Previously…

Around the five-hour mark, Zelyra felt a slight tremor on the web. It was a strange sensation, resembling the vibration of a tightly wound piece of string. At this point, she had traveled slightly ahead of the goblins and her traveling companions. Yuk Yuk and Spiderbait were perhaps thirty feet behind her, and the rest were another thirty feet behind the goblins. The transformed druid froze and concentrated on the tremor while peering into the gloom. There was active movement on the web some forty feet ahead of her. Three giant spiders were hard at work, spinning their gossamer thread and cocooning…something.

Two somethings, if Zelyra's eight arachnid eyes did not deceive her.

One form was squat and stout with a shock of brown hair. A pair of strange, bulbous goggles covered his eyes. The other form was taller, lither, and distinctively female with dark auburn hair pulled back into a tight braid, not unlike Zelyra's.

And neither was moving.

Chapter Eight

The Explorer and The Ranger

1485 DR / Day 8

The Silken Paths

A sense of dread washed over the druid as she watched the spiders swathe their paralyzed victims with silk. And for a moment Zelyra fell into memory. She recalled a dim forest filled with dying, black twisted trees, most leafless, a tricksy, swirling fog, and a mass of lustrous web that blocked the path ahead. A tall elven figure with long dark hair stood before the giant web, wooden shield, and gnarled staff in hand. Behind him, a young half-elf, no more than twelve or thirteen winters, waited amongst an escort of armed sentries. As the elf raised his staff, a spark of flame lit upon a single strand. The spark fed quickly. It spread, turning into a ravenous storm, sweeping from web to web to thoroughly consume the lair in which the webs concealed. The air carried the stench of death and in all their ears, echoed the shrieks of hundreds of giant spiders as they were mercilessly flushed from a home that was not theirs to claim. It was only a start. But a start nonetheless of taking back Neverwinter Wood.

Zelyra shook her head, willing the memory from her mind. She was not in the Wood. This was the Silken Paths. And it would not do her good to continue to dwell on home or the past when the real danger lay before her in the present.

The druid knew she needed to warn her traveling companions. The question was, how? Zelyra was far out of range of Stool's communication spores. And neither was she about to transform back into her flesh self to give a verbal warning. The spider form still had some use. Thinking quickly, Zelyra rose onto her back four legs while wildly waving her front appendages about, hoping that someone—perhaps the drow elves with their acute darkvision—would take notice.

Sure enough, some sixty feet behind, Fraeya spotted what she thought was a dancing spider. "What is Zelyra doing?" The rogue cracked just the slightest hint of a smile at the sheer ridiculousness of the sight.

Balanced spryly on a nearby web, Sarith wasn't laughing. "I think she's trying to alert us to something," he muttered.

Fraeya's half-smile dropped. Both drow elves pushed their sight past Zelyra's waving appendages, to the gloom beyond. Just on the cusp of what their darkvision could reach, Fraeya and Sarith saw the spiders. But from their distance, they could not distinguish the victims. Almost in tandem, both drow elves let out an apathetic sigh. They should have known they would have to deal with the keepers of the web at some point.

"How many?" Fraeya switched to Drow Sign.

"At least three, maybe four," Sarith replied, his fingers dancing through the words with ease. He added, "But more could be concealed above, waiting."

"You take left, I take right?" the rogue offered.

Sarith gave a brief dip of his head. The warrior drew his light crossbow and loaded a bolt. Fraeya simultaneously drew her shortbow and nocked a darkened arrow. Both sighted their intended targets. They released their ammunition at the same time, bolt and arrow whizzing through the air with frightening speed and accuracy despite the distance. It should have come to a shock to both drow, that the other would so readily attack the children of their patron goddess as if indifferent to consequence. And yet, at that moment, neither Fraeya nor Sarith considered the implication of that.

Ahead, Zelyra breathed a sigh of relief as bolt and arrow met the mark of spider flesh instead of either victim. Wailing shrieks echoed throughout the chasm. The wretched sound spurred the rest of the party and the goblins alike into action. Satisfied that her message had been received, the druid surged across the webs, intent on engaging the spiders head-on. It was probably a stupid plan considering her melee reinforcements traversed difficult terrain as far as sixty feet behind her. But Zelyra's singular thought was luring the spiders away from their dinner.

Many kinds of giant spiders existed throughout Faerûn. Some had size to contend with while others were smaller but swifter, and some still had poisons so deadly they could kill a man instantly upon contact. The giant spiders who called the Silken Paths home were nothing to scoff at. Two broke away to defend their territory while the third remained behind to continue work on the cocoon. As the pair descended upon Zelyra's much smaller wolf spider form, a desperate fight broke out.

Unhindered by the restrictive nature of their own webbing, the transformed druid and giant spiders rolled about in a chaotic heap, pinchers snapping and stingers slashing at one another. So turbulent were their movements that even Zelyra's two opponents had trouble distinguishing friend from foe. Cautiously aimed bolts and arrows from Fraeya, Sarith, and the goblins rained down upon them as the traveling companions fought to close the distance. But after so many strikes and bites, not to mention a wayward arrow or two finding the wrong mark, Zelyra felt her control over the spider form waning.

When the druid ultimately reverted to her vulnerable half-elven body, from one hundred feet back, Kazimir readied a bolt of fire to defend her. But as the flames sparked in his hand, Prince Derendil frantically waved him off, his expression one of horror. "If you miss and burn away the webs, Zelyra could fall to her death!" the prince reasoned. "And the light might attract more spiders!"

The flames extinguished from the tiefling's hand. He hadn't considered that. Kazimir frantically pulled out his spellbook and began flipping through the pages, searching for another spell, any spell, that might help. But the wizard was at a loss. He had nothing, nothing within the proper range anyhow. For so long he had only needed to defend himself, not others. And now, the wizard found himself very much regretful of that.

As Kazimir continued a fruitless search, Prince Derendil passed Stool over to Shuushar. The kuo-toa carried no weapons and therefore, had little else to offer in the fight. Satisfied the myconid sprout was in safe hands, the prince dashed across the webs on all fours, his oil slick quaggoth fur effortlessly gliding off the sticky terrain. Eldeth, Balasar, and Jimjar tried to follow but soon fell behind. As Derendil gained on the brawling spiders' foot by foot, he discerned the third spider working on its intended dinner. A sense of duty and honor to protect the defenseless kicked in. Prince Derendil had already witnessed Zelyra do powerful magic. She could protect herself. These folk, in their current state, could not.

And almost as if to confirm his thoughts, Zelyra called out in Elvish, "Go for the third spider! I'm fine!" Though she did not appear fine with two giant spiders making flanking attacks on her, Prince Derendil chose to trust her and changed course for the cocoons.

Zelyra frantically batted the spiders back with her shield, but one lucky advancing bite cost the druid her balance. The all too familiar sensation of poison coursing through her veins turned her defensive maneuvers sluggish. She slipped, falling flat on her back upon the springy web. And one of the giant spiders saw its opening. Her torso and shield arm became entangled in a projectile of sticky web, but one hand remained free. That was all she needed. Zelyra thought back to how useless she had been against the carrion crawler, how she had frozen in fear. One hit had taken her out. Her lips curled back in determination. Not this time. This time, she would trust in the strength of the First Circle.

As the giant spiders closed in, a joint prayer to Silvanus, the Oak Father, and Talos, the Stormlord, cultivators of the punishing side of the nature, rose from the druid's lips. [1] She spiraled down into her connection with the earth, calling to mind a vengeful storm and the bone-shattering might of thunder. A burst of deafening energy erupted from Zelyra's free hand and struck both giant spiders with a cacophonous boom which rocked the chasm and gave away any thought of stealth the party had. But the sheer force of the spell sent both spiders flying ten feet straight up into the air, into the perfect aim of Fraeya, Sarith, and the goblins' ranged weaponry.

The two spiders bounced back upon the webs not a moment later, flat on their backs with their eight legs curled inward—dead.

Prince Derendil glanced back with a smile. Zelyra could protect herself, indeed.

When the prince reached the final giant spider, he rose to his full height, bared his fangs, and built up a menacing roar from his diaphragm. The growl resonated and a wad of wayward saliva struck one of the spider's many eyes. The spider stopped spinning. It took one look at its fallen kin, noted the approach of many more enemies, and the more immediate threat of the lethal quaggoth before it, then bolted. Prince Derendil watched with a smile of satisfaction as it scurried off into the gloom, abandoning its meal for survival. He straightened his back with poise and cracked his knuckles. Victory did not always have to result in death. Sometimes, the real triumph was in sparing your foe to live another day.

By then, Balasar and Eldeth reached Zelyra and helped her out of her restraints. The dragonborn champion clapped the druid on the shoulder as she regained her footing, congratulating her on her determination and quick thinking. "Never thought I would say that spider form might be a good thing," he admitted.

Zelyra flashed him a tired smile, "It has its uses."

The group then gathered around Prince Derendil as he knelt and began to carefully examine the two cocoons. The quaggoth deftly tore away the sticky silk with his claws to reveal a youthful male halfling and if his eyes were not deceived by the slight arc of the other's ears, the second victim was a female half-elf. Their chests rose and fell with slow breath but neither showed any other sign of movement nor waking.

"Looks like we interrupted a meal," Fraeya drawled.

"And saved these poor souls from a terrible fate," Prince Derendil added. "At least they still draw breath."

The rogue grimaced, "It's a wonder they are here in the Paths or the Underdark at all. Looks to be a couple of wayward surface dwellers to me." Fraeya then gestured to the spherical goggles that covered the halfling's eyes. "What in the name of Vhaeraun are those?" The drow unceremoniously plucked them from the halfling's head and placed them over her own eyes. Nothing happened. Her vision was the same if only slightly distorted by the thick lenses. Fraeya removed them and let them fall around her neck. Their use might be revealed in time.

Jimjar meanwhile poked at the female half-elf. Still no reaction. "Looks like the poison knocked them out cold," he remarked.

"I wonder how long they've been here?" Kazimir likewise wondered. "And how long the paralysis will take to wear off."

The prince nodded, catching onto the tiefling's line of thought. "Yes, perhaps we should at least remain with them until they wake. What happens next is up to them."

Yuk Yuk shrilly interrupted, "He only paid for your lot!" The goblin jabbed a gnarled finger in Jimjar's direction. "And it was not even our normal rate. No others!"

Fraeya crossed her arms over her chest. "No one said we are bringing them with us! We are not in any position to take in strays. Let me remind you that we are on a run from a mad drow priestess and her scouts. Time is not on our side."

"For once, I agree with her," Sarith spoke up, his expression neutral.

"The Hells have frozen over," Fraeya muttered under her breath. Beside her, Jimjar reluctantly pressed a silver piece into the waiting hand concealed behind her back. Another bet settled.

Kazimir passively held up his hands, "All I'm saying is that we should at least give them a fighting chance before we just abandon them to be another easy meal. Besides, I think Zelyra could use a moment to catch her breath."

Confirming that statement, Zelyra swayed dangerously on the web as she said, "I wouldn't mind that." Balasar put a clawed hand upon her shoulder to steady her.

"Ye do look a little peaked," Eldeth observed worriedly.

"I got bit," the druid admitted.

Fraeya rolled her eyes, "How is it the nature queen always ends up poisoned?"

"I don't have any more berries to neutralize it," Zelyra added miserably.

"We know," Fraeya muttered, knowing that she was the reason for that.

Both Fraeya and Zelyra could not help but think back to the events of the previous day. If it had not been for Sarith…

Shaking her head absently, Fraeya then asked, "Do you have another way of healing yourself? With your earthen magic, perhaps?"

The druid held a weary hand to her forehead. She'd spent quite a bit of energy channeling the thunder, not to mention the darkvision ritual and cloaking the party's steps earlier in the day. "No…not until I've rested. But it's no matter. I don't believe this poison is as strong. It's meant to paralyze the spider's prey, not kill them. Should wear off soon. I'm just a bit stiff now and don't fancy a fall."

"We'll wait until you feel strong enough to move on," Prince Derendil conceded.

Buppido spit crankily into a nearby web and muttered under his breath in Undercommon. None paid the derro any mind.

Spiderbait leered, "Just remember, time is money!"

The group settled down then for a short rest on the center of the webs next to the unconscious forms of the halfling and half-elf. It was too risky to attempt to move to an offshoot tunnel. Zelyra's balance was nonexistent. Prince Derendil or Balasar could have attempted to carry her, but the added weight had a chance of throwing off their balance. Then they'd have an even bigger problem. Thus, the group remained where they were.

Sarith kept watch from the rear while Fraeya kept a sharp eye on what lay before them. It made sense for the drow elves to take up watch as their darkvision and acuity exceeded most. Though, in reality, they all were painfully aware of every slight movement of the web, every sound that came from beyond where their darkvision stretched. Zelyra's spell had made more than a fair bit of noise. It would be foolish not to anticipate that it might have attracted more spiders…or something far worse.

Of course, their paranoia was not eased by Yuk Yuk and Spiderbait. The goblins had not a care. They recklessly surfed the webs with their grease slick feet some distance ahead of the resting party. In between flipping through pages of his spellbook, Kazimir watched with some trepidation, part amusement, as Yuk Yuk did a flip from one web to another dangling several feet below it. Spiderbait then tried to one-up his fellow goblin with a series of cartwheels. Both chittered and giggled madly. For all the fuss of not wanting to attract other creatures with light, their wild stunts contradicted that caution.

"How either of them is still alive be a mystery to me," Eldeth grumbled as she too watched the goblins' performance.

The wizard replied, "A testament to both cleverness and the will of Tymora." [2]

"Tymora's blessing won't do us a lick of good if either meets their end before they get us to our intended destination," the dwarf shot back. "If Zelyra feels up to it, we should move before one of 'em—"

Eldeth's ramble was cut short as the half-elf suddenly began to stir. Not a moment later, the halfling also showed signs of rousing. Prince Derendil had kindly removed the wrapped webbing from their bodies at the start of their rest. And now that they woke, the escaped prisoners observed the two strangers with a more critical eye. Zelyra found her gaze curiously drawn to the female half-elf. In her lifetime, she had only known four other half-elves; her birth parents, her elder brother, and Varan. To finally, after all this time meet another of her kind, in the Silken Paths no less, was…the most bizarre of coincidences. [3]

The female's deep copper skin, auburn hair, and sharp cheekbones spoke to either a sun-elf parent or grandparent. Her hair was neatly woven into a tight and simple braid. She wore a leather breastplate that was ruddy brown with worn navy cloth and off-white furs to accent. In her hands, she loosely gripped a plain-looking longbow and along her hip, was a sensible quiver filled with arrows. Additionally, two long knives were sheathed in a holster upon her upper back. If Zelyra had not known better, she could have mistaken the half-elf as one of the Circle of Sword's rangers as they were similarly outfitted.

As the half-elf slowly sat up and silently gathered her bearings, the halfling, in contrast, began to writhe about and groan melodramatically in pain. Aside from his theatrics, he had the diminutive look of a typical lightfoot halfling. Guessing a halfling's age was always tricky due to their childlike appearance, but he appeared to be a young adult. His hair which curled slightly at the nape of his neck was dark and otherwise slicked back straight. He wore dark brown leathers accented by a pair of tall, fitted boots and a black and tan cloak that had a hint of white on the underside. Upon his hip were a small, embroidered bag and a sheathed sword that looked altogether too large for the halfling to handle. The dagger strapped to his right boot seemed more fitting. He blinked furiously as he came to, his hazel-colored eyes darting about in a panic. A moment later, he brought his tiny hands up to his face and shouted in Common, "My goggles! Damn it all to the Hells. Where are they?"

Faster than anyone would have anticipated, the half-elf sprang to her feet and nocked an arrow into her longbow, aiming at Fraeya's throat where the halfling's goggles hung.

"Return them," the half-elf demanded, her voice as sharp as the harsh winds which cursed the Outer Plane of Pandemonium.

Fraeya returned the half-elf's glare, unimpressed. "Finder's fee."

The half-elf loosened one finger from her bowstring. "I won't say it again, return them," she threatened.

Sarith instinctively reached for a crossbow bolt.

"So, someone has taken my goggles. Dirty thief!" the halfling cried huffily. "I can't see in this accursed dark without them." His tone was suave, and words well enunciated as if he had spent time around nobility in his lifetime.

"There are twelve of them. One, a fish creature, holds a large mushroom," the half-elf murmured to her blind companion. "They have us trapped. Two are drow and they have a quaggoth servant with them."

Prince Derendil cut in, "I assure you, good lady, I am no servant of the drow!" at the same time the halfling quipped, "Is the giant mushroom their dinner? Perhaps they might share with two weary travelers."

"Stool is not food!" Kazimir bellowed.

Sarith took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. Fraeya meanwhile held up a pacifying hand to the half-elf and removed the halfling's goggles from around her neck. As she balanced their strapping upon a single finger, the rogue asked, "So, tell me the importance of these goggles? You sure seem like you want them back."

"Must you do this?" Zelyra hissed in Elvish. "Were you not the one lamenting our lack of time earlier?"

"Well, now I am curious," Fraeya murmured back.

The harsh half-elf eyed them suspiciously, obviously familiar with the language.

"If you satisfy my curiosity, sir halfling, I will return your goggles," Fraeya bartered.

The dark-haired halfling let out a low whistle, "There are many curiosities of yours I might satisfy, depending. Just say the word." Fraeya's jaw dropped, Jimjar let out a roaring laugh, and Sarith found himself torn applauding the halfling for his daring cheek in the face of a drow female and reaching for his crossbow again. The male warrior didn't care about Fraeya one way or another, but sometimes old habits were hard to break.

"I only wish to know about the goggles," Fraeya replied once she composed herself.

"Ah, those old things? A gracious gift from my employer," the halfling lightly explained away. "You see, we small folk do not see well in the dark. She gave me a way of remedying that."

"Who, is She?" Fraeya demanded.

The halfling appeared affronted by her tone, "Why, my employer of course. No need to be so demanding."

"And who is your employer?"

"That business is our own," the halfling snapped. "Why should I reveal anything to a rotten drow thief, anyhow?"

Fraeya grinned. Instead of taking insult, she found she rather liked his spunk. "How do you know that I am drow?" she asked.

"One can only assume," the halfling replied. "I tell you this…the goggles will be of no use to you. They grant their wearer darkvision which if you are indeed a drow elf, you already have, far keener than the goggles could ever give."

Fraeya observed how Balasar's interest peaked at the word 'darkvision'. "Darkvision, you say? Perhaps I might have use of that after all. There is one amongst us who suffers a similar lack of sight."

"But—" the halfling sputtered at the time Balasar cut in, "I would not steal his goggles. Not for my benefit."

The halfling swiveled blindly in the way of Balasar's voice. "You, are you human? Traveling amongst drow?"

"I am dragonborn," Balasar replied proudly, his chest puffing just the slightest bit. "Fraeya, please do return his goggles so he might gaze upon us and know to whom he speaks. We are a strange crowd."

"About the strangest I've ever seen," the half-elven female agreed. She had yet to lower her bow, but Fraeya was unfazed by the threat.

"You honored your side of our bargain," Fraeya drawled. "I suppose I shall honor mine." At long last, the half-elf lowered her longbow.

The halfling breathed a sigh of relief when Fraeya dropped the goggles into his waiting hand. As he slipped them back over his eyes and rubbed at the smudges on the lenses, he said, "My, you are a strange crowd. But I do suppose we have you lot to thank for driving off the spiders? The name's Fargas Rumblefoot and this here is—"

The half-elf cut him off, "They don't need to know my name."

Fargas grinned slyly, "To be fair, I don't even know your name. I was going to tell them about my nickname for you."

Kazimir cut in, "So, do you two actually know each other or…?" He let the other half of the question hang in the air. Fargas and the half-elf exchanged a loaded glance, but it was impossible to read the halfling's thoughts behind his goggles and the half-elf's face likewise was the picture of stone. How they could even read each other was a mystery.

Finally, Fargas spoke, "How about I tell you this—I am an explorer of sorts who finds shiny new toys for my employer in exchange for coin. I was sent down, by my gracious employer, in search of a lost tomb rumored to be filled with all sorts of treasure. She," the halfling gestured to his companion, "was hired on as my protection detail and tracker. We had others with us originally but as you can see, now it is just us two."

Kazimir's brow drew together. The halfling walked a fine line of telling truth and lie, and it was only Kazimir's experience with doing that same that allowed him to see through the façade.

"What happened to the others?" Zelyra asked.

"We were attacked by a vicious band of dog-faced creatures that howled like hyenas. My 'tracker' here and I escaped by way of these spiderwebs. The others were left behind," Fargas explained. Again, Kazimir sensed this was not the whole truth but did not call the halfling out.

Sarith thought on the description for a moment before muttering, "Gnolls. You were chased by a band of gnolls?" The drow warrior fought to contain his surprise—which that in itself was rare. Gnolls were a creature that Sarith was familiar with, if only by name. They were not commonly found in the Underdark as their uncontrollable bloodlust and chaotic psyche did not make for good slaves to the drow.

"Ah! Both drow speak passible Common! Though I suppose you must if you travel with friends from the World Above," Fargas gushed. "Yes, I do suppose now that they must have been gnolls. Strange, as I had always heard they favored the plains of the surface world not the tunnels of the deep."

"First of all, no one said we are friends. We travel together out of convenience. And secondly, how would you not have known they were gnolls?" Fraeya asked suspiciously.

Fargas threw up his hands, "Well, I don't know! I'd never seen one in the flesh 'til the day before yesterday!" Fraeya let out an annoyed huff.

"I hate to break up this lovely conversation," Kazimir began, not sounding sorry at all. "But we do need to get moving. I think Zelyra is feeling better now and as Fraeya so adamantly pointed out earlier, time is not on our side."

"Where are you all heading?" Fargas asked.

As the escaped prisons exchanged wary glances, Yuk Yuk screeched, "You travel with us, you pay your own way! Two gold per day!"

"Two gold? Per day?" Fargas cried. "Why, that's just murder!"

"Yuk Yuk and Spiderbait are just our guides through the Silken Paths," Balasar explained. "Our intended destination is Sloobludop."

"Never heard of it," the halfling replied flatly. "But, if you don't mind taking on two more into your traveling troupe—yes, we can pay our way, though it pains me—perhaps I can talk you lot into helping us find this hidden tomb for my employer?"

"Why would we want to do that?" Fraeya asked.

Fargas pulled two shiny gold coins from his change purse and tossed them in Yuk Yuk's direction. The goblin caught them with a covetous gleam in his eye. "For that very reason—coin," Fargas said smoothly. The halfling raked an observant eye over the strange group. "Oh please, don't think I haven't noticed. You lot look like you've been starved in a barn with your mix-matched armor and ill-fitted weaponry. No doubt you head for this Sloobludop to buy supplies, food? Can't do that without gold."

Eldeth sighed, "He has a point."

"What did I say about taking in strays?" Fraeya hissed. The nameless half-elf shot her an icy glare which the drow gladly returned with one of her own.

"They paid their way," Jimjar reasoned. "How are we to say no to that?"

"Easy," the rogue spat. "No."

Fargas watched the spiraling argument with growing amusement. "The way I see it, we paid our way fair and square. If you do not wish to share in our offer of riches after these kind goblins have seen us safely through the Paths, that is your prerogative."

The drow conceded and irritably threw up her hands, "Fine!"

And thus, the escaped prisoners continued their way through the Silken Paths with two more added to their ranks, bringing their total number, including the goblins, to fifteen. A large ensemble they were, indeed.

Zelyra shifted back into the form of a giant wolf spider—much to the initial horror and confusion of Fargas—while the others fell back into the same marching order they had used before fighting the web spinners. This time, their trek passed with less quiet as Fargas turned out to be quite the talkative little fellow. The halfling quickly engaged Kazimir in deep conversation upon discovering that the tiefling studied magic. He was ever so curious about the wizard's spellbook. In contrast, the halfling's mysterious companion was the picture of silence. The half-elf said not a word to anyone and fell to the back of the line, near Sarith. It was just as well for Sarith would not have enjoyed speaking with her, or anyone, anyway.

Kazimir was rightfully curious about the half-elf, however. Why was she so unwilling to offer something as simple as a name? "So, what's your friend's problem?" the wizard later asked Fargas. "Why does she look like she's permanently sucking on a lemon?"

"That's just her face," the explorer bluntly replied.

Kazimir choked back a laugh. "You know, you never did tell us about your nickname for her," he reminded Fargas.

Fargas grinned broadly, "Lemon-face."

The half-elf spoke up for the first time from behind them, grumbling, "You do not call me that."

"I do—in my head—just now," the halfling countered through peals of laughter. Kazimir and several of the others laughed along with him. The half-elf's annoyed scowl only deepened. Fargas continued, "If you really want to give her a name, you might as well just call her 'Ranger' as that and archery are her areas of expertise. Why else would my employer have hired her to be my tracker?"

"A ranger, huh?" Kazimir replied thoughtfully. "A fine tracker she may be, but you may wish to ask your employer to reimburse you for the protection detail bit."

"We held our own against those spiders for some time," Fargas countered with bravado. When Kazimir made a doubtful face, the halfling exclaimed, "Don't you dare look so surprised! I have a sword; I know how to use it—in more ways than one."

Nearby, Balasar let out a guffaw of laughter.

"That's nice, buddy," the wizard replied with a smile. "You can keep your sword to yourself. And just as a forewarning, you might just lose it if you flirt with any of the females in this group."

Fargas waved a disinterested hand. "I know how to behave!"

As that conversation was happening, Zelyra found herself once more scouting slightly ahead alongside the two dare-devil goblins. Two more hours had passed, and in that time, they'd crossed another mile and a half of the Paths. Their pace had quickened as they became accustomed to the strange terrain. And fortunately, despite the noise of Zelyra's Thunderwave spell, the group had encountered none of the resistance that everyone feared. At any rate, they could reach their intended tunnel within the next hour. The second half of the trek was proving to be peaceful and quiet.

Until it wasn't.

"Arise, they rise. Creatures of the deep dark. They come. They crawl. Ever hunting, ever thirsty! To devour, and to ruin!"

The travelers each felt the same invading push into their minds. To the escaped prisoners, the sensation was not all that different from Stool's rapport spores aside from being unwelcomed. A wave of chatter broke out amongst the group. Yes, they all heard the same ominous words. All looked wildly about, searching for the source. And yet, even the perceptive drow elves among them could not find its origin.

Those who carried weapons readied them. The mysterious message was not a comforting one. The half-elven archer drew her longbow and nocked an arrow. And true to his earlier boasting, Fargas pulled his longsword from its sheath and swung it experimentally in an elegant, trained arc. The blade gleamed of adamantine, and its handle featured a sophisticated design. The weapon caught the eye of the escaped prisoners and the goblins alike; such a beautiful sword was not cheap.

"And who are you, bringers of chaos? Come to bind me back to my unworthy master? No, I will not go! I am free!"

"We seek not to bind you to anyone. We are weary travelers," Fargas shouted boldly into the empty expanse. "If you would but show us your face so that we might look upon the one who unfairly invades our minds…it would be appreciated!"

In response, an aberrant creature floated up from the webbing below them. Its most prominent feature was a single, giant eye. Four writhing stalks, each containing a smaller eye protruded from the flesh surrounding the central one, two atop and two from below. The skin of the creature was thick and lumpy, while still being somewhat translucent. Numerous blood vessels were visible along the surface. And as it opened its large maw, a long, slender rope-like tongue was revealed.

This was a creature that none traveling in the party had ever seen or knew existed before it appeared before their very eyes. A spectator, a kind of extraplanar beholderkin typically native to the Clockwork Nirvana of Mechanus. What it was doing in the Underdark or even the Material Plane, was a mystery. But while they might not have known a spectator, some among the group, such as Sarith and Zelyra, knew of their infamous ten-stalked cousins. Beholders were counted among the most unspeakable of abominations. Intelligent and erratic, they defied every natural law of nature.

As soon as the spectator showed itself, Yuk Yuk and Spiderbait stealthily slipped back into shadow. The web spinners were one thing. Fighting aberrations was another and it was not part of their contract to the party. Zelyra found herself alone before the strange floating creature. The druid muttered irritably under her breath that once they left the Silken Paths, someone else could play scout. But at present, something had to be done. Perhaps…perhaps the creature could be reasoned with.

Against her better judgement, Zelyra shifted out of her spider form and appeared on the webs before the spectator as a half-elf. Swallowing her fear and pride, she thought back to Laucian's lessons—the more unusual lessons—and when she opened her mouth, an abysmal language known as Deep Speech left her lips.

"My companions and I mean you no harm," the druid parlayed loudly. "We merely wish to pass."

"What fiendish words come from her mouth?" Eldeth hissed to Kazimir.

The wizard was too stunned to take offense. "I haven't the slightest idea."

The spectator's eyestalks writhed with interest, realizing that the fleshy and pitiful creature before it spoke its native tongue. "You know the tongue of the deep dark?" It asked.

If only to better understand and destroy atrocities of nature such as yourself at the behest of the Wildmother, Zelyra thought in her head. But to the spectator, she simply replied, "I had a good teacher."

One of the eyestalks swiveling in close to the druid. Within it, quivered dark magic that had Zelyra rethinking any kind of negotiation. It was going to attack, soon. Sure enough, the spectator hissed, "My kind does not share knowledge with the likes of you. This is a trap, a lie!"

"He wasn't of your kind," Zelyra growled and though she knew her magic was still greatly depleted, the druid delved deep into her understanding of the First Circle, nonetheless. This time she prayed to Auril, the Frostmaiden, merciless goddess of cold and winter. In the druid's hand appeared the same knife-like shard of ice of which she'd used to attack the guard in the armory of Velkynvelve. It ricocheted from her exposed palm, streaking straight for the spectator's central eye. But just as the ice shard was about to meet its mark, it inexplicably deflected.

A moment later, Fargas cried out in pain as Zelyra's conjured shard of ice struck his chest and exploded outward in a blaze of tiny crystals—some of which struck Kazimir and Jimjar who balanced themselves upon the webs on either side of the halfling.

"No!" Zelyra shouted out to her companions in Common. "It wasn't supposed to do that!"

The spectator laughed and in Deep Speech, chided, "Foolish wizard! I was a slave to one once, I shan't be again!" Its four eyestalks thrashed and from the one on the bottom left, a deep red bolt of energy arced in Fargas's direction. The spectator was not ignorant to the halfling's impressive sword. Once more, Fargas was under attack and to his dismay, in an all too familiar position with his joints and bones locked up. He was unable to move even a finger. Frustrated, the halfling mistakenly cursed through clenched teeth, "Damn you to the Abyss!"

Abyss? The spectator knew of the Abyss. Terrible things came from there. Things that unbeknownst to the travelers, were spilling over. It wailed, "From the Abyss they rise! Demons! All fear the Leemooggoogoon!"

Balasar tightened his grip on his trusted longsword. He didn't understand everything the spectator said, but he had heard the name Leemooggoogoon before. Ridiculous as it might have sounded, that very name had been mentioned by Shuushar as a new rival of the kuo-toa's patron goddess Blibdoolpoolp, the Sea Mother. It could not be a coincidence.

The spectator was frantic now. The word 'Abyss' had caused it to lose all sense of reason. It attacked the travelers with desperation, fearing that they were demons sent to bring it back to its wizard master. After all, there were wretched drow among them.

A purple eye-ray, this one shot off from the upper right stalk, struck Zelyra. She felt unshakable fear wash over her. Suddenly, the druid could not bear to look upon the spectator. And if she could not look at the creature, how could her spells affect it? A bright yellow ray from the upper left eyestalk simultaneously enveloped Sarith and the drow suddenly had the urge to turn his crossbow on Fraeya who sighted a shot with her shortbow in front of him. But as quickly as the urge came over him, it passed, and Sarith launched his bolt at the floating aberration instead. A third eyebeam, sickly green in color, erupted from the lower right appendage. Jimjar collapsed upon the strand of web that he had previously stood upon. And it was only the quick hand of Kazimir as he grasped the back of the unconscious svirfneblin's jerkin that kept Jimjar from a long, deadly fall.

The wizard checked Jimjar's pulse, it was there but slow. Zelyra would have to tend to him later. Kazimir looked around and saw how the druid's frame trembled. To his left, Fargas was locked in place. The goblins had disappeared. The ranger, Fraeya, and Sarith fired arrows and bolts respectively, but the melee fighters were of no use in this fight. The spectator had levitated fifteen feet or more above the webs, mindful of that very detail.

Fortunately, the wizard had been studying his spellbook during their earlier rest.

With one steady hand on Jimjar, Kazimir drew his crystalline staff with the other and pointed it at the spectator. The blue gem encased at the top of the staff began to glow. The spectator's central eye began to droop. It blinked slowly until the main eye and all four eyestalks closed completely. The creature floated listlessly now, fast asleep. And with that, the detrimental effects of its eye rays were negated. Fargas experimentally wriggled his fingers. Zelyra found herself no longer trembling. Jimjar, however, remained unmoving.

"How long will it sleep?" Eldeth frantically hissed.

"Not long, but hopefully enough time for us to get out of here!" Kazimir stage-whispered back. The wizard waved his arms to get Zelyra's attention and then gestured at Jimjar's unconscious body in his arms. Zelyra grimaced. She'd have to delve deep to muster the energy to heal this time.

The druid scrambled across the webs and as she reached Jimjar and Kazimir, hurriedly placed a hand upon the svirfneblin's smooth forehead. She delved, falling deeper into her well of magic than she'd ever dared to go before. And surprisingly, Zelyra found there was more to spare. The familiar spectral vines spread from her fingertips and curled down and around the deep gnome's ears. A moment later, Jimjar's eyes flew open, and he let out a started cough.

"What—?"

"Shh!" Kazimir hushed and then pointed to the sleeping spectator.

Wide-eyed, Jimjar gave a silent thumb's up.

Quickly and quietly, the travelers retreated. And miraculously, the spectator remained undisturbed in slumber—perhaps the most peaceful it ever remembered.

—

The gods' awful stench of a carrion crawler was even more rancid after the creature expired. Mistress Ilvara, High Priestess of House Mizzrym and Commander of Velkynvelve, held a dainty hand over her nose as her scouts surveyed the rotting corpse. Dead for barely a day, they claimed. Meaning, her prisoners could not be too far ahead. If the drow continued to push forward on their lizard mounts, perhaps they could cut the prisoners off before they reached the Silken Paths. Ilvara smiled in gleeful anticipation and dared to hope that her dark goddess would smile upon her, that Lolth would grant her this, her greatest desire.

For Ilvara could think of little else. The hunt had consumed her. When she got her hands on that group…they would know the sting of her scourge, they would taste the wrath of those who defied the will of Lolth, and the priestess would revel in their screams.

—

[1] Silvanus, the god of wild nature is a neutral deity while Talos, the god of storms, is considered chaotic evil. Likewise, Auril, goddess of winter, is neutral evil. So, you might be thinking, why is Zelyra calling upon evil gods and goddesses? Zelyra explained to Kazimir in an earlier chapter that her druid circle worships the First Circle as a whole. This includes both good and evil deities. Each has its place and cannot exist without the other. Nature is neutral. And so are the druids.

This is subject to change as her character develops. Zelyra is young and has a lot still to learn. Sometimes it takes time to contend to the fact that perhaps your need is not to be the vengeful, heavy hitter, but to be the one who keeps everyone else going.

[2] Tymora, or Lady Luck, is the goddess of fortune. I'm sure she had a hand in keeping Yuk Yuk and Spiderbait alive.

[3] In our game, half-elves were not considered a 'common' race.

For the sake of my sanity and to prevent contradicting myself later, from now on I will notate the passing "days" at the beginning of each chapter. Currently, it is day 7—the characters escaped Velkynvelve on the evening of day three and at the end of this chapter, it is very late into their fourth day of traveling to Sloobludop.

In-game, we killed all three spiders and the spectator. But as I've been turning our play-through to narrative, I've realized I need to make some adjustments. It's not as fun if the party always wins. And neither do I want to depict a bunch of murder-hobos. There must be some morality to it all.

I was hoping to get to Sloobludop by the end of this chapter. But…I just love Fargas and couldn't get him to shut up. :) Best to cut it there, I think. My husband admitted he has "trained himself to fall asleep by reading" and while he had no complaints about this chapter itself, he did admit that he almost nodded off a few times while proofreading for me. I do sincerely hope the rest of you don't feel the same.