If you haven't read it yet, I did post a prequel to The Grey Warriors called Midwinter. It's *literal* buckets of cheese, but I wanted a break from the doom and gloom of the Underdark. The first chapter is new content, but the others are chapters 11 and 20 from TWG, which narrate Zelyra's origins. I've decided to lump all the vignettes altogether. Read if you will; otherwise, we're back on track for the Grey Warriors narrative.

Chapter Twenty-Six

The Gift

1485 DR / Day 34

The Whorlstone Tunnels, Gracklstugh

The adventurers were all too glad to leave Buppido's gruesome lair behind and continue their exploration of the Whorlstone Tunnels. Fraeya and Fargas resumed their positions as scouts in the front of the group, while Zelyra elected to join Sarith as a rearguard. Normally she would have walked in the middle of the group with Kazimir and Derendil, but she wanted to give the prince his space.

Almost immediately after Derendil had walked away, Zelyra realized her mistake. Her words had come out too soon and at the worst time. The prince was still recovering from the shock of attacking her. Her thoughtlessly bringing up his curse and comparing him to a primal animal had been incredibly insensitive. She reasoned that she would apologize to him later, perhaps when they stopped to rest. But when that might be was anyone's guess. The druid could only suppose that they were not returning to Ghohlbrorn's Lair until they had enough proof to bring back to Blackskull or found the missing dragon egg. Until then, they would likely be sleeping in the tunnels.

As Fargas and Fraeya led the party to the mouth of a third open chamber, the faerzress changed again. This time, the magical energy was neither pale silver nor sickly green. Instead, it was bright gold and spun in hypnotizing patterns, as if in time to some sort of dance or song. The rogues watched the faerzress for a moment before peering around the corner. To their disappointment, the chamber beyond was not empty, and its inhabitants were all acting rather odd.

Around a dozen fungus-folk occupied the space. But these myconids looked nothing like Stool, who still was a sprout. Instead, most were adults. They appeared far more humanoid-like, with fully formed arms, hands, legs, and feet. Their extremities were pudgy, broad, and varied in number. Their hands ended in only two or three stubby fingers and a thumb, but their feet had numerous toes, and the number was not always equal on both feet. The bloated flesh of their torsos was a muted purple-ish gray, while their caps were an array of all colors of the rainbow—from splotches of red and yellow to blue and pink.

Hunched nearby the myconids were two hulking bear-like creatures covered in mushroom growth and yellow mold. Fraeya and Fargas were quite familiar with these creatures as well. They were quaggoths, and yet, as in the case of the adult myconids and Stool, these creatures looked nothing like Prince Derendil. But neither did they resemble the quaggoth servants of Velkynvelve. Rather than savage slaves, these were empty husks. They cared little for their surroundings, considering they were not immediately on alert at the scent of other humanoids.

"What are they doing?" Fargas whispered to his drow companion.

He was speaking of the myconids. The fungus folk swayed back and forth, sometimes wiggling their appendages in the air or tapping their feet. Others spun in lopsided circles. Occasionally, one would rattle a rock as they twirled, but otherwise, the chamber was utterly silent. The entire scene was just bizarre.

Fraeya shook her head in confusion. "I think they're dancing! But I've never seen a myconid dance before…." she replied quietly.

"What are they dancing to? I hear no music."

"I haven't the slightest idea, Fargas."

"Well, should we interrupt them?" the halfling asked.

"We'll have to if we want to proceed. There are too many to sneak passed. But perhaps Stool should go first," the drow answered after a breath. "Seeing one of their own might make us seem more approachable."

"I'm plenty approachable," Fargas quipped. "You're the scary one."

Fraeya rolled her eyes, but the joke did bring a genuine smile to her face.

Fargas remained hunched by the cavern's entrance as Fraeya went to retrieve Kazimir and Stool. Though the drow was loathed to admit it, Kazimir was the smoothest talker of them all—when he wanted to be. The others huddled around her as she quickly and quietly explained the strange situation in the next chamber. And it did not escape her notice that as soon as she said, 'myconid,' Sarith's breathing picked up, and his crimson eyes began to dart in a panic.

"Something wrong?" she innocently asked through the sending stone.

No reply came.

"Anyways, as I was saying, I think it would be best if Kazimir and Stool enter the chamber first. It would be less overwhelming, and the adults might be glad to see one of their own. Who knows? They might even be able to take you back home, Stool. That is what you have been wanting, yes? To go home?" the rogue said.

It was strange to see a toadstool appear torn, but Stool was at that moment. A puff of yellow rapport spores engulfed the group, and the sprout said in a sad, childish voice, "Yes, but I wanted you all to come with me."

"Perhaps we still can—"

"NO!" Sarith interrupted erratically.

Fraeya eyed her fellow drow questionably but didn't call him out on the outburst. The others did that for her.

"Why shouldn't we go with Stool to their home?" Eldeth asked suspiciously.

"Yes, Neverlight Grove, if I recall," Kazimir said. "I gather you've been there before, Sarith. After all, it was you who captured Stool—right?"

Sarith bore daggers into him, but Kazimir kept talking.

"I mean, by the way Stool describes it, I think I would be very interested in visiting once we finish up here in Gracklstugh! Seems like a neat place," the tiefling prattled.

Hearing that, Sarith abruptly turned his back on the group and faced the cavern wall. He put a hand upon it to support himself as he breathed heavily in and out of his mouth. Going back to Neverlight Grove? He couldn't… And yet, the damn whispers clung to that notion and spurred him forward. It had begun as soon as they entered the Whorlstone, and with every step he took further within, Her influence bored into him with greater prominence.

Neverlight Grove was the answer. She was there! And Sarith desperately needed to return to Her service. He'd been wayward, but all could be forgiven—especially if he brought others.

"What in the Nine Hells is wrong with him?" Kazimir asked bewilderedly.

"I don't know," Fraeya lied. "But you and Stool should go. We need to keep moving. Just introduce yourself, make a few pleasantries, and then we can all go through."

"He's been acting weird ever since we entered these tunnels," the tiefling continued to argue.

"The faerzress affects people in different ways," the rogue snapped.

"I'm starting to think it's more than just the faerzress," Zelyra mumbled.

"Me too," Eldeth seconded.

Fraeya drug a frustrated hand over her face. Why wouldn't they just let it go? "Look—just leave Sarith to me, okay?" she pleaded.

When Zelyra opened her mouth to debate, Prince Derendil spoke up and said, "Perhaps that is for the best." The druid looked up at him in distress, but the prince deliberately avoided her gaze.

"Fine," Zelyra grumbled. "I was only going to suggest that I might have a look at him. Perhaps I can—"

"He won't let you," the rogue interrupted bluntly.

Zelyra's shoulders slumped. Deep down, she knew that Fraeya was right.

Kazimir, along with Stool, split from the party then. They met up with Fargas, who was waiting rather impatiently at the cavern's mouth. As he sidled up alongside the halfling, Kazimir was treated to the same strange sight that Fraeya had described. For a moment, he could only stand by and watch in bewilderment—just as Fraeya and Fargas had done. But Stool had other ideas.

"Rumpadump!" the sprout cried excitedly and rushed into the cavern without further explanation.

"Stool! Wait!" Kazimir pleaded through their telepathic link.

The myconid sprout rushed into the middle of the open cavern, and as they did, the adult myconids frenzied movements stopped. Kazimir cautiously trailed after Stool, and though he had one hand closed tight around his crystalline staff, the other was raised in a peaceful gesture.

"Greetings!" he called out to the host of fungus folk.

Stool, meanwhile, trotted up to a large myconid that featured a broad cap that was bright yellow near the brow and darkened to a deep burgundy color near the back. The adult released a familiar yellow plume of spores, and the pair began to converse telepathically.

Kazimir waited patiently. His eyes darted to the other myconids. Their dancing might have stopped, but they did not acknowledge him or appear hostile. Likewise, the mold-covered quaggoths did not so much as growl. That alone made the tiefling uneasy. What were quaggoths doing amongst the peaceful fungus folk anyway? Quaggoths were bestial and savage in the wild but, more importantly, were well-known slaves to the drow.

At last, the yellow and burgundy-capped myconid stepped forward and released another spray of rapport spores to communicate with Kazimir. The spores spread in a wide area and lingered to include all the other myconids and anyone else that might join them—as Stool had implied. But while the rapport spores looked the same as Stool's, Kazimir curiously noted that they felt different. It was not just that they felt more mature or old. Instead, they felt dark. And yet, there was also something about that darkness that made the tiefling want to reach out and grasp it. It was almost as if he could now hear the strange music the myconids had been dancing to. It was discordant, yet lovely. Intoxicating and satisfying to the senses.

"Hello, horned one," the myconid greeted, breaking Kazimir from his troubled thoughts. "The Lady's fate smiles upon us that we would meet one of our lost sprouts in such a strange place."

"A strange place indeed," the tiefling replied. "We came down here to look for someone."

"And did you find them?" the myconid asked curiously.

Kazimir grimaced and said, "Unfortunately."

The myconid didn't press the issue, and the tiefling was grateful. Instead, they said, "Well, I must thank you and your companions for keeping Stool safe. Do not fret. You may call the others forward. Any friends of Stool's are friends of us all."

The myconid's friendly words should have been reassuring, but the unnerving feeling of the rapport spores remained. Kazimir could not quite explain it… Still, he briefly excused himself and hurried back into the tunnel to reconvene with the others. He said nothing of how he felt about the burgundy-capped myconid's spores as he was curious if any of the others would also notice it.

"You all go on ahead. I'll stay with Sarith," Fraeya said.

"I'll stay with you," Nine volunteered.

The rogue thought to decline the ranger's help, but then Sarith abruptly sagged against the cavern wall. Whereas the companions had previously noted the drow's habit of rubbing his temples when he thought no one was watching, he now ruthlessly dug his nails into his scalp. Mumbled whispers left his lips which made sense to no one in the party except Fraeya.

I won't do it. I won't go.

It is not a Gift! It is a curse!

Don't do it. Don't go!

Fraeya looked between the cavern mouth and her fellow drow for a moment before telling Nine, "You know what—I'd really appreciate that."

"Are you sure?" Kazimir asked the rogue and ranger.

"Does he look fit for company?" Fraeya countered bluntly while gesturing to Sarith.

The tiefling made a face and said, "No."

"Then shoo!"

Zelyra, Eldeth, and Derendil quietly followed Kazimir into the next chamber, leaving Fraeya, Sarith, and Nine alone in the offshoot tunnel. The distressed drow warrior began to grunt gutturally and tug wildly at his hair no sooner had the others left. Her voice, more probing than ever, came to him. He tried to fight it, tried so very—

There was no control.

The Lady gives many Gifts.

Accept and share.

Go to them. They can bring you back to me.

Nine urgently shook the drow. Then, when Sarith didn't respond, she turned to Fraeya.

Sarith vaguely recognized someone calling his name and that he was shaking…or being shaken. But Her influence was so powerful now that it took away his sight completely. Instead, he saw a tower covered in lichen with his waking eyes, with many stalks that split to rise upward. An eerie green and purple light came from it—

A slap to the cheek and—

"Sarith! Look at me!"

The terrifying vision faded in a confusing flash. Fraeya was in front of him, and her silver eyes were wide with worry. Silver. Not crimson. She was special. Marked. He'd known that for some time. Sarith focused on those eyes. He had never known anything but Lolth's darkness. He had never once questioned his belief. But in his madness, fear, and despair, if for one moment, he might touch some bit of light…

"Look at me," Fraeya repeated softly.

"I need to go to them," Sarith growled. "I need to go."

"Who? And go where?"

The warrior made a strangled sound deep in the back of his throat. "To Her."

Nine shot Fraeya a bewildered look, which she ignored. Instead, the drow narrowed her eyes and said, "No! So, help me, Sarith. You aren't going anywhere." She might not have known who the Lady was or what the Giftmeant, but anything that made Sarith act this erratic and out of control could not be good.

Once again, Sarith focused on her silver irises. "Then get me out of here," he pleaded, hating his weakness. "I can't—"

He needn't say anything more. Fraeya took up the warrior's left side while Nine shouldered him to the left. Together, they walked Sarith away from the cavern of strange myconids and from what surely would have been his doom. [1]

. . .

Kazimir's suspicions about the strange spores were confirmed as soon as Zelyra stepped into the yellow haze. Her brow furrowed, and a nervous look swept across her brow. The druid's gaze sought out Kazimir's, and as her bright green irises met pupilless silver, both wished for a pair of sending stones like what Fraeya and Sarith utilized.

"My! What a group you have," the burgundy-capped myconid communicated through their rapport spores as the companions gathered before them. "As I have told the horned one, I wish to thank you for the kindness you have shown young Stool."

"It was no trouble, truly," Kazimir replied smoothly. He then introduced his companions before finishing on himself, "And my name is Kazimir. Now that you know all of us, might we ask your name?"

"Voosbur," the myconid answered.

"What are you doing so far from home, Voosbur?" Zelyra asked curiously.

Voosbur pointed to a thick, fungal thicket that lined the chamber's walls. The same strange red and blue capped mushrooms that Stool had asked Kazimir to take samples of were sprinkled intermittently. "We are here to gather pygmywort and bigwig," they explained.

"Ah!" the tiefling exclaimed. "Stool told me about those, though they did not know their name. One makes you big, while the other makes you small! They had me gather samples to take back to your sovereigns."

"That would please Phylo, yes," Voosbur said.

"Yes, Phylo and…Basidia, right? Two sovereigns serve your Circle—from what Stool has told me, anyway," Kazimir replied. "I gather that is a rarity."

For a moment, Voosbur did not answer. And then, "Yes."

An awkward silence followed.

"But how did you all get here? Surely such a journey from your home in Neverlight Grove would span a great distance, not to mention your troupe would have encountered resistance from the derro above us to reach this chamber," Zelyra said.

"Oh! We traveled through the Lady's dream," Voosbur answered and gestured to the thicket. "Her magic brought us here. She's the reason we've come."

"Are you telling us that you traveled through the fungi?" Fargas asked dubiously.

"One of the Masters of my Circle knows such magics," the druid said thoughtfully. "Though we generally use large trees rather than fungi. It links plant to plant, barring no distance if they are on the same plane. But…that is extremely powerful magic! Ansron studied for hundreds of years to—"

Zelyra cut off abruptly as she realized she was about to reveal secrets of her home and loved ones. Fortunately, her companions thought nothing of it.

Prince Derendil and Eldeth had remained quiet throughout the entire exchange until now. Finally, the prince stepped forward and asked, "May I ask who the Lady is?"

"Yes, I was wondering that me-self," Eldeth said.

"The Lady loves and cherishes all of our kind," Voosbur answered dreamily. "She guides us. And protects us. I could…share her Gift with you if you wish. Then you might be able to travel through Her dream as we do."

"I-I don't know what Voosbur is talking about," Stool timidly told Kazimir through the party's exclusive bond. "There was never a Lady when I was in the Grove."

From the corner of her eye, Zelyra noticed a younger myconid standing off to themselves. They were clearly older than Stool, given that they had fully formed arms and legs. But they had yet to develop a cap and only stood around three and a half feet tall versus the six and seven-foot-tall adults. A juvenile, the druid reasoned. But it wasn't the myconid's age that struck her. Instead, it was the fact that they subtly released a small burst of rapport spores that touched only her—as she was closest to them. And the feeling she got from those spores was a jumble of emotions but mostly panic, distress, and fear at Voosbur's offer. Zelyra had already felt uneasy about the entire situation. The juvenile only confirmed those suspicions. She gave them a slight nod in acknowledgement of their warning.

The druid then locked gazes with her wizard counterpart, and both silently agreed that whatever this 'gift' was, they wanted no part in it.

"I don't think that is necessary," Kazimir told Voosbur.

The decline was rough and abrupt, so Zelyra immediately followed up with a crafty lie. "We do appreciate your kind offer, Voosbur. But as I already said, my own Circle has access to such transportation magics and can assist us if needed."

The myconid nodded and, thankfully, did not appear offended.

"As you wish," they replied languidly. "If that is your answer, we have our samples and should return to the Lady now."

The myconids eagerly reacted to Voosbur's statement and funneled towards the wall of fungi—all except the juvenile. They approached the elder myconid, and the two held a private, telepathic conversation. After a few moments, Voosbur solemnly nodded to the youth and turned to join the others and their mold-covered quaggoth protectors at the fungal wall. The juvenile trotted back to stand with Stool.

"We are ready, my Lady," Voosbur whispered into the thicket.

The adventurers watched in stunned silence as the faerzress around them suddenly turned from gold to vibrant purple and pulsed excitedly. Simultaneously, Kazimir staggered as he felt a violent ripple in the Weave. Then, for the second time in less than a day, the companions observed a jagged line tear through reality, followed by a ripping sound that tore down their spines. But this time, as the line widened and opened into a proper portal within the fungal thicket, a wonderous and colorful landscape of flora and fauna was revealed.

The myconids and quaggoths stepped through the gateway, one by one. Voosbur was the last to make the crossing. As they did, the burgundy-capped myconid paused in the dimensional doorway and said to the adventurers, "Until we meet again."

"Until then," Kazimir replied warily.

As the portal closed behind Voosbur and their troupe, each of the adventurers breathed a sigh of relief. The juvenile myconid, too, seemed to relax as soon as the others were gone. But even though Voosbur was gone, their strange, rapport spores that connected them all lingered, which the companions found even more ominous.

"Why didn't you go with them?" Zelyra asked the juvenile.

They regarded her for several moments, and the emotions that surged through their bond were those of distress and nervousness. But finally, the myconid said, "Voosbur has changed. Many of them have. I don't like the feeling of the Grove anymore."

"Changed how?" Derendil pressed.

"It feels sick," the juvenile said. "And cold."

As the myconid said this, Stool released a spray of vibrant red spores. The conversation was upsetting them greatly. So badly they had wanted to go home, only to hear such terrible things had happened in their absence. Their companions were initially alarmed by the strange red spores until Kazimir explained their meaning—or what he had interpreted them to be, anyway.

"And this is the place you are so interested in going to?" Eldeth whispered to the tiefling in the common tongue.

"That's not how Stool described it to me," Kazimir replied.

"What is the Lady like? Is she a myconid like you?" Zelyra asked through the bond.

Again, the juvenile hesitated to speak. "I've never seen Her," they eventually said. "But Voosbur has. She sends them on frequent trips. So, I volunteered to come this time to get away from the Grove. Here feels much better."

"We have to go and find out what's wrong with the Grove!" Stool said urgently. "You'll help, right?"

The companions hesitated.

"Perhaps ye'd be better off staying away for a while," Eldeth tried.

Stool's entire form seemed to slump at those words.

"That's not us saying 'no,' Stool. We just need to weigh our priorities. There is still much to do here," Kazimir said sagely. "The duergar will not let us leave until we fulfill our end of the bargain."

"Okay," the sprout said sadly. Stool gestured to the juvenile myconid and said, "This is Rumpadump. I've known them since I was earthed, so I was happy to see them here."

"I'm sure a familiar face was most welcome—on both ends," Prince Derendil said. He gave a slight bow and added, "It is a pleasure, Rumpadump."

The juvenile said nothing in response, but the emotions flowing through their bond warmed somewhat.

Shuffling near the mouth of the cave soon revealed Fraeya, Sarith, and Nine. Notably, the drow warrior appeared calmer than he had been since they entered the tunnels and back to his usual stoic self. However, the companions knew better than to comment upon it and incur his wrath, so they left the matter alone for the moment. He appeared sound again. That was all that mattered.

"So, are we ready to move on?" Fraeya asked, looking at Fargas.

"Don't you want to hear about the myco—" the halfling began.

The rogue abruptly cut him off. "You can tell us later. Time's a-wasting!"

In truth, Fraeya was curious to hear what her companions had learned from the myconids. And why they had picked up yet another stray—a juvenile myconid, she noted. But she did not want to risk setting Sarith off on another downward spiral. His recovery was strange enough as it was. One minute, he had acted as if his head were about to explode, and then the next, nothing. He abruptly straightened and glared at the ranger and rogue while acting as if nothing had happened.

Fargas left the matter alone and joined Fraeya in scouting ahead of the rest of the group. The others fell in line behind them, keeping at least thirty feet back and awaiting a signal to move forward. Zelyra kept a close eye on Sarith as they proceeded deeper into the tunnels. He remained quiet but, otherwise, back to his usual self. The druid was not quite sure what to make of that.

The rogues led their group through another short tunnel before they hit a wall of dense fungal growth. They called the others forward then to discuss their options. Zelyra vehemently discouraged them from disturbing the plants, but her advice was ignored. It was decided that Kazimir would continuously shoot bolts of flame into the mass while Eldeth followed behind, cutting down what remained with her axe. It went well at first. But then, halfway through the fungal patch, the tiefling and dwarf were attacked by swarms of centipedes. It was the most unpleasant feeling—to have the tiny, slimy creatures crawling, biting, and nagging.

Zelyra hurriedly ignited Flameruin and began to bat the swarms away as best as she could without injuring one of them or catching their clothes on fire. Fargas and Nine lit torches and followed suit while Sarith, Fraeya, and Derendil hung back, entirely deterred by the sudden onslaught of bright light. The centipedes shriveled and burned quickly. And when the swarms were defeated and the thicket settled, the druid turned an I-told-you-so glare upon her companions.

"Bah! Ones still crawling in me ear!" Eldeth grumbled.

"Fine! You win, Z. Do you have a better idea about getting through this?" Kazimir asked tiredly as he batted out a few rogue flames from his robes.

The druid felt like all the breath had been sucked out of her for a moment. To hear such a familiar nickname spoken on lips that would have had no such awareness of it… It transported Zelyra back to a happier time, a simpler time, in which three young half-elves had taken part in many a shenanigan and had not a true care in the world. So much had happened since those days, yet the nickname would not elude her.

"What?" Kazimir asked at Zelyra's bewildered stare.

"Nothing—it's nothing," the druid said shakily. "I do have an idea, actually."

Her companions watched in confusion as Zelyra centered herself, knelt in the middle of the thicket, and dug her hands into the dirt that sustained the fungi. She thought of her dreamscape; the giant tree on a hill full of wildflowers with a vivid sunset sky above that never waned nor waxed.

"Guide me," she whispered in the tongue of her people.

The adventurers stood back and watched as a sourceless breeze ruffled their druid companion's hair. Strange voices and emotions filled Zelyra's thoughts—not her own, but the fauna. It was a truly extraordinary experience. One that she had only heard Laucian describe in passing! She had always envied how he could touch a tree or put his hand to the earth and just know. He always told her that they had voices of their own. But this was the first time she'd ever experienced that kind of commune for herself.

"Please, allow us to pass," the druid beseeched the fungi.

The thicket seemed to come alive a moment later, and a makeshift pathway formed. As Zelyra rose from the dirt and turned around to face her companions with a bright smile, they could only stare back at her in awe.

"How?" Eldeth was the first to break the silence.

Zelyra shrugged. "I asked them to allow us to pass," she said with a grin.

Fraeya shook her head and muttered, "Nature freak."

The druid proudly led the way through the fungi thicket until they were on the other side. As soon as the group cleared the mound, it returned to its wild state. As it did, the companions again looked to Zelyra in disbelief and respect.

"I'll admit, your way was much more pleasant," Kazimir confessed.

But though the companions had cleared the fungi thicket, they were still left with a difficult choice. They now stood at a fork in the path. Left or right, the choice was theirs. Ultimately, they chose right and did not make it even thirty feet into that section before encountering another obstacle. This time, it was two black-cloaked duergar accompanied by a strange brain-like creature walking on four legs. They were walking away from the companions, some fifty feet ahead, and seemed to be in quite a hurry.

"What is that?!" Fraeya mouthed to Fargas.

The halfling shook his head, and though she could not see it behind the lenses of his night vision goggles, his eyes were wide. And so, they held back, and Fraeya described the strange brain-like creature to Sarith through the sending stone.

"They're following two duergar and a brain-like creature walking on four legs," Sarith told Zelyra as she walked next to him at the rear of their line.

The druid thought about that description for a moment, and it sparked a hazy memory. "I—I've heard of such aberrations. I don't know their proper name, but my mentor spent some time in the Underdark. He encountered one once…they have the power to scramble your brain. And by scramble, I mean…devour and take over your body," she said.

Sarith relayed the druid's ominous message through the sending stone.

"Then we will steer clear and follow at a safe distance," Fraeya told her fellow drow.

Fraeya and Fargas gave the two duergar and the brain-creature a good five-minute head start before sleuthing behind them. Before long, however, the scouts began to hear the tell-tale sound of battle—the clanging of steel against steel and shouting in garbled Undercommon. Fraeya and Fargas glanced at each other uncertainly, but their curiosity had them rapidly approaching the sounds against their better judgement.

They rounded a bend and found themselves outside another faerzress-filled chamber. The mystical energy here had the same silvery ethereal quality as the Whorlstone Tunnel's opening chamber. But here, it flowed fluidly as if pushed along by some unseen wind. It was drawn towards the space's center, to a large mesa, and then continued to spiral upward to the darkened ceiling. The darkness that hung there was so pitch-black that even Fraeya's superior darkvision and infravision could not pierce it.

But the strange behavior of the faerzress was the least of the scouts' worries. Instead, they watched as the two duergar and the walking brain charged forward to reinforce a small host of other black-cloaked humanoids ambushed by derro atop the mesa. The derro outnumbered their enemy two to one. Most curiously, the black-cloaked individuals were not limited to just duergar—a human male and a female half-orc also fought among them.

Fraeya signaled Sarith to have the group hang back while she and Fargas watched the strange battle. It was over quickly, with both sides taking heavy losses. In the end, only one derro remained. He chittered to himself as he looted the bodies of his black-cloaked rivals and then disappeared into a tiny fissure in the wall that only Fargas would have had the ability to follow him down.

"Should we see who these individuals are?" Fargas asked Fraeya.

The drow nodded. "It would be wise to know more about our enemies down here."

"Maybe they're not enemies," Fargas said.

"We know that the Empty Scabbard Killers, The Grey Ghosts, and the derro savants frequent these tunnels. I would consider none of those an ally," Fraeya replied as she cautiously crept into the chamber. Fargas shrugged and followed.

As they approached the mesa, whispers and murmurs filled their ears. At first, one might assume the sounds were coming from the dead. However, as Fraeya and Fargas wound their way up the ramp with circled the raised structure, they realized the disparate sounds were coming from the strange darkness looming above them. They could hear the rhythmic clank of Gracklstugh's forges, the low grumbling of Themberchaud as he roosted in his cave, the mad screaming of the derro, and even hints and snatches of conversation.

"I swear I just heard someone talking about what they ate for breakfast at the Lair. How is that possible?" Fargas asked as he stared up at the dark ceiling in wonder. But Fraeya scarcely heard the halfling's words, for a blinding pain suddenly shot through the center of her forehead as she gazed up into the abyss.

"It must be the faerzress," Kazimir's voice suddenly came from the bottom of the mesa. The rest of the group had finally caught up to them. The wizard continued, "Only an unpredictable energy could be responsible for such transfer of sound."

As Kazimir and Prince Derendil remained at the mesa's base considering the strange darkness and sounds, Zelyra, Sarith, and Eldeth joined Fraeya and Fargas at the top. Zelyra immediately went to the human male's body and began rifling through his pockets, looking for any clue their derro rival might have left behind. Fraeya, Fargas, Eldeth, and Sarith did the same with the others lying on the platform. Of them, only Zelyra found something of note. In the human's hand was a folded-up piece of parchment. As she could not read the Undercommon words, the half-elf showed the slip to Sarith.

"Take back the raucous mesa—signed, Qualax," the drow translated.

"So, this was some sort of conflict of territory then," Zelyra supposed.

"That actually makes some sense," Fargas cut in thoughtfully. "One of the things that Buppido said just before the battle was, 'I've always hated those Grey Ghosts—always trying to steal our territory!' Makes me wonder if he was one of the Empty Scabbard Killers."

"Given his penchant for murder, I would say that very likely. I wonder if they worship Orcus too," Zelyra replied with a shudder.

"No way to know now. We best be on our guard," Eldeth said.

"I would say we should stop to make camp soon but perhaps sleeping in the middle of a conflict zone isn't the best idea," Fraeya said as she rubbed her still aching forehead.

"But the mesa gives us a good tactical position," the shield dwarf argued. "We should rest while we have the chance. Here is better than any. There's no tellin' what's lies beyond, and I don't fancy fighting me way through the fungal patch again."

"I SECOND THAT!" Kazimir called up from below. "Plus, camping here would give me more time to study this curious sound effect. Perhaps if we listen long enough, we might hear useful information."

Fraeya threw up her hands. "Fine! But if we get murdered in our sleep, I will personally come after you all in the afterlife just to say I-told-you-so."

"I don't think any of us would be insane enough to sleep here without taking watches," Zelyra said with a shake of her head.

With that settled, Derendil, Sarith, and Eldeth took up the grim task of removing the dead bodies from the mesa. They piled them in a far corner of the room and used the deceased individuals' cloaks to respectfully cover their bodies, save two that Zelyra snatched off the human and the half-orc.

"Might be nice to have the outfitting of our enemies," the druid reasoned when the others questioned the action. But that was not the only reason. Though she had tried to give the prince space since his attack on her, she could no longer hold back. So Zelyra quietly approached Derendil and held out the cloak. "I thought you might want this," she said.

The prince curiously turned his head. "Why?"

"Err, you've got a bit of…." Zelyra hesitantly trailed off.

"A bit of what?" Derendil asked.

The druid bit her lip and only fleetingly considered that the action might be an overstep before reaching out to bat away a bit of cave slime from the prince's lapel and dust debris from his back. Derendil straightened nervously at the touch, but Zelyra pressed on, utterly ignorant of his discomfort.

"The cloak might be a bit small, but it will cover your back. There are several deep snags there, presumably from when you had to squeeze through the entrance chamber," the druid said as she traced a faint line down a tear near the prince's left shoulder blade. "I have needle and thread in my pack. I might be able to repair it."

"No need," Derendil said, taking an entire step away from her. "For repair or the cloak. I'll be fine. Next time we visit the Blade Bazaar, I'll buy some proper armor and retire this old robe entirely."

"Do they even make armor for someone like you?" Kazimir asked curiously.

The prince's shoulders slumped. He hadn't considered that.

"Err…not you, per se, but rather the form you've been cursed to embody," the tiefling anxiously backpaddled.

"It'd be a custom piece for sure," Fargas said. "And will likely cost a fair amount of coin."

"But why throw away what can easily be fixed? Stains can be washed. Tears can be mended. It really is too lovely a set of robes to just toss aside like garbage," Zelyra argued. "We didn't have access to fabrics like that in my village."

"I could always try to mend them with magic! I know just the spell," Kazimir offered brightly.

Derendil shrugged with indifference.

Zelyra took a deep breath and mustered her courage before starting, "Anyway, Derendil. About what I said earlier, I didn't mean—"

But before she could force more of the apology out, the prince briskly cut her off. "Stop. I don't want to think about that right now. I'll take the first watch." He then spun on his heel and went to sit alone on the bottom stair of the mesa.

"You can wake me for the second!" Fraeya called down.

"And I'll take third!" Nine offered.

The prince waved half-heartedly in acknowledgement.

Kazimir watched Derendil make the descent with wizened eyes. He then turned to Zelyra, who had a crushed look on her face, and said, "Just give him some more time. This can't be easy for him. And don't look so guilty. Did I not just stick my foot in my mouth as well?"

The druid sighed. "You're right."

The companions settled down on the mesa then to take their rest. Rumpadump and Stool participated in a strange process that the myconids called melding. It was not quite sleeping but a comforting, long-held telepathic bond that allowed them to share their insights, fears, hopes, and dreams. But the pair remained still for so long that their companions believed them asleep.

After consuming an unappetizing dinner of wrapped hard-tack rations, Fraeya and Nine rolled out their bedrolls and settled down. Sarith spent some time sipping some sort of liquid out of a silver flask before bedding down as well. The others stayed up a little longer. Zelyra entertained Fargas and Eldeth with Peanut, showing them all sorts of tricks she'd taught the little fey mouse throughout their companionship. Kazimir split his time jotting down notes in his spellbook about their findings and considering the fascinating sound effect the faerzress had on the chamber. Eventually, Fargas also retired, leaving Eldeth, Kazimir, and Zelyra the only ones awake, save the prince, who was still on watch.

As the tiefling's quill scratched across the pages of his leather tome, Zelyra suddenly looked over in his direction and asked. "Kaz, if I might ask a favor…."

"Sure," he muttered distractedly.

"Could I have a few slips of parchment?" she asked.

The wizard looked up from his spellbook in surprise. "Of course. But whatever for?"

"I…I'd like to write some letters," Zelyra answered meekly.

"Love letters?" Kazimir joked.

Zelyra's face immediately erupted into a fiery blush, which intrigued her companions. "To one of the rangers from my Circle. He's a friend," she said.

Eldeth curiously noted the druid's flushed cheeks and sniggered as she asked, "Oooh—ye mean the handsome one ye told Balasar and me about?" [2]

"A handsome ranger?" Kazimir repeated with raised brows and a wry grin.

Zelyra ignored both questions and instead countered with, "I didn't exactly tell anyone where I was going when I left my home, and I'm sure there are at least some who are missing me."

"Brother? Sister? Parents?" the wizard asked, already anticipating Zelyra's answer.

"No," she predicably responded.

Kazimir's eyes narrowed playfully, "A lover, then."

The insinuation was spoken in jest, but Zelyra ducked her head in shame. Perhaps she could have claimed Varan as her lover at one time, but now…she had absolutely no idea where she stood with him. With the way they had parted—nothing was certain.

Seeing the abrupt shift in the druid's expression, Kazimir continued to pry, "An ex-lover?" Her hesitance to provide an answer must have condemned her in his eyes. The wizard chuckled madly as he ripped several blank pages from his spellbook and handed them to the druid. "Oh boy..." [3]

Zelyra refused to meet his gaze as she accepted the parchment. "And a spare quill if you've got one."

The wizard t'sked. "So needy."

"Sorry," the druid hurriedly apologized.

"I'm just teasing you, Z."

Again, with the damned nickname.

Zelyra was torn between finding comfort in it and sorrow.

After Kazimir gave her a spare quill, the druid handed Peanut off to Eldeth for safekeeping and scooted over to the wizard's side to share in the bit of light that shone from the crystal top of his staff. The battle against Buppido that day had been an eye-opening experience. So many times now, the companions had endured life-threatening situations. And yet, the ghoul's brutal attack had left Zelyra shaken.

She had been dreaming of home much more frequently. And so, Zelyra did indeed wish to write letters to Varan—and perhaps Arlathan—and hoped that should they complete the tasks for Blackskull and Gartokkar, one of them might know of a way to get the messages to Neverwinter. If the worst did occur, then at least her mind could be at peace that she had attempted to offer the ranger an apology, and both would know that she dearly loved them.

The Underdark was indeed the most dreadful place Zelyra had ever been. After all she had endured these past three tendays, part of her acknowledged that Varan had been right. The task was beyond her. At that moment, Laucian felt so very far away. But there was a bit of light for however much it was worth. Her magic was strengthening. Whether by exposure to faerzress or the druid's own will was unclear. More importantly, Zelyra was slowly starting to feel at peace amongst her companions. Threads of trust and friendship were beginning to form. At least she could bank on that.

Thus, the druid quietly sat next to her wizard counterpart and put what was in her heart to parchment.

[1] I had no idea how close we had come to losing Sarith in this sequence until I read aaron_mag's fic. If Sarith had entered that cavern… If Fraeya and Nine's players would not have intervened as they had…

(SPOILERS) The module says, "Voosbur takes no offense if the characters refuse his offer to teach them how to travel "the Lady's dream," simply bidding them farewell. At the same time, Sarith breaks away from the party to join the myconids. The drow turns one last time to give the characters a look of terror and despair before his face loses all expression. He and the dancing myconids then enter a mushroom patch and use the tree stride ability granted by "Her" blessing to vanish from sight." (/SPOILERS)

I won't say more than that because I do not want to spoil anything for those unfamiliar with the module…but damn! He still has a long way to go, but Sarith is safe for now, at least.

[2] This is a callback to a conversation from near the end of chapter 7.

[3] This is some modified RP from a conversation Kaz's player and I had when Varan's character was first introduced to the party, which I always thought was funny. But I've already planned to slightly alter that scene to where those lines will no longer flow…so I'm using it here, lol.

I can tell that Rumpadump will be a struggle for me. I generally forget about including Stool in party interactions—never mind Peanut. And now I've added a third mostly silent character to the list! I haven't narrated it for a while, but just assume that the sprouts hang back or hide in a combat scenario. That's usually how we handled it in-game.