Chapter Ten
Baiting the Hook
1485 DR / Day 9
Sloobludop
As Ploopploopeen led the adventurers towards the village, the massive tangle of reed-like structures that they had seen from a distance slowly transformed into rudimentary towers comprised of zurkhwood and algae. Each tower was lashed to another by either rope or plank bridges set in all manner of hazardous angles. The village was almost entirely dark, save a stray cropping of phosphorescent fungus, coral, or bioluminescent fish glands here and there.
Those with darkvision—all but poor Balasar—saw that the settlement stretched along the entirety of the rocky shoreline and was anchored to the north and south by tall net fences. Ten poorly constructed wooden docks of various lengths extended out into the dark waters. Moored alongside them were a half-dozen kuo-toa keelboats used to ferry villagers and guests alike across the Darklake. No wind seemed to pass through the cavern and the water in this portion of the lake was unnervingly still. It played on the adventurers already drained nerves.
Thanks to the Ploopploopeen's presence, they were let in through the northern gate without incident by the pair of armed kuo-toa guarding it. The guards eyed the adventurers hostilely as they passed by but said not a word. Their only other reaction was to offer Ploopploopeen a respectful nod. These kuo-toa were still loyal to the Sea Mother, the group could only assume. The guards were dressed similarly to other kuo-toa the adventurers had encountered—in rags, at best. Even Ploopploopeen, someone of importance to the village, did not wear or possess anything that had not been made by his own hand. These were not a wealthy people by any means.
Kazimir took curious note of the menacing outer wall as he passed under the gate. The heavy netting, which stretched fifteen feet up towards the cavern's impossibly high ceiling, had tiny hooks of ivory bone interlaced into it. Climbing or attempting to crawl through promised to be a painful experience. An ingenious defense mechanism.
As they entered the village, Ploopploopeen's followers split off to go about their own business. Ploopploopeen alone steered the group eastward, away from the docks and the Darklake, and through a jumbled maze of short streets. It appeared the structures in Sloobludop were fashioned at random, with no architectural or logical thought given to their placement.
Kuo-toa ambled between buildings sometimes pacing, sometimes walking in circles, but never with intent. And ever their eyes remained open and unblinking. Balasar explained in hushed Common to Eldeth, Zelyra, and Kazimir that this was normal behavior. Shuushar similarly did not blink, but otherwise behaved differently to others of his kind. Many of the kuo-toa they passed were likely asleep, according to the dragonborn for sleepwalking was a common phenomenon of the fish-people.
"I've never noticed Shuushar sleep walking," Zelyra said.
"As I said, his behavior is…very different to other kuo-toa," the dragonborn replied carefully.
The druid tapped her chin. "I wonder why that is?"
"Perhaps it has something to do with the higher enlightenment he sometimes talks about," Eldeth offered. "Ye'd know better than me, champion. The only time I can understand his blubbering is through the spores." Balasar could only offer a shrug.
Kazimir stared up at the hazardous elevated plank bridges. "It's a wonder none of them simply walk off one of those rickety things to their death," he quipped.
Balasar grimaced. "I saw it happen once when I was here many months ago."
The tiefling immediately regretted his joke.
At last, Ploopploopeen led the group to a large opening in which the focal point was a shrine. The nine-foot-tall statue was comprised of a wooden female torso that was missing its head and arms. The surface dwellers among the group could not help noting that it looked out of place. It likely was once the figurehead of an ocean vessel. How it could have ended up in the Underdark amongst the kuo-toa was a mystery. [1]
The kuo-toa had fashioned replacements for the figurehead's missing arms and head in the form of the severed head and claws of a giant albino crayfish. They were loosely affixed to the torso with strands of gut. Shells, brightly colored stones, mushrooms, and rotting fish were piled up at the base of the shrine. More were strung like garland around the statue's neck. Four stern kuo-toa slowly circled the shrine, alert and on guard, while others casually milled about either gazing reverently up at the statue or bowing repeatedly while praying to the goddess.
The smell emanating from the shrine was an overpowering stench of rotting shellfish that had each of the adventurers wrinkling their noses or subtly holding their hands over their mouths. But none were as affected as Zelyra, who clutched at her stomach and fought the urge to retch, such was her sensitivity to smell. The druid's control nearly left her entirely when a kuo-toa approached the shrine and promptly regurgitated at the statue's feet. She might have vomited in her mouth just a bit.
"Quickly now. Inside, all of you," the archpriest urged as he ushered the adventurers into a small hovel adjacent to the Sea Mother's shrine. Fortunately, once the adventurers were inside, the stench lessened. Zelyra found she could breathe normally again, at least.
Ploopploopeen's hovel was a modest circular chamber that like everything else they had encountered thus far, held little decoration. A chest was pushed to one corner with a mat of reeds beside it that functioned as the archpriest's bed. Otherwise, furniture in the room was sparse. A counter along one side of the wall held utensils for food preparation and a zurkhwood table and chairs were set up at the center of the chamber.
Presently, four kuo-toa wandered about between the counter and table. They all looked to the doorway as the archpriest entered with the adventurers in tow. One, a male, pointed at the group in annoyance and asked in Undercommon, "Who are they?"
"They are the answers to our prayers, Glooglugogg," the archpriest answered.
"Outsiders should not be involved in any sacred matter of ours," Glooglugogg angrily replied. He cast a further glare in the direction of the half-elves, Fargas, and Eldeth and said, "Especially surface dwellers."
Ploopploopeen dismissed the concern with a neutral wave. "We must allow ourselves to flow freely with the everchanging tides of our goddess's will, my son. She led this group here in an hour of converging destinies. They have agreed to help silence your sister and her heretics once and for all. It would be foolish to refuse them."
Fraeya let out an unimpressed snort. That was not exactly how she remembered the conversation going. Why make them sound like virtuous heroes? They had been coerced and their help was only reluctantly given. For what other choice did they have? Had they refused, the adventurers likely would have found themselves captured and used in the archpriest's plot regardless. Kuo-toa were not known for being reasonable when it came to getting what they wanted.
But then again, neither were drow.
The archpriest went on to explain his plan—to present the adventurers as willing sacrifices to the Deep Father while those loyal to the Sea Mother hid about the audience. Glooglugogg once again voiced his reluctance. But a sharp look from his father quelled any further backlash. The other three, kuo-toa monitors, who acted as the eyes and ears of the archpriest, kept their opinions to themselves. They appeared more agreeable to the plan than Ploopploopeen's son, however.
Finally, the archpriest shuffled over to the chest pushed in the corner and opened it. "Proof of your reward. As requested," he told the adventurers.
Sure enough, inside the chest was all manner of treasure, either collected from less fortunate visitors or fished out of the depths of the Darklake. The adventurers' eyes widened, and their jaws dropped in wonder at the sheer amount of silver, gold, and rare platinum pieces, pearled jewelry, and potion vials within. There also was a single spell scroll. Kazimir bounced excitedly on his heels.
For such a humble village, it was a grand horde.
"All of this is ours?" Zelyra breathed, the glint of coin seeming to reflect in her emerald-colored eyes. Never had the druid seen a comparable amount of riches. Like the kuo-toa, her people lived off the land and had little use for vast wealth or items of impracticality.
Fraeya translated the druid's question as she was curious as to the answer as well.
"For the priceless service you are to provide us, it is all yours," Ploopploopeen promised. "I only wish it were more." His son made yet another disgruntled noise from where he stood near the hovel's door. Fraeya translated the answer in her form of broken Common.
Fargas was already mentally calculating how much his portion might add to what he expected to find in the lost tomb. The more he collected for his employer, the better.
"The scroll is mine," Kazimir claimed.
Fargas raised a challenging eyebrow, "Who says?"
"It's not as if you can use it," the wizard argued. "Have you ever cast a spell before?"
"I can offer it to my employer, who might then sell it for greater profit. Or she might keep it for herself—depends on her mood," the halfling countered dryly. "But I suppose such an item is more prudent in the hands of a wizard."
No one else contested Kazimir's request.
"We can decide how the treasure will be split later," Fraeya said. The drow looked to Shuushar. "Now, what of these basins you promised?"
"Basins?" the archpriest interrupted in horror. "None of you will be bathing. Clean skin will ruin the ritual! My daughter would not accept you. You go as you are."
"What? That is a load of—" Fraeya began. But a sharp elbow to her ribs from Sarith promptly silenced her. She cut the male with a glare and for the first time, demanded in Elvish, "Have you forgotten your place?"
But Sarith did not back down.
"You are no matron," the sullen warrior hissed. "You are no one."
"You don't know me at all," the rogue spat.
Sarith folded his arms across his chest and said nothing further.
Zelyra shifted uncomfortably, having understood their words but not realizing the significance. To keep the peace, she offered, "One more day without a bath will not kill us. Tomorrow, after this is all over, we can make use of the Darklake as I originally suggested."
The rogue snarled and inadvertently mirrored her counterpart's visage by crossing her arms across her chest. "Then what shall we do in the meantime?" she asked Ploopploopeen in Undercommon.
The archpriest replied, "Take your rest. You are my guests. The ritual will not be for several hours as my daughter will need time to properly prepare for so many offerings. In the meantime, my monitors will attend to you."
The kuo-toa in question appeared reluctant of that order.
Ploopploopeen continued, oblivious to their discomfort. "Now if you will excuse me, I have my own preparations to do. Come, my son, let us pray before the Mother."
Glooglugogg hurriedly followed his father out of the hovel, glad to be rid of the adventurers' presence. His fellows watched with jealousy.
After they were gone, Jimjar pulled a set of dice from his pockets—the very set of dice that unbeknownst to the others, the svirfneblin had stolen from the drow guards in the armory during their escape. With a roguish grin, he asked, "Who's up for a game of chance?"
Several hours passed. The travelers spent most of that time either humoring Jimjar with his game, watching the outcome, or resting. Even the kuo-toa monitors' interest was piqued but the pair maintained their distance. Jimjar's most lively players turned out to be Fraeya and Fargas, who both gave the peddling svirfneblin a run for his money. As usual, Jimjar shied not from hefty betting. And this time, those bets were backed by the promise of their reward shares.
But despite the frivolity, an underlying tension hung in the air. All worried over the probability of their success. Furthermore, who was to say that Ploopploopeen would not go back on his word? Much was at stake.
On one hand, it seemed foolish to waste time on such a silly game.
On the other hand—
Perhaps that was the irony. As the group gathered around Jimjar in a kuo-toa archpriest's chambers with such uncertainty looming over their heads, it marked one of the first times each one of them set aside their differences and laughed together.
When Ploopploopeen returned, he was not alone. His son and twelve more kuo-toa accompanied him. And if he was surprised to see the adventurers carrying on a rowdy game of dice on the floor of his chambers, Ploopploopeen did not show it.
The archpriest cast a grave eye over them. "Are you ready?" he asked.
Fraeya swallowed thickly and prayed that the others could not hear how her traitorous heart suddenly began thundering in her chest. But the rogue answered for all her companions, "Lead the way."
In a single-file line, the thirteen travelers filed out of the archpriest's quarters. True to Ploopploopeen's word, they were allowed to walk unbound and more importantly, armed with their weapons. Ploopploopeen led their dour procession with his stoic son at his side, while other kuo-toa fell into flanking positions to the adventurers.
As they wove their way through the village, they caught the attention of ordinary fish-folk milling about on the street. Burbled whispers rapidly swept through the crowd. These are offerings to the Deep Father. Archpriest Ploopploopeen has finally relented to the word of his daughter. This meeting is to determine the future of the village. Curious kuo-toa fell in line behind them. Before long, it seemed as though every citizen of Sloobludop—some five hundred strong—trailed at the party's back.
Unlike the shrine of the Sea Mother whose only true abhorrence was its smell, the shrine to the Deep Father was an overwhelmingly gruesome sight to behold. The shrine was built directly upon one of the docks. It consisted of an initial layer of thick hide stretched between two support poles with the carcass of a large manta ray crudely pinned to it. Draped atop the ray's rotting corpse were two dead octopuses. Their tentacles were tacked back in an artful array and their heads roped together by gut. And if the adventurers had thought the shrine to the Sea Mother carried a foul stench, the Deep Father's produced that tenfold. Wickeder still, the broad stone altar and grating below it was stained dark with blood.
Zelyra quaked in her boots. Never had she seen anything so dreadful.
Prince Derendil placed a steady, clawed hand upon her shoulder. "Everything will be fine," he whispered to her in Elvish.
"Can you be certain?" the druid asked.
"Nothing is ever certain," the prince said wisely.
Her gaze dropped down to the smallish form of Stool wrapped protectively in Derendil's arms. Ploopploopeen had been gracious enough to let the prince carry them. The druid regretted now not putting forth the idea of hiding Stool. There was no reason they should have allowed the sprout to participate. Zelyra knew herself to be quite young by elven standard, but Stool—they were the equivalent of a mere toddler.
As if sensing her train of thought, the prince offered Zelyra a firm nod. "I will protect them with my last," he vowed.
"Thank you," Zelyra breathed. "That brings some comfort."
Before the idol stood a female kuo-toa draped in appropriated ceremonial rags. This was surely whom they had been warned of—the Archpriest of the Deep Father, Bloppblippodd. Four kuo-toa monitors and a whip, an archpriest's underling, flanked her. At Bloppblippodd's feet, knelt a haggard grey dwarf. Unlike the adventurers, this male duergar had been stripped, bound, and his body was covered in fresh bloodied cuts. The Deep Father Archpriest's handiwork, if the bloodied blade held in her hand, was any indication.
As the procession approached, Bloppblippodd turned her attention away from the duergar and grinned out at her father.
Ploopploopeen halted his procession with a fist. He alone stepped upon the altar to greet Bloppblippodd and returned her smile with a false one of his own. "My daughter, I admit my wrong. The time has come for us to acknowledge your divine vision and welcome it. As a show of faith, I have brought you this offering." He gestured out at the adventurers. They kept their heads low, careful not to look the younger archpriest in the eye. Ploopploopeen continued his ruse in Undercommon, "They too have had visions of the Deep Father and understand the honor it is to participate in such a ritual. Will you not accept them?"
Bloppblippodd's chilling smile grew wider. "Willing sacrifices? My, you are wise, father," she replied, taking the bait. "I accept in the name of the Deep Father. May their blood nourish and strengthen him!"
Her acceptance brought applause from the Deep Father's followers as they triumphantly raised their fists in the air.
"Bring the sacrifices forth," Bloppblippodd shouted.
A dozen or so eager kuo-toa closed in. It took every ounce of self-control within Fraeya not to fight back as one herded her towards a depression some twenty feet away from the altar by roughly prodding her with a spear. Patience. At the center of the depression was a large grate. From below, one heard water lapping against rock. Again, it did not escape the drow's notice that the entire area was stained with the blood of previous sacrifices. The inclusion of the grate allowed their blood to spill down into the water below it. Fraeya exchanged a pointed glance with Zelyra and wondered if the druid was rethinking bathing in the Darklake now.
The followers of the Deep Father and those loyal to the Sea Mother hiding among them began parading around the shrine then in a wide circle. Part of their path sent the fish-folk wading through the shallows of the Darklake. A steady drumbeat started. Bloppblippodd raised her hands and with her bulbous head thrown back, began to chant.
Ploopploopeen and Glooglugogg stood grim-faced beside her, their mouths also moving but not truly participating. But most others were swayed by Bloppblippodd's vigor. Over and over, horrid verses and blasphemous prayer burst forth from their lips. It was altogether alien and disturbing. The way that the kuo-toa moved and the way they spoke, was unlike anything any of the travelers had ever seen.
Zelyra thanked the First Circle that she could not understand them. She knew others were not so lucky. For surely, the words might haunt someone's dreams.
"My loyal followers!" the young archpriest shouted. "The time has come to feed our all-powerful God, the Father! Which of these offerings shall be the first sacrifice?"
Chanting erupted from the crowd.
Leemooggoogoon. Leemooggoogoon. Leemooggoogoon.
The perturbed adventurers assumed that the archpriest would begin the ritual with the duergar. He remained on the altar before her, after all. Thus, it came as a complete surprise to them all when Bloppblippodd gestured to none other than Fargas. The halfling fought to contain his groan. Why again? Why him? Why was it always him?
"This is an honor," the kuo-toa behind Fargas gurgled. "Hail the Deep Father."
The kuo-toa forced the halfling to his knees, yanked back his head to expose Fargas's pale throat, and readied a simple dagger. The chanting reached a deafening crescendo. Leemooggoogoon! Fargas began to sweat. His fingers subtly inched down towards his longsword. It would be an awkward angle to draw it. But damn the insane plan to the Nine Hells! He was not about to give his life for a madman's revenge.
"Anytime now, zealot," the halfling muttered under his breath, his goggle-covered gaze anxiously fixed on Ploopploopeen.
Bloppblippodd held out a single hand.
As one, the chanting kuo-toa hushed. Their spinning circle halted. The entire chasm fell into a silence that somehow felt more jarring to the adventurers' ears than the profane chanting. And in that moment of stillness, none missed Bloppblippodd's sudden high-pitched intake of breath.
Ploopploopeen had made his move by thrusting the hooked end of his scepter into his daughter's back. It was not enough to mortally wound her. But the young archpriest buckled in surprise, nonetheless.
The docks erupted then into fighting. Ploopploopeen's supporters leaped from their hiding spots and ambushed worshipers of their rival faction. Father and son brutally teamed up against their flesh and blood while loyal retainers frantically scrambled to protect her. As when they rescued the thirteen travelers outside their village, the Sea Mother's faction struck to kill without mercy. The Deep Father's worshipers were stunned by the turn of events. Even the look upon Bloppblippodd's face told that she could not fathom being so utterly deceived.
The kuo-toa holding Fargas frantically swung at him with their dagger, eager to go on with the sacrifice. But the halfling used his small size to agilely roll away from the blow, slip straight through the larger creature's legs and kick at their left heel. The kuo-toa stumbled forward. A moment later, Fargas was back on his feet with his adamantine blade drawn. Before the halfling could strike, however, an arrow violently burst through the unfortunate kuo-toa's throat. Looking several paces to his right, Fargas offered his ranger companion a look of gratitude. Uncooperative and guarded she might be, but the ranger was an unparallel shot—at least, in Fargas's opinion.
Kazimir flipped through his spellbook as Eldeth and Balasar vigilantly stood guard on either side of the wizard. They had quickly and efficiently taken out their guards. Their plan, as last time, was to let the rival factions fight amongst themselves and only intervene when necessary. However, also as last time, Buppido ignored that plan. And it was not long before Sarith joined him. He was not proud of the act. But the drow warrior all too easily fell victim to a bloodthirsty dance. For only when he felt the pommel of his twin blades in hand could Sarith find peace from the haunting whispers in his head. The promise of that was too much.
A pained grunt from the alter drew Kazimir's attention. Bloppblippodd was weakening. Her retainers already lay dead around her, killed by her brother's hand. Ploopploopeen had summoned a free-floating spectral blade, but it looked to the wizard as if the archpriest's strike would go wide.
If any, this was the time to intervene.
The wizard thrust his spellbook into a bewildered Balasar's hands. Kazimir quickly began tracing a series of misty sigils in the air. Both the spectral blade and the form of Bloppblippodd seemed to slow in time, to blur and shift. Just as the blow was sure to miss, the threads of the Weave rippled. The spectral blade met its mark, mortally piercing clean through the younger archpriest's chest. [2]
Bloppblippodd dropped to her knees. And with her dying breath, earnestly rasped the Deep Father's name one last time. "Leemooggoogoon!"
As her lifeless body crumpled upon the altar and her blood prophetically dripped down into the waters below, a deep groan sounded from the depths of the Darklake. The previously stilled waters began to stir as hundreds of manta-ray-like aberrations, ixitxachitl, abruptly breached the surface. Where the ixitxachitl swarmed, the water around quickly foamed red with blood. They savagely attacked any kuo-toa wading in the water, regardless of religious faction. Some ixitxachitl drug their prey down in the depths, drowning and then devouring them.
Before the idol of the Deep Father, the battle still raged. Angered by the slaughter of their archpriest, the followers of the Deep Father now fought back with renewed vigor. They cried out Leemooggoogoon's name faithfully with every strike. And unbeknownst to the adventurers or either faction, those cries were heard.
A slumbering titan of untold proportions awoke. The surface of the Darklake further roiled and bubbled as a massive whirlpool formed at its center, several hundred feet out from the shoreline. The swirling vortex relentlessly swept up both feeding ixitxachitl and kuo-toa alike. Screams of the drowning and shrieks of the ixitxachitl filled the air. The ill-omened groan from the depths grew louder and louder until it morphed into a shattering, terror-inspiring roar that shook the entirety of the cavern. Stalactites broke off from the cavern ceiling. Entire structures in the village crumbled.
Two writhing, oily tentacles surged from the whirlpool, followed by monstrous twin baboon-like heads sprouting from a single torso. A pair of wicked curved tusks curled out from each of its screaming mouths. Water cascaded down its hunched back and massive shoulders. Much of it was still hidden below the surface. But it's true height was likely thirty feet or more. The ancient being's burning red eyes beheld the miserable village of Sloobludop with insanity and bloodlust. [3]
The adventurers and kuo-toa alike froze at the sight of it. Everything stopped. For a moment, no one breathed. Weapons were held aloft. Blows were halted mid-swing. One could have heard a pin drop.
But slowly, one by one the kuo-toa came back to their senses. They began to whisper a single word, a name. As more joined in, their combined voices melded to a hypnotic hum that raced through the crowd of nearly five hundred assembled kuo-toa with joyful reverence. Even the Sea Mother's most faithful lost themselves to the mystic visage before them. For never, in any of their lives had the Sea Mother shown a manifestation of such power.
Leemooggoogoon. Leemooggoogoon. Leemooggoogoon.
Louder and louder their voices chanted. Some kuo-toa dropped to their knees, sobbing all the while blubbering their gods' name. But from where he stood, twin short swords held now in a loose grip, Sarith Kzekarit could not hide the wide-eyed horror that swept across his dark features. The ancient being in the Darklake was not Leemooggoogoon. It was not even a god. Perhaps in some ways, what the damning ritual had summoned was far worse. Sarith knew the legends. This being was a rival of the Spider Queen in the infinite layers of the Abyss.
Demogorgon. A tanar'ri demon prince. One of eight. [4]
For the first time in his two-hundred-year lifespan, Sarith could say he knew true fear. The cruel matron mothers of Menzoberranzan held not a candle to the visage of Demogorgon. Around him, Sarith's traveling companions had similar revelations regarding what they had once thought they feared. One thing was clear. This fight was beyond them. It was time to flee.
"RUN!" Kazimir bellowed needlessly, for many of the others were already running.
Demogorgon waded through the bloody waters, his every step spurring massive waves to crash against the shore. As his colossal form closed in on the humble village, one of the demon lord's heads unleashed a wave of psychic energy. All creatures along the shoreline and the docks felt the same oppressive push into their minds seeking to savagely rip it apart. Screams filled the air. Among the fleeing adventurers, Stool fell limp in Prince Derendil's arms. Balasar collapsed to the ground, unconscious. Kazimir and the ranger felt their bones and joints lock up.
Zelyra let out a startled shriek as Balasar dropped. Seeing what had just emerged from the lake, she no longer felt capable of conscious thought. She acted purely on instinct, survival. The druid delved into her pool of healing energy and as she thrust out a hand, spectral vines surged from the ground and latched onto the bronze dragonborn's unconscious form. Balasar came to a moment later, gasping and clutching at his head as Eldeth frantically tugged on his scaled arm.
"Come on, move! We've got to be getting out of here!" the dwarf shouted.
Fraeya rushed up to the paralyzed tiefling, reared back a fist, and lofted a punch at his right cheek. The drow smiled cheekily. She'd been wanting to do that for some time.
As in the tunnels when Fraeya and Zelyra were strangely affected by the faerzress, the pain similarly wrenched Kazimir out of his paralysis. Following Fraeya's lead, Fargas did the same for his ranger companion by repeatedly kicking her in the shin. Demogorgon had not yet reached the shoreline, but it was only a matter of time.
"Everyone, fall back to the gate!" Balasar called out.
Needing no further encouragement, Buppido took off in a full sprint.
"Wait! What about the treasure?" Fargas asked.
Balasar blindly turned his head in the direction of the halfling's voice. "There's no time!" he said.
"There is still some time," Fraeya argued, already calculating how long it would take for her to run back to the archpriest's home. The two shrines were not all that far apart.
"This is madness! Do you know what is coming?" Balasar shouted.
"I'm surprised you do," Fargas quipped.
"I don't need to see it. I can hear it. That's enough for me," the dragonborn growled.
Sarith pointedly cut in. "We were promised more than coin—resources, rations," he reminded them. The group grumbled at that. Food could be scavenged from the wilds, but it was much more difficult.
Fraeya looked out at her companions. Call her crazy...
"Go. I'll catch up," she said.
Zelyra likewise had estimated just how long it would take for the rogue to run to Ploopploopeen's hovel. It was a detour from the gates. Even at a dash, Fraeya would never make it there and back in time. But a beast form might…
"I will get you there," the druid said.
"Zelyra, no!" Prince Derendil roared.
"What—"
Fraeya's question was cut off as Zelyra's half-elven body began to expand. The druid dropped to all fours as her bones made that sickeningly distinct popping and cracking sound. Her hands and feet transformed into hooves, her face stretched out into a darkened muzzle, and a long swishing tail sprouted from her back. A golden warhorse with a powerfully muscled body now stood before the open-mouthed adventurers.
"—in the Nine Hells is that?!" the rogue finished.
The warhorse snorted angrily and pawed at the ground with her left hoof before kneeling to allow the drow to climb on. Fraeya realized there was little time to argue. There was only time to react and adapt. After a few clumsy tries, Fraeya sat astride the mount. And as she threaded her fingers through the warhorse's mane, Zelyra took off at a gallop.
"I see this ending well," Kazimir muttered sarcastically.
Balasar nodded. "Their greed will lead them to death. I'll not be a part of it."
"I'm with ye," Eldeth told the dragonborn solemnly.
The fighter pair stormed towards the northern gate—the same gate in which Ploopploopeen had welcomed them to the village no more than nine hours prior.
After one final look at the druid and rouge as they disappeared into a maze of structures, those without a death wish followed Eldeth and Balasar. Prince Derendil did so with great reluctance. He had made Zelyra a promise. If he were not carrying Stool…
The warhorse bolted wildly through the streets. Having only ridden a saddled giant lizard in her lifetime, Fraeya bounced up and down on the bareback steed and fought to hold back her grimace of pain. After nearly slipping off twice, the rogue learned to lock her legs and lean in low.
Just as the sound of splintering wood and terrified screams sounded threateningly behind them, the druid and rogue reached the archpriest's chambers. Fraeya nimbly hopped off her mount and dashed inside. The chest containing their reward remained untouched in the corner. The rogue felt a stir of worry when the chest opened without resistance. Surely it could not be that simple. What kind of fool didn't keep their treasure under trap, lock, and key?
"No matter," Fraeya whispered to herself. "This time, it works in my favor."
The drow began to blindly toss the vials and handfuls of coin into her knapsack. When she felt as though she had taken enough to sustain their group for a few days in Gracklestugh, Fraeya slammed the chest's lid closed. A hasty search of the rest of humble abode revealed little else of value. The archpriest did not even have the bedding or rations he had promised them. All Fraeya found was sliced up, rotted fish on the counter. Which, if one thought on that too long…
The rogue cut her losses and met back up with Zelyra outside. But as Fraeya sprang somewhat agilely upon the warhorse's back—she was still learning—the transformed druid pointedly tossed her head in the direction of the Deep Father shrine. Demogorgon had reached the outermost edge of the village. His eyes burned with hatred but also…pleasure. For this was any demon's livelihood—to revel in chaos, death, and destruction. Each deadly swipe of the demon lord's tentacles did just that. Shoddy built docks and unbalanced structures were reduced to splinters. Broken bodies went flying. Still, the kuo-toa chanted. They knelt before their 'god' and offered their praises. And as the demon lord descended upon their village with thundering steps, the kuo-toa met their doom. Demogorgon ruthlessly squashed anything and everything in his path. Nothing was left untouched. It was complete and utter obliteration.
But Zelyra's warning had nothing to do with the demon lord, at least not directly.
Shuushar stood directly in the demon lord's destructive path, unmoving. The smallish form of Jimjar was somewhat in between them but unquestionably closer to Shuushar. They had fallen behind. And no one had noticed. Fraeya and Zelyra still had a chance to escape. Jimjar and Shuushar had none. Demogorgon would destroy them all in a matter of minutes.
Still, Fraeya tried. The drow screamed Jimjar's name—so loud, the effort felt as though it might tear her throat out.
Jimjar glanced at Shuushar. Then he turned back and flashed Fraeya his typical wryly grin. Not an ounce of fear shone within his dark eyes. Even though it would not reach Fraeya given the distance between them, the svirfneblin unclipped his secret coin purse from his belt and tossed it in her direction anyway. It was a matter of principle. He owed her many a debt. As the bag sailed through the air, the ties at the top severed, and coins scattered out onto the dirt-worn street.
"Go," he shouted. "Save yourself."
Jimjar pulled a smallish knife from one of his tall boots and ran back after Shuushar.
Sound filtered from the drow's ears. The destruction fell away. The threat of Demogorgon was displaced. All Fraeya heard, all she saw, was Jimjar's coins bouncing and rolling along the ground. The entire interaction passed in the blink of an eye. But to Fraeya, it felt as though it stretched a lifetime. For the words cleaved through her chest more than she had ever heard. Fraeya did consider herself first and foremost. That was what she had been taught. Only the weak fall behind. The strong survive. The Matron Mother's teachings were true.
But maybe…maybe that was wrong.
You are no matron. You are no one.
Fraeya wiped away a single tear with the back of her hand.
Zelyra's warhorse form took off galloping then towards the northern gate with the rogue safely astride her back. Again, the cavern quaked as Demogorgon's tentacles sliced through yet another grouping of buildings, sending a ray of deadly splinters hurtling every which way. Jimjar and Shuushar were lost to a cloud of debris.
Ploopploopeen's own words to the adventurers the day before had turned prophetic. My daughter can no longer be reasoned with. I will not allow her and her mad followers to destroy what we have spent generations building. They will be the death of Sloobludop. The Deep Father had responded to his faithful's call. Sloobludop was soon to be leveled. But any remaining kuo-toa still alive and not frozen in fear, did not run. They hypnotically chanted their distorted version of the demon lord's name.
Leemooggoogoon.
[1] I vaguely remember reading that the torso of the Sea Mother shrine is the figurehead of a ship from the surface that the kuo-toa had modified. But similar to the idea that quaggoths have oily fur that makes them resistant to the sticky nature of spiderweb, now that I go back and try to find that information, I can't seem to find it.
[2] As I mentioned in the previous chapter, Kazimir is a divination wizard. I explained to DM/husband I was struggling to portray the portent ability. He suggested it is like a warping of reality referenced by a blur or shift as Kazimir bends an outcome to his will. Which is…great advice. Why didn't I think of that?
For those unfamiliar with portent, it's super cool. "Starting at 2nd level when you choose this school, glimpses of the future begin to press in on your awareness. When you finish a long rest, roll two d20s and record the numbers rolled. You can replace any attack roll, saving throw, or ability check made by you or a creature that you can see with one of these foretelling rolls."
[3] A 30-foot-tall creature just seems titanic to me but…I looked up the height of a giraffe for comparison. Adults can reach anywhere between 16ft to 19ft tall. Fun fact.
[4] I will admit, I am not super familiar with the Abyss outside of what is referenced in the module. But I've been watching AJ Pickett's lore videos on the demon lords on YouTube. Since they combine information spanning all editions of Dungeons and Dragons, it got me curious. Specifically with the mention of Graz'zt's mother, Pale Night. I thought to myself, who is She? And as I spiraled into my own research, I learned that there were/are two completely different types of "demon lords" in the Abyss. There are the tanar'ri demon princes which we know from the module and then there are the far more ancient obyrith lords who largely fell to the tanar'ri princes. This lore comes from 3E (I think). For flavor, I like the distinction.
Note, I am still uncertain as to the timeline of this. I'm still spiraling LOL Some information might be outdated/no longer relevant to the current campaign setting.
I remember expressing to aaron_mag when I read his interpretation that I was surprised his characters only spent two chapters in Sloobludop. Writing it myself, I realize that's really all you need. I guess the actual gameplay felt much longer. I could have dragged out Jimjar's dice game or added more RP. But I fear it would have turned into needless filler.
We haven't quite seen the last of Sloobludop yet…but the next chapter is going to be a little different. Pay close attention to the date. For now, don't hate me about Jimjar and Shuushar! This was an extremely emotional moment in our game. Fraeya's player and I both cried. The moment DM/husband had Jimjar throw those coins and he described them scattering across the ground as the final sounds of "Khazad-dûm" lamented in the background…that was the moment I understood what Dungeons and Dragons could be. I sincerely hope I was able to capture that same emotion with the narrative.
That being said. The song for this chapter is unquestionably, "The Bridge of Khazad-dûm" by Howard Shore from the Fellowship of the Ring.