an ambush. The axe-wielder had seen the others running in different directions before Death claimed him. The Drow had then stripped him, and apparently vanished into thin air?

The only lead he had were the drow. If he could find them, isolate one of their soldiers and interrogate them, maybe he could learn where Alain was. Or, at the very least, their method of entering the Undermountain. But at the moment it was a pipe dream.

His travel was slow, ponderously slow, as he concentrated on picking up the trail of the drow. But it was a fruitless effort. His tracking skills were under-developed, and the drow were masters at covering their trails during a hasty retreat. He was almost ready to despair from looking for disturbed dust on the ground, when his eyes caught a glitter of metal, half-buried in the dirt. He advanced towards the gleam cautiously, fearing a trap, but as he drew closer, he recognized the shine of metal to be the head of a mace. The weapon seemed familiar, and racking his brain, he found a face to the weapon: Linu, the elven cleric from Neverwinter, had carried such a weapon. He lifted the weapon slowly from the ground, turning it over in his hands, and noticed elvish script near the handle.

The language was indecipherable, but it meant he was on the right track… to some degree. After all, it was unlikely that Linu would willingly drop arms if she was on the run from drow, which meant that the elven woman had been slain or captured. Either way, he might be closer to the Drow than he thought. He dropped the weapon back into the dust and moved on, coming to a three-way intersection. Trey studied the passages with some doubt, then chose the rightmost path at random, going with his dominant hand.

He sniffed the air carefully as he crept along carefully. He had expected the passage to be foul-smelling, with the long-gone presence of animal dung and rotting meat. Instead, the passage smelled was utterly devoid of any odor. He stepped onto a cleft of rock, a small irregularity in the flat stone floor, and a sense of alarm buzzed down his spine. He froze in place, his hands balled into fists, waiting for something, anything, to happen. All he heard was the seemingly ominous silence that permeated the cavern. He continued down the path, and the sense of alarm grew instead of fading. A large arch seemed to loom from the end of the corridor, and he couldn't seem to see into the hall beyond. He warily approached the arch, his unease growing. Some sort of enchantment had been cast on the arch, and no matter how he squinted, all he could make out beyond the arch was the vague shape of a room. The arch was carved out of some kind of black, formless stone. When he touched the stone, it left a bizarre, sticky grey liquid on his fingers, and gave to his touch. He hastily wiped the fluid on the bottom of his shoe, hoping fervently that it wasn't some kind of acid.

Trey braced himself, then stepped forward through the arch, even as his instincts screamed at him to turn away and try another path. He closed his eyes and shut his mouth as he passed, hearing a faint, tinny ringing between his eyes as he did. The ringing began to fade, as if the sound was moving away from him, and he opened his eyes, fearing the worst. Had he been transported to another plane, another section of the Undermountain, to the Valsharess herself?

The sight that met his blinking eyes was quite the opposite. It was indeed a room, some sort of enclave set to the side of the main dungeon, and at the moment, filled with drow. The dark elves mobilized with an alarming speed despite his sudden appearance, and they were now lined up in battle formation before him. Trey's hands tightened into fists, setting his feet, as a lone drow clad in glittering red and black adamantine armor stepped out from the formation. His features were hard and his eyes musing— Trey felt as if he was some new beast being studied by one who cares very little for beasts, or for studying. The warband leader studied the human closely, then nodded to himself, and waved a hand over his shoulder.

"It's the one the Valsharess wants. Take him alive, but kill him if it makes trouble," the Drow said. Trey, of course, heard none of this— only the somewhat harsh syllables of Deep Speech.

The Drow group, made up of archers which were grouped in the back of the assembly, and stout Duergar soldiers in the front, visibly relaxed, clearly expecting more than an unarmed human. This is who the Valsharess feared? Two Duergar drew their weapons and moved forward to subdue him.

The ascetic could see the dim amusement in their glittering eyes— they would make some sport of out capturing him. They were complacent from the easy conquests of a few hapless humans, and expected him to be no different. When the duergar were still a few feet away, he tensed, focusing his Ki into an edge surrounding his right hand. The grouped Ki became visible as a grey "aura", and as the greyskins paused, the monk lunged forward. His extended palm slashed in a horizontal movement, his hand meeting the armor of the Duergar, and then cutting through like a hot blade through butter. The Quivering Palm technique, though requiring great concentration and study, could slice through flesh and bone easily. The energy used to sever another's life required a vast deal of Ki, and most monks dared using the ability once per day, if at all. Trey cut down two Duergar in one smooth motion, separating the soldiers' bodies into two, straight across their hips and spine. The two dark dwarves didn't even have time to scream, as their top halves thumped to the floor with a meaty thud. His hand emerged from the second Duergar's side with nary a drop of blood staining it, the grey aura surrounding it gone. As he did, he felt his focus slip from him, his perception dimming. He moved smoothly past the corpses, charging the rest of the group with the speed of some terrible predator.

The drow, stunned by the nature of the monk's opening attack, recovered quickly. The archers opened fire as the remaining infantry closed in. The human was quicker, deflecting two arrows, a ghost of Ki encompassing his hand, then pulling a stout duergar on his left into the trajectory of the third. The enchanted arrow punctured the back of the unlucky soldier's neck, killing him instantly. Trey withdrew the blood-soaked arrow from the duergar's neck with a squelch, and then shoved the corpse towards the next approaching warrior. To the greyskin's credit, it barely served to slow him down, as he bashed his dead kin out of the way with the hilt of his axe. It was all the time Alain needed. He shoved the point of the arrow into the soft jelly of the Duergar's left eye, and the soldier howled piteously, dropping his axe and trying to remove the projectile. The third soldier cursed the monk in a gratingly foreign tongue and swung the axe in a hard sweeping arc towards his midsection. Trey stepped backwards quickly, nearly tripping over the corpse of the first Duergar, then moved into the wake of the axe-swing. He reached out with both hands, grabbing the Duergar's axe hand above and below the elbow. He gritted his teeth, summoning his strength and his Ki as he placed the butt of his palm below the dwarf's elbow, simultaneously pulling with his other arm. The armor surrounding the arm splintered, then shattered as the Duergar's arm broke, tiny rings of mail popping into his face. The warrior screeched in agony, reeling in pain and dropping to his knees. A quick twist, and the Duergar's suffering ended as he fell to the ground, neck broken.

By now, Tenari, leader of the raiding party, had begun to grow worried. The unarmed rivvil had single-handedly killed his best warriors, and was moving on to the archers. He realized his mistake now, which now seemed glaring obvious. He had underestimated the strength of his foe, and in any battle, the consequence was usually fatal. The human male was performing feats that should have been impossible…and yet he was.

Hurriedly, the commando ran back towards their impromptu camp, searching among their possessions for a certain chest. This chest contained several oddly lumpy stones with drow runes scratched into the underside. The stones hummed with a magical energy, and were endowed with a powerful one-shot teleportation spell. If one spoke the word of command, then the stone would activate, transporting the user to the specified location.

In truth, these stones had been reserved specifically for the females among the raiding party…but what use is magic to the dead?

Trey rubbed his hands together, wiping whatever dirt and blood his knuckles had accumulated on his gloves. There was one dark elf remaining, the one which had commanded the rest. This one he would disable and interrogate. The drow's back was turned to him, and Trey approached just in time to hear the drow speak one word that seemed to hang in the air like some sort of command.

"Tekrath," said the Drow, and a series of odd cracking sounds came from the chest he was kneeling in front of him. Trey tensed, awaiting some final spell, some awaiting doom, but nothing happened. The Drow dug something out from a hidden pocket, and, back still turned to him, spoke another word.

"Tokrah," Trey heard, and this time the effect was more immediate. He heard a crashing gong, echoing from out of nowhere. The next moment, he was knocked of his feet as a great rushing wind pushed him down, emanating from the drow. When he lifted his head, the Drow had vanished.

Angrily, he slammed a fist into the stone floor. Just like that, his only lead had vanished into thin air, and all hopes of finding Alain. He was as good as blind now, and for a moment he sat on the ground, paralyzed with indecision. Should he keep looking or return to the surface and come back to the Undermountain with a proper search party?

He stood up, crossed the room, and took a look into the crate the Drow had sat in front of. Inside were several broken stones, each split down the middle with perfect precision. He lifted half a stone, running a thumb along the smooth edge of the break, when revelation struck him. The Drow had said two words, magical in nature. The first word had destroyed these stones. The second had been the activation command, and the stone had probably teleported him somewhere. The inside of the stones were hollow, and he imagined the core of the stones containing pure magic energy, a fuse waiting to be lit. He shoved the stones into a small bag on his waist and stood. Maybe the stones could be of some use to him, because he sensed that some remnant of magic still lay dormant. He started to leave the room, when an idea popped into his head.

He grabbed one of the fallen duergar's axes, and using the blade, scratched a large "T" into the earth. Then, he etched a crude arrow stretching from the bottom of the letter towards the arch. He stepped back, surveying his work, and nodded. If Alain came into this room, he would decipher the meaning behind the marking. He shoved the axe into the hem of his robes in case he needed to make any other marks, and approached the arch. Instead of seeing murky darkness, as on the opposite side, his vision was extremely clear. As he observed the hallway beyond the arch, he realized that the view was magnified; he could see the grooves in the stone wall some thirty feet away. So that was how he had been ambushed so effectively. If Halaster ever regained his sanity, he'd make a pretty penny selling some of his secrets, he thought ruefully, and stepped back through the arch.

He wandered about for a while longer, and thankfully encountered little of note. The drow, it seemed, had either slew or scared off anything that could serve as a threat to them. he came across a stone bridge spanning a sea of magma. Blocking the pathway were several colored pillars: blue, red, white, green, and violet. As he looked closer, he noticed that the pillars were made of the same mineral that the arch had been made of. On his side of the bridge, were four levers. In front of each lever was a small indentation, where he guessed some sort of object was supposed to be placed. Some sort of puzzle then…I wonder if those stones could help here? He pulled the small leather bag from his pocket and emptied the stones into his palm. The stones still hummed slightly, and he smiled. The magic hadn't faded yet, and he still remembered the word of command. First, he fit the halved stones together, each stone connecting perfectly. Then, he shoved the stones into the indentations at the base of the levers. It was a tight fit, but he managed it. He stepped back, groping mentally for the word of command.

"Tekrath!" He said in a loud voice. Nothing happened. The monk stared at the levers, dumbfounded, before another idea struck him. He walked to the levers, and pulled each one in turn, the metallic levers swinging easily back and forth. When he pulled the fourth lever, a large cracking echo sounded, similar to the one he had heard at the Drow camp, only much louder. Trey recoiled, shoving his fingers into his ears, his eyes narrowed. As he looked on, the levers he had pulled seemed to melt at the sound of the cracking, which had not yet stopped, and congealed into puddles on the stone. Colored smoke arose from the pillars, and then, with a crashing sound that made the ceiling shake, the pillars crumbled, piling into nothing more than colored pebbles. The bridge was clear, and he slowly removed his fingers from his ears. Across the bridge, beyond the magma lake, he saw a stairway, descending deeper into the Undermountain.

One level down, who knows how many more to go. But still no Alain. He crossed the bridge, stepping over the rubble gingerly, and sat down on the other side of the bridge. Hopefully, Alain would see the arrows he had scratched into the ground and follow his trail. If Alain didn't, he hoped that nothing nastier did.