Previously…
Zelyra's warhorse form took off galloping then towards the northern gate with the rogue safely astride her back. Again, the cavern quaked as Demogorgon's tentacles sliced through yet another grouping of buildings, sending a ray of deadly splinters hurtling every which way. Jimjar and Shuushar were lost to a cloud of debris.
Ploopploopeen's own words to the adventurers the day before had turned prophetic. My daughter can no longer be reasoned with. I will not allow her and her mad followers to destroy what we have spent generations building. They will be the death of Sloobludop. As Ploopploopeen had justly feared, the Deep Father responded to his faithful's call. Sloobludop was soon to be leveled. But any remaining kuo-toa still alive and not frozen in fear, did not run. They hypnotically chanted their distorted version of the demon lord's name.
Leemooggoogoon.
Chapter Twelve
What Is a Name?
1485 DR / Day 10
Sloobludop
As the fleeing adventurers approached the northern gate, their desperation turned to dismay when they saw that a massive pile of splintered wood and stone blocked their exit—the remains of one of the rickety towers. The same pair of kuo-toa guards who had allowed them entrance into the village the day before now lay crushed beneath it. Balasar reached the bodies first and hastily lit a torch. Neither moved. There was not even a slight rise and fall of the chest, nor did they react to the sudden light. Nothing more could be done for them.
The dragonborn bent and ran a claw through the dark streams of blood pooling from the rubble, noting that it was still warm. One could only assume that the tower had likely only just collapsed. Such was their luck.
But the amount of time that it would take to clear a path to the gate—
"Time is not on our side," Eldeth said, following Balasar's train of thought. For even as the words left her lips, more screams sounded from the shores of the Darklake, and Demogorgon's terrible roar shook the earth beneath their feet. The dwarf swiftly added, "We'll have to find another way out!"
Kazimir stared grimly at the heavy netting that had caught his interest upon their arrival. "We can go up and over," he said. "But it won't be an easy climb." The wizard then pointed out the tiny hooks of ivory bone that were laced into the netting to his companions. None were particularly keen on the idea after seeing them.
"I'd rather cut a way through," Balasar said.
The ranger crossed her arms across her chest and scowled. "That would take just as long as clearing a path to the gate. Do you see how tightly knit the roping is?"
Balasar knew that she spoke sense, though he loathed to admit it.
"Why can't you just wave that magic staff of yours and blast us a way out?" Fargas prompted the wizard among them.
Kazimir replied, "I can certainly try. But I imagine the kuo-toa would have taken precaution against that."
"I wouldn't be so sure," Buppido countered as he approached the wall to inspect it. The derro pricked a single finger against one of the ivory hooks but didn't so much as flinch when it instantly began to bleed. He continued, whilst staring at the blood intently. "Very few of the fish-folk have magical abilities and when they do, their power lies more in the realm of the divine than warding."
The others gaped at him. Not only was that the most competent thing that Buppido had ever said—but he had also never given them any indication that he understood Common, let alone spoke it.
"There are plenty of ways to ward against fire without the use of magic," Sarith reasoned, his crimson eyes narrowing as he eyed the derro in suspicion. "And the kuo-toa are nothing if not resourceful."
"It doesn't matter—the longer we stand here and argue a solution, the closer the monster comes!" Prince Derendil said.
Indeed, Demogorgon had long since reduced the docks to smithereens and now focused his wrath on the village proper. A growing plumb of thick dust fully obscured both shrines. But every so often the adventurers could see a dark tentacle rise from the debris cloud or catch a peek of one of Demogorgon's wicked heads. It was only a matter of time before the demon lord reached the outer edge of the village.
"The prince is right. All I can do is try. And if that doesn't work…we're climbing over," Kazimir said. Nervous beads of sweat broke out upon his silver brow. He pointed his staff at a portion of the outer wall and muttered, "Well, here goes nothing."
As the blue crystal atop the wizard's staff sparked to life, his traveling companions wisely gave him and the outer wall a wide berth. Sarith and Buppido even went so far as to preemptively shield their eyes. A five-foot-diameter sphere of fire burned into existence before Kazimir. Yet, the infernal flames did not harm him. They flickered and flared, recoiling from the tiefling's charcoal-colored skin and gold-trimmed robes. And then, with another wave of his staff, the sphere barreled towards the wall. But as the rolling, angry flames struck the netting, they instantly dissipated, having no effect on the wall at all. Kazimir turned to his companions and lowered his head in defeat.
Of course, their escape would not be so easy.
"Looks like we're climbing," Balasar said.
The dragonborn passed his torch over to Prince Derendil and made a running jump for the netting. As he climbed, the blood began the pour. Balasar ignored it. The others watched as he scaled the wall, inch by painful inch. If the shards of bone could so easily pierce a dragonborn's scales, it promised to be an even more excruciating climb for the rest of them. But they had no other choice. Certainty of death rampaged behind them.
Eldeth was the first to follow. Sarith and Buppido went next. When those three made it to the halfway point, Fargas and his ranger companion began their ascent. That left Kazimir and Prince Derendil on the ground to discuss the dilemma of Stool. For even if Stool were conscious, the sprout could not get over the wall alone.
Prince Derendil doused the torch that Balasar had given him and for a moment, the dragonborn's awareness plunged into darkness as he clung blindly to the outer wall. But before Balasar could object to his lack of sight, four globules of pale blue light flared to life from Kazimir's staff. Two floated twenty feet up into the air to illuminate the wall while the remaining two remained near the bottom. Balasar shouted down his appreciation and continued to climb.
The prince and the wizard set to work then hastily devising a sling for Stool as Derendil could not both climb and carry the sprout. A long strip of fabric ripped from the bottom half of the prince's velveteen robes cocooned Stool while hempen rope from Kazimir's pack was wrapped and knotted around the sling to affix it to Derendil's back. It wasn't the most secure or sightly invention, but they prayed that it would hold for a few minutes at least.
As Kazimir and Prince Derendil clamored up after the others, Kazimir found himself thankful for the prince's quaggoth strength numerous times. For each time the pain became too much, and the wizard felt himself beginning to slip, Prince Derendil steadied him with a quick clawed hand.
"A quaggoth body might not be popular with the ladies, but at least it has practical uses," Kazimir quipped.
The cursed elf prince's response to the well-meant but slightly offensive praise was an unimpressed grunt.
By the time Kazimir, Prince Derendil, and Stool neared the top, Balasar and Eldeth had already reached the ground on the opposite side. Buppido and Sarith were quickly closing in on them while Fargas and the ranger were still at the halfway point. That was when the clip-clop of hooves thundering along the ground finally reached their ears.
Prince Derendil glanced back over his shoulder and sighed in relief when he saw Zelyra's golden warhorse form streaking towards them with Fraeya upon her back. Both appeared unharmed. The prince resisted the urge to place his palm over the setting sun motif embroidered on the breast of his robes. Instead, he quietly muttered, "Thank you." For Fraeya and Zelyra had arrived just in time.
"You'll have to climb! It's the only way," Kazimir called down to the approaching pair as he began to scale down the opposite side.
Prince Derendil added, "Watch out for the spikes!"
Zelyra reverted to her half-elven form as soon as Fraeya was back on her feet. Then, as their companions before them, the rogue and the druid began an agonizing ascent. Fear drove them. At first, the pain was…manageable. But three-quarters of the way up, a bone shard pierced clean through the center of Zelyra's palm, and on pure reflex, she let go of the rope. The druid would have plummeted back down to the bottom had Fraeya not reflexively reached for her. Being no stranger to climbing, the drow locked her legs and held her section of rope with one hand as Zelyra precariously dangled from her other.
"Use your legs," Fraeya advised. "And pull yourself back to the wall."
"I can't," the druid groaned as she experimentally flexed her injured hand, the one fortunately not crushed in Fraeya's death grip.
On the opposite side of the wall, Kazimir and Prince Derendil offered up words of encouragement. Fargas, Balasar, and Eldeth's raised voices soon joined them. The ranger watched silently from a safe distance. Her longbow was drawn with an arrow nocked and ready to fire if the situation called for it. But Sarith and Buppido wasted no time abandoning the doomed village altogether. Both drow and derro slipped into shadow. The action went completely unnoticed by the rest of their companions.
Fraeya and Zelyra had only a few precious minutes left to get over the wall. Demogorgon was swiftly overcoming Sloobludop. But Zelyra felt clumsy and weak and crushingly paralyzed with fear. There was no magic spell that could save her, nor beast form she could take—that ability could not be used again until she rested.
Her hand began to slip from Fraeya's.
"If you let go of my hand, you will die!" the drow shouted. "Your choice!"
The words triggered something in Zelyra's subconscious. One of these days you will get yourself killed if you don't stop to think before you act. Varan had given her that harsh advice years ago. Zelyra hadn't listened. And now, if she did not pull herself together, the warning would most certainly come to fruition.
The druid shut out the outside world and took a deep breath. She imagined her dreamscape with its vibrant multicolored skies, the deeply rooted tree. Warmth bloomed in her chest. You are not alone. Zelyra heard the familiar whisper of guiding wind as if it were right there beside her. Listen to the drow. Let her help you.
When Zelyra next opened her eyes, her vision focused. She was calm.
Gathering her courage and all her strength, Zelyra swung towards the wall using her legs for propelled momentum as Fraeya had counseled. Her injured hand closed around the rope. To her relief, the section that she held was free of hooks. Fraeya released her then, and the pair scrambled the rest of the way up and over the barbed wall without further incident. Neither further acknowledged the drow's selfless act. [1]
When they touched solid ground on the other side, there was no time for celebration or reunion. There was not even a moment for Fraeya and Zelyra to catch their breath. They ran. The adventurers avoided the Darklake like the plague and fled down the first offshoot tunnel that would lead them far, far away from the village. The overlapping howls of Demogorgon bit at their heels, echoed against every rockface, and swept furiously through the snaking tunnels. But no one dared to look back.
The true distance they put between themselves and the ruined village of Sloobludop was unknown. Layers upon layers of rock could easily deceive the senses. But by the time the adventurers slipped into yet another random offshoot fissure, winded, and their hearts frantically thumping with adrenaline, many minutes had passed. The path behind them had fallen silent. No longer could they hear Demogorgon's roars or the screams of the dying kuo-toa. In some ways, that stillness was far more ominous. Now that the adventurers had the chance to catch their breath and gather their thoughts, they also had to come to terms with the impossibility of what they had just witnessed.
Impossibility seemed to be a common phenomenon as of late.
As soon as they stopped, the poor halfling explorer fell to his hands and knees as if their climb and subsequent flight were the most grueling exercise that his little body had endured in some time. To be fair, it was. But not because Fargas was horribly out of shape. Rather, he was not accustomed to keeping pace with such long-legged individuals.
Meanwhile, Zelyra's first instinct was to take inventory of those around her. Jimjar and Shuushar's absence had gone unnoticed until it was too late. Who else could have been lost in the chaos of escape?
The druid first noted Prince Derendil, then Stool cocooned within the makeshift sling. Kazimir stood nearby leaning heavily upon his crystalline staff. Fraeya's presence Zelyra could easily confirm as the drow had run alongside her nearly the entire way. Balasar and Eldeth were present, as were Fargas and the nameless ranger. But they had entered Sloobludop the previous day with thirteen individuals. Including herself, Zelyra now only counted nine.
"Sarith and Buppido are missing," she wheezed.
The magic of Kazimir's dancing lights had long since expired. But at a slight wave of his staff, the pale blue orbs appeared once more and floated around the party. The tunnels were quiet. There were no approaching footsteps in front or behind them. It was truly just the nine of them.
"Jimjar and Shuushar too," the wizard observed grimly.
"They fell behind," was all Fraeya could manage.
"We saw Jimjar and Shuushar as we were leaving the archpriest's house," Zelyra elaborated. "That—monster—was nearly upon them. Jimjar told us to save ourselves. He ran back after Shuushar."
Kazimir cursed quietly in Infernal.
Though the mere thought made his heart heavy, Prince Derendil said, "We cannot go back."
"How is Stool?" Zelyra asked, eyeing the sling upon Prince Derendil's back.
"With rest, I believe they will be fine." When the druid made a noise of uncertainty, the prince added, "My knowledge of medicine might not be as keen as yours, but I know enough."
Despite his assurance, Zelyra still checked the myconid's vitals—though, it was admittedly difficult for her to do so. The druid knew the anatomy of awakened shrubs and trees from those that wandered Taras Aldar, but Stool was neither. As best as Zelyra could tell, the myconid sprout was simply exhausted.
Just as the prince had said.
Fargas cast a shrewd look about the group behind the bulbous lenses of his goggles. For an assemblage of strange individuals who claimed to not be friends, the halfling recognized loss, in one form or another, displayed upon each of their features. It was…intriguing. Fargas could not help wondering if there was more to their story than what they were sharing. The most desperate of circumstances could forge the most unlikely bonds, after all.
The halfling rose to his feet and began to dust bits of rock and dirt from his breeches. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry about your friends," he offered genuinely.
Surprisingly, no one, not even Fraeya, corrected him.
A moment of silence followed. And then, Balasar made a slight choking sound. He and Shuushar might not have seen eye to eye there towards the end, but Balasar had still considered the kuo-toa a friend. Shuushar had saved Balasar's life. And a dragonborn never forgot a blood debt—they were meant to be repaid. Balasar ducked his head and held a fist to his heart.
On the other side of the small cavern, Fraeya crossed her arms across her chest and leaned against the wall. Loss. It was something she'd never truly experienced in her lifetime. Bonds in Menzoberranzan were born of false pretense. If a drow were stupid enough to get caught, to be forced to pay the price for disobedience, then it was their own fault. They were not mourned. At least, not in public. But this was not Menzoberranzan. And those that Fraeya traveled with were not drow. Most of them, anyway.
Again, the rogue pondered Jimjar's final words—what they had triggered within her heart, her reasoning. Only the weak fall behind. The strong survive. The Matron Mother's teachings were true. But maybe…maybe that was wrong. Fraeya's hand slid to the pocket of her leathers where the House Kzekarit medallion was safely hidden. Sarith did not know that she had stolen it from the elite barracks.
And now, maybe he never would.
It was several moments before anyone spoke again.
"You know that Sarith and Buppido made it over the wall, at least," Fargas offered. "They must have slipped away just as Fraeya and Zelyra arrived. I don't recall seeing either of them after that."
"Good riddance," Kazimir muttered darkly.
Fraeya's lips curled back in a snarl. "Can you blame them? I would have left too."
"Then why are you still here?" the wizard shot back.
Fraeya did not have an honest answer.
Another long stretch of silence followed. But this one was ripe with tension rather than mutual respect for those who had fallen.
"We should camp here for the night, and then continue in the morning," the auburn-haired ranger advised. Of them, she was the only one who outwardly appeared unshaken by the events of the day. Her face was as much of a porcelain mask as ever.
"And where…exactly…are we going?" Kazimir asked.
"We?" the ranger said with a huff as she spread her bedroll out on the cavern floor. "That was not directed towards you. I was speaking to Fargas."
"Now, now, O—" she cut Fargas off with a sharp glare. The halfling amended his words. "What my companion means to say is that she and I will continue our quest for the lost tomb. Remember that? I do recall that I extended the invitation to you lot. If we had just gone to the tomb as I initially suggested…I mean, look where your intended course led us!"
"Not even you could have predicted what was going to come out of that lake," the unnamed ranger said. The quick-witted comment crushed Fargas's ego just a smidgin.
"Whose side are you on?" the halfling grumbled.
The ranger rolled her eyes. "My own."
When Fargas threw up his hands in defeat, Fraeya couldn't decide if she respected the ranger's unbiased sharp tongue or despised it.
"Fargas, I believe your companion has a point," Zelyra said. "Does anyone have any idea what that leviathan was?"
"Whatever it was, it was not of this world," Prince Derendil declared.
Kazimir shifted uncomfortably. "I would not go so far as to class it as a leviathan, per se. It was a demon. A powerful one. I could sense it," he admitted.
"You…sensed…it?" Eldeth's tone was tinged with doubt.
The tiefling dramatically gestured to his entire body and said, "Yes. Devils and demons are—how do I put this delicately—sworn enemies?"
Sworn enemies. That was putting it mildly. But deep down, Kazimir knew that his validation went beyond that. A familiar sensation had manifested on the inside of his left palm at the exact moment the creature rose from the depths of the Darklake. The burning remained, even now. And for that very reason, the tiefling was terrified to open his palm to see the sigil he knew would be scorched within it. Something about what happened in Sloobludop had caught Her interest. Kazimir had not felt the calling in many years. It had been so long that he'd thought himself rid of Her. What foolish thinking that was!
Fraeya barked out a laugh, shattering the tiefling from his spiraling thoughts.
"My people are no strangers to demons," she claimed.
"Then tell me—drow—what do you think it was?" Kazimir pressed, his tone smug.
The rogue's mouth opened and closed in resemblance to a half-drowned fish. It was the second time that a sharp retort from Kazimir had caught her unawares. "I have no idea," Fraeya reluctantly admitted.
"My offer still stands," Fargas cut in. "Our quest to the tomb leads to riches beyond your wildest imagination. The way I see it, it's a win-win as you stand to leave only death, devastation, and ruin behind you."
Fargas knew not even half the irony of such a statement.
The escaped prisoners—those who remained—excused themselves from Fargas and his ranger companion to speak quietly amongst themselves. Sloobludop had been a complete and utter failure. Their hope of lying low for a time was shattered. If Ilvara had trailed them thus far, the drow priestess would likely expect them to make for a larger city next. And if not for Fargas's offer, that is precisely what they would have done. It was in their best interest to keep the priestess on her toes, to do something completely unexpected.
Perhaps a detour in search of a long-lost tomb was not such a bad idea, after all.
"I have one contingency," Kazimir told the group.
"And what is that?" Fraeya demanded.
"I want to know her name."
"Who—"
Before the question fully left the rogue's lips, Kazimir had already sauntered away from their group huddle and approached Fargas and his ranger companion. The wizard pointed to the ranger and said, "Do you still refuse to share your name with us?"
"The way I see it, my name is not your concern," the ranger answered.
"Oh, but it is," Kazimir said. "If we are to continue to be traveling companions, it wouldn't hurt to extend a bit of trust to us."
"A name has nothing to do with trust," she argued.
Kazimir tapped a single, dark finger against his chin. "I believe it does."
"A name is nothing. Call me whatever you want. I care not," the ranger grumbled as she lowered herself to her bedroll and pulled a blanket over her head. "I just want to get some rest."
Fargas looked to his ranger guide. "Are you sure that it is a good idea to give the wizard such freedom?" he cautioned. "After all, what is a name?"
The ranger's only response was a slight shift of the blanket.
"I mean—he could start calling you, Lemon!" the halfling exclaimed.
"A fine idea, Fargas. But I have something different in mind." Kazimir paused for dramatic effect. And then with a flourish, he declared, "Henceforth the ranger shall be known by her number. Nine of us remain. Nine you shall be named!"
Fargas huffed. "Really? You gave up Lemon for Nine?"
"I can appreciate the flair," Balasar said.
"I'm disappointed in you, Kazimir," the halfling maintained with a shake of his head.
Beneath her blanket shield, the ranger ignored the other's ensuing banter as she pondered the new name that had been bestowed upon her. She had not lied to the wizard. A name by itself meant nothing. But names could invoke memories. Names could remind individuals of lives that they would rather leave behind them. In the ranger's circumstance, both were true.
Nine. Nine was a fresh start. Nine was a new beginning.
Her name henceforth would be Nine.
[1] DM/husband ran the Demogorgon encounter less as rounds of combat and more like a skill challenge with pass and fail rolls—which, in my opinion, can be more of an adrenaline rush/stress-inducing than combat! It was a natural 20 strength check assist from Fraeya and cunning use of her rogue's fast hands/second-story work features that saved Zelyra from being separated from the rest of the group.
Also, the party probably could have attempted to cut through the netting of the outer wall but for whatever reason when DM/husband told us, "You are fleeing towards the exit and reach the outer wall, what do you do?" We decided climbing over it was the best and only option (?) I added the obstacle of the tower blocking the gate (what should have been the obvious exit LOL) and Kazimir's spell failing. Such is reflection… I will blame that we were still emotionally scarred over Jimjar's sacrifice, panicking over Demogorgon, and not thinking clearly. For us, the events of chapters nine, ten, and twelve happened all in one session.
—
Hello. It's been a while. I posted back-to-back chapters in February because I knew I had a lot going on in RL and wouldn't have much spare time to write…I just didn't expect March to be just as bad. I originally outlined so much more for this chapter, but the narrative flowed in an unexpected direction. I had new ideas…
…and we were left with Nine.
I'll leave you all to ponder. :)