Chapter Twenty-One

The Darklake Docks

1485 DR / Day 31

Ghohlbrorn's Lair, Gracklstugh

Before the door to the drow elves' shared lodgings had fully shut, Fraeya pounced. "Okay, we're alone now! Start talking. You came back—why?" she demanded.

Sarith took a deep breath. He'd known this conversation was coming for over a tenday, but that didn't make it any easier. Instead, the foreknowledge had only caused him to stew. Even now, he debated just how much he was willing to reveal. Sarith knew better than to place trust in anyone. Never again. He had learned his lesson. It was just the way of the drow. But he felt further cornered with each passing reverie. Or rather, lack thereof. How long now had it been since he actually found rest?

The warrior had thought he was better off alone. He had thought he didn't need the foolish individuals he'd escaped Velkynvelve with, but he was wrong. Someone needed to know the truth. The dreams had intensified. Sometimes, he could see the nightmarish visages with his waking eyes! And while he was too stubborn and proud to admit that he might be afraid…

Perhaps he couldn't fully trust Fraeya. But Sarith could trust that she was unlike any other drow he'd met, save maybe one. And for now, that was enough.

Fortunately, the tankards of ale he'd consumed at dinner had quieted the maddening whispers in his head and loosened his tongue. Sarith could now think clearly on Neverlight Grove without spiraling into madness. "I was imprisoned in Velkynvelve for a murder that I have no memory of committing," he finally said.

"Okay, that's a start. But I already knew—" the rogue began with a roll of her eyes.

In a flash of inexplicable anger, Sarith cut her off. "LET ME SPEAK!" he shouted.

Fraeya was rendered speechless with her strange silver eyes blinking wildly and her mouth hanging open.

Sarith froze and instinctively flinched away from her once he realized what he had done—what grievous disrespect he had shown to a drow female. But his insolence was not immediately followed by pain and punishment. Instead, after a moment, Fraeya crossed over to her cot. She sat on the edge of it, folded her hands in her lap, and waited in a rare display of patience. Because the rogue realized then that something was very wrong for Sarith to lose control in such an uncharacteristic manner.

"That will not happen again," the warrior muttered as he dropped his gaze to the floor.

Though he could not see it, Fraeya was shaking her head. "Don't apologize. And don't you dare lower your gaze around me. Look at me when you speak," she said sternly.

In two hundred years of life, Sarith had never once heard such words uttered by another drow—let alone from a female. He couldn't help but wonder then if she'd been taken over by her own fit of madness. Perhaps the undead umber hulk's gaze had truthfully scrambled her mind.

"Tell me what happened," the rogue bade.

"Do you remember the guard who left the prison door unlocked for us the night we escaped?" Sarith quietly asked. When Fraeya nodded, he continued, "His name is Jorlan Duskryn. I spent…many years in his House after the fall of my own. When he was called in service to Velkynvelve, I went with him. We both served Ilvara for many years, and she took Jorlan as her lover at one point."

Unwittingly, Fraeya's nose scrunched. The thought of anyone being romantically involved with someone like Ilvara was not something she wanted to think about. But Ilvara Mizzrym was not the first of her kind, nor would she be the last. The corruption of drow society ran deep, sinking far beyond the Underdark, all the way down to Lolth's venomous web.

And there was one other thing that Sarith said that caught Fraeya's interest. He had unwittingly confirmed her suspicions that House Duskryn won the bid to take in the survivors of House Kzekarit. Sarith's former House insignia was presently hidden amongst her belongings. Its return would surely mean something. And yet, Fraeya was not quite ready to release what little leverage she had over her fellow drow.

Fortunately, Sarith moved the conversation along, unaware of Fraeya's internal conflict. "When Ilvara made Jorlan her second in command, I also saw a rise in station and was awarded many freedoms," the warrior admitted. "Call it a fortuitous advancement by association."

"But it didn't last, apparently," the rogue surmised.

Sarith shook his head. "It began with the black pudding attack that injured Jorlan. After that, Ilvara was disgraced by his weakness, disfigurement, and inability to swing a sword as effortlessly as he once had. She cast him aside, naming Shoor Vandree as his replacement. And when she then invited Shoor into her bed, Jorlan lost all sense of reason."

Again, Fraeya shuddered. But this time for an entirely different reason.

"Jorlan became obsessed with regaining Ilvara's favor," the warrior said. "And earning back our stations."

"Why did he care about what happened to you?" Fraeya asked bluntly.

But Sarith did not answer her. Instead, the warrior went on to explain how he and Jorlan, along with a third guard, Imbros, had traveled to Neverlight Grove guided by the rumor that a luudren tree existed there.

As soon as Sarith said the word, Fraeya's brows rose in disbelief. Luudren trees were scarce and only grew in places of concentrated faerzress. If an individual were lucky enough to find one, they would most likely find its branches dead-looking and bare. The tree only bore fruit every three to four years. To find one in season was nearly impossible!

The trio's endeavor was a fool's errand—not only for its slim chance of success—but they had not expressively received permission to leave the outpost. And yet, Jorlan was confident that the deed would regain him some favor. Ilvara liked nothing more than gifts and often ignored slights if one made it worth her while. So they had entered the Grove stealthily and undetected by the pair of myconid sovereigns that ruled there.

At one point, Jorlan briefly split off from Sarith and Imbros. After that, nothing. Sarith's memory was a blank slate. He knew only what false accusations stood against him. Jorlan had found him alone. No fruit. No Imbros. Instead, Sarith had a myconid sprout with him for some unknown reason. Both were drenched in blood, and thus, Jorlan assumed the worst. He'd been furious, claiming that Sarith must have killed Imbros and consequently ruined any chance of Jorlan impressing Ilvara.

Regardless of Sarith's own say in the matter, Ilvara's wrath had been terrible and swift. The grievance then quickly escalated beyond even her control, for Imbros had not been just any drow. He was Imbros Mizzrym, a prized warrior of Ilvara's own House. Thus, Sarith had insulted not just Ilvara but all of House Mizzrym, the fourth House of Menzoberranzan. He had been set to be transported back to the City of Spiders for judgement before the Ruling Council just days before the prisoners escaped.

"Huh, maybe Stool killed the scout?" Fraeya interrupted.

The nonchalance in which the rogue said it made Sarith sneer at her, for they both knew it was a poor attempt of a joke. "This isn't a laughing matter," he snarled.

"I know it's not," Fraeya replied, schooling her features. "But you're so damned angry all the time it reminds me of the Matron Mother, and I really don't like being reminded of her daily."

Sarith's eyebrows rose, but otherwise, said nothing. All that the warrior could think was—he was the angry one? Had Fraeya not once reflected on her own temperament?

"That's payback for suggesting I would ever bed a wizard," the rogue grumbled.

Sarith was forced to turn his head to hide his amusement. It wasn't often he cracked a joke, but that had been an opportunity too good to pass up. He'd thought she would leave it there, but Fraeya was not finished.

"Have you ever asked Stool if they know what happened?" she asked.

Sarith clenched a fist and said, "Stool couldn't tell me anything of use."

It was not a lie, nor was it the explicit truth. Sarith had not been the one to approach Stool. Instead, the myconid sprout had come to him. And during that befuddling conversation, the warrior had asked what Stool remembered of the day he found them. As it were, the sprout knew nothing of Imbros. When Sarith appeared, he had been alone. Blood had coated his swords…but there was no way to confirm if it was from Imbros or something else.

But to tell Fraeya any of that would be to further damn himself. How could she believe him then? When all the evidence suggested that he had indeed done it.

"So, you remember nothing? Nothing at all?" Fraeya asked for clarification.

"My next clear memory is the return to Velkynvelve," Sarith confirmed.

And that was the truth. Stool had no idea why Sarith had taken them, and the drow couldn't rightly say why he'd done it either. The warrior had no memory of Jorlan finding them or the supposedly ensuing argument. The next thing that Sarith could clearly remember was lying in a dirty cell, stripped down to his skivvies, and a quaggoth was singing quietly about the beauty of starlight—in genteel Elvish. It had been like waking up after an evening of too many goblets of Spiderblood wine.

Fraeya then asked, "So if Jorlan was the one who accused you of murder, why did he allow you to escape?"

Now that was a question that Sarith had never been able to answer. But then again, it had not exactly been Jorlan who had him locked away. He was just a catalyst. The warrior purposely omitted how much of a betrayal that had been. How Jorlan—who had once been the closest thing Sarith could count as a friend aside from his brother Rava—had quickly turned on him. Ilvara's intoxicating lure overrode any semblance of loyalty they'd once shared. He should have expected it, just as Sarith expected Fraeya to one day turn on him just the same. It was the way of the drow. No lasting alliances. Pacts of convenience. They did not know love. Not in the traditional sense, at least.

Sarith then shook his head to clear his spiraling thoughts. "Jorlan gave you the chance to escape, not me. His attempts to regain his former station failed time and time again. Ilvara remained with Shoor. And so, it seemed he developed a selfish desire to embarrass her in return, fully and truly. That need overrode any resentment he had for me. At least, that is what I can deduce."

Fraeya was quiet as she mulled over all that Sarith had shared with her, which was more than she expected. It was by far the longest she'd heard him speak, and openly, at that. At last, she said, "Well, I can assure you that I have no intention of going back—to Velkynvelve or Menzoberranzan—and I'm sure you feel the same. So, in this, we have similar goals. I'll watch your back if you watch mine."

The warrior gave a short nod of agreement. "What about the others?" he asked.

"For now, they have their use," Fraeya said. "I plan to remain with them."

But she intentionally did not look at him as she said it, and the warrior presumed there was far more to that statement than outwardly expressed. Sarith had seen how Fraeya reacted to hurting Fargas. How she had then shielded him from the umber hulk's attacks with her own body. It was not the first time Sarith had seen her act—dare he say it—soft. Like the foolhardy beings that dwelled in the sunlit lands above them. Their companions' selfless behavior and wholesomeness were wearing off on her. It was a pity, really. Such weakness would undoubtedly get her killed in the end.

When Sarith said nothing further, Fraeya believed their conversation was finished. The rogue removed her boots and outer leathers and then laid back on her cot to take a much-needed reverie. So exhausted was she that a proper bath would simply have to wait until morning.

Sarith quietly followed suit. But try as he might, the warrior could not get comfortable. He could not find rest. It wasn't until many hours later that Sarith realized that he had neglected to tell Fraeya the true nature of his fear or why he had returned to the group. It wasn't because of Jorlan or Ilvara, as the rogue now indeed believed. When the mind-numbing quality of the ale ebbed away, his ill visions returned with a vengeance.

A mushroom tower that dwarfed him, covered in smaller sprouts of oozing lichen, with many stalks that split and rose upward. Eerie green and purple light—

Sarith's eyes shot open with a panicked start. He could hear them again. The whispers. His chest rose and fell as he struggled to find breath. Suddenly, it felt like his lungs were constricted by some phantasmal force. Ever it clenched, holding tight and fast. His head pounded. And the warrior was sure that if this nightmare continued, one day it might just explode!

You can tell no one.

That's how it starts…the sickness…bores into your head.

And yet, She calls it a Gift. It isn't!

Once it takes hold, there is no stopping it.

Go, now! Before it's too late! Before you are Hers.

And no one can help you…

The drow rubbed at his temples, eager to curse those maddening utterances from his mind. He instinctively twisted his head to look at Fraeya, only to find her sprawled out obnoxiously on her cot with her pooling locks of silvery hair fanned across her pillow and half in her mouth. She looked ridiculous! But at least his fellow drow was drifting soundly through memory. What envy Sarith felt in that moment, seeing her so at peace when he could achieve none.

He quietly rose from his cot to leave the chamber without disturbing her. If he could not rest, he could settle a curiosity in the meantime and make his time worthwhile. The guard's behavior at the main gate had left him with a bad taste in how mouth.

…

In the morning, Zelyra went to the 'boys' room and sought out Prince Derendil. After several minutes of forceful knocking and waiting at the door, it finally creaked open. Immediately, a terrible and familiar stench assaulted her—the body odor of a pubescent male. Zelphar had gone through such a phase, and Zelyra had been very thankful when her brother finally discovered soap. The druid gagged and took two steps back, putting as much space between her and the open doorway as she could.

Prince Derendil sleepily rubbed at his eyes, having just woken. And when his vision focused and he saw that it was none other than Zelyra who stood before him, he bashfully wiped away the strands of sticky drool matting the fur near his maw.

"Good morning, milady," the prince greeted her quietly, mindful that Kazimir and Fargas were still asleep in the darkened room behind him.

Zelyra hurriedly gestured for Derendil to follow her out into the hallway and did not speak until he closed the door behind him. The druid took in mouthfuls of fresh air then. She'd feared if she opened her mouth to speak, she would have vomited on the poor prince's feet again. That was something she did not wish to make a habit out of.

"What happened in there last night? It smells…dreadful," Zelyra asked.

Derendil shuffled anxiously before he said, "Ah—apparently, ale gives Fargas terrible gas."

The prince purposely omitted that it had not been just Fargas. He and Kazimir had challenged the halfling to a contest of sorts. At the time and in his drunken state, Derendil found much humor in it. The morning after was a different story. He would be mortified to admit that he partook in such absurd behavior to someone he admired.

Zelyra's lashes fluttered but otherwise said nothing further about the stench—she did not wish to know. Instead, the druid said, "I came to ask if you would tutor me in Undercommon. Perhaps Kazimir and Eldeth as well. It would make us more comfortable to not rely on watered-down translators."

Derendil immediately agreed. "We can begin right away. Come inside and—"

"Not in there," the druid said sharply. "I think I'd much prefer the common room."

If he could color, the prince would have. "Oh, yes…of course! I will dress and then meet you there. If Eldeth is awake, ask her to join us."

The druid yawned tiredly and said, "She's already there. We've been up for a while."

Derendil gave a brief nod and then shuffled back into the smelly room.

By the time Zelyra returned to the common room, Eldeth had ordered breakfast. It had just been the two of them all morning. Nine had still been asleep when the dwarf and half-elf ventured out. Neither was there any sign of Fraeya or Sarith. Apparently, everyone else had decided to have a lie-in. Zelyra and Eldeth had wasted time soaking in the bath before making their way to the common room. They'd shared lively conversation in the meantime.

The druid dropped down in the seat opposite Eldeth, plucked up a piece of freshly baked sporebread, and popped it in her mouth. While the slightly sour taste had been off-putting the previous night, several tankards of ale had seemingly numbed her tastebuds. The bread tasted like the best thing she'd ever eaten. Her attention then turned to the kettle at the table's center. The druid poured the brew into a cup and took an experimental sip, only to spew it out a second later. It was flavorless, the equivalent of drinking heated water.

"Sorry. There wasn't much on the menu," Eldeth apologized sheepishly. "Or I should say, there wasn't much I thought I could stomach eatin'. I draw the line at bugs! There were several items with 'roach' or 'beetle' in 'em."

Zelyra thought to say that wouldn't be a first for her but then thought better of it. So instead, she said, "What I wouldn't give for some dark molasses nutbread right now…."

The dwarf perked. "Aye, that sounds good! I'd also take some porridge with cream or salted pork jerky." Eldeth paused curiously and then said, "I guess I never did ask—do ye even eat meat?"

Zelyra blinked several times, not understanding what would raise such a question. "Yes, of course, I eat meat," she answered.

"I've known some druids of the Emerald Enclave who don't, so I never like to assume," Eldeth said candidly.

"Trust me, I'm with you on that salted pork. I want something hearty! I'm so sick of roasted mushrooms and the Underdark equivalent to celery," the druid moaned.

"You're in for a world of disappointment," a familiar voice drawled.

A chair scraped loudly across the cavern floor as Fraeya settled into it. After a restful reverie, the drow had spent more than an hour scrubbing every inch of filth from her skin in one of the wash basins before seeking out her companions. She took a whiff of the tea on the table and said, "Ugh, that's boiled waterorb. No wonder you spit it out."

"I just told Lizva we wanted a pot of something hot. I didn't realize there were different kinds of tea here!" the dwarf exclaimed.

"To be perfectly honest, people generally drink ale at breakfast. It's safer than drinking the water," the drow said.

"I'd not like to start my day drunk, especially in an unfamiliar city!" Eldeth exclaimed. "Did we not have our fill of ale last night?"

"Give me a moment," Fraeya said with a heavy sigh. Then, beneath her breath, she muttered, "Never met a dwarf that would turn down an ale."

The drow went to the bar and began to speak quietly with Lizva. While she was gone, Prince Derendil appeared with Stool, Kazimir, and Fargas in tow. Nine was with them as well, as the halfling had insisted on waking her. As the group settled at the table, Zelyra was relieved that the reek of the boys' room did not follow them. As she looked closer, the druid suddenly understood why. Derendil's bluish-grey fur was wet and combed.

"Did you take a bath?" she asked the prince.

Derendil looked at his bunkmates. "We all did," he confirmed.

Zelyra smiled tightly and said, "That was…probably for the best."

"Sorry. I love a good ale, but ale does not always love me. Especially duergan ale for some reason," Fargas apologized as he burped and rubbed at his belly.

Nine barked out a rare laugh. "I should have thought to warn you all," she said. "Fargas normally sticks to spirits. Unfortunately, dwarven beer seems to affect him the same way."

"Why do I feel like I am missing something?" Eldeth asked.

Zelyra eyed the dwarf warily and said, "Just…do not go anywhere near the boys' room. Trust me."

"Aye. I won't?" the shield dwarf said uncertainly, her face the picture of confusion.

Fraeya returned then with a large platter. On it was a variety of yellow and brown mushrooms alongside something very green and squishy. And yet, the smell wafting from the tray was not entirely unpleasant. There was a hint of nuttiness and melted cheese. Next to the main dish was a small bowl of orange-colored spread and a fresh kettle of steaming tea with a slightly spiced scent.

"Okay, we've got some chi'merra and brancher in melted butter, a little edible moss, and a side of fire lichen spread to go on the sporebread. This is what you'll find in most simple taverns. If you're in the mood for proper red meat, you'd ask for rothé smothered in mushroom gravy. But, of course, you'll be paying for it." The drow looked pointedly at Eldeth and Zelyra as she said this. Fraeya added, "As for tea, I had Lizva brew something special for us. I think you'll find it more to your liking." [1]

Zelyra hesitantly accepted a cup from the drow. Then, between a bit of discreet magic and her sensitive nose, she cautiously checked for any poisons laced within the tea. Fortunately, the druid found none. She took an experimental sip and was pleasantly surprised with its piquant flavor.

"This is…not half bad," Zelyra admitted.

Fraeya smiled smugly and poured a cup for herself.

"What kind of brew is this?" the druid asked as she continued to sip.

"Matsutake, boiled in a seasoned kelp broth, with a splash of fish stock and firewhiskey," the drow listed. "The only respectable tea."

Zelyra's expression soured. "More mushrooms?"

"You make the most of what you can find down here," Fraeya said with a shrug.

The druid nodded absently, knowing more about that kind of life than Fraeya could ever realize. As soon as that thought crossed her mind, Zelyra felt instant shame. Why was she complaining about mushrooms when she'd once been forced to rely on what others threw away or what she and her brother could steal? Eating ripplebark and barrelstalk for every meal might be flavorless, but at least she and her companions had food. They were not starving.

Fargas surveyed their table and said, "Wait a minute—aren't we short one drow?"

"Sarith wasn't in the room when I woke up this morning," the rogue said nonchalantly as she popped a buttered brancher in her mouth. They were, in fact, her favorite treat.

"And that doesn't concern you?" the halfling asked.

The drow shook her head. After their talk the previous night, Fraeya knew Sarith had no intentions of abandoning them. Wherever he had gone, whatever businesses he had to attend to, Fraeya knew he would eventually come back.

"Speak of a devil, and one shall appear…." the rogue drawled wittily as her gaze was drawn to a hooded and cloaked figure that had just walked down into Ghohlbrorn's Lair. He wore a new cloak and slick leathers instead of a heavy chain shirt, but Fraeya immediately knew it was Sarith by his gait—not to mention she recognized his sword belt and the twin swords attached to it.

As the warrior sat at their table, Fargas asked, "Where have you been off to this fine morning?"

Sarith removed his hood and said, "Out."

"Well, I know that!" the halfling said with an eye roll. "Out where?"

"Out buying something that doesn't scream: I stole this," the warrior said.

"That is a good idea," Eldeth muttered, looking down at the chain shirt she'd taken from Velkynvelve's armory. Fortunately, she was now alone in that problem. The others had managed to retrieve their belongings from the guard tower.

Fargas cast a suspicious gaze over his companions. He again wondered how such a strange array of individuals had come together. The halfling was starting to form a theory based on little offhanded comments and cues. But before Fargas could inquire what exactly Sarith had stolen, the drow continued, "I was also gathering intel. I know how to find Werz at the docks."

To his companions' surprise, Sarith not only knew precisely which dock Werz Saltbaron frequented, but he also had a vague description of what the duergar looked like. As a result, the party could now deliver their promised payment quickly and quietly without drawing attention to themselves. And perhaps that was for the best because Sarith had learned many other interesting bits of information while he was out.

The city was restless. Its denizens acted in ways that went against the very nature of the duergar. There were whispers of assassinations and strange coverups. Some duergar blamed the city guard while others daringly accused their King. Lastly came one rumor so bizarre that Sarith's companions could scarcely believe it! Rats were seen scurrying about the city with the tops of their skulls removed.

Zelyra visibly shuddered and absently reached up to scratch the back of Peanut's neck as the mouse snoozed in her lap. "Do you think any of it has to do with Buppido's ritual?" she asked.

Sarith shrugged wordlessly.

"Perhaps only a few of us should go to the docks," Fraeya suggested warily.

"That's not a bad idea," Nine agreed.

It was decided that Fraeya, Sarith, Nine, and Fargas would travel to the Darklake Docks. The others—Derendil, Kazimir, Zelyra, Eldeth, and Stool—might briefly explore the Bazaar to restock necessary supplies, but otherwise, they would remain in the Lair. It would be a good opportunity for Prince Derendil to begin teaching the surfacers Undercommon.

"I can't imagine we'll be gone long," Fraeya said as she ate one more brancher and stood from the table. The drow's gaze, however, lingered on Kazimir. "If you go out, lie low, and for the love of your surface gods, don't draw unwanted attention to yourselves and get arrested," she warned.

Before the tiefling could object, Zelyra spoke up and said, "We'll be fine, Fraeya."

Fraeya huffed and followed the other three out of the Ghohlbrorn's Lair. When she was gone, Kazimir turned to Zelyra and said, "Why does Fraeya always look at me when she says stuff like that?"

"I suspect she's not fond of mages," the druid sighed. "Same goes for Sarith."

The wizard accepted the answer but continued to grouse bitterly under his breath.

. . .

Fraeya, Sarith, Fargas, and Nine soon found themselves wandering through the Blade Bazaar. The marketplace was just as crowded and lively as it had been when the adventurers had first arrived in the city. And neither was business slow when Sarith had toured it during the hours of their long rest. Gracklstugh truly never slept. Its shops, forges, and taverns were open at all hours.

The merchant stalls held all manner of goods—armor, weapons, magical items, earthenware, general supplies, herbs and potions, knickknacks—you could find just about anything in the Bazaar. Some proprietors called out to anyone passing by their storefronts, inviting them to come inside and browse. Other times, the shops were seemingly void of all life. And yet, Sarith and Fargas knew from experience that was not the case. Duergar had an innate ability to make themselves invisible at will. Thus, it was highly likely that the owner was present and watching but could not be seen by those passing by.

As the companions passed a small cart manned by a spectacle-wearing forest gnome and a hairless mountain dwarf selling coffees and teas from the surface world, Fargas fell behind with the intent to check it out. But Fraeya saw his lagging and quickly grabbed the halfling's shoulder to steer him onward. The rogue was akin to a slave driver in keeping their group moving without succumbing to any distractions—and Fargas had no qualms in informing her of that. As the pair began to argue in hushed Common, a cloaked figure lingering in the shadows between two stalls took notice.

Not long after, they found the docks. The Darklake lay unassuming beyond the wooden structures, reflecting the light of countless fires that burned within hollowed-out columns and stalactites. It was a beautiful sight. And yet, the four adventurers eyed the still waters warily. They had not forgotten their previous encounter with the Darklake nor what rose out of it. The docks were just as busy as the Bazaar, with throngs of bustling duergar going about ordinary tasks. Notably, there was a stronger presence of non-duergar as they exited or boarded flat-bottomed rafts made of planks of zurkhwood and kept afloat by puffball floats. [2]

"That's him," Sarith said, pointing to an unassuming male duergar wearing a leather apron. He appeared to be in the middle of cleaning fish and throwing the guts straight back into the Darklake near the northeastern pier. Nearby a drunkard peddled for coin.

"Are you certain?" Fraeya asked.

When Sarith nodded, the rogue looked down at her rapier and then back at their supposed contact. While she had been honest that she had no real attachment to it, Fraeya loathed losing a weapon she was familiar with. Moreover, she would be forced to fork over a good amount of gold to purchase its replacement.

"Let's just get this over with," she said grumpily.

The four companions started in Werz's direction. But before they were even within sixty feet of him, two masked and hooded individuals suddenly blinked into existence. Each wielded a curved glowing sword and dwarfed Werz, standing nearly twice his height. Without hesitation, they attacked, taking Werz entirely by surprise. In the chaos of the ambush, the drunkard slipped over the edge of the dock and disappeared.

Fraeya stopped dead in her tracks and quickly read the spiraling situation. Two against one and a surprise attack at that! There was no way to know if Werz was even armed to defend himself. If he fell to the assassin's swords, it would spell bad news for her and her companions. The rogue grit her teeth and said, "Werz must be kept alive. If he falls, the guard at the gate will surely pin the blame on us."

Sarith was already well ahead of her. A crossbow bolt soared across the plaza, thankfully missing any unfortunate passersby, to sink into the shoulder of the enlarged figure on Werz's left. They turned in confusion, only to find an opposing group drawing their weapons.

Fargas planted his feet and held his dagger at the ready. Nine unleashed two arrows from her longbow in quick succession. Fraeya fired a shot from her blackened shortbow shortly after. Two of three met their mark. Unfortunately, the third arrow glanced off one of the assassins' armor. Fortunately, Werz used their distraction to tuck into a surprisingly nimble roll. Then, in one swift movement, he pulled a dagger out of his boot to strike out at one of the assassin's legs.

The assassin's ignored Werz and instead focused their attention on what they perceived as the greater threat. They disengaged from the injured duergar and came thundering across the plaza to meet the adventurers head-on. Werz wasted no time in saving his own skin. He scurried under the dock and was soon completely out of sight.

But in that crucial moment when he should have been paying attention to the approaching assassins, Sarith saw something else from the corner of his eye that greatly worried him. A third cloaked figure was slinking between the shadows cast by various stalls. And though they wore a hood, the warrior recognized them at once. Xalith Masq'il'yr had been a frequent guest of Velkynvelve, usually to report to Ilvara but other times to seek out the company of a different sort. Sarith knew Xalith well—in every aspect—just as she knew him and clearly recognized him.

Sarith thought to tell Fraeya that they were being followed, but the assassins met them then. The warrior tried to dodge the enlarged assassin's attack, but their glowing sword slashed viciously across his chest. With that one strike, Sarith knew that it was no ordinary weapon. It seemed to burn his skin. Not in the same way as poison, but the gash seemed to fester and grow more painful by the second. The drow regretted, then, choosing more maneuverable leathers in favor of the stolen chain shirt from Velkynvelve's armory.

The warrior unsheathed a single sword and struck out at his attacker. Then, with the other, he quickly signaled in Drow Sign to Fraeya, "A drow scout. Following us."

"What do we do?" Fraeya furiously signed back as she stabbed at the other assassin with her rapier alongside Fargas.

Sarith surveyed their options. Xalith would not join the fight. No, she'd linger in the shadows until the battle was finished, and then she'd strike like a viper lying in wait. The more pressing matter was taking out the assassins.

"A problem for later," he told Fraeya.

To the warrior's fortune, the assassin attacking him drew back in a panic as the magic granting them an enlarged state abruptly failed him. They rapidly shrunk in size, now standing at the standard height of a duergar. And as Sarith peered intently at the face shrouded beneath the hood, he saw that it was indeed an ordinary male duergar. A moment later, the duergar's companion faced a similar transformation. The four adventurers made quick work of their foes then. One surrendered to a brutal forward sweep of Sarith's dual swords, while the second fell to a well-aimed arrow from Nine's longbow. It pierced clean through their skull, killing them instantly.

No sooner had the second assassin dropped did Fraeya sprint across the docks to look below for any sign of Werz. She scaled down a pillar and descended upon the sandy shore of the Darklake below. The rogue blinked, and her silvery eyes better resembled blood as she searched the darkened space for heat sources. She spotted Werz instantly. The party's contact was huddled and shivering amid a large drainpipe nearly entirely obscured by refuse. Alive but badly wounded.

"Werz Saltbaron!" the drow called out in Undercommon.

The injured duergar flinched. "Who's asking?"

"My companions and I were directed to find you by a guard at the gate," Fraeya said.

"Gorglak?" Werz croaked.

"He never told us his name," the drow admitted truthfully. Fraeya thought carefully on the rest of her response, for Sarith had already told the party that it was abnormal for duergar to accept brides. If they were wrong—if this individual was not Werz Saltbaron—she was not about to stick her foot in her mouth. She said, "We were told to seek out the beforenamed individual at the docks to settle a debt."

Werz shook his head. "By debt, you mean you're paying the toll," he confirmed. Fraeya relaxed then, ever so slightly, knowing they'd found the right individual. But the duergar was not finished. "Keep whatever you pledged to Gorglak. For saving my life up there, all will be forgotten. It is I who owe you."

Fraeya tilted her head and thought to argue. They had done nothing to help Werz aside from creating a distraction that allowed him to escape. But before she had the chance, a sudden commotion from above had both Fraeya and Werz turning their eyes to the weathered wooden planks above them.

"Come find me later in the Shattered Spire. We have much to discuss," Werz said as he inched further into the drainpipe. "For now, you should return to your companions. It sounds like the Stoneguard has been called in."

As if to confirm Werz's words, the sounds grew steadily louder. Then came the clash of swords and angry yelling. The rogue knew not what the Stoneguard was, but undoubtedly, she was about to find out. Fraeya hurriedly scaled back up the same wooden post she had used to get down. Werz fled down the drainpipe and disappeared into the darkness as soon as her back was turned.

When Fraeya heaved herself up on the top of the dock, a confusing sight awaited her. Sarith and an unidentified female drow were engaged in a full-on brawl. They weren't even using swords. Instead, they were punching, kicking, and swearing. Meanwhile, Fargas and Nine desperately fended off an approaching patrol of duergar guards wearing short dark green capes.

The rogue drew her rapier and rushed to their aid. But when a secondary force appeared at their flank, Fraeya knew there was no escape. They were outnumbered and had no choice but to surrender.

When the four adventurers found themselves in chains alongside the unknown drow female, Fraeya pondered the irony of her caution to Kazimir. If you go out, lie low, and for the love of your surface gods, don't draw attention to yourselves and get arrested. She already dreaded their reunion, for the wizard would surely never let her live it down.

[1] The tea Fraeya brings to her companions is borrowed from the DnD cookbook Heroes Feast. I was making halfling chili (so good!) earlier this week and stumbled upon a recipe for Mushroom Tea, a favorite of the drow.

I really struggled to find food and drink that would be available in Underdark taverns. DM/husband had a legit menu when we first visited the Shattered Spire (to pair with beers for us to sample IRL!), but we've since lost it! I've compiled my own list, but if anyone has any ideas or pointers, I'd be happy to take them! Non-alcoholic drinks were something I struggled with the most. Do they have juice in the Underdark? Vegetables? Fruits? I really have no idea. Most of the time, we just 'ordered' the equivalent of a charcuterie board, lol.

[2] This is a description straight from the module. I giggled over the mental image of puffball floats. :D

Yes. We split the party. And yes, bad things happened! So only *part* of the party got arrested! But, really, there is no avoiding it unless you plan to skip all the main quests of Gracklstugh.

Fraeya and Sarith's theme is "Svik" by Gaute Storaas/the Bratislava orchestra (from the Birkebeinerne soundtrack). And just for funsies, the combat song for this chapter is "Volatile Reaction" by Kevin MacLeod. Anyone familiar with Critical Role's first campaign should know this music well. I felt very nostalgic when I listened to DM/husband's 'simple battle' playlist and wrote the 'Assassin's Interrupted' questline. :D