Chapter warning: a bit of crude humor, mentions of substance abuse, and scenes of violence ahead…
Chapter Twenty-Four
Order and Chaos
1485 DR / Day 33
The Flowstone District, Gracklstugh
Gartokkar's entourage led the adventurers through Laduguer's Furrow and deep into the heart of Gracklstugh. And though they were battered, bruised, and quite frankly winded from fighting the crazed stone giant, the companions had little choice but to follow. Within minutes, it became apparent that Laduguer's Furrow was the duergar's housing district. The group passed by the tight-knit and well-fortified iron dwellings of Clan Hammercane, the construction engineers. Next came the sprawling shacks of Clan Anvilthew, the toolmakers. Gartokkar even led the adventurers by the intimidating Hold of the Deepking. The priest did not expressly point it out by name, but one could only assume it was a place of prominence, given the structure was far grander than any other in the city—by duergar standards, anyway.
But the group did not stop at the Hold. Instead, Gartokkar marched them further south to yet another heavily guarded gate. As they passed under it, the priest made a point to snidely tell the adventurers that this invitation was a 'great honor.' Few duergar, not even high-ranking members of society, were permitted to enter the Flowstone District. Erected buildings were sparse here. Instead, the natural terrain was utilized. Gaping holes in the cavern walls led to offshoot chambers that could be used for many purposes—meeting spaces, private dwellings, or business. The list was endless.
At last, Gartokkar halted the group at the very southwestern edge of the city. They stood before a darkened tunnel where two Keepers of the Flame priests, marked by their crimson robes or red-tinged armor, flanked the entrance. Only now did Gartokkar's entourage fall back as the two priests waiting at the cave's entrance came to meet them.
Gartokkar greeted them with a short nod and discreetly explained that he had 'found a solution to the Keepers' most urgent problem.' Then, all three individuals produced flame from their bare hands—like Zelyra's spell—and began to lead the adventurers to a rather plain-looking stone building next to the cavern's opening. But they did not get far before the cavern's walls began to quake with force ten times a stone giant. The entourage abruptly halted to face the mysterious, darkened burrow.
"Uh oh," Kazimir muttered.
Beside him, Fargas echoed the sentiment. "Uh oh, indeed—look!" he hissed to the tiefling.
Out of the inky gloom, the head of a most fearsome creature appeared. Its scales were the color of lava. It had menacing ocher eyes that seemed to reflect the same flames it produced, and its maw was filled with row upon row of shining white teeth. The adult red dragon opened its mouth, and the voice which surged forth was thunderous, seeming to bounce and echo off every stone in the vicinity. The adventurers all rightly flinched. Poor Stool trembled behind Kazimir's legs. And yet, despite the power of the booming voice, there was also something bewitching and luring about it. One did not have to understand the language spoken to feel the pull.
"Gartokkar!" the reptilian behemoth roared in Dwarvish. "You did not tell me I was to be treated with surfacers for dinner!"
The dragon chuckled at his joke, but those among the party who spoke Dwarvish exchanged weary glances. The dragon's head and neck alone were thick—far thicker than what a typical dragon's sizing should be—indicating its appetite was likely ravenous. When the words were translated to the others, they also shuddered, for one could only imagine how vast the dragon's torso must be to support such a large head.
"They are not for eating!" Gartokkar chided. The priest then switched back to Common as he begrudgingly introduced the dragon. "Mercenaries, meet the Father of Flame, the Everburning, and the Foundry's Heart. Themberchaud, the Great Wyrmsmith of Gracklstugh!"
It was a carefully practiced line, something rehearsed a thousand times over to please the red dragon and nothing more. Gartokkar took no pleasure in saying the words. Nor did he believe the dragon had earned such veneration in his station. All this, Themberchaud knew and had known since he was a mere wyrmling. And yet, he'd been smart. He'd bided his time, taking full advantage of all the duergar threw his way, until he had the opportune moment to break their chains.
The dragon's ocher eyes assessed the foreigners, most interestingly represented by both surfacers and Underdark denizens—including two drow elves! For Gartokkar to have brought the group so far into the Flowstone, they must have been individuals of consequence. And the witless priest had called them mercenaries… Oh, the irony! For Themberchaud presently had use for such strong persons.
"I demand a private audience with them!" the dragon bellowed.
Gartokkar's lips twisted into a deep frown which he cleverly disguised as he bowed low before the Wyrmsmith. "Of course, Your Excellence," the priest conceded as he took a step back. "Just know that they are not a treat. I have work for them."
The dragon's eyes narrowed. "Yes… Of that, I have no doubt."
Themberchaud then turned and waddled back into his shadowy dwelling—a wordless invitation for the adventurers to follow him. Again, Eldeth, Derendil, Nine, and Fargas translated the dragon's instructions for those who could not understand it.
"Ah, do we have to go in there?" Kazimir whispered cagily.
"Do you want to be the one to refuse a dragon's summons and be roasted?" Fraeya asked with a raised brow. This was not even spoken as cheek, as the rogue meant her every word.
Kazimir quickly relented. "Point taken," he mumbled.
The companions cautiously entered the dragon's den and traveled down a short passageway that funneled into a much larger cavern. Themberchaud was at its back, now roosting on a massive pile of gold and jewels. The adventurers' fears over the dragon's size were justly confirmed. Themberchaud was vastly overweight—and as Kazimir keenly assessed the dragon, he wondered how it was that such a fat creature could fly at all.
"I wanted to get to you before the wretches did," the dragon told the companions in Undercommon. He opened his mouth to continue, only to stop short as Fraeya warily raised her hand. He thus demanded, "You dare interrupt me, she-elf!"
"Might you speak in Common so that we all can understand your proposal?" the drow requested diplomatically.
The dragon leered at her. "I will not lower myself to speak the filthy language of surface dwellers."
"He either isn't willing to speak in Common or can't," the drow quietly told Kazimir.
Fraeya had correctly surmised that would have been the wizard's first request. Kazimir huffed disappointedly and fluttered his fingers as he was forced to place a language comprehension spell upon himself to understand the dragon. There was something peculiar about Themberchaud's artful tongue that made the wizard want to cling to every single word and not rely on watered-down translations. Unfortunately, Eldeth and Zelyra did not have such a luxury and were left entirely in the dark. Derendil quietly translated for them throughout the conversation.
"Gartokkar has taken an interest in you worms for a reason. The ignorant priests think me blind to their motives, but I have many eyes and ears within this city. Gartokkar and the other sniveling handlers seek to supplant me. But they have a problem. They've lost their collateral. Or rather, the Grey Ghosts stole it. You see, I am not the first Wyrmsmith of the Gracklstugh. My successor, Virmedasocic the Enormous, was slain when he grew too large for the Keepers to handle. I then took his place," Themberchaud boasted proudly. "I may not be the first Wyrmsmith, but I vow to be the last."
Kazimir snorted at the irony. "Ha! All hail the mighty Thunderchode…" [1]
Standing to the tiefling's left, Fraeya immediately stomped on his foot, and at Kazimir's right, Fargas concealed his laugh of surprise with an overexaggerated coughing fit. But the others steeled themselves, for surely the dragon would take great offense to the lewd nickname. But to their immense relief, Themberchaud truly could not understand or speak Common. It was a good thing, too, for they would have likely been burnt to a crisp if the dragon did.
"Have you lost your mind?" Fraeya hissed to the wizard.
Kazimir only offered the drow a wide-eyed shrug of indifference.
The dragon continued, fortuitously blind to the tiefling's slight. "Gartokkar will ask you to find the missing egg. Do as he asks—but destroy it rather than return it once it is found. Do this, and I will spare you all when I raze this wretched city to the ground."
"You plan to destroy Gracklstugh?" Fraeya asked the dragon warily.
"For the love of Tymora, please let us be long gone when that happens," Kazimir muttered beneath his breath in Common.
Again, Fraeya shot the tiefling a pointed glare.
"I plan to show these worthless duergar what ill will might come from plotting against me. I am superior! I will become the true king of Gracklstugh! But first, I want that rotten egg smashed," Themberchaud roared arrogantly. "Just know this—you are to ultimately report to me! Not Gartokkar!"
Fraeya exchanged a glance with Sarith. Then, in her head, she heard his voice telepathically via the pair of sending stones they were now attuned to. "We have no choice but to agree to his face, but that does not mean we have to follow that agreement," the warrior told his fellow drow slyly.
"I like the way you think," Fraeya praised.
Falsely, the rogue held up her hands to the dragon in surrender. "We accept your terms, O great Wyrmsmith!"
"You're laying it on a bit thick," Sarith mentally chided.
"Shut up."
Sarith's voice came again. "You're the one who insisted I take the other stone. Just know—your whacking tongue might get you killed one day if you aren't more careful. Learn to exercise caution."
They were bold words, but the rogue found humor in them rather than taking offense. And Sarith truly did not mean it as an insult. At times, he rather liked her plainness. So often, other drow elves spoke in riddles or veiled truths. Fraeya could be diplomatic when she wished but was more likely to say what was on her mind, regardless of the consequence.
"Don't worry, Kazimir's already got that one covered," Fraeya snarked. "But perhaps it is you, Sarith, who exercises too much caution. Loosen up a bit. Stand your ground."
Their telepathic link fell silent as Sarith did not see fit to offer a reply.
With their word given to the dragon, Themberchaud promptly dismissed the adventurers. They remained utterly silent until they fully exited the cave and had stepped several yards away from it—then, and only then, did Zelyra and Eldeth finally explode with questions. Derendil answered them as best as he could. Admittedly, the prince was still in a bit of shock.
"We need to agree that we will not tell Gartokkar about what Themberchaud has asked of us," Fraeya proposed.
"Why the secrecy?" Zelyra asked. "Do we intend to go through with it? What if we simply cannot find the egg?"
Nine folded her arms across her chest. "Do you really want to be responsible for enticing a civil war?" the ranger bit irritably. "Because that is undoubtedly what will happen when they find out Themberchaud has plans to attack the city. I'm sure they'd rope us into helping them fight that too! It's been made perfectly clear that they all want something from us. Haven't we already got enough on our plate?"
"For once, I actually agree with her," Fraeya said.
Zelyra's shoulders sagged.
"Let's just find out what Gartokkar wants. Then we can all move on," the drow added testily.
Kazimir made a hissing sound and shaped his dark hand into the form of a claw. "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning," he quipped.
"I'm just really sick of them ordering us around or threatening to arrest us," Fraeya argued.
"Welcome to Gracklstugh," Fargas drawled with a smirk. "Though, as a drow, I would have thought you'd be accustomed to that kind of behavior."
"Don't remind me," Fraeya growled. "You know, sometimes I don't know who is more annoying—you or Kazimir.
"I'll take that as a compliment!" Fargas claimed as he high-fived Kazimir.
Likewise, the tiefling grinned devilishly. "Me too!"
Nine cracked just the faintest hint of a smile at their antics. "So, which of these buildings do you imagine are the Keeper's barracks?" she asked, steering the party back on course.
Derendil pointed to the stone building in front of Themberchaud's cave. "That one looks important. I think that is where Gartokkar was going to take us before the dragon interrupted."
The ranger shrugged and strode towards the door. Her companions followed suit. A knock upon it revealed a familiar, impatient-looking male duergar dressed in red ceremonial robes. Gartokkar Xundom ushered the group inside and led them to a small meeting room containing a long stone table and a handful of chairs. Another priest sat quietly in the far corner of the room. He did not greet the companions, as he was there only to witness Gartokkar's dealings.
Once the companions were seated at the table, Gartokkar marched to its head and wasted little time inquiring as to why the dragon had requested a private audience.
"Thunderchode wants us to find some egg," Kazimir said flippantly. [2]
Gartokkar's back immediately straightened in a panic. "He wants what?!"
Fraeya slapped both hands to her forehead in exasperation. So much for secrecy.
"Why are you the way you are?" the drow groaned quietly.
The wizard shrank back, suddenly remembering they had, in fact, not wanted to tell Gartokkar that. "Thunderch—uh—I mean—Themberchaud mentioned this rare bird-like creature that is rumored to be found outside the city. He wants one of its eggs as a special meal and had hired us to procure one," Kazimir falsely spun.
To his credit, it was a clever fib, twisted on the lips of a charismatic, silver-tongued individual, but Gartokkar was not fooled. He'd already suspected Themberchaud's motives. The strange tiefling had only confirmed them.
"He asked you to find our missing dragon egg, didn't he?" Gartokkar said sternly.
Kazimir's shoulders sagged. "It was worth a try," he muttered to his companions. But Fraeya and Nine still saw fit to glare at him.
"I am to assume you gave your agreement to find it?" the dragon handler continued.
"He didn't give us much choice…but I don't think we have any intention of following through," Fraeya said shrewdly.
"Oh, you shall find it," Gartokkar threatened. "That was to be my task to you. Themberchaud is growing too rash and unpredictable. We've managed to keep him complacent until now through feedings—
"I think we all can agree that dragon could do with a little less feeding," Kazimir cut in.
Gartokkar pressed on, pausing only briefly at the tiefling's joke. "—pampering, coins and jewels, and rare treasures, but I fear we are banking on stolen time. That dragon egg is the very livelihood of our city. It must be returned! Themberchaud will then be slain, and the hatchling will take his place."
The dragon handler failed to mention that his desperation to find the egg actually stemmed from the crucial fact that the Deepking—to Gartokkar's knowledge—remained oblivious to its loss. The Keepers of the Flame would be at their ruler's mercy if that were to change. And that was not a situation that Gartokkar or any other Keepers wished to find themselves in. So, inevitably, their fate hung on the egg's safe return.
The priest reached into a small pocket within his robes and revealed eight shiny badges, all forged from pure gold.
"I can offer you these badges in exchange for your service. They will get you into places that your worthless Stoneguard badges will not," Gartokkar offered. "We have just cause to believe that the egg was stolen by a local thieves' guild referred to as the Grey Ghosts. We believe that their base of operation is a network of abandoned tunnels beneath the city—the Whorlstone Tunnels. But only they know how to find it. Therefore, I implore you to focus your search on a derro named Droki. He is reportedly an errand messenger for the guild. Follow him, and you'll find the tunnels."
"That little rat has his hands in far too many swirling pots," Fargas muttered.
Gartokkar raised an eyebrow. "You know of Droki?"
"Sort of. We were pursuing him when the giant attacked. Captain Blackskull has tasked us with following his movements. She believes he is working for the Council of Savants and wants us to uncover evidence of them corrupting duergar within the city," Zelyra explained. "We have further information that he might be double-crossing the Grey Ghosts in favor of the Empty Scabbard Killers."
"The Empty Scabbard Killers are mere folklore," the duergar priest dismissed all too quickly. "There is no society of secret assassins lurking in Gracklstugh."
"Maybe there is, maybe there isn't," the druid replied perceptively. "Regardless, we plan to investigate that link. Has your clan seen any of its high-ranking officials unexpectedly taken out?"
Gartokkar did not answer her, but the druid noted that he did appear unnerved by the question. "Well, that works well for you then," he said. "You may kill two spiders with one stone. Just remember the egg takes precedence. The Keepers of the Flame are above the orders of Errde Blackskull and her useless Stoneguard."
"You really don't like Blackskull, do you?" Eldeth observed.
"She is a paranoid fool!" the priest barked.
"Captain Blackskull might not be too far off in her suspicions. Something is very wrong with your city," Fargas told Gartokkar bluntly. He then listed on his fingers, "People are being murdered, brain-exposed rats are being spotted, duergar are accepting bribes and harnessing strange psionic power, derro are rioting—oh! And there is a necromantic shrine dedicated to Orcus not five miles from your main gate!"
"A shrine to Orcus?!" the duergar priest echoed in alarm.
Thus, the companions were forced to relive their brutal encounter with Buppido and warned Gartokkar that their former companion and Balasar were likely somewhere in the city. Balasar was, of course, innocent. But Buppido, on the other hand…
While the companions were not entirely sure if they could trust Gartokkar and the Keepers of the Flame, it seemed as good of an opportunity as any to warn someone in the city of what might be coming. It was unclear if Buppido's ritual was meant to summon the Demon Prince or intended for some other ill purpose, but it was better to err on the side of caution. No one wished for another situation as in Sloobludop.
"I've heard many a dissonant whisper about the destruction of the kuo-toa village, but I'd assumed it a mere rumor," the priest said. "It is true then? The village is lost?"
"We didn't exactly stick around to find out," Nine said.
"But surely, after Demogorgon's attack, nothing remains," Eldeth added.
"The city was completely leveled, along with any survivors of the initial assault," Sarith suddenly spoke up. "Nothing remains but rancid death and debris."
As one, the companions turned to look at the warrior in surprise.
"How do you know that?" Fraeya immediately demanded via sending stone.
"I went back," was Sarith's ambiguous reply.
"Why?" the rogue pressed.
But in true Sarith fashion, their telepathic link fell silent.
Eldeth continued to address Gartokkar, oblivious to the drow elves' dispute. "If I were ye, I'd be a little more worried that ye have stone giants all o' sudden sprouting second heads and attacking the city. There's no telling where Demogorgon went after! You better hope he doesn't set his sights on Gracklstugh."
Gartokkar considered the shield dwarf's warning for a heartbeat before saying, "This is exigent news I need to bring to the Deepking immediately. He will surely sanction the Keepers to investigate this derro's abysmal shrine. And if you think there is a connection between what happened in Sloobludop and Dorhun's attack, you should seek out Stonespeaker Hgraam immediately."
Fraeya held up a dismissive hand. "How about one thing at a time? I think I've had my fill of shocking revelations and tasks for one day. Knowing our luck, we'll be asked to investigate that mess too."
"Don't wait too long," the duergar urged. "When you are ready, the badges I gave you will grant you access to Cairngorm Cavern. Tell Hgraam everything you know."
"Great. Will do. Can we go now?" the drow asked.
Gartokkar's eyes narrowed at her brutishness. "You may see yourself out," he said.
. . .
The following day saw the group right back where they started—the gateway to Laduguer's Furrow. But presently, the space looked very different from how the companions had left it. The duergar had been hard at work overnight. Much of the shattered rock and stone had been cleared away, and repairs to the gate itself were nearly finished.
This time, the adventurers saw less resistance from the guards as they remembered the strange group from the day before. And so, with a brief flash of the solid gold badges given to them by Gartokkar, they were instantly given entry and began their trek westward towards derro territory.
The further west the party traveled, the influence of the duergar lessened. The terrain turned rocky and uneven. The land was unsculpted and wild. Before long, the companions reached a series of abandoned watchtowers near the far western gate. The rising pillars of stone were falling into disrepair and ruin, for they'd sat in disuse for over four hundred years, since Deepking Tarngardt, the current monarch's grandfather, liberated the derro in 1063 DR. That single, deluded act—most curiously instigated by the Council of Savants—allowed the derro to spread from the West Cleff district to the East Cleff. Only the efforts of the Council of Lairds, an advisory body comprised of the heads of the duergar clans, kept the derro's maddening influence from contaminating the inner districts of Gracklstugh.
Or so the Lairds believed…
As the watchtowers now stood empty, they would have been an ideal location for the group to lie low and track the movements of anyone coming and going from the West Cleff. And that is likely what the adventurers would have done—if their priority was not to first locate the Whorlstone Tunnels.
Over dinner the previous evening, the companions had agreed that it was best to shift their priorities. Gartokkar Xundom had given them a crucial lead with the Whorlstone Tunnels. Droki supposedly frequented them, and the squirrely derro seemed to have a hand in each of their quests; in one form or another. If they could find the tunnels themselves and camp out near an entry point and wait, it would be an ideal place to confront him. Secrecy was preferred over meeting out in the open, where others might come to his aid. So, once that was decided, Fraeya and Sarith sought out Werz Saltbaron at the Shattered Spire as Gartokkar had so fortuitously informed the party that the Grey Ghosts utilized the Whorlstone Tunnels.
And who had just recently admitted to working for the Grey Ghosts from time to time?
None other than Werz Saltbaron!
"You seek a crevasse in the heart of the West Cleff. It is easy to miss as it is no more than a tiny sliver of an opening carefully disguised within the perimeter wall. But should you successfully locate it, there you will find an access point to the tunnels," the duergar had reluctantly informed the drow after a mild threat of bodily harm.
"You'll give us no more of a hint than that?" Fraeya asked.
Werz shook his head and instead made a strange request. "Just promise me—if you find the tunnels and encounter any Grey Ghost members other than Droki, leave them be. They are not your enemy," he said.
The appeal was a strange one. Why should Werz care if any of the guild members were harmed if he only occasionally assisted one of their members? Thus, Fraeya and Sarith flippantly gave their word with the equivalence of crossing their fingers behind their backs.
Presently, as the party bypassed the abandoned stone watchtowers and entered the heart of the West Cleff district, they were met with a very conflicting sight. Derro territory had none of the strict order of the Darklake District, Laduguer's Furrow, or the Flowstone District. Instead, the adventurers were met with the makings of pure chaos. The West Cleff was the slum of slums. It was dirty, loud, and disgusting. The air quickly shifted from acrid and metallic to repugnant and fetid as the hot furnaces of industry gave way to the squalor of lesser beings. Mounds of trash littered the sides of the streets—if one could call the confusing maze of pathways that—accompanied most disturbingly by piles of fecal matter and excavated trenches of urine.
Hundreds of derro swarmed the hodgepodge thoroughfares, all shrieking and generally causing mayhem. Their movements were jittery, half-crazed. Even to those who knew Undercommon, the derro's speech was incomprehensible. Almost every spoken phrase was accompanied by dramatic gesturing and frantic arm waving. It was as if the derro had created a rudimentary dialect and accompanying sign language that was all their own. Furthermore, their homes were seemingly erected randomly, with many built atop one another. For as many derro as the companions saw out in the open, it was hard to say how many more were cooped up inside the dwellings.
"This is how the derro live?" Eldeth whispered, unwilling to raise her voice and draw unwanted attention to the group.
Beside her, Fargas nodded solemnly. "Theirs is a tragic story. But perhaps it is better saved for a later time," he said sagely.
"I feel…sorry…for them," Zelyra admitted quietly. "This is no way to live."
"They know no other way," Sarith said bluntly.
"It almost makes one feel sympathetic for Buppido," the druid continued, observing the sad scene with wizened eyes. She knew what it was to suffer and to have nothing, but not to this extent. "To have lived such a wretched life—"
Fraeya stopped Zelyra in her tracks. "There is always a choice. Conform to the maker, or forge your own path," the rogue claimed. "Anyone has the capacity to better themselves if they but fight against the chains which bind them."
"Bold words for a drow. Is that what you think you've done?" Sarith's consciousness curiously carried over the paired sending stones.
This time, it was Fraeya who chose not to dignify Sarith a response. But as the warrior looked closely upon her face, he noted that the rogue appeared lost, guilty, as if she did not quite know where the sage advice had come from in the first place.
"I said almost," Zelyra grumbled. "He did try to kill us after all."
"And he kidnapped Balasar," Eldeth reminded the party bitterly.
"Yes. Yes, he did. And I think neither of those is an excusable act," the druid vowed.
The party then raised the hoods of their cloaks and slunk down the streets of West Cleff with quiet purpose. But despite their stealth, several derro took notice of the group's height. Only Fargas could have possibly gotten away with concealing his nature. And so, as the first few clusters of derro looked upon the intruders with suspicion, burning hatred, frantic pointing, and gnashing of teeth, Zelyra wisely called upon her magic to cloak the party in a veil of shadows and silence. With her magical shroud firmly in place, all nearby derro became blind to the group's movements and quickly went back to quarreling amongst themselves. Alas, a genuine lack of awareness was the price of their insanity. But that was to the party's benefit.
The group skirted the West Cleff's outer wall, remaining watchful for clues. Nine, Fargas, and Fraeya kept a sharp eye on the formation of the outer barrier itself. Zelyra and Kazimir were more interested in dissecting the behavior of the derro they snuck past. Eldeth, Sarith, and Prince Derendil looked for suspicious tracks in the dirt-trodden streets. But there was little of note. It was not until they'd scoured the perimeter for nearly an hour, even going so far as to make a second pass, that Nine abruptly gasped and halted the companions.
"Look! Over there!" the ranger hissed, pointing to a tapering fissure camouflaged by a scrap of rotten fabric that naturally blended into the rock.
Needing no further prompting, the companions pushed aside the rotten fabric and squeezed through the opening one by one. A short tunnel continued backwards for approximately ten feet before slowly widening into a long, open chamber. Surprisingly, the space was not dark but bathed in a soft grey light. The walls were thickly lined with faerzress, which whirled in spiral patterns and cast dancing shadows from the tapering stalactites hanging from the domed ceiling. The sight was as eerie as it was beautiful.
Fargas could walk through the passage to the chamber effortlessly, while most of the others were only mildly inconvenienced by having to duck their heads. But Prince Derendil, who was trapped in the monstrous form of a quaggoth with broad shoulders, had to hunch, turn sideways, and suck in his stomach to enter. And even in doing that and with fur to partially shield him, the rocky walls still scraped painfully against him as he squeezed through the short tunnel.
Once Derendil joined them in that first open chamber, the adventurers decided it was as good a place as any to post up. They were hopeful that Droki would shortly make an appearance and found various ways to busy themselves in the meantime. Sarith and Fraeya cleaned and polished their gear. Nine fletched a handful of arrows while Fargas, Derendil, and Kazimir carefully examined the sketch of the fascinating calendar stone the wizard had found in the lower levels of Brysis's tomb. While they had many interesting theories, the stone's meaning, and significance, were still unclear. Meanwhile, Zelyra summoned Peanut from the grey lands of the Astral Plane in her boredom.
As Mr. Bear before him, the fey mouse happily scurried from companion to companion, curiously booping each one with his nose as he begged for scritches. The Astral Plane was a barren place of other-dimensional nothingness that extended in all directions. Thus, one could not blame the fey mouse as he spent quite some time enjoying Eldeth's attentions, as even the stoic shield dwarf could not resist the fluffy, squeaking creature's charm.
"I wonder how Peanut and Mr. Bear might get along?" Kazimir prosed as he curiously fingered the tan leather bag that now hung at his belt.
"This chamber is already crowded enough as it is without throwing a bear into the mix!" Nine immediately protested.
Kazimir folded his arms across his chest. "I bet Mr. Bear could tackle Droki for us—no problem!"
"I, for one, am unwilling to bank on that," Fraeya countered. The drow did not even spare the tiefling a glance as she carefully sharpened one of her daggers and said, "We will stick to our plan as it is. Zelyra's paralyzing magic is more reliable."
"Besides, you might end up with a badger instead of a bear," the ranger continued.
"Precisely," the rogue said.
"Hold on—did Fraeya and Nine just agree on something?" the wizard asked.
The ranger and the rogue stared at one another for a breath before nodding.
"That's almost as rare as either of you agreeing with me on something," Kazimir muttered.
Fargas laughed. "There's a first time for everything, my friend!"
And while some chuckled at the wizard's witty commentary, their merriment was shortly after snuffed when Sarith swiftly rose to attention and drew both swords from his belt. In the wake of the unexpected action, the group fell silent.
"What is it?" Fraeya immediately asked through the sending stone.
"Someone is coming?" Sarith answered sternly.
"How do you know?"
Sarith knew not how to answer that. How was he to tell her that the whispers had told him? And he knew they were right, for his ears could just barely detect the faint crunch of stray bits of gravel near the mouth of the cavern. Sound was muted in the chamber. Even water dripping from the hanging stalactites made no echo. It was a wonder he'd heard the approaching footsteps at all.
The drow watched the entrance for a breath. Shortly after, the fabric concealing the entryway shifted slightly, but no one appeared. A trick of his eyes, perhaps?
"Just a feeling," Sarith then told Fraeya. "I hear them, but do not see them."
Taking the warrior at his word, Fraeya stood and readied the dagger she'd been sharpening. One could only hope it was Droki and not some other poor fool who had stumbled upon their ambush.
The others took their cues from the drow elves and tucked themselves close to the walls. It was not a perfect concealment, as Droki had superior darkvision to the surface dwellers, but it was better than standing out in the open. Perhaps the derro might not notice them right away.
"Droki is late! Ooooh! They will be so angry! Stupid, stupid, stupid! Delays, blocks, procrastination, obstructions, pfah! No time, no rhyme, not mine! No! Time!"
The babbling speech filled the tunnel, yet it had no visible source.
"He's invisible," Sarith hissed to Kazimir.
The wizard caught on to the pointed cue and countered that problem by casting a spell of See Invisibility on himself—which now was possible by the good graces of Werz Saltbaron's mysterious friend.
In an instant, the shimmering form of a wryly little derro was made known to Kazimir's awareness. It was indeed Droki. His swashbuckler attire and pallid face was akin to Derendil and Zelyra's description, as was that floppy hat outfitted with two tentacle-like objects that bopped up and down in time with his swift strides. He cradled a filthy-looking satchel and sped down the opening tunnel in merely a blink, faster than any small creature the wizard had ever seen. All this, Kazimir observed alone.
Kazimir knew that they needed to react, and they needed to do it quickly. Their quarry was nearly upon them. Just a few more steps… But Zelyra could not cast her paralyzing spell in Droki's current state. One needed a clear line of sight for that sort of magic to work. And so, having few other options, the wizard made a bold choice. First, he cast a broader comprehension spell upon himself—as Ploopploopeen had done to communicate with the party in Sloobludop. It would allow Kazimir to comprehend all language and for Droki to understand him in turn. The wizard then stepped out of the shadows and into the center of the cavern with his hands raised in surrender.
Droki instantly skittered to a halt and looked upon the unfamiliar, dark-skinned tiefling with bulging, milky-white eyes.
Kazimir used Droki's momentary surprise to immediately launch into spellcasting. "You've been a hard creature to find, Droki. But find you, we have. So I suggest you drop your spell of invisibility so that we might have a conversation," he said as his fingers danced in time with the words.
The compelling magic infused within the suggestion gave the derro further pause. But for a moment, nothing happened. Kazimir held his breath until a heartbeat later, when Droki's invisibility spell dropped. The strange derro could now be seen by all. Zelyra wasted no time in weaving her paralyzing spell.
When it was clear that the druid's spell had also succeeded, Fraeya granted both spellcasters a rare smile. "Well done, you two," she praised. Kazimir's chest puffed out just the slightest bit at her rare compliment. The drow continued, "Zelyra, I wonder…can you grant him just enough freedom of movement to speak?"
"I can certainly try," the druid offered.
Zelyra loosened her hold over Droki just the slightest bit, focusing in detail on his mouth and the vocal cords at his throat. She regretted it almost instantly, for the crazed derro immediately started screeching. Such insane, horrid wailing! The druid thought it on par with the terrible shrieks of a wraith, for the sounds emitting from the poor derro's mouth sounded wholly unnatural.
Droki continued to rage and wail despite all efforts to calm or reason with him. It frayed on the nerves of each of the companions but not so much as Sarith—who was now forced to endure Her maddening whispers, Droki's idiotic meltdown, and his own troubled thoughts. [3]
What a broken mind… If you would but extend the Gift to him? He could become one of mine, as you are. Such endless Joy he then shall feel to be a part of the grand celebration!
She calls it a Gift. It isn't! It is a curse!
You know what to do to end his suffering.
Deliver him to Her.
Her joyous spores will spread!
No. Kill him. Kill him!
Oblivious to Sarith's spiraling episode, Kazimir leapt forward and thought to cleverly cover Droki's mouth with his hand to stifle the derro's screams. But the freedom Zelyra had extended to Droki allowed him to use his mouth—in all capacity. And so, Droki promptly sunk his teeth into the flesh of Kazimir's palm. The tiefling yelped and drew his injured hand away.
"INTRUDERS!" Droki continued to shriek madly. "SURFACE FILTH! DROW! SCUM!"
"Not intruders. Friends," Kazimir claimed as he wove a simple enchantment into his words. But the derro was not fooled by such trickery a second time. He continued to carry on in a ruckus, cursing the companions to the bitter pits of the Nine Hells—which Kazimir thought was oddly ironic—until he was rather abruptly and unceremoniously silenced.
"I will not spread the Gift!" Sarith mentally shouted to the warring voices inside his head. But in his panic, the drow warrior made a grave error. The words were accidentally conveyed through the sending stone.
"Gift? What gift?" Fraeya replied incredulously.
Before the rogue or anyone else could react, Sarith roared in a fury and swung one of his swords forward. The blunt side struck the derro's temple with such force that it knocked him clean out. Thus, Droki had no way to defend himself as Sarith's twin swords came up and forward in a brutal, execution-style cross that promptly severed the derro's head from his shoulders. His companions could only stand by in horrified silence as the severed head unceremoniously rolled away.
"Sarith—what have you done?" Fraeya's voice immediately sounded through the sending stone. "You said you were not a murderer!"
But the drow warrior could not hear. His conscious thought was only the whispers.
A pity to have lost one, but there is still time!
You did nothing wrong. You saved the horrid creature from Her crutches.
Bring them! Bring them all! Join in the grand celebration, for the day of Joy is nigh!
No. In your own way, you gave him deliverance.
You know where to find Her…
Kazimir surged forward and violently pinned the warrior to the opposite wall with his crystalline staff. In his confused state, Sarith did not fight back. Instead, the drow found it a blessing as his head slammed back into the stone, for it stopped the maddening whispers in their tracks. His bloody twin swords clattered to the floor, where they were promptly swept up by Fargas and put safely out of the drow's reach.
"We were supposed to question Droki! Not murder him!" Kazimir roared.
Fraeya nodded in approval to Fargas's quick thinking as she came up on the tiefling's shoulder, eager to allow Sarith to see her face in his fit of madness. For she knew that was what it was. Such fits were not uncommon in the Underdark, especially around areas of concentrated faerzress, as the adventurers had already learned the hard way. And yet, Sarith's episodes were very different. The warrior might not have shared his genuine fear with her when they candidly spoke on that first night in Gracklstugh. But she knew it now—and had kept it secret—for he'd unknowingly revealed it all during a liquor-induced reverie.
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…
Since then, Sarith had repeated those phrases and so many other disturbing things in reverie, all accompanied by weeping and moaning. It was a wonder Fraeya saw any rest herself! But she had not the heart to wake him during those fits. What embarrassment and anger he would surely feel if he knew what she had seen!
From rocky bed the toadstool arose. From chaos dark, her love She shows.
I will not go back! I won't let Her take me as She took him!
It was not hard for the rogue to put the pieces together after that. Neverlight Grove. Imbros Mizzrym. The gap of time that Sarith could not remember. Something terrible had happened there, and despite the warrior's insistence, he had not walked away without injury. Each time he fell into reverie now, Sarith unconsciously relived the nightmare but had no memory of it upon waking.
Fraeya could only reason that the liquor brought it out of him. In the past several days, she had observed that Sarith often kept a silver flask on him, presumably filled with his preferred Spiderblood Wine. And how could she blame him? He likely thought it his only source of comfort, a way to suppress his discomfiture and fear. But, instead, it only drove truth to his tongue.
But what could she do to help? If she acknowledged the problem, he would be angry and deny it. And if Fraeya were to bring a healer such as Zelyra into the fold, then Sarith would say that she betrayed his confidence. It was a shaky alliance the pair of drow elves shared. Fraeya was unwilling to do anything that might break it—yet.
There is always a choice. Conform to the maker, or forge your own path. Anyone has the capacity to better themselves if they but fight against the chains which bind them.
Contrary to the group's belief, Fraeya knew now that she had not been referring to herself when she'd uttered those words. Though there were plenty of chains she wouldn't mind shedding herself…
"Kazimir, leave him be," the rogue demanded.
"How can you possibly be so calm when he just murdered someone?" Kazimir argued.
Fraeya plastered her best false smile upon her lips as she said, "Because I can reason out why Sarith did it. You saw Droki—we wouldn't have gotten anything out of him in that state! He was utterly mad! And he also is not the only one to utilize this tunnel network. Need I remind you that there is an entire thieves' guild that calls this place home! His tantrum could have attracted unwanted attention to us."
"Why not simply knock him out?"
"And have him later wake up and run to the guild? I think not!"
"So, that justifies murder?" the tiefling asked incredulously.
"It does among the drow," Fraeya said coldly. "Kill or be killed. But only if you don't get caught."
Kazimir's mouth twisted in such a way that said he was about to spout something rather nasty when Fraeya abruptly wrestled him away from the disheveled drow warrior. The fact that Sarith had not once come to his own defense and seemed ignorant of them entirely was telling of his current mental state. Unsurprisingly, he slumped to the ground and cradled his head in his hands as soon as Kazimir no longer supported him.
When they were far enough away so that Sarith might not overhear, Fraeya's tone was hushed and bitter as she said, "You surface dwellers call for the damnation of our people, and yet you have no idea the horrors that have been indoctrinated into us from the very moment we draw breath. Fresh from the mother's womb, we are immediately called to the Spiders Queen's service. You can't blame him—it can take a lot to walk away from that kind of abuse. If he ever will at all. But at least give him a chance."
"Are you saying that you have?" the tiefling whispered back incredulously.
Fraeya did not answer, but the look on her face was telling enough. She wanted to.
Kazimir took a step back and subconsciously squeezed his left hand, wherein a sigil he refused to acknowledge occasionally appeared. He knew something of what Fraeya claimed the drow elves experienced, and yet, he also knew the salvation that could come from love and the happiness of having a family, the wisdom of a mentor—for however short of time he'd had one, at least. But to not have known any of that at all…
"Then you watch him, and you watch him close," the tiefling finally said. "Random episodes of violence like this can't happen again. And I can't speak for what the others might think…"
"I wouldn't expect you to," Fraeya said.
"Just remember that Blackskull said that a body doesn't prove anything. All our lives are on the line in this. Our only lead is gone, and we have no way to question him in death! So, you better hope we find something—"
"It was a setup!"
Fraeya and Kazimir's hushed argument ceased as both turned to look at Fargas in confusion.
The halfling had Droki's satchel in hand and was presently rifling through it, as he had reasoned a dead person wouldn't miss it. Zelyra, Eldeth, Derendil, and Nine were dealing with the gruesome business of cleaning up the bloody mess and tending to the body. So, there was really nothing better for him to be doing anyway.
"Are you really pilfering a dead man's belongings?" Zelyra asked incredulously.
"Well, we're getting no answers out of him now! So I thought his bag might contain a clue," Fargas reasoned.
"How incredibly thoughtful of you, Fargas," Nine drawled, and her tone made it clear that she did not believe that to be his only reasoning.
"Well, what did ye find?" Eldeth asked hesitantly.
Fargas had flipped the satchel upside down to search it, so presently, all manner of strange items were scattered around him. Some, the adventurers could quickly identify, such as a potion of healing, various scraps of paper with mad scribbles written upon them, a collection of dead vermin that included spiders, centipedes, roaches, etc., a journal, and lastly, three curious pouches. [4]
"There are names on these pouches," Fargas revealed. "And the scribbled notes tell Droki where to deliver them."
"Where was he to deliver them?" Fraeya asked.
"And whose names are on the pouches?" Zelyra added.
"I was getting to that—sheesh! They were to be delivered to the Grey Ghosts, and the names on the pouches are Dorhun, Hgraam, and Rihuud," the halfling said anxiously. "Hgraam and Rihuud's pouches contain toenail clippings, but Dorhun's is empty. Now, why would his be empty and the others not?"
"Because the toenail clippings were likely used as a spell component," Kazimir breathed in disbelief as realization struck him. "He was purposely cursed."
"Well, we assumed that already, but now we know that the Grey Ghosts are somehow behind it," Fargas finished.
But Fraeya countered with, "Maybe, maybe not. I'd say it was more likely that the thieves' guild planned to smuggle these to the derro savants that Blackskull was so worried about. Wouldn't you agree, Fargas? Better to have a middleman to take the blame."
"Why would I have any knowledge about that?" Fargas grumbled uncomfortably.
The adventurers were quiet for a moment as they absorbed the wealth of curious information they'd just been handed despite the odds stacked against them.
"There's more," Fargas added. When his companions urged him on, the halfling revealed, "The journal was to be delivered to the Empty Scabbard Killers; to an individual named Qualax."
"So it is true. Droki really was a double agent," Prince Derendil said.
Fargas nodded. "It would appear so."
"We've heard the name Qualax before!" Eldeth said animatedly. "It was on the piece of paper I found on Orcus's altar."
"Well, at least we were still able to connect a few dots despite the fact the one we were supposed to interrogate is dead," Kazimir spat. "Perhaps the dead can still tell their tales after all."
Many of the companions turned to look accusingly at Sarith then, only to find that the normally stoic drow warrior still sat huddled against the wall, clutching his head and muttering to himself.
"He did what he judged to be right at the time. You can't blame him," Fraeya spoke out. And when the others protested, she cut down those objections by saying, "It was no fault of his own! Look at the walls of this tunnel! Or are you ignorant to the fact that it is lined with faerzress? We're lucky he's the only one that's been affected and that the killing blow wasn't meant for one of us. And we're also fortunate that Kazimir and Zelyra's spellcasting did not cause a wild magic surge."
Kazimir eyed the rogue suspiciously, as that was not the same excuse she'd given him about Sarith's behavior. But the others accepted her word begrudgingly.
"At least he appears sorry for having done it," Zelyra said uncertainly.
Again, Kazimir grit his teeth but said nothing.
Prince Derendil added, "Is he going to be fit for travel? We should explore the tunnels further. There is still the dragon egg to think about as well."
"Sarith will come back to himself soon…just give him a moment to breathe. In the meantime, we've got a body to hide," Fraeya said somberly.
Droki's body and severed head were wrapped up in a cloak and tucked inside a small alcove in a narrow, offshoot fissure in the main chamber. Fraeya volunteered to give up her own mantle as it was the darkest in color. It would be a few days before the smell might lead someone to the body. And even then, that was unlikely. Various fungi and creatures of the Underdark also emitted the smell of decay. It would be foolish to seek such a scent out, for one might come face to face with a deadly carrion crawler instead of a dead body.
As the adventurers left the main chamber behind and continued down the maze that was the Whorlstone Tunnels, they were confident that no one would find out what had happened. The Grey Ghosts and the Empty Scabbard Killers might realize that Droki had gone missing, but there was nothing to connect the adventurers to the murder.
Other than Werz Saltbaron.
Captain Errde Blackskull.
And Gartokkar Xundom.
…perhaps there were a few loose threads after all.
[1] And this was the moment that we feared Kazimir had just doomed us all, lol. His player legitimately gave Themberchaud that nickname…and it stuck. We had to be *very* careful about remembering not to say Thunderchode around the dragon.
Note! The spell Kazimir placed upon himself is Comprehend Languages, not Tongues! That would have been bad!
[2] I promise I'm not throwing Kaz under the bus! My campaign notes word-for-word say, "Kazimir almost immediately spills the beans about the task that Themberchaud gave us." LOL. He was on a roll with snarky one-liners that session. I thought his wife (if I haven't said it before…his IRL wife is, ironically, Fraeya's player) was going to hop over the table and strangle him. :D If she'd had bread, she probably would have thrown it ;)
[3] If you want a visual of what I think Droki's meltdown sounds like…look no further than Gollum's tantrum when Sam yokes the elven rope around his neck in The Two Towers.
[4] The official loot taken from Droki is as follows: a potion of healing, a hunk of black material (metal), a collection of dead vermin (roaches, centipedes, spiders, etc.), a coin purse containing 1GP and 10SP (which Fargas secretly swiped before the party knew about it), a lizard-skin journal written in Undercommon, two pouches containing stone giant toenail clippings labeled with the names Rihuud and Hgraam, and a third, empty bag that has Dorhun's name on it.
Fraeya has the satchel and all its contents, minus the coin that Fargas swiped.
Our loot varies a bit from the manual. When I was reading aaron_mag's OOTA fic, I was very confused when his character, Skye, took a pair of boots of speed from Droki—only to later find out they are defined in the manual! Omitting them was part of DM/husband's counterbalancing the extra loot we received from the tomb! I understand, of course, but one can't help feeling a bit salty. Those boots could have come in handy!
I struggled with this chapter because I had to decide how to make minor changes to the storyline. In our original gameplay, Sarith really did clip Droki in the back of the head to shut him up, but he didn't kill him—at least not for the reasons I depicted here in the chapter. Instead, the decision to behead Droki was made by the group as a whole to keep Droki from running to the Grey Ghosts or the Empty Scabbard Killers. After all, it was just a game, so we did not put any true moral thought into that decision.
I want to ultimately portray our heroes as individuals who are chaotic and neutral good/neutral. They might not always do the right thing, but they wouldn't just outright murder a paralyzed, defenseless humanoid—even if he was a nuisance and working for terrible people. So, I decided to use the faerzress to produce the same result. Not only does it richen Sarith's storyline, but now it gives his companions insight as to what he's going through. And I hope it provides the reader (especially those who do not know the campaign module) a better understanding of that as well.