Chapter Twenty-Two
Dunglorrin Torune
1485 DR / Day 32
Ghohlbrorn's Lair, Gracklstugh
"No, no, no! Zelyra, you are still pronouncing it wrong. I said, good morning, and you just responded with the equivalent of, I will pee on your leg!" Prince Derendil said with a heavy sigh.
Kazimir and Eldeth immediately exploded into howling laughter as Zelyra dropped her head into her hands. The druid's face instantly turned bright red. "Why is this so hard?" she groaned. "I picked up on Druidic much easier than this!"
"How old were you when you learned Druidic?" Kazimir asked.
"Twelve," Zelyra answered truthfully.
The tiefling snapped his fingers. "They say learning new languages is easier when you're still young. The older you get, the harder it is to rewire your brain with new ways of thinking," he said.
"Don't feel bad, Zelyra. I'm struggling too. We can't all be geniuses like the grey-one over here," Eldeth said, jabbing her thumb in the wizard's direction.
Kazimir stuck his tongue between his lips and blew a raspberry at her.
"It will come to you both in time," Derendil reassured the half-elf and dwarf. "It helps that we are in a place where Undercommon is the native language. You have the advantage of an immersive learning experience. Listen to the locals as they speak, pick up on words that sound familiar to you, and find patterns. But I think that is enough of a lesson for today—the tea's gone cold!"
Kazimir rubbed his hands together and then bellowed, "Break out the ale!"
But Eldeth's brow was furrowed. "Hold on! How long have the others been gone? It seems like it's been a while now."
Those present around the table could only shrug. The adventurers did not have a way to keep track of the specific passage of time aside from a tallied rest cycle log in Kazimir's spellbook. That was something they would need to find a remedy for soon.
"Ahem—excuse me!" a voice prompted in Dwarvish.
The adventurers turned towards the sound instinctively, but only Eldeth and Derendil understood the words. Standing before them and shuffling nervously from foot to foot was young Vanum, the proprietor's assistant.
"Is something wrong?" Eldeth asked the duergar.
Again, Vanum shuffled timidly. "Some members of the S-Stoneguard are waiting for y-you outside," he said.
"Stoneguard?" Derendil repeated, unfamiliar with the word.
"The city guard," Vanum clarified.
Eldeth then asked, "What would they want with us?"
"They have some of your c-companions in c-custody," said Vanum.
Prince Derendil and Eldeth exchanged an open-mouthed, bewildered glance.
"What did Vanum just tell you?" Kazimir demanded. "I don't like the looks on either of your faces!"
"The others have been arrested!" Derendil exclaimed.
A range of emotions flashed across the wizard's face—confusion, disbelief, uncertainty—before finally settling on humor and pure, unadulterated joy.
"Kaz! Don't you dare!" Zelyra said, recognizing the plotting look on his face. "We have no idea what they have been arrested for. It might have been for nothing."
"But it was certainly something!" Kazimir protested. "And look who has not been arrested? Who has laid low as promised? Me! Just you wait until I see Fraeya!"
"You mustn't k-keep the Stoneguard waiting!" Vanum hissed worriedly. "If L-Lizva finds out they're here, she'll throw the lot of you out!"
"We will meet with them straight away," Eldeth promised. Then, the dwarf switched back to Common and said to Zelyra and Kazimir, "We've got to go—now."
The four adventurers jumped up from their table. But as they started for the door, Kazimir suddenly said, "Wait! Where's Stool?"
The group quickly surveyed the room, realizing then that the little myconid had wandered off during their lessons. Currently, Stool sat beside a male duergar who was drowning his sorrows in a gallon-sized tankard of Darklake Stout. Judging by the yellow spores swirling around the pair, Stool had engaged the drunkard in conversation.
"You three go on ahead. I'll fetch Stool," the tiefling told his companions.
Derendil, Eldeth, and Zelyra headed topside to address the Stoneguard while Kazimir approached Stool and the drunken duergar. The tiefling plopped himself opposite the pair and waited, not wishing to interrupt whatever telepathic conversation they were having.
"Eh! Horny-one! Whaddya want? Can't you see the 'shroom and I's delving deep here!" the duergar slurred through numerous hiccups.
Kazimir raised both eyebrows, very off-put by the drunkard's choice of wording. But before he could say anything, the duergar talked over him. This time, clearly to Stool.
"Oh? So that's one of your—hiccup—companions? Ohhhh! The flame-wielding one…I see. Well then, go forth, little one! Thanks for—hiccup—sharing your rousing tales with a world-weary soul!"
"I don't mean to interrupt, but we have urgent business," the tiefling said suavely.
The duergar nodded and took another long drag from his tankard. "I have no doubt if all this creature says is true! Drow priestesses and carrion crawlers—hiccup—blood sacrifice, wraiths, and undead umber hulks. Now one of your former companions has betrayed you and taken a friend hostage. Honestly, someone should write a book about your adventures!" the duergar prattled wistfully. He swayed dangerously in his seat as he added, "What I wouldn't—hiccup—give to leave the forges and live a life of adventure like that. But, alas, I must provide for the nagging missus and our squealing new babe."
Kazimir could only stare at the duergar in outrage. First, just how much had Stool shared? Secondly, none of their party had chosen such "a grand life of adventure," apart from Nine and Fargas. The rest of them were merely surviving. And thirdly, hot anger flashed through the tiefling at hearing the duergar so casually debase his little family—especially when some people were so unfortunate as to not have one at all.
"Maybe your next beverage should be a water. And maybe you should be at home with your wife and newborn instead of drowning your sorrows in a cup," Kazimir suggested testily as he scooped up Stool and left the swaying duergar behind.
Not a moment later came the sound of retching, and a string of angry Dwarvish followed as Lizva stormed out from behind the bar.
"You have to be careful about who you share our tales with," the wizard told Stool sternly as they weaved their way through the maze of tables in the common room. "If that information falls into the wrong hands, we'll all find ourselves back in Velkynvelve in no time."
The sprout almost seemed to wilt in Kazimir's hands.
"I know your heart was in the right place," the wizard began. He then stopped short, for Kazimir suddenly wondered if such a creature had a beating heart or something else. Alas, the anatomy of myconids was a question for another day. Kazimir pressed on, "Ah, anyway, it looks like Fraeya and the others have gotten into a bit of trouble. We have to go rescue them."
The strangest thing happened then. Stool released a cloud of spores. But they were not the yellow kind that the party was familiar with. Instead, these were red, brilliant red.
"What are those?" the wizard asked anxiously.
Stool could not answer him, not with spoken words anyway. They had expended their rapport spores on the duergar. Instead, the sprout wriggled out of the tiefling's arms and began trotting urgently towards the exit of the Lair. A baffled Kazimir followed.
When Kazimir and Stool reached the city streets above, they found Eldeth, Derendil, and Zelyra anxiously awaiting their arrival alongside six armed duergar dawning short dark green cloaks. And though the adventurers were unaware of it, the six guards were not alone. Four more invisible guards accompanied them. It was an escort fitting of the salacious rumors surrounding the mysterious group of surfacers that the guards were commanded to bring to Overlake Hold.
"Is this all of you?" one of the guards impatiently asked Eldeth in Dwarvish. The shield dwarf nodded to confirm that it was. "You will come with us," they said without further explanation.
At the head guard's signal, the entire escort quickly closed ranks around the party and began to march them forward. Zelyra and Kazimir exchanged wary glances. It felt very similar to a situation they'd been in before. Except for this time, they were being led through city streets rather than dark, winding tunnels, and they were lucid to track their path instead of being utterly disoriented by drow poison.
It was a near silent trek through the streets of the Blade Bazaar for the adventurers. But the denizens pursuing the market streets quickly took notice of their caravan. It was quite a spectacle to see a half-elf, a hill dwarf, a quaggoth, a myconid sprout, and a tiefling escorted by a host of Stoneguard! More notably, the adventurers were not in chains and had all their belongings. Many duergar whispered, pointed, and stared. Gracklstugh's rumor mill quickly spiraled. And whatever secrecy the group had hoped to have within the walls of Gracklstugh was utterly dashed. More than one cast a suspicious and calculating look about them.
The market stalls and booths soon gave way to a massive structure that climbed more than four stories towards the city's stalactite-filled canopy. This was Dunglorrin Torune, more commonly known as Overlake Hold, the home of law and justice for Gracklestugh. Its unforgiving stone walls were bathed in the same reddish-orange glow as the rest of the city while open-aired windows flickered with the light of many torches. At least one fire—and sometimes many more—were present wherever one went within the City of Blades. The smog hit the adventurers again, swirling in their nostrils and filling their lungs.
They bypassed the main gate entirely and instead climbed a series of zigzagging stairwells carved into the side of the structure until the guard leading their procession halted at a much smaller door near the top, which looked to be unguarded. But the head guard held a quiet conversation with an unseen presence, and the door was opened, allowing the group entrance into the fortress.
Thus far, none of the adventurers had uttered a single word since leaving Ghohlbrorn's Lair. They had followed the duergar's instructions infallibly and assessed all possible outcomes of their predicament. It seemed unlikely they were being arrested. They were not collared and chained. They had been allowed to keep their armor and weapons, and the guards had treated them well and fairly. Pleasantries may have been sorely lacking, but that was just the way of the duergar.
The escort led the companions down a long, darkened hallway and stopped in front of a large but unornamented doorway. The guard in front knocked rather forcefully, and not a moment later, the door swung open.
"The captain awaits you," the point guard said in Dwarvish.
Eldeth and Derendil glanced at each other and cautiously gestured for Zelyra, Kazimir, and Stool to follow them forward. The group entered an equally darkened space, lit by just two dim torches. A round stone desk sat in the center of the room. Standing at attention behind it was an intimidating-looking female duergar. Unquestionably, this was the captain of the Stoneguard. Gleaming plate mail covered her neckline all the way down to her greaves and sabatons. She had an angular face and stark white hair tightly braided back into a low bun. A dark blue sash was thrown over her shoulder and affixed with a pin. It bore the likeness of a rock and shield, split down the center by the edge of a sword.
As she looked at the individuals assembled before her, the female's expression was so severe that it could have been carved from obsidian. Her brows were heavily drawn, and her lips were pressed into a thin line. All was quiet as the captain assessed each adventurer with equal intensity. Then, she turned to her guards and loudly ordered in Dwarvish, "Bring in the others."
From the hallway came the familiar rattle of chains. The door swung open to reveal the other half of the adventuring party. Their hands were cuffed behind their backs. The cuffs were connected to a secondary mechanism fastened around their waists by a length of chain. As they shuffled in, one by one, Zelyra gasped. Fraeya, Sarith, Fargas, and Nine all looked worse for wear—but none more than the two drow elves. Fraeya was heavily beaten and bruised, but Sarith sported a busted eye and a deep slash across his torso that still dripped with fresh blood.
The druid looked between her trodden companions and the proud duergar captain standing before them and clenched her fists in righteous anger. She might have had good reason to hate the drow elves, but Fraeya was growing on her. And Sarith…well, he was a part of their group whether Zelyra liked it or not. In her eyes, they were now a team. And despite their differences, they had to look out for each other because no one else would.
If the Stoneguard had beaten her companions for information—
Prince Derendil rested a steady hand on Zelyra's shoulder. And as the druid looked up at him, the prince's face clearly confirmed her internal suspicions. His monstrous features were equally tightened with barely concealed anger.
And yet no one spoke.
The captain stared at the assembled group, barely blinking, and let the silence fester. She let their hesitance grow. But eventually, she grew bored and crossed from behind the desk to stand before her guests. Some were her prisoners. But the others…
The duergar female tilted her head curiously.
Their fate was still undecided.
"Oh, for the love of—just tell us why ye've brought us here!" Eldeth abruptly exploded in Dwarvish, unable to take the silence any longer.
"Such is the weakness of our surface cousins," the duergar captain growled back. "You have no control over your tongue. I've cut the flabby organ out of many a duergar for lesser grievances."
But Eldeth did not back down. She and the captain glared fiercely at one another.
Derendil cleared his throat. "There is no need to be cutting out anyone's tongues. But we do implore you—respectfully, captain—to explain why we have been summoned," he said diplomatically.
The duergar could scarcely contain her surprise at hearing a quaggoth speak. And not just speak, but eloquently and in the same dialect as their disgraced surface cousins.
"You speak?" she asked Derendil sharply.
The prince folded his arms and said, "Of course, I speak."
"Strange…"
"If I may—" Fargas began.
But the halfling was quickly cut off as Nine swiftly stepped on his foot.
"Shut it!" she hissed to Fargas.
Fargas let out a small yelp but, otherwise, quieted. The ranger let out a sigh of relief. Their hands might have been bound, but she could utilize other body parts to prevent her overly talkative companion from making the already tense situation spiral further.
The duergar captain quirked the slightest hint of a grin. It was not a kind smile but rather one born of self-serving purpose. "So…this is the infamous group who so cunningly burnt down a drow outpost during their prison break," she drawled, shocking all in the room. And it was not just the accusation that caught the adventurers off guard, but rather the familiar language in which she spoke to them.
"I'm afraid we have no idea what you are talking about," Kazimir tried.
"Oh?" the captain quirked a white eyebrow. "Your little drow friend was quick to tell all."
All eyes turned accusingly to Fraeya and Sarith, but both dark elves appeared puzzled.
"I told you nothing!" Fraeya exploded.
Sarith remained quiet. But the frustrated look that suddenly swept across his features told that he wanted nothing more to cross his arms over his chest. The chains prevented that.
"You two didn't have to tell me anything," the duergar said. "Your rival was all too eager to sell me all your secrets."
Ilvara.
It was the first thing that came to all the escaped prisoners' thoughts. Was it possible that the drow priestess had caught up to them?
But the captain was not finished. "I hate the weaklings of the world above," she growled, eyeing Kazimir, Zelyra, Fargas, and Nine. "I hate the wasted talents of our cousins." This she aimed at Eldeth. "I hate the dark elves and their ilk," she said to Fraeya, Sarith, and Derendil. The captain turned a derisive eye towards Stool and snorted, "And you? Useless!"
The adventurers thought for sure then that they were about to find themselves enslaved to a new master. But then the duergar captain surprised them all by grinning and saying, "But I love nothing more than the humiliation of a rival. My name is Captain Errde Blackskull, commander of the Stoneguard. Most in my station would use your group to profit from the enemy, but I've thought of a better use for you."
Fraeya angrily opened her mouth to speak, but Captain Blackskull swiftly cut her off.
"I am not giving you an option. Either you accept my deal, or I tell Ilvara Mizzrym exactly where her fugitives are hiding. Both scenarios end in profit for me—what do I have to lose?"
Ilvara Mizzrym's name brought on yet another stunned silence, for the escaped prisoners' suspicions were thus confirmed.
"What would you have us do?" Fargas asked warily. He and Nine were the only ones not taken by surprise. Instead, they were rightly confused.
Errde ran a hand through her white hair and then looked to her guards. "Leave us!"
The guards hesitated. But when the command was repeated in an incontestable bellow, all Stoneguard quickly vacated her office.
Captain Blackskull strode back to her desk and sat behind it in the plain-looking stone chair. Before uttering a word, her keen gaze surveyed the space. Her office might have been soundproof from the outside, but it did not prevent unseen individuals from eavesdropping within. Through the years, she'd picked up a trick or two to safeguard against such a thing. Captain Blackskull drew a hand through the air, the same motion as one might do when pulling back a curtain—but saw nothing. There was not even a slight blip of magic in the air aside from those standing visibly before her.
"The only thing I hate more than drow is disloyalty! For some time now, I have suspected corruption among my ranks. So, this is my proposal for you all. Firstly, weed out those who work against me. Fresh eyes might see what I cannot. Secondly, I bid you track the movements of a derro by the name of Droki. He has been linked to a conspiracy involving the Council of Savants and uprising derro," Captain Blackskull said. Her gaze then fell heavily on Fraeya, Sarith, Nine, and Fargas. "And thirdly, I want your group to investigate a series of assassinations that have occurred here within the city's walls, starting with the attempt you four interrupted. In all these tasks, I want hard evidence! Word of mouth is nothing. As is a body. I need something physical—something damning. No capturing, no harming. Work inconspicuously. Do nothing that could link your involvement back to me."
The adventurers' heads were reeling. So much of the conversation pertained to only specific individuals, while others were left entirely in the dark. A lengthy discussion was needed to get everyone on the same page.
"These are harsh terms. You are asking a lot of us," Fraeya spoke up.
Captain Blackskull leaned forward and steepled her fingers beneath her chin. "But the alternative…?" she baited.
"I will not go back," the rogue said punitively. "And neither will anyone else."
"I thought as much," the duergar cackled.
"What do we get in exchange for our services?" Fargas asked.
Captain Blackskull eyed the halfling knowingly. "Ever fishing for goods for your own mistress," she mocked him shrewdly. Then, when Fargas's eyes widened, Blackskull added, "Yes, Lightfoot, you and your companion's motives are also known to me. But, just know—even the guild's influence cannot excuse you from this."
Fargas swallowed heavily.
"You didn't answer his question," Kazimir said. "Aside from protection from the drow, what do we get out of this? The tasks you've handed us seem to far outweigh the risks of being ousted to Ilvara. After all, her outpost was obliterated. So, who is to say it couldn't happen again."
It was a false truth, and the escaped prisoners knew it. They had not destroyed Ilvara's outpost. Instead, that victory belonged to the mysterious grey-cloaked warriors. A drow with two swords, a half-elven archer, a quaggoth swinging a sunlit blade, and a half-orc draped in crimson, not grey; they were the true heroes of Velkynvelve. And then there was the mysterious fifth figure, whose features had been utterly concealed beneath a dark cloak spun of shimmering spider-silk. When they raised their crescent-shaped staff of living wood towards the spiderwebs trapping the prisoners, a raging storm of fire erupted from it. The unrelenting flames that should have killed them instead spared them. But why?
It was yet another mystery in a seemingly endless pile of conspiracies. When would the threads all converge?
"You have no plans to remain in Gracklstugh. You only came here to lay low for a few days. Am I right?" Captain Blackskull asked the group. "Should you provide ample evidence of corruption amongst the Stoneguard and proof of the assassinations, I will not only grant you a safe passage from our city but access to our armory before you depart as well. And, as a favor to both of us, your drow pursuit will be kept in check. Any loose threads you've encountered here will be promptly eliminated."
The adventurers exchanged shrewd glances and nods of approval. All except Sarith, who had gone stiff. His fists were clenched. He looked to the ground, then the wall—at something seemingly beyond them—back to his companions and, lastly, at Captain Blackskull. None of this went unnoticed by Fraeya. The rogue could not help but wonder if his strange behavior had anything to do with his brawl with the drow scout. But, unfortunately, in the chaos of their subsequent arrest, she hadn't had the chance to ask him about it.
"And if we do not accept your terms?" Nine asked.
Captain Blackskull glared at the ranger. "You would be an absolute fool not to."
"The assassinations—do you have any leads?" Fraeya countered before Nine could retort.
"Center your search on Droki," the captain said. "My guards have been tracking his movements for some time. He frequents the Blade Bazaar and has managed to avoid arrest for many months. It is as if he somehow knows where my patrols will be in advance, invisible or not. My task to you is to follow him outside of the Bazaar, back to his home in the West Cleff district. That is derro territory. Thanks to the foolish efforts of our current monarch's grandfather, duergar cannot step foot in there without causing a riot."
"And what do we do once we find Droki?" Eldeth asked.
Captain Blackskull shrugged. "Watch what he does and where he goes. Then, if the opportunity arises, seize him and either bring him to me for questioning or kill him and bring back evidence of his activities."
"I thought you said no capturing or harming?" Kazimir said warily.
"That applies only to duergar. Do what you will to the derro filth. I care not," Blackskull spat.
The tiefling folded his arms across his chest. "Good to know a life means so little to you," he muttered.
"There is no lost love between our two species," the captain justified. "Three centuries ago, King Tarngardt VII was manipulated by a wicked spell crafted by the derro savants. He ordered that all the derro be freed and granted them all the rights and privileges accorded to Gracklstugh's duergar inhabitants. Any duergar lairds who speculated that the savants were behind the king's sudden change of heart were then targeted. The Council of Savants was established shortly thereafter and has remained a thorn in our side ever since. We have just cause to believe that Droki is working for them. What chaos they are now planning is anyone's guess."
"And what about the assassinations? Any ideas as to who is behind them?" Derendil asked. "Are we to assume that they are the work of the derro savants as well?"
Captain Blackskull stared blankly at the quaggoth, still in complete disbelief that one could speak so articulately. Once she found her voice, she said, "Many rumors fly throughout the city. Some suspect the Deepking. Others accuse my Stoneguard or the Deepking's personal guard, the Keepers of the Flame. And, of course, we suspect the derro savants as well. However, the rumors that intrigue me the most involve the Forak-Erach-Naek—the Empty Scabbard Killers." Blackskull looked to the chained individuals in the room and further explained, "Most consider them a myth. While I do not personally believe in their existence, I am intrigued by the reports that came from the guards who arrested you. Duergar are not known to wield psionic weapons, yet, these two assassins did."
"You'll have to catch the rest of us up on that later," Zelyra muttered to Fargas.
The druid had remained quiet for most of the conversation, instead intently studying the captain's expressions and mannerisms. Errde Blackskull was a toughened individual, but the half-elf was adept at reading people. Blackskull certainly was not fond of them. She likely considered Zelyra and the other surfacers below her but begrudgingly acknowledged their appeal. If they could sabotage a drow outpost, they could work undercover for the duergar. In short, the captain seemed to be telling them the truth.
Fargas asked, "So, just to be clear, we are not actually being detained?"
Captain Blackskull's face contorted in such a way that one would have thought she suddenly smelled something sour. "No," she snapped. The duergar reached into her desk and pulled out five navy-colored badges, each bearing the same symbol as the broken rock and shield emblem pinned to her sash. She explained that such a token would allow the group to venture as far south as Laduguer's Furrow, the city's housing district, without being accosted by her guards.
"Divvy the badges up as you please, but do not abuse them," Blackskull warned. "Now. I must get back to work if you have no further questions."
The companions exchanged confused glances, realizing they were dismissed just as abruptly as they had been summoned. Eldeth, Derendil, Zelyra, and Kazimir turned for the door before realizing that the other half of their group was still bound in chains.
"Uh, are you going to do something about that?" Kazimir asked, pointing to the manacles.
Blackskull waved him off with an uninterested gesture. "My guards will take care of it. Now go so I can get on with my reports. Ugh! Such droll work—filing!"
Thus, the party excused themselves from Captain Blackskull's office and met with her guards in the outside hall. With a mere flash of one of the badges gifted to them, Fraeya, Sarith, Fargas, and Nine were promptly released from their binds, though the duergar was noticeably reluctant to do so. The male muttered under his breath in Dwarvish about how his misses would have appreciated some fresh slaves.
Fargas and Nine exchanged exasperated glances, understanding every word even though the duergar considered himself clever in insulting them in his own tongue.
The party made a toilsome trek down the zigzagging stairwell carved into the side of Overlake Hold and soon found themselves back on the streets of the Blade Bazaar. What came next was entirely up to them. They could spend some time shopping, grab a bite to eat or spearhead their search for Droki. The group huddled together near a nearby stall, out of the way of the hustling streets, and quietly discussed their next move.
"First things first, I need to look at that," Zelyra said, gesturing to the gash on Sarith's chest. "That is a strange wound."
The drow warrior scowled and folded his arms across his chest to hide the mark but winced slightly as he did. "I'm fine," he claimed.
"Doesn't look fine to me," the druid argued.
"Sarith, why don't you just let her—" Fraeya began.
But Sarith glared at them. "I'm fine!" he repeated, this time in a harsher tone.
Zelyra's eyelashes fluttered furiously. The healer in her refused to believe that, but if the stubborn drow refused treatment or help, who was she to force it upon him? An awkward silence fell over the group, for the others could also see that the wound was not fine. Sarith was no healer. If it was allowed to fester…
"Well then…I say a drink is in order after that doozy of a conversation," Fargas suggested while rubbing his chafed wrists. "Droki can wait. We all need to be on the same page first."
"I second that," Fraeya agreed. "How about we go the Shattered Spire? That is the tavern you recommended, is it not?"
Fargas raised an eyebrow. "Yes…?"
"What?!" Fraeya barked.
"I'm just surprised that you would agree to any suggestion of frivolity," the halfling quipped.
"I can have fun!" the drow insisted.
Fargas snorted. "Sorry, but I didn't think 'fun' was in the drow vocabulary."
"It's a synonym for backstabbing," Sarith cut in dryly.
His companions shared an uneasy chuckle at the dark humor as they were unsure if he was serious or not. Sarith so seldomly joked it was hard to tell one way or the other.
"Just as long as you are backstabbing other drow and not us…." Kazimir grumbled.
Fraeya cut back in and said, "Drinks aside, the Shattered Spire needs to be our priority. While the others were dealing with the Stoneguard and the drow scout after the assassination attempt, I went after Werz. He asked me to meet him at the Shattered Spire to further discuss our payment."
"Ha! I knew it! This is more business than pleasure," the halfling explorer exclaimed.
Fraeya rolled her eyes and chose not to comment.
And so, the party headed towards the Shattered Spire with Fargas leading the way. As they strolled through the Blade Bazaar and headed for the western side of the Darklake District, the adventurers noted various stalls and booths they would like to check out, perhaps the following day. Unfortunately, their quest to find Werz, the assassin's ambush, and subsequent discussion with the Stoneguard had taken so long that it would likely be time to turn in after their meal.
Eventually, the crowded marketplace gave way to sparser buildings and storage houses. But then, the adventurers passed a grand arena with many levels of stairs that led down into a deep pit. Eldeth urgently grasped Zelyra's hand and hissed, "Balasar once told me that he fought in the slave pits of Gracklstugh. He called it the Forge. I wonder if that's it!"
The druid halted her steps and looked out at the arena. The space was presently dark and quiet, but as she looked down at the intimidating structure, Zelyra could clearly envision the light of many torches reflecting off its stone steps and the stands filled with cheering duergar as various fighters faced off in the pit.
"You might be right. Perhaps we can ask Sarith or Fargas about it later," the druid murmured.
The dwarf frowned. "I have a sinking suspicion that this job of Blackskull's will overshadow our search for Balasar."
Kazimir cut into the half-elf and dwarf's conversation. "Don't think for a second I've forgotten about Balasar and Buppido. We'll find them. If we're lucky, maybe the assassinations Blackskull has asked us to investigate are somehow connected to Buppido," he said.
"I don't know if I'd be considering that luck," Eldeth muttered darkly.
I don't have any notes this time! Don't worry, the next one has seven…so I more than made up for it, lol. I wanted to have Captain Blackskull and Werz's interactions in the same chapter, as they play off each other, but the length was over 9k. That just seemed a little too long. The good news is I'm writing three chapters ahead now! :D
Up next: a night of shenanigans in the Shattered Spire, and the party does some shopping!