Chapter Thirteen

The Secret Lies With Glimmer

1485 DR / Day 11

Southwest of Sloobludop

Balasar volunteered to take the first watch that night. After the strenuous events of the day, Fraeya was glad for it. But as the hours passed and the rest of her companions lost themselves to the world of dreams, Fraeya remained awake, unable to find reverie. The drow envied her companions for she could not calm her restless thoughts or slow the fierce beating of her heart. In some ways, reverie and sleep were similar. It was a time for the body to rest and rejuvenate. But unlike the sleep that all other humanoids succumbed to, reverie was not a product of exhaustion. It was a time of meditation, reflection, and memory.

Fraeya did dwell upon memory—many memories—but they were not in any way soothing. This night, it was not a pair of burning demonic eyes that haunted her. There was not a chorus of howls in the distance. No hooves clopping against the stone. Or oily tentacles gliding through murky water. She heard no laughter or whispers. There was no eerie lullaby. This was not her usual nightmare.

Every time she closed her eyes, Fraeya saw Jimjar's leather coin pouch sailing through the air. She saw the copper and silver coins scatter upon the ground. The little svirfneblin would turn his back and unsheathe those strange twin knives before disappearing into a growing cloud of dust and debris.

The drow saw Zelyra dangling from her outstretched hand. The young druid's freckled face was pinched with fear and indecision. The only thing stopping the half-elf from plummeting down to the ground below them was the trust she placed in Fraeya to hold her.

And then there was the complicated matter of Sarith.

Fraeya did not know why the male warrior's desertion troubled her, but it did. There was a small part of her that expected him to return at any moment. But so far, that was not the case. He did not owe her, or any of the other prisoners for that matter, any allegiance. And yet, Ilvara and her scouts still hunted them. To be alone, and to be a male drow having earned the volatile wrath of a high priestess of Lolth—well, Fraeya knew what would happen if he were captured.

Ilvara would use him to get to what she wanted. She would use Sarith to get to them. If he were smart, the warrior would use that to his advantage. It would keep him alive a little bit longer. But when he was no longer useful, Sarith—and all the rest of them—would be sacrificed to the Spider Queen.

The crest that Fraeya stole from the elite barracks in Velkynvelve seemed to burn a hole in her pocket then. This time, her curiosity got the better of her. Taking care not to touch the item directly, the rogue slipped the crest out of the neck purse containing it for closer study. Such caution was merited. Drow heirlooms often came with nasty curses intended for those not attuned to them, after all.

Compared to her own insignia, it was nothing special. But that was not surprising for a lower house. Her silver eyes carefully traced the sharp angles and lines of the glyph stamped upon it. House Kzekarit. Fraeya knew the name. A drow never forgot the name of a fallen house, even if it was never spoken aloud again.

It was a classic tale in The City of Spiders. Drow houses vied to supplant one another, to further climb the ladder of the Ruling Council. House Kzekarit was wiped out nearly a century ago. The matron mother had fallen out of favor with Lolth, and a rival house was swift to take advantage of that. According to the whispers, it was nearly a flawless execution—nearly. But the rival house made an inexcusable error. Not one but two members of House Kzekarit survived. Both male. If memory served Fraeya correctly, House Duskryn won the bid to add them to their ranks.

But more prominently seared into Fraeya's mind than the fate of the survivors were the events that occurred after the failed raid. In Menzoberranzan, punishments were only enforced if the guilty party was caught. Raids against other houses were not uncommon. If successful, they were celebrated. But in leaving survivors, the rival house doomed themselves. Every member of the guilty house was publicly executed, down to the children. Fraeya had been a mere child herself then. But the matron mother had forced her to watch as everyone else in their house.

"Learn from example," the matron had declared. "Do not get caught."

Fraeya saw the matron mother's face then. Cold and hard yet unmistakably beautiful with her stark white hair smoothed back by a headpiece of jagged black crystal. Beside the matron was a likeness of Fraeya's older sister with her smallish and pointed features. Their eyes reflected crimson—not silver. Those eyes promised pain and punishment for her disobedience, her weakness, the shame that she had brought upon her house.

"I am not weak," the rogue wanted to shout at their echoes. "I'm just not like you."

At long last, Fraeya gave up on any attempt at rest and relieved Balasar from watch duty. The dragonborn gladly accepted. Any chance of gaining a few extra hours of sleep was okay in his book. As Balasar stretched out upon the rocky ground and tucked a massive arm beneath his head in place of a pillow, the drow looked on enviously.

What was it like to sleep? What would it be like to dream rather than dwell on a century of memory? Fraeya pondered those questions and many others, alone in the dark.

…

Morning, or at least the Underdark equivalent, came all too soon. Fraeya roused the others with her typical swift kick followed by a snappish comment. As the companions groggily rose, they noticed that Fargas's adamantine sword once more emanated a strange pale blue light. When he was confronted about it, the halfling explorer waved off their questions and wandered off by himself for a time. When he returned, the sword's light had gone out.

A major benefit to their smaller number became apparent shortly after. The language barrier that had plagued the escaped prisoners at the start of their journey was no longer an issue. In a strange turn of events, Fraeya and Stool were now the only non-surface-dwellers. Fraeya's Common was heavily accented but passable and Stool could communicate regardless of language. Thus, the myconid sprout received a much-needed break from releasing rapport spores during every group discussion.

All was quiet as the companions made quick work of cleaning up their campsite. But when their stomachs began to growl with hunger and Eldeth brought up the matter of rations, Fraeya cringed. They had been too exhausted the night before to remember Ploopploopeen's reward. And it was just as well because the drow did not have good news to give them.

"There are none," she admitted.

"No rations!" the shield dwarf exclaimed. "What about supplies? Bedding? Blankets? Anything?"

Fraeya shook her head. "There was nothing but rotting fish. The priest lied."

"Ye took what was in the chest at least, didn't ye?" Eldeth pressed, her expression drawn and angry.

"Yes, do tell us that your suicide attempt wasn't for naught," Fargas added.

"I didn't come away empty-handed," Fraeya promised. "But unless we encounter a merchant soon, I don't see how it will do us much good."

The rogue flipped her knapsack upside down and dumped the spoils out for everyone to see. There was a considerable amount of coin, a strand of pearls, a map detailing the network of passageways surrounding the Darklake, a small golden statue, and three small potion vials.

To Kazimir's disappointment, the scroll that he had so desperately desired was absent. "You forgot my scroll!" he moaned.

Fraeya shrugged her shoulders. "I must have confused it and the map—sorry."

"You don't sound very sorry," the wizard snapped.

"I don't know…having a map might be more useful," Zelyra said.

Eldeth nodded. "She's right. We'll make the most of it, Kazimir. It's all we can do."

They spent the next several minutes painstakingly counting out every coin for a total of 528 copper, 2074 silver, 148 gold, and 27 platinum pieces. The coinage was ultimately split eight ways as Stool had no want or need of it. Evenly distributed, each person received the equivalent of 75 gold pieces. As for the other items, the map was given to Nine. It seemed best suited in the ranger's experienced hands. Fargas eagerly seized the little golden statue. The strand of pearls was claimed by Kazimir in place of the scroll while Fraeya took all three potions for herself—she had risked her skin to salvage the horde, after all. No one, not even Fargas, dared to contend with her. [1]

"Do you even know what kind of potions they are?" Kazimir coyly asked the drow.

Two of the vials Fraeya recognized as potions of healing but the third was a mystery. The slender bottle contained a pale blue-grey liquid that shimmered faintly when shaken. But Fraeya's pride kept her from asking the wizard to identify it for her.

"I'll figure it out," she claimed.

Kazimir rolled his eyes. "Let me know how that works out for you."

Balasar, Eldeth, Prince Derendil, and Zelyra were satisfied with taking their share of coin and nothing more. 75 gold was more money than Zelyra had possessed in her lifetime, anyhow. The druid could not imagine what she might use it all for.

When Zelyra said as much, Prince Derendil shifted awkwardly. To someone of his station, 75 gold was trivial. What different lives they led. The prince glanced between his shredded velveteen robes that didn't quite fit the body of a quaggoth and Zelyra's practical leathers and furs. Her clothing, while dirty and weathered, had withstood their journey. Even Kazimir's sensible robes were in semi-decent shape. Derendil's lavish clothing would need to be replaced as soon as they found an appropriate merchant. He wondered then what it was like to be in a druid's shoes—to make the most of what was available, not what money could buy. The prince supposed his current circumstance might just teach him that.

With the matter of Ploopploopeen's reward settled, another long day of walking began. Nine and Fraeya agreed to swap places in their marching order. The ranger took up the lead with Fargas while Fraeya fell back to the rear alongside Zelyra. With Sarith no longer among them, someone with superior darkvision needed to watch their backs.

As important as it was to keep a sharp eye on the path ahead, it was just as important to be mindful of what might be stalking in the shadows behind. Once or twice, Fraeya swore she saw a flash of a hunched silhouette out of the corner of her eye. And there were a few strange instances where the drow thought she heard quiet steps that did not match the footfalls of her companions. But every time she turned her head to look behind, the steps stopped. Fraeya chose to ignore it—for now.

The companions encountered little resistance aside from the difficult terrain. After the events of the previous day, they were glad for it. By mid-day, however, Kazimir grew tired of the silence. "Are you certain you know the way?" he asked Fargas. "And how do you know for sure that there is a treasure in this lost tomb?"

The halfling plucked a small leather-bound journal from a pocket deep within his tan cloak and waved it wildly in the air. "Every clue, every bit of research I have conducted, it's all in here. I'll get us there." When Nine pointedly cleared her throat Fargas amended with, "We—Nine and I will get us there."

"That still doesn't answer my question," Kazimir said. "Are you certain there is a treasure?"

"My employer assured me there is," Fargas replied.

"You're about as secretive with anything concerning that employer of yours as Nine with her real name," the tiefling grumbled under his breath.

Fargas's dark eyebrows wiggled ever so slightly above his darkvision goggles. "I'd be a poor poker player if I revealed my hand to you all at once now, wouldn't I?" he said slyly.

"Considering that we are to embark on this quest together, I think we should all be on the same page," Kazimir readily returned. "Tell us, is there a map in that journal of yours? Because I would hate to be walking in circles for days."

"You are full of endless questions, aren't you?" Fargas said.

"It's part of my flair," the wizard quipped without missing a beat.

The banter flowed from their silver tongues at such an alarming rate that the others found their attentions bouncing back and forth between the pair. It was akin to a riveting sporting match. For as charismatic and witty as Fargas was, Kazimir could effortlessly match him.

"Fine! There is no map. Never has been," the halfling revealed at last. "At least not a physical one."

"Then how do you expect to find it?" Kazimir pressed.

Fargas grinned in the dark. "The joy of treasure hunting is all in the clues, my friend. It's the thrill of the chase. But if you really must know…" he paused for dramatic effect. "The secret lies with Glimmer." [2]

At the back of the line, Fraeya hastily grabbed Zelyra's shoulder. "That's it. We're doomed," the drow lamented in Elvish. "The halfling is a nutcase. We should have just gone to Gracklestugh. Ilvara be damned."

"You don't mean that," the half-elf hissed in reply.

"About Ilvara, no. I will not go back to Velkynvelve. But Fargas? I meant every word."

Zelyra tilted her head. "Let him finish before you cast your judgement."

"Are any of you familiar with the ancient kingdom of Netheril?" Fargas asked.

Kazimir's mischievous demeanor sobered. "All practitioners of magic know of those arrogant arcanists. Their hubris broke the Weave," he spat. "If not for Mystryl's sacrifice, all magic would cease to exist."

"I see someone has bitter feelings," Fargas remarked. He cleared his throat before expounding upon Kazimir's short and contemptuous statement. "For those of you who aren't familiar—the Netherese were a human race who learned magic from the elves of Eaerlann. Netheril became a kingdom of wonder, of endless possibility. But it was split in two. The rich and powerful lived in High Netheril, giant floating cities held aloft by magical devices called mythallars, while the commoners lived in Low Netheril, a desert wasteland plagued by the phaerimm. When the Weave was broken, all High Netheril's floating cities came crashing down but four. Three were saved by the reincarnated Mystra while the fourth was thought lost to the Shadowfell until recently."

"What does any of that have to do with the tomb?" Eldeth asked, confused as to why the halfling was suddenly giving them a history lesson.

"The site we seek was once a part of one of those floating cities. When High Netheril's enclaves were destroyed, the tomb of the great sorceress, Brysis of Khaem, was thought to be lost right along with them. But it survived! Slipped straight down a crevasse and plummeted to the depths," the halfling said excitedly.

"So, what you're telling us is that Brysis's tomb broke off from the rest of the city and inadvertently wound up here in the Underdark?" Balasar asked skeptically. "Sounds…fishy."

"Isn't it a bit soon to make jokes about fish?" Fargas said with a laugh. When the dragonborn scowled in his direction, the halfling shrugged his shoulders. "Don't ask me how it happened! Who am I to question the laws of physics in a time when the Weave was broken?"

"You may be…partially right," Kazimir said thoughtfully. He tapped his chin and explained, "The Weave was broken when the arcanist, Karsus, created a spell that would harness the power of a deity. He chose Mystryl, the Mother of All Magic. The spell succeeded, but only for a moment. What Karsus did not realize was that Mystryl was a part of the Weave itself, she alone could control it. When Karsus bound her power, that control was lost. The Weave surged and fluctuated before it broke. In that short time, the effects of all magic were doubled. For all we know, the tomb could have teleported away in a surge of wild magic!"

"You sound intrigued," Fraeya mocked.

The wizard grinned. "I am—I am very much intrigued."

Like Kazimir, Prince Derendil also knew the tales of Netheril from scouring the libraries of Nelrindenvane as a young elf. He would be lying to himself if he said he wasn't at least a little bit enthralled by the idea of finding a lost piece of history. "Fargas, you said that the secret to finding Brysis's tomb lies with Glimmer. Who—or what—is Glimmer?" the prince asked.

"Glimmer is my sword," the halfling replied as he gave a fond pat to its sheath. "She is a relic of Anauria."

"Anauria? If my memory is correct, that was one of the surviving enclaves! You own an Anaurian artifact?" Derendil exclaimed.

"My employer is extremely gracious," Fargas boasted.

Nine released a very un-lady-like snort. "You and I have very different ideas of gracious," the ranger muttered. "Glimmer is a loan. As soon as you return with the treasure, she will take it back."

There was a moment of awkward silence in the wake of Nine's scathing remark.

"How is this artifact the key to finding the tomb?" Zelyra eventually asked.

"Glimmer is a magical compass of sorts," the halfling divulged. [3]

The druid brightened as she connected the dots. "That is why the sword glows blue, isn't it? It's like a game of hot and cold," she reasoned.

"I suppose you could compare it to that," Fargas said.

Fraeya rolled her eyes. "So, why didn't you just tell us that?"

"I only just worked it out myself this morning," the explorer said defensively. "I am no wizard. I do not have the power to discern the function of magical objects. My employer said that Glimmer was the key, and thus I trusted her. As far as I can tell the light glows brighter when pointed in the direction we need to go. So far, it has only activated in the morning. How might that change as we get closer? That could be anyone's guess."

"There is a wizard among us now. You could have Kazimir examine it," Nine suggested dryly. "Unless you are to be obstinate about that as well."

"Obstinate?" Fargas shot a mock glare in the direction of his ranger companion, but it was lost behind the lenses of his tinted goggles. "You know—perhaps during our next rest, I will do just that," he declared.

"And we are to just trust in your magic sword and the word of your mysterious employer in the meantime?" Balasar asked for clarification. "Do you have any idea how many days out we are from the tomb?"

"Yes, yes, and I have not a clue," the halfling admitted.

Fraeya exchanged another pointed look with Zelyra.

"A nutcase, I tell you," the drow hissed again in Elvish.

Before Zelyra could respond, Fargas pipped up from the front, "I can speak Elvish too, you know!"

The druid sniggered behind her hand. "That should teach you not to make assumptions," she told Fraeya.

Fargas ignored them as he clutched his little leather-bound journal and said, "Call me crazy if you will. Others have tried to find Brysis's tomb in the past and while some have gotten close, ultimately, they failed. Over the years I have collected dozens of testimonies about landmarks to follow, clues, theories…but no other adventurer has had a tool like Glimmer. That, my friends, is how we will succeed," he vowed.

Eldeth cast a keen gaze over the explorer. "You take this quest very seriously," she observed. While the shield dwarf might have had her doubts about the tomb's existence, she could at the very least admire the halfling's fortitude.

"Of course, I am serious!" Fargas exclaimed. "Adventuring is in my blood. My father, my father's father, and his father before him—they too spent their lives exploring. Most halflings would be content to sit in front of a warmth hearth at home with a full belly. Not so for the Rumblefoots! We were meant to experience the delights of the road and the world."

It was a moving statement, spoken by an unnervingly loquacious halfling. And thus, his conviction stirred something within the hearts of his companions.

"Fargas—if all that you say is true, I will be the first to admit that I was wrong to doubt you. And I will make it up to you with a hat," Kazimir promised.

The halfling's dark brows scrunched together in confusion. "A hat?" he repeated.

"Every explorer needs a hat," the wizard said with a wink.

…

Unlike the endless tunnels that the escaped prisoners took between Velkynvelve and Sloobludop, the terrain surrounding the Darklake seemed to constantly change in appearance. Narrow passageways suddenly opened into massive chambers hundreds of feet high and twice the size in width before shrinking again. The adventurers skirted deep gorges where a narrow ledge on the side of a cliff was the only way forward. Other times the path seemed to spiral down to the depths.

Their progress was slow. Before, the group had Shuushar to guide them as well as Sarith, who knew the wilds well. But Fraeya had little experience outside the walls of Menzoberranzan and thus, was little help in navigating. It was up to Nine to dutifully consult the map taken from Ploopploopeen's treasure hoard. The ranger did so with great care. And if not for her diligence, the group most certainly would have gotten lost.

The next six rest cycles passed uneventfully. The nine companions encountered no aberrant monsters, creatures of the deep, delirious humanoids, or scouts of Ilvara during their daily treks. Instead, their one constant battle was the Darklake. The sprawling network of underground rivers and water-filled caverns seemingly met them at every corner. Having witnessed the obscene horror that decimated Sloobludop, the adventurers had no intentions of going anywhere near the water again—even if that meant tacking extra hours, days, onto their journey. It was a lot of walking.

In some ways, tensions lessened between the party with each passing day, and in other ways, they heightened. For many of the group, they had now been together for seventeen days. That was seventeen days—every waking and resting moment alike spent together. There was absolutely no privacy. Always there was someone at your back, someone guarding your front. It was both smothering and comforting while traversing such a volatile and alien landscape. [4]

While the others might have felt out of sorts with the unfamiliar terrain, Fraeya too was out of her element. She only knew the Underdark. The drow was not accustomed to the bizarre attitudes of those who lived on the surface. As the days passed, all but Nine began to loosen up. The others joked and laughed with one another. They carried on meaningless but sociable conversations despite the desperate atmosphere. In some ways, they even began slowly accepting her—the dark elf. And yet, there was no ulterior motive that Fraeya could guess. This was simply surface dweller mentality.

Kazimir did indeed examine Glimmer during one of their rests and came to the same conclusion as Fargas. The sword was imbued with divination magic meant to guide its wielder in the shortest, most direct path to a specific location—in this case, the tomb of Brysis. Every morning, Glimmer activated without fail. As the party was set to begin their seventh day of travel, the halfling announced that they were close. Fargas and Nine compared the notes in his journal to the map and pinned down what they believed was the tomb's location. If all went well, the adventurers would reach the tomb before the end of the next day.

But on that seventh day, the group made a gruesome discovery while walking down a narrow tunnel. Zelyra's keen nose picked up the nauseating scent of rot just moments before Nine held up a fist to halt the party. The bloated corpse of a human male in his late twenties or early thirties blocked the path before them. Judging by the smell, it had been there for several days. The body had been looted of anything of value, down to the poor soul's boots. Nothing remained now but his underclothes. It immediately struck the adventurers as odd. Humans were so rarely seen in the Underdark—unless they were captured to serve as slaves as many of them had been.

"His throat was slit," Fargas observed grimly as they approached.

Nine knelt beside the corpse. "He would have bled out anyway," she said. The ranger gestured to a series of vicious slashing wounds on the chest—the work of a thin but sharp blade. After casting a perceptive eye to the ground, Nine added, "Multiple tracks lead to and from the body. Whoever he was, he was not alone."

"Animal tracks?" Kazimir asked tentatively.

"No," the ranger replied. "Boots. Other humanoids."

The wizard sighed. "Great. There's a killer on the loose. I'll add that to my growing list of reasons to hate the Underdark!"

He might have meant it as a joke, but the escaped prisoners were mindful of their drow pursuit. Ilvara or one of her scouts could have had something to do with the man's death. The worse alternative? There was another murderer out there. But it was hard to say how the man died aside from what Nine had already deduced. The method didn't precisely scream 'a-drow-did-it,' but it didn't exclude the possibility either.

"I don't know why that surprises you, Kazimir," Fraeya said with disinterest as she examined her nails. "Everything in the Underdark is out to kill you." [5]

"I wonder what he was doing down here?" the tiefling continued.

"Doesn't matter—we shouldn't linger," the drow cautioned. "The fact that this has not attracted a carrion crawler after so many days is highly unusual. I don't wish to face another one."

"Nor do I," Zelyra agreed.

"Should we do something with the body?" Prince Derendil suggested.

Fraeya wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Why would we do that?"

"To show some respect for the poor man," the prince justly replied.

"We've no way to bury him," Eldeth said, her voice full of regret. "Unless someone is hiding a shovel in their pack." The shield dwarf looked to Fargas expectantly.

The halfling shook his head. "I have a crowbar and a hammer—neither of those will help," he said.

"A crowbar and a hammer?" Balasar mouthed bewilderedly to Eldeth.

The dwarf shrugged. There were stranger items that Fargas could be carrying. She didn't ask questions when it came to the eccentric halfling anymore.

As the others continued to debate other ideas around her, Nine wordlessly removed her blanket from her pack and draped it over the body. The action promptly silenced her companions. For not even Fargas anticipated her to act so selflessly. Comforts were hard to come by in the Underdark, after all. The blanket would not protect the man's corpse but covering it was respectful at least.

"That was nice of you," Zelyra told her.

"Now we can move on," the ranger snapped in reply.

The druid scowled as Nine whipped the map out of her satchel, buried her nose in it, and continued down the tunnel without looking back. The others had no choice but to follow. The ranger was their guide. But as Zelyra took up her place at the back of the line alongside Fraeya, she could not help but wonder if they would ever see a more pleasant side of Nine.

The narrow passageway opened into a colossal chamber not long after the adventurers left the body. This led them to speculate that the man might have been fleeing down the tunnel from something—or someone—in the chamber when he was attacked. They pressed on with caution.

For several hours, the party trekked across the vast open cavity without incident. All remained quiet. No one mentioned the dead man or what might have killed him when they eventually stopped to rest. But it went unspoken that anyone on watch was to be twice as vigilant. For this time, there was no offshoot small cavern, or fissure for the adventurers to hide in while they slept. They were exposed with only bits of jutted rock and stalagmites to shelter them.

The first watch passed for Nine without incident. But as Fraeya settled in for the second, the shadows seemed to dance, constantly shifting, and swaying in her peripheral. It was utterly disorienting. Quietly, the drow rose from her post on the cavern floor to get a better vantage point. She could not shake the feeling that they were being watched. Her vision effortlessly switched to the infrared heat spectrum and scanned the bleakness before her. [6]

The whining draw of a crossbow reached her ears then. Fraeya whirled in the direction of the sound just in time to recognize the assassin lying in wait. Sarith Kzekarit stood before her, his crossbow sighted and drawn. He was dirty and haggard and covered in a sickening amount of blood. She recalled what Jimjar had said to her that first day in Velkynvelve's slave pens.

His charge is murder. Murder of a fellow warrior.

That is not so rare among my people.

Still. Best watch your back.

At the time, Fraeya had dismissed the warning. But truly, should she have expected anything but this very scenario? Sarith was drow, after all. Just as she was. This was what they excelled at. Pacts of convenience. Deception. They were sowers of chaos and discord as their patron goddess bade. When those around them proved no longer useful, or a more favorable arrangement presented itself—

Fraeya drew her rapier in a single, swift motion.

Sarith loosened the bolt from his crossbow in answer.

But the sting of impact never came. The rogue's hair fluttered ever so slightly as the piece of ammunition whizzed just past her ear. A thousand questions raced through her head in those few dizzying seconds. But predominantly—how could he have missed?

The answer came in the form of a dull thud and a sharp intake of breath. Fraeya's first thought was that the stray bolt struck one of her sleeping companions. What she saw instead, rattled her. For the bolt was embedded deep in the chest of the scout that she had not known was stalking up behind her.

[1] The loot varies slightly from the manual. This is because, in our actual gameplay, Fraeya, Zelyra, and Fargas went back into Sloobludop the day after Demogorgon's attack in search of Jimjar and Shuushar (!). In doing so, we rescued the duergar prisoner (Hemeth) while collecting some extra loot. While I would have loved to share that exciting stealth mission with all of you, the story would progress at a crawl if I wrote everything exactly the way it played out in our game. Cuts must be made. But that's not to say that someone else didn't go back…(cue evil laughter)

Just in case I have someone unfamiliar with DnD currency reading this—the three most common coins are the gold piece (gp), the silver piece (sp), and the copper piece (cp) with the gold piece being the standard unit of measure. One gold piece is worth ten silver. One silver piece is worth ten copper. Two other coins, the electrum piece (ep) and the platinum piece (pp) are exceedingly rare and could arouse suspicion if flaunted. An electrum piece is worth five silver, and a platinum piece is worth ten gold. In our games, we ignored electrum altogether as the conversion can get dicey.

[2] I may…or may not…have borrowed a line from a certain treasure hunting movie here.

[3] For those of you familiar with the module, Glimmer works very similar to the ring that players can receive from Ghazrim DuLoc in Mantol-Derith. Or, if you want to be technical, it has the Find the Path spell embedded into it. The similarities between Glimmer and Ghazrim's ring were entirely unintentional on DM/husband's part. We were only 8 sessions and he had barely made it past Gracklestugh's chapter. I did make a few changes. In our game, the sword did not have a name or the Anauria origin. But his sword did glow blue, and it ultimately led us to the tomb.

I don't think DM/husband is too keen on the name Glimmer but…

The whole concept of how Brysis's tomb might have ended up in the Underdark intrigued me. Just like the rest of the module, the lost tomb is a sandbox. They give you a little bit of story to work with but ultimately, you have the freedom to spin it however you choose. The party could have randomly stumbled upon it. But where is the fun in that? I decided to get creative. I just hope the 'history lesson' wasn't too much. But I couldn't see a way around Kazimir not knowing about the Netherese arcanists. And what wizard wouldn't be angered by the breaking of the Weave?

[4] There was absolutely no privacy. We made jokes about this a lot. The group is far from the comforts of civilization. They are in the middle of nowhere. There are no bathrooms. There is precious little fresh water aside from what they could salvage from water orb. Our characters were stinky and dirty and after a certain point, they probably lost any sort of modesty.

[5] Everything in the Underdark is out to kill you. This became a favorite line of ours to use because it certainly felt like it. By the end of the game, we were paranoid about everyone and everything! For good reason!

[6] I realize that infravision has not existed in Dungeons and Dragons for a long time. It was replaced by darkvision, which many creatures have (literally everyone in the party except Balasar and Fargas). But drow rule the Underdark. Infravision allows them to not just see in the dark but to detect the differentiation of heat around them—that makes for a truly dangerous adversary if you ask me. The downside, strong sources of light may blind them or cast significant shadows in their vision. Hence, sunlight sensitivity. But enough of that rant.

For the sake of this piece of work, drow still have infravision.