Chapter Five
The Unforgiving Dark
1485 DR / Day 3
The fugitives quickly swam towards the shore, aware that their drow captors, the raging fires, and the fighting demons were all still very real threats above them. They were surrounded. For the wounded vrock also remained. Its ocher eyes intelligently tracked their every move. And Sarith alone knew of the hidden danger within the very pool that they swam within. He chose not to warn the others—though not out of spite as one might think.
Test them now, the drow reasoned, before we flee into the unforgiving dark.
Not a moment later, Eldeth cried out in pain as the object she thought was a large rock jutting out of the water suddenly struck her. The rock began to liquefy, revealing its true form to be a gray ooze. Eldeth knew well the danger of such a creature. Gauntlgrym, with its endless maze of underground chambers, had no shortage of them. Those who were unfortunate to find themselves struck down by one were treated to a slow, torturous death; for the ooze dissolved the flesh of their prey with acidic secretion and absorbed the bones left behind.
"Beware the ooze!" Eldeth bellowed in warning to those who swam around her.
Eldeth kicked her stubby legs but found no purchase. The pool was deceptively deep. A melee battle would be almost useless. The slippery creature struck again and this time, the sizzle of corroding metal came with it as acid began to eat through the snug chain shirt Eldeth had taken from the armory.
Balasar watched the struggle with increasing anxiety. He too knew that a melee fight in the water was not ideal. But Balasar did have another clever trick up his sleeve.
Or so he thought.
Lightning arced through the water as the bronze dragonborn opened his toothy maw and unleashed his breath weapon. The ooze released its dwarven prey, wounded. But Balasar quickly realized the error in that logic as a backlash of electricity rocketed through his nervous system. And all around him, the others convulsed and cried out in pain as they too were struck.
"YOU IDIOT!" Fraeya shouted with an unmatched fury that had the large dragonborn whimpering an apology. "YOU NEARLY KILLED US ALL!"
Kazimir felt a sense of dread wash over him when he saw Stool floating listlessly in the water. Shuushar had dropped them during the fall. The sprout was already so small and then the lightning… Kazimir pushed through the pain of the electric shock and swam towards them. As he did, he called out for Zelyra, remembering that the druid had once mentioned she knew medicine.
"Get to shore," Zelyra instructed breathlessly, hearing the plea but struggling under the weight of her oak shield and waterlogged furs and leathers. The druid could feel herself sinking but didn't want the others to panic.
Prince Derendil swam for her with powerful, freestyle strokes. As the quaggoth gathered her in his massive arms, he said, "I've got you. Just focus on your breathing."
Zelyra nodded, grateful for his help.
Even if the prince did smell strongly of dirty, wet dog.
One by one, the prisoners reached the shoreline. Sarith was the first to pull himself from the water. As he climbed to his feet, water dripping from his long silvery hair, the drow drew twin shortswords from his belt and rushed the vrock. He could only hope that the winged fiend had already expended its toxic spores and stunning screech against the chasme or the five strange warriors.
Later, when he was in a safe place, Sarith would think on what he'd seen through the webs, the impossibility of it, but for now—
It had been far too long since the drow had felt the pommel of a blade in his hand. His shortswords became a blur as he fell into practiced movements. Sarith's attacks effortlessly sliced into the demon's feathery hide. He barely noticed as Fraeya, Jimjar, Buppido, Eldeth, and Balasar came to his aid. Because for the first time in weeks, as the drow lost himself to the thrill of battle, the enticing whispers and haunting melody in his head ceased to exist.
With the help of the others, all too soon, the vrock lay dead at their feet.
Along the shoreline, Kazimir held Stool in his lap as Zelyra knelt beside them. Derendil and Shuushar stood nearby. The prince's watchful gaze was trained on the flaming towers above them while Shuushar stared curiously at the cavern's western passage. "That is the way," the kuo-toa muttered to himself. "West, our path must be. To my people, I shall take them."
"What a strange little thing," Zelyra remarked as she ran her hands along Stool's spotted cap. "Some sort of awakened mushroom? We have something similar in my village. Shrubs—"
"Just heal them if you can!" Kazimir snapped, cutting off the druid's rambling. "Are they alive?"
"I believe so," Zelyra replied after a moment of study. "You are very irritable."
"Gee, I wonder why?" the tiefling drawled.
"We cannot afford to dawdle," Derendil interrupted in Elvish, his bright green eyes trained upward. "I see Ilvara has noted our escape. We must leave quickly if we are to have any hope of putting distance between us."
"What did he say?" Kazimir asked.
"Ilvara knows of our escape," Zelyra translated.
Kazimir gave a dark chuckle. "Think she also noticed her entire outpost is on fire?"
Zelyra placed her hands one atop another upon Stool's cap. After taking a few breaths to calm herself, the druid began to mutter healing prayers in the secret tongue of her people. Kazimir watched, captivated, as spectral vines snaked out from her fingertips and swathed the wounded sprout. At first, the vines were healthy and green but then turned sickly black as if absorbing poison from a wound. A moment later, they crumbled and turned to ash, their magic spent.
Kazimir and Zelyra shared a look of relief as Stool wiggled a tiny foot. A haze of yellow rapport spores soon enveloped them. "T-thank you," the spellcasters heard in their heads. Quiet and pained, but alive.
As the druid and wizard rose to their feet, the latter still holding Stool, they were rejoined by those who had fought the vrock. In addition to their sodden and grimed appearance, the other group was covered in a foul blue-black ichor—demon blood.
For a moment, they took a breath. All the prisoners, save the two young deep gnomes, had survived the escape and subsequent attacks. Jimjar looked around for the young twins, concerned, but they were nowhere to be found. Now that he thought on it, Jimjar could not recall seeing them since they first left the slave pen.
"Time to go," Fraeya announced tiredly. She felt very warm suddenly. "No time to search for them. We must save our own skins."
Jimjar's shoulders sagged, both recognizing and hating that the drow was right.
"But which way?" Eldeth asked.
With the help of Stool's rapport spores, they hurriedly discussed their options. Three paths led out of Velkynvelve. The north passage led towards Menzoberranzan, and eventually Blingdenstone, home of the deep gnomes. The West Passage would take them towards the Darklake, a series of connected bodies of water spanning a good portion of the Northdark. The third, and final passage lay to the south. It would take the escaped prisoners to the duergar city of Gracklestugh. None of the escaped prisoners wished to go anywhere near Menzoberranzan—not even the drow among them—but Jimjar pointed out his home of Blingdenstone as an option for the surface dwellers to find a way back to their light-filled homes above.
Shuushar pointed to the western passage and said, "Along the shores of the Darklake, to Sloobludop, I will guide you. Boats, you may acquire."
Balasar cut in, "Are you sure that's a good idea?"
The dragonborn thought back to what Shuushar had told him of the vicious religious split amongst the people of the village—not to mention Shuushar's mysterious banishment. And the kuo-toa were unfriendly to anyone not of their kind. A group such as theirs would not be readily welcomed. All in all, it sounded like a terrible plan to Balasar. But Shuushar nodded and resolutely repeated, "It is the way."
Kazimir, Zelyra, Eldeth, and Prince Derendil exchanged helpless glances. They had little knowledge of the layout of the Underdark. They would be forced to rely upon the natives to guide them and hopefully, not be deceived by them.
"I—I just want to go home," Stool begged sadly.
"Me too, buddy," Kazimir responded.
"Can you take me? I do not know the way."
"I don't." The wizard shot a glare in Sarith's direction. "But at least one of us here does."
Sarith's mouth twisted into an ugly sneer. He had no desire of going back to Neverlight Grove. None, whatsoever, even though the feminine voice that once again invaded his thoughts brightened excitedly at the idea. Go, share the Gift, she urged.
"The kuo-toa speaks sense," Sarith offered dryly. "We have little time to argue like children. It is the closest settlement."
"Yes, yes. Follow the fishman," Buppido urged, an eager gleam in his milky eyes. "Get boats then Buppido can take yous to the grey dwarf city. Yous can get better equipment. Not stolen dark elf rubbish. Then yous take myconid home and continue to deep gnome city."
When no one opposed, Zelyra asked, "So, it is decided then? Westward we run?"
"Westward we run," Shuushar echoed. "Lead, I shall."
—
High Priestess Ilvara of House Mizzrym surveyed the damage to her outpost with increasing frustration and worry. Somehow, she had misinterpreted Lolth's warning. And how utterly she had failed. The Spider Queen's retribution would be swift—if it had not come already. But the priestess reasoned if she caught her escaped slaves and offered them all as a sacrifice, perhaps her favor could be restored.
Reports had come from Ilvara's warriors that the tiefling and half-elf were spellcasters capable of producing flame. The priestess concluded that one of them had to be responsible for the destruction, though she did not know how. Those present during the attack had described a firestorm to her, which was powerful magic indeed. Far beyond what the whelps should have been capable of casting. Magic of that caliber was beyond even the high priestess herself. Still, Ilvara acknowledged that the pair would be offered to the Spider Queen first and foremost, regardless of their guilt.
"What is your plan?" Asha Vandree asked impatiently from where she levitated near Ilvara. The two priestesses floated high in the cavern, watching the progress of the outpost's troops reorganizing below. Shoor and Jorlan flanked them, being the only two males capable of that kind of high drow magic. When Ilvara didn't immediately answer her, Asha added, "The slaves flee as we speak! If we do not move quickly, they will be lost to the wilds of the Underdark."
"Not so," Jorlan dared to interrupt, for he had information that he knew would be pleasing to both priestesses. "Your female drow prisoner was struck with a poisoned bolt. My own, I can confirm. She will slow the group down as it and her untreated infection take their toll."
Asha grinned broadly at the news. But Ilvara turned to her former lover, a mocking sneer set upon her thin lips. "Clever, Jorlan. Your sharp mind is the sole reason I used to let you warm my bed. Alas, you forget one thing. Why should the surface dwellers care if the drow falls behind?"
Jorlan clenched a fist, letting the insult wash over him. He regretted now, using the expensive vial of drow poison to tie up loose ends. Fraeya had been right to question whether he would double-cross her. For crime amongst the drow was only punishable if the individual was caught. And Jorlan had no intention of seeing that happen. But now, the poison seemed a better fit for his former lover. He could have taken the more direct route in disgracing the vile Ilvara. For what better revenge than to have her outsmarted by a 'witless male'? There was still time, he supposed. Another vial could be procured—perhaps something even stronger.
"No, it is clever indeed," Asha cut in, sparing Jorlan the chance of saying or doing something the male would regret. She at least understood his uses. "Fraeya is to be returned to Menzoberranzan. We are under orders from those higher than us. I dare not face the wrath of the Ruling Council for failing to deliver. If the other slaves leave her behind, it will be easier to capture her. I say we let the others go. They are nothing to us."
"NO!" Ilvara cried, her crimson eyes flashing. "They destroyed this outpost! I will see every last one back under my hand, dead or alive, and they will pay for their insolence."
Asha shook her head, appalled by the high priestess's narrow mind. Ilvara did not see the larger picture. At one time, Asha had admired Ilvara, aspired to be her, but the junior priestess was quickly coming to realize her superior was not nearly as wise as she appeared to be. First, Ilvara vainly cast aside Jorlan for his disfigurement though, for a male, he was as shrewd and obedient as they came. Then, she took up Asha's own buffoonish distant cousin as Jorlan's lackluster replacement. And now this! Risking the wrath of the Ruling Council in a senseless path of revenge. Foolish dealings indeed, Ilvara was about to embark upon. Asha was not sure she wanted to stick around to watch it all fall apart. But the retrieval of Fraeya was too important. She would have to bide her time until then.
Ilvara turned to Shoor, "Ready the scouts to head out immediately. We four will follow once the fires have all been extinguished."
Shoor took his orders and departed.
The high priestess then sent a message via Sending spell to Xalith Masq'il'yr, an ally of House Mizzrym currently stationed in Gracklestugh. Fleeing slaves. Tiefling, half-elf, kuo-toa, dwarf, dragonborn, two drow, three svirfneblin, derro, and quaggoth. Capture upon sight. Deliver dead or alive. Ilvara assumed the group would eventually seek refuge within a populated Underdark city, either to hide or buy supplies. Gracklestugh was most certainly a viable option. And should Ilvara's slaves dare to enter the duergar city, Xalith and her guard would be waiting for them.
—
The fleeing slaves kept a fast pace as they fled Velkynvelve by way of the western passage. Their hurried strides would make it difficult to search for food and water along the way but at present, the slaves' main concern was distance. If they maintained their speed and didn't run into trouble along the way, they would reach Sloobludop in three to four days.
They soon found themselves winding through endless dark tunnels, not unlike the ones Balasar, Zelyra, Fraeya, and Kazimir had taken on their way to Velkynvelve. The stone encased them on all sides, narrowing and widening at random. Every tunnel was different and yet, they were all the same. An endless maze they traversed. At times dim light came from small patches of phosphorescent moss and lichen along the walls but often, the group found themselves in pure darkness. The gloom was further intensified by a veil of shadows and silence that stemmed from Zelyra—magic commonly used by her people to traverse their cursed forest without leaving a trace of their passing.
As promised, Shuushar led with the others following either in pairs or single file depending on the width of the tunnel. Zelyra and Sarith were appointed to the rear. Kazimir carried Stool initially, but Prince Derendil offered to take the myconid sprout after watching the wizard needlessly struggle with the added weight.
For most of the party members, navigating the dark was not an issue. But as before, Balasar found himself fumbling without a light source. The dragonborn's request to light a torch was unanimously denied—for good reason. The risk was too great. Not only did light attract dangerous creatures that lurked within the wilds of the Underdark, but it would sooner clue their drow pursuit to their location as well.
To Balasar's surprise, Eldeth volunteered to be his guide. The dwarf took up a vigilant post as his side, calling out points of danger along the way, and did her best to keep up with his much longer strides.
"Thanks fer…helping with the ooze," was the only gruff explanation she offered.
Fraeya meanwhile found herself dazed and delirious. Shadows seemed to sway and dance in the corner of her eye, her feet felt leaden and the ground beneath her shifted dangerously with every step she took. After less than an hour of travel, the drow had fallen to the very back of the line, behind even Zelyra and Sarith. Something was wrong, she knew. Her shoulder stung. But Fraeya dared not ask for help for she knew that she would receive none. The group would leave her if she did not keep up just as they had the deep gnome children. And thus, Fraeya pushed, fought the poison coursing through her veins, and kept her attention anchored on Zelyra's long golden braid as it hypnotically swished side to side in front of her.
But with a pained cry, the drow suddenly found herself tumbling through the air as she was unable to avoid a loose stone in her path. She skidded to a painful stop on her hands and knees, the rocky terrain tearing into them.
Just as Fraeya had predicted, Sarith did not stop.
Zelyra too almost turned a blind eye. She should have, not only because of her hatred of the dark elves but for her survival. But Fraeya was the reason they had escaped Velkynvelve. Fraeya had unlocked the chests containing their belongings—Zelyra's precious headdress. A favor for a favor. Something deep in the druid's gut told her to help. So, against her better judgement, Zelyra turned back and drug the delirious drow back to her feet. The rest of the group continued down the winding tunnel, leaving the pair behind.
"Something is wrong," Fraeya panted in Elvish.
One look at the drow's darting and dilated silvery eyes had Zelyra reaching into a pouch at her side that contained all manner of herbs, berries, and medical supplies. Training under the Circle of Sword's Master of Medicine had taught her to never go anywhere unprepared. Fresh supply would be hard to come by in the Underdark, but Zelyra knew she could learn about the new fungi around her…find replacements. So, she hoped, anyway.
The druid produced a handful of brightly colored berries. "Eat these. You'll feel better," she promised. "They will help to neutralize the poison."
"Poison? Damn that rat-snake bastard," the rogue hissed under her breath, realizing at once what had likely happened. Poison was Jorlan's preferred method of incapacitation after all. Fraeya took the plump berries and popped them into her mouth. "Where were these when we were poisoned on the way to Velkynvelve?"
"In the possession of our escort," Zelyra reminded her. "Come, we'll have to run now if we are to catch the others." The half-elf threw an arm over the drow's shoulder and together, they started after the group.
"Why are you helping me?" Fraeya asked bewilderedly.
Zelyra didn't answer. She truly did not know.
Though it was a struggle, the drow and half-elf did eventually catch up to the group. And after approximately ten minutes, Fraeya began to feel the effects of the powerful drow poison lessen. Soon, she was able to run on her own, without Zelyra's assistance. Her dancing vision too returned to normal. The berries had worked.
Instead of resuming her position at the head of the line with Shuushar, Fraeya stayed in the back with Zelyra. She was still confused as to why the druid had bothered to turn back. Sarith, one of her own, had not given her a second glance. And Fraeya did not blame him. Those who were weak enough to fall behind were to be left behind. That had been viciously beaten into Fraeya for as long as she could remember. Was that not the same mentality of those on the surface?
Hours later, the group finally found a place to rest. It was nothing more than a small offshoot of the main tunnel, but the chamber was defendable at least. The fleeing slaves were exhausted, hungry, and thirsty but overall, confident in the distance that they had put between themselves and Velkynvelve.
Eldeth, Jimjar, and Zelyra broke off to search for food and water while the others remained in the chamber to set up a makeshift camp. The Underdark natives were quick to advise that no one should go off alone—not unless they had a death wish. The wilds of the Underdark were one of the deadliest places in all Faerûn. It was important to always be vigilant. For everything, even the stone around them could kill them.
Fortunately, the foraging trio did not have to look far before they found something of note. Jimjar eagerly pointed out a patch of barrelstalk to Zelyra and Eldeth. The large cask-shaped fungus could be tapped and drained for the water stored within it. Its remaining empty stalk was also edible. But the deep gnome became even more excited upon stumbling upon a large piece of shelf-like fungus near the barrelstalk patch.
"That does not look appetizing," Zelyra commented as she hesitantly poked at what resembled a mound of rotting flesh.
Jimjar perked. "Oh, but it is! Especially roasted. We eat well tonight, ladies."
"He's right. I know of this fungus—ripplebark. My people call it, arantym," Eldeth explained. "It is a major food source for the orc tribes of the North."
Zelyra sighed. "I suppose anything is better than mushroom broth."
When the group returned with their spoils, Eldeth suggested lighting just the smallest of fires. This time, no one opposed the idea. Not even the wary Underdark dwellers. The idea of roasting their ripplebark meal was too much of a temptation for those who had consumed nothing but broth for days—and in some cases, tendays. But as the fire was cautiously lit and light from the flames danced upon the slick cavern walls, Fraeya and Sarith retreated to the furthest edges of the camp. The light unnerved them. For more than one reason. In an unspoken agreement, the drow elves kept a watchful eye for anything that might be intrigued by the flame.
Roasting the ripplebark in thin strips turned the fungus from light tan in color to a rich dark brown. To Zelyra's surprise, it was not half bad. Kazimir likewise commented that it could have used a bit of seasoning to enhance the naturally nutty flavor, but the crunchy, bacon-like texture saved it.
Fortunately, their meal passed without incident. The small fire was extinguished once they had eaten their fill, and the group settled down for the evening as best they could. The small chamber, once more cloaked in darkness, was not much more welcoming than the slave pen. Only Fraeya, Balasar, Zelyra, and Kazimir had been able to reclaim their belongings. The others had merely stolen arms and mail, not comforts from the outpost.
Zelyra had a tattered quilt within her pack. But seeing many of the others without any sort of bedding had the druid feeling guilty. If they could tough it out, so could she. But another, unrelated thought occurred to her then. Something, or someone, was missing. She began frantically searching through her pockets. When again and again she came up empty, the half-elf let out a frustrated sigh.
"Did you lose something?" Prince Derendil asked curiously in Elvish.
"Peanut is gone," Zelyra announced sadly.
Fraeya cocked a silver eyebrow. "Your mouse?"
Zelyra nodded, "He was tucked in my pockets when we escaped but—" she let the implication hang in the air. "It's okay, I'll get him back."
All who understood the Elvish words looked to the druid bewilderedly.
Prince Derendil did not have the heart to tell Zelyra that Peanut was likely a pile of ash. But Fraeya had no such qualms. "Sorry to say, Peanut is a goner," the drow drawled unsympathetically.
Again, the half-elf nodded. "I understand. He does this a lot—I mean, he is a mouse."
"Why does she look like that?" Kazimir asked in Common, pointing a thumb at Fraeya. The drow elf stared slack-jawed at Zelyra.
"Are you mad?" Fraeya cried, convinced that Zelyra truly was.
Even Sarith, who sat apart from the group and only halfheartedly listened to their conversation as he cleaned vrock blood from his short swords, agreed with his fellow drow.
Zelyra's brow furrowed in confusion. "I can't do it again today, but it is possible to summon Peanut again." [1]
"Ah, so Peanut is a magic mouse," Prince Derendil said with a melodic laugh that sounded so strange coming from his beastly form. "Now, I understand."
The prince then turned and translated the entire conversation in Common to Kazimir and the others who did not know Elvish. By the end, they were all quietly laughing—including the milky-eyed derro, Buppido, who knew not Elvish or Common but chittered along for the sheer sake of it.
Zelyra keenly surveyed her strange array of traveling companions. There was safety in numbers, and she was a stranger in a very strange place. She would be with these people for some time; at least until Gracklestugh. Despite their differences, at some point, they would have to put that aside and work together. Still, it felt strange to share a laugh with some of the very people she was supposed to hate, and yet…
Kazimir sobered after a spell and said in Common, "So, are we to discuss the elephant in the room?"
"What is an el-ee-font?" Jimjar asked, unfamiliar with the term.
The tiefling blinked in disbelief before remembering just where he was. Elephants did not exist in the Underdark. At least, Kazimir didn't think they did. "Ah—it's just a surface saying," he explained away, not wanting to get into an explanation of the animal. "I just meant, does anyone else want to discuss what happened back there with the firestorm? Because I do."
"Perhaps we should…as you said before, have Stool 'do the thing'?" Prince Derendil suggested lightly. "That way we all may be able to understand."
Stool bounced from where they sat in between Kazimir and Jimjar, recognizing their name but little else. But when Kazimir made the mock explosion gesture, the little myconid happily released their rapport spores. The wizard smiled, feeling like he had touched upon some sort of unspoken form of communication with the sprout. Perhaps they could come up with more.
"What happened back there?" Kazimir repeated telepathically through the spores. "Who was that group that saved us?"
"I don't know," Zelyra answered after a moment of contemplation. Her first thought had been Laucian. But considering the warriors had disappeared, she thought it now highly unlikely. Laucian would not have left her. At least not knowingly. The druid continued, "All I know is that spell was extremely powerful. Far more than I am capable of."
"How do you know?" Jimjar asked.
"I've seen it used once before. My father—" Zelyra cut herself off.
Eldeth's light blue eyes trained on the now squirming druid. "Yer father can cast that spell?" she finished knowingly. "Yer father must be someone of renown."
"He might be," Zelyra replied, rolling her tongue uncomfortably in her mouth though she was not speaking aloud. "As I said, I've seen it used only once. To destroy an invasive nest of spiders in our forest." It hadn't helped. The spiders had come back, just as they always did.
"Well, your father's not here in the Underdark so it had to be someone else," Kazimir reasoned sensibly. Eldeth and Zelyra glanced at each other expressively. Prince Derendil appeared thoughtful while Jimjar seemed at a loss. And Buppido swayed back and forth as if entranced by some sort of music only he could hear. The tiefling shook his head, disturbed by the derro's antics, and continued to press the issue, "But why did they leave? Why help at all if they were just going to light the outpost on fire and then disappear?"
"You ask questions that have no answers," Fraeya snapped, speaking up for the first time. "Who cares what happened. All I know is that we're free of that prison. Why dwell?"
Kazimir shrugged. Perhaps he could learn from that powerful mage.
"She's right. You should leave well enough alone," Sarith cut in.
Several in the group looked at the male drow in surprise. It was rare for him to offer his opinion. But Sarith had already turned his attention back to his swords and said nothing further. What more was there to say? Because the drow still could not fathom the impossibility of what he had seen through the webs. Himself—fighting alongside those warriors. Perhaps he never would fully understand. Fraeya was right. There was no reason to dwell on something that had no logical answer. He would drive himself insane otherwise.
The conversation died down shortly after. Around them, the colorful bioluminescent fungi along the walls and cavern floor continued to pulse and sway as if moved by some sort of wind. But the air was utterly still. One by one, the prisoners lost themselves to a familiar world of nightmarish dreams. Howls in the distance. Hooves clopping against the stone. Oily tentacles gliding through murky water. Whispers. Rot. Decay. Acid. Consumption. And pleasant laughter that sounded enticing and altogether ominous at the same time.
This was the unforgiving dark.
[1] The magic that Zelyra is referencing here is the optional Wild Companion feature for druids recently introduced in Tasha's Cauldron of Everything. I am tweaking it slightly in that the fey creature stays around until it is reduced to 0HP, just like the traditional Find Familiar spell instead of half the druid's level.
Truthfully in our original campaign, Zelyra did lose Peanut during the escape (mostly because I forgot I had a pet mouse less than three sessions). It became a running joke for the rest of the campaign that I couldn't keep my druid's pets alive. I'm remedying that by introducing the Wild Companion feature to this narrative. Tasha's didn't come out until we were nearly finished with the campaign, otherwise, I would've used it at the start as I am now.