Previously…

"There are eight derro in the room that we can see. So be on your guard. Fargas and I will go in first and sneak as close as we can to the obelisk. Someone else needs to go after the egg on the second rise, however. There is one guard continuously circling it," Fraeya quietly informed the group.

"I'll go for the egg," Sarith muttered. Again, his companions beheld him with expressions of surprise as it was rare for the drow to volunteer to go to straight to the front lines.

"I'll go with you," Eldeth offered.

The drow gave her a brief nod of acknowledgement.

Kazimir reached into the tan drawstring bag at his side and removed one of the fuzzy puffballs from inside. This one was brown and white in color and as the wizard tossed it back into the darkened cavern behind him, a giant weasel appeared to aid him.

Fraeya stared at the huge, fuzzy creature in horror. "What is that?!" she hissed.

The wizard shrugged nonchalantly. "A giant weasel?"

Fraeya opened her mouth to further question him but then promptly shut it with an exasperated shake of her head. "Nevermind—let's just rescue this damn egg so we can leave this godsforsaken place," she muttered.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Best Laid Plans

1485 DR / Day 35

The Obelisk Room

Whorlstone Tunnels, Gracklstugh

Best laid plans are typically foiled. Fraeya and Fargas made it no further than a few feet into the obelisk room before they were spotted by two derro spies lurking on a shelf above the entrance chamber. The rogues quickly found themselves under crossbow fire. Fraeya launched a return shot at the derro on the right while Fargas took aim at the spy on the left. One of Fargas's arrows missed, but Fraeya's all met their mark—the drow's eyes had quickly become accustomed to the room's light.

In the frenzy of the surprise attack, it didn't occur to either Fraeya or Fargas that was exceedingly strange for a dark elf.

The spy on the right quickly fell, so Fraeya shifted her aim to aid Fargas. Between the two of them, the derro on the left was soon peppered with arrows. Finally, they toppled over the shelf to fall at the rogues' feet. The entire skirmish lasted only a few heart-stopping seconds.

Fargas made a noise of disgust as the body landed and the bones crunched. The sound was loud and seemed to echo through the entire chamber. The female derro examining the obelisk stopped scribbling in her notebook, and the hooded figure circling the egg on the adjacent tier spun around to face the entrance. The six derro guards spread out on the mesa began preemptively loading their light repeating crossbows. The adventurers' presence was now very much known.

"A DROW!" the female derro shrieked in Undercommon. "INTRUDERS!"

Fraeya cursed under her breath.

"Fire at will? Balls to the wall?" the halfling playfully asked his scowling companion.

"No—change of plans," Fraeya said.

To Fargas's astonishment, the drow walked forward and held up her hands. "We won't attack if you don't. We just want to talk," she called out in Undercommon.

"What are you doing?" Fargas hissed.

Huddled within the shadows of the entrance tunnel, the rest of their companions were thinking the same thing.

"Is she mad?" Kazimir asked quietly.

"Shush!" Zelyra murmured. "I think she's buying time. They haven't seen us yet."

As Fraeya took another step forward with her hands raised, the cloaked figure near the egg loaded their own crossbow and aimed it at her.

"STAY WHERE YOU ARE!"

The voice was raspy but sounded to be male. It was hard to make out their form under the hood and cloak. But they were short—shorter than a typical duergar by far—meaning this was likely another derro.

"And what? We are to just shout to each other from afar?" Fraeya drawled roguishly. "I said I wanted to talk!"

"WE HAVE NO INTEREST IN DROW LIES!" the female derro shrieked wildly as she drew a twisted wand from her sleeve. This was also pointed at Fraeya. "YOU INTERRUPT MY WORK. YOU SUFFER!"

Fraeya rolled her eyes. "Well, if you're going to play that way—" [1]

The drow sighted her shortbow and aimed for the female derro's heart. Simultaneously, chaotic spellfire blasted from the twisted wand. At first, it looked like a tiny mote of light was streaking towards Fraeya. But as the light grew near, it expanded and crackled with lightning energy. The drow instinctively dove out of the way, and the spell instead struck a baffled Fargas.

As the electricity rocketed through the halfling's nervous system, he fell to the ground, seizing. When he recovered a few moments later and wearily stood, Fargas shot a glare Fraeya's way and grumbled, "Thanks for that."

But the drow was not listening. The arrow she shot had flown wide of her intended target. As the mage fired off another spell from the twisted wand, Fraeya rushed into the room and threw her back against the lower tier of the mesa for cover as the guards began firing towards the entrance chamber. Fargas instantly darted after her. Fortunately, most of the derros' shots missed as Fraeya and Fargas were outside of a light crossbow's standard range and aided by cover. The mage's spell instead struck empty space and exploded with bubbling acid. Both halfling and drow were glad to have avoided it.

Before Fraeya or Fargas could sneak in a return shot, a streak of bright flame originating from the entrance chamber arced across the room and detonated in the center of the mesa. Hellish flames erupted in a twenty-foot radius, spreading across all corners and engulfing several derro guards. The female mage dove for cover behind the obelisk, but errant flames still singed her robes. Sarith and Eldeth then charged out of the darkness and made for the tier containing the dragon egg, just as they had planned. Derendil barreled out shortly after with a giant weasel in tow and headed for the rise that held the obelisk, mage, and guards. In both cases, it was a bit of a slogfest as both groups continuously dodged attacks from the derro who held the high ground.

"Kaz sure can cast one hell of a fireball," Fargas laughed as he ducked out from the wall just long enough to take a shot against the cloaked figure guarding the egg. His attack caught the cloaked figure in the shoulder blade, but it did not even slow them down. Instead, they planted their feet, drew two daggers, and awaited Sarith and Eldeth's impending arrival.

"Guess it's the devil in him," Fraeya mused as she fired at the female mage. Again, the derro ducked and rolled. The attack just grazed her.

As Fargas's back hit the rise again, he asked, "Do you reckon that mage is one of the savants that Blackskull warned us about?"

"Could be," the drow said shortly. "But I'm not really in the mood for conversation right now, Fargas."

"Okay, Ms. Grump," the halfling drawled. "You weren't the one struck by lightning!"

"Should've moved faster," Fraeya shot back.

When Fargas's jaw dropped in outrage, the drow gave him a wink to let him know she was teasing him.

"Oooh—just you wait. I'll get you back," the halfling promised.

No sooner had the words left Fargas's lips did their poor fortune turn. A dome of greenish-blue ethereal light surrounded the savant and highlighted her form. One of the nearby guards was also affected. It was a spell Fraeya recognized and knew well—Faerie Fire—an innate drow magic. Anyone encased by the light made for an easy target. But neither she nor Sarith had cast the spell, leaving Zelyra as the likely culprit. A wizard wouldn't have access to such magic.

Immediately following the attack, two arrows came from the darkened entrance chamber to strike the mage. One of those arrows transformed into a mass of thorny vines that ensnared the female. She wriggled and shrieked, but the vines held firm. With every intake of breath, the vines squeezed harder, and the thorns pierced her flesh. Still, the mage struggled. Still, she shrieked. The mage was a fiercely determined foe if any.

The guard that was outlined in greenish-blue light was tackled by Kazimir's giant weasel and savagely bitten. They soon lay dead on the first level of the spiraled rise. After that, Derendil began engaging guards on the plateau one by one, with the weasel acting as backup. The further up the slope the prince climbed, the more frenzied his movements became, showing that he was once more losing himself to the animalistic rage of a quaggoth. His strikes came twice as hard, twice as fast, and the poor, underequipped derro guards scarcely could get a hit on him with their hooked shortspears. Not that they tried! Instead of fighting back, the guards obediently fired off rounds against Sarith and Eldeth as they rushed toward the dragon egg. Apparently, the egg was the derros' priority—not the obelisk. Thus, a trail of carnage was left in the prince and weasel's wake.

Fraeya launched yet another attack against the savant, which Fargas copied as he did not have a clear shot against the cloaked figure guarding the egg. Fortunately, Sarith and Eldeth had finally met them head-on. The drow and shield dwarf were met with a bitter sweep of daggers. And even Sarith, who had trained for two hundred years in the art of swordplay and had personally combated the most infamous enemy of Menzoberranzan, had trouble avoiding the stinging bite of those blades. Of course, it did not help that the strange light effect of the room half blinded him!

For every two strikes Eldeth and Sarith made, three more came back from the cloaked figure—whom they now saw was a dead-eyed male derro. And worse still, the derro was slicker and more of a trickster than any either had ever before faced. He bobbed and weaved through every attack Sarith and Eldeth threw his way, taking only minimal damage from what should have been brutal strikes. They had thought Buppido a swindler, but he held not a candle to this sadistic creature.

The breaking point came when the dead-eyed derro sneakily struck out with his foot and caught Eldeth in a powerful up-swing of her axe. She lost her footing and tumbled back. Her head hit the stone, and she did not get up.

"Is she—?" Fraeya asked Sarith via sending stone.

"Unconscious," Sarith replied shortly, and the rogue noted that even his telepathic thoughts sounded winded…

"I'm going up there," Fraeya decided.

"I'll come—"

The drow cut Fargas off before he could finish. "No, you're all that stands between them, our spellcasters, and the sprouts."

"But Nine is with them," the halfling countered.

Fraeya's lips twisted in a frown. "Yes, and she's hiding like a coward."

"She's being cautious," the halfling reasoned.

"There's a difference between caution and inaction. Sometimes you must take risks," the drow said unapologetically. "In case you haven't noticed, we're losing ground! Defending the spellcasters and the sprouts is one thing. But hiding in the shadows? That is inaction. There is much a ranger could do to aid in this scenario."

"If you'd been through what she's been through—"

But Fargas's words died on his tongue as he realized he spoke to empty air. Fraeya was already gone. The drow sprinted towards the second rise, where the dragon egg lay, and began a long slog up the spiraled pathway to aid Sarith. All the while, she dodged enemy fire from the few guards who remained after Derendil's assault. Fargas shook his head and drew back the string of his shortbow once more. He would give Fraeya as much cover as he could as she made the ascent.

. . .

Prince Derendil tore through the remaining guards and reached the derro savant just as she broke free of Nine's binds. The female turned on the raging quaggoth and swiftly gestured with her twisted wand. Derendil did not even hesitate. He charged forth to his detriment. A long line of lightning burst forth from the rod to cut down the prince and his giant weasel ally—who had miraculously survived this long, but no more. The conjured weasel disappeared in a poof of ethereal smoke.

Derendil, however, staggered as his vision went white. Jolts of lightning sparked, charred his fur, and ignited his already ruined robes. But rage spurred the quaggoth forward. He blindly swiped at the mage, only to be met by more spellfire—literally. The female stored her wand and held her thumbs together with her fingers outspread. A thin sheet of flame spewed from them to lick at Derendil's vulnerable form and enhance the already damning effect of the lightning. Now, the prince saw red. The beast completely and utterly took over to defend himself. A howl tore through his throat as he ripped into the shrieking derro mage with a blind vengeance.

Back in the entrance chamber, Kazimir, Zelyra, and Nine watched the intensifying situation in trepidation. Prince Derendil faced the mage alone, in close combat, and there was little the spellcasters could do that might not risk hurting their raging companion as well. On the second peak, Fraeya had reached Sarith. But neither drow could make a sound attack against the cloaked figure and their spinning blades.

The situation was quickly spiraling. The wizard, druid, and ranger could no longer hold back in shadow.

"He's lost himself again," Kazimir said, referring to Derendil.

Zelyra knew that she could not leave her friend without backup. By the look on his face, the prince likely could not take another magical hit. Any healing she might give him would only stave off the inevitable. It wasn't much, but the druid sent a push of restorative magic his way regardless. What he truly needed was physical backup. But the distance between them was too great for her to reach on foot, even if she dashed. She needed to be faster, much faster.

"I'm not leaving him up there to fight alone," the druid stubbornly told the ranger and wizard.

"What if he attacks you again?" Nine warned.

The druid grinned ferally. "Don't worry. This time, I won't be prey," she said.

And before either of her companions could ask what her plan was, the druid's bones began to pop and crack in that distinct yet sickening way that signified she was about to change forms. The half-elf's vision sharpened as she dropped down onto all fours, and sleek, golden fur sprouted from her body. Strength, twice that of what she was used to, filled her. And when she opened her mouth to call out to Derendil, to let him know to hang on, a panther's spine-chilling scream escaped.

The transformed forest cat furiously pawed at the ground and sped off in a golden blur. Within a blink of an eye, she reached the mesa and, with another feral scream, clawed her way up the steep tiers one at a time. Upon reaching the top, the cat stopped just long enough to assess her prey before pouncing. The panther and the savant tumbled back in a flurry of bony limbs, sharp claws, and golden fur.

The savant tried to scurry away. As her back hit the obelisk, the terrified derro thought to cast a climbing spell on herself. She could scale the structure and magically perch out of the quaggoth and yowling feline's reach. It was the best the mage could do as she had expended her more deadly spells against the quaggoth—whom she had thought was alone! The screaming golden panther's appearance had utterly thrown the savant off her guard.

But the mage did not get the chance to so much mutter the briefest of incantations. Instead, shrieks filled the cavern as the panther hungrily closed in on her prey. It was over quickly. With just a few more brutal strikes of the golden feline's claws, followed by a wicked bite, the mage's cries abruptly fell silent, and her frenzied attempts to break free ceased. Zelyra would worry about the moral ramifications of mauling another humanoid to death later. At that moment, she reasoned that she had done what was necessary to protect her companions and retrieve a stolen item from terrible people. [2]

As the panther stalked away from her kill, she vigilantly observed the quaggoth. His rage was lessening—for the moment. Derendil had used the druid's distraction with the savant to lick his wounds and regroup. His breath was calming, his eyes no longer held that terrifying predator glare, and he made no move to attack the transformed druid. It was a good sign! Zelyra reasoned that perhaps during his mental contemplation throughout the past two days, the prince had found a way to control his affliction.

"Zelyra? Is that you?" the prince asked weakly. He might have made a significant victory in his self-control, but it did not change the fact that he had come away from battling the mage very wounded.

The golden panther cocked her head at the question. But then again, none of her companions had seen her feline form before. When the cat made a long, drawn-out yowl of affirmation, Derendil chuckled. But there was no time to further discuss the druid's beast-shaping abilities. A shout from the other side of the cavern caught their attention. One look and the panther took off like a shot. Derendil reacted half a second later and struggled to keep up in his injured state.

Fraeya lay unmoving on the ground next to the dragon egg, bleeding from a wicked gash to the head. Sarith had managed to lure the dagger-wielding individual away to a lower level of the mesa, but he was fading fast. He had taken a jab to the gut at one point. Blood poured from the wound. The warrior's movements, his focus, were all defensive now—anything to keep himself up, alive, and moving.

The prince had barely made it down the pathway from the obelisk by the time Zelyra crossed the rickety bridge connecting the two tallest tiers of the mesa. Rather than going for Sarith and the dagger-wielding derro, the transformed druid ran for Fraeya. Zelyra made a split-second decision as soon as she had a close-up view of the thick, crimson blood staining the drow's silvery locks. The druid willingly switched back to her half-elven form and knelt by her unconscious companion. Her core magic was running low, but she did have an alternative for healing.

As she cradled Fraeya's head, the druid roused the fey pool of healing energy that lay dormant within her. It was not something she often disturbed as it was…different from anything anyone else in her Circle could do. And that frightened her. How could she have an ability that the combined minds of Laucian, Naitha, Ansron, Artana, and Bael, did not understand! But use it she must. If she and her companions did not stop this dangerous, cloaked individual soon, one of them would surely die. Die. Not merely fall unconscious. Derendil, Sarith, Fraeya, Eldeth, Nine, Fargas, or Kazimir. It didn't matter. Too much had happened between their group now. No matter what reservations the druid might have held about some, she could not constitute any of their deaths.

As the druid coaxed the stagnant waters of that fey pool to churn, it reacted to boil and roil. She pushed all of it, every last drop, Fraeya's way. Zelyra knew just how good of a shot the drow could be. Much better than her, at any rate. Panther or otherwise. Plant life burst from the ground beneath the unconscious drow. But this magic was almost a physical thing. Instead of spectral, silvery vines, these were twisted, knotted, and inky. [3]

The druid shrieked in alarm as the vines reached out to touch the drow, for they looked familiar. They reminded her of Neverwinter Wood—and not in a good way. But the blackened vines did not harm Fraeya. Instead, they did the complete opposite. They healed, just as if Zelyra had used a common potion or healing spell.

The druid had not the time to contemplate it. Fraeya's silvery eyes fluttered open just as the dead-eyed derro slashed again across Sarith's stomach. And as the warrior leaned forward wheezing, the derro used the diversion to bash the handle of their dagger into Sarith's temple. That was the ticket. After all that he'd endured, Sarith dropped like a sack of potatoes.

Seeing her fellow drow fall, Fraeya scrambled to her feet and instinctively drew her bow—just as Zelyra had hoped. The druid again called upon her fey magic. This time wreathe the cloaked figure in Faerie Fire.

"Your aim will be true," Zelyra encouraged her companion. "Take them out. Do it now!"

With a snarl, Fraeya drew back her bowstring and held for a breath before loosening her fingers. The arrow seemed to arc across the room in slow motion, and yet, at the same time, it was over in a blink of an eye. The arrow embedded itself in the center of the hooded individual's forehead, killing them instantly.

"Do you have a way to revive them?" Fraeya asked Zelyra as their final enemy fell.

The druid hesitated. "A little…but I used most of my healing magic on you," she admitted.

"On me?!" Fraeya echoed incredulously.

"You're a good shot!" Zelyra replied.

But was that the only reason she had saved the drow?

A month ago, the druid would have left both Fraeya and Sarith for dead, seeing as their kind were not only responsible for the slaughter of druids from her Circle but the abduction of her adopted father. But now…

Now, Zelyra saw a different side. She observed bits and pieces of misguided people—raised and bred in darkness, unloved, and indoctrinated with backwards beliefs that confused her. The druid understandably despised the individuals that had raided Neverwinter Wood and dared to harm her people. For them, there was no compassion or remorse. Instead, the druid vowed to make those dark elves pay if she ever found out who they were.

But as for the drow amongst their unlikely group, Zelyra felt some empathy for them. Perhaps even an ounce of camaraderie in Fraeya's case. Yet, the half-elf also justly feared them. After all, blind trust had gotten her and Zelphar kicked out onto the streets of Mirabar as children. It was a mistake that Zelyra would not make again.

"I have a health potion that I can use on Sarith," Fraeya said, which broke Zelyra from her inner contemplation. The drow continued, "But it's the only one I have left. I can't do anything for Eldeth."

"I think I have just enough magic left to get her up. She'll be exhausted and feeling the full brunt of her wounds, but she'll be cognizant at least," the druid replied tiredly. "Anything more, for both of them, will have to be tended to by hand. Perhaps I can get Nine to—"

"Just tell me what needs to be done, and I will see it through," the drow briskly offered as she left Zelyra's side and stalked over to Sarith's unconscious form with her only health potion in hand.

The half-elf watched Fraeya walk away with a slack jaw.

. . .

While Fraeya and Zelyra tended to Sarith and Eldeth, Kazimir, Nine, and the sprouts left the entrance chamber and met up with Fargas at the bottom of the rise that held the dragon egg. Together, they wound their way up the pathway and soon found themselves standing before the massive object. No one amongst the adventurers had seen an actual dragon egg before. The red-speckled thing was over five feet long and taller than Fargas. The halfling had to stand on his tiptoes to reach the top of it.

"It didn't think it would be so big," Kazimir muttered in disbelief.

"That's what she said!" Fargas sniggered.

The tiefling immediately joined in the halfling's laughter, but Nine rolled her eyes and tapped her foot against the stone floor rather impatiently. "I think the better question is—how are we supposed to get it out of here?" she said.

Fargas shrugged. "Roll it like a boulder?"

"Sounds exhausting," the ranger replied. "And conspicuous."

"Well, do you have a better idea?" Kazimir asked.

"No," Nine replied.

The wizard threw up his hands and made an exaggerated gesture.

"The ranger has a point," Prince Derendil said as he joined the small grouping.

The others winced as they saw the extent of his wounds, his charred greyish fur, and singed robes. There was no question that the cursed elf-lord would need new attire once they returned to Gracklstugh proper. Fortunately, his robes and thick pelt had taken the brunt of the fire damage, leaving the sensitive skin beneath unharmed. But the foul, burnt smell that wafted from him now…

Oblivious to their pitying stares, Derendil continued, "We passed the Grey Ghosts' barracks on the way in. Surely someone would hear our efforts."

"Zelyra could cloak our steps again," Fargas suggested.

Kazimir shook his head. "I don't think so," he said.

The wizard prompted the others to look to the second level, where the druid and Fraeya knelt on either side of Eldeth to wrap gauze around her head. Nearby, Sarith sat propped against a rock with his hand pressed against his bandages to help staunch the bleeding.

Kazimir continued, "I bet Zelyra has expended most of her magic between the fight and healing."

"Precisely! And that's even if the egg will fit in the tunnel! It was a struggle enough for me to squeeze through in some places. I can't imagine rolling a five-foot-long object down it," the prince said.

"Then we just leave the egg and let the Keepers figure it out," Nine said flippantly.

"And let the cultists reclaim it?" Kazimir countered incredulously. "I think not. We'd be back at square one!"

"I wonder what they were doing with the egg in the first place?" Fargas mused. The halfling then pointed to a series of sigils and ruins carved into the flat pedestal that the egg sat upon. Then he asked, "Kazimir, can you read these?"

The wizard's gaze swept across the runes for the first time, and he instantly frowned. "Some. They're Abyssal in nature—" Immediately the others groaned. "—but the writing is so rudimentary that it's hard to make everything out for certain. Based on what I can read, the rituals were meant to corrupt and disfigure."

"Corrupt and disfigure the egg, you mean," Prince Derendil said.

Kazimir swallowed heavily and then nodded.

"Corrupt and disfigure…in what way?" Nine asked.

This time, the wizard shook his head, implying he did not know.

Several workbenches were scattered across the top tier of the plateau. A quick search revealed several things—unsystematic notes, ritual circles drawn in ink, blood, and ichor, vials, and burners. There were also various spell reagents, including chunks of black metal, hair and nail clippings, lizard scales, fungi picked from the walls, and what appeared to be the heart, brain, and kidneys of a small humanoid. All in all, it was nothing good. Kazimir cast a language confirmation spell upon himself to read the notes.

"Haven't we seen something like this before?" Nine said as she picked up one of the nuggets of metal. Crates filled with the same substance sat next to the workbench.

The tiefling looked up from a disturbing entry he was reading and studied the strange rock for a heartbeat before it suddenly came to him. "Droki's satchel," the wizard breathed. "There was a similar piece of black metal in his bag. I think Fraeya has it."

"It looks like the same material that the obelisk is made out of," Prince Derendil observed. "Or at least parts of it."

"I think you might be right, prince," Kazimir confirmed. "But I think we have a bigger problem…."

"What's that?" Fargas asked.

The wizard frantically waved the paper he had been reading before Nine interrupted him. "I believe I am close to success, but only time will tell. The effects need several weeks to gestate," he read. "Whatever they did to the egg, I think it's too late to stop it."

It was quiet for several moments as the group digested that troubling information.

"We should search all of the bodies," Fargas suggested anxiously. "The mage was scribbling in a notebook whenever Fraeya and I entered the chamber. Perhaps reading it will give us a clue as to what experiments they were conducting."

The small group split then. Fargas went to look at the body of the dagger-wielding derro while Kazimir scurried over to the neighboring rise to examine the obelisk and search for the mage's notebook. Prince Derendil went down to see if he could assist Zelyra and Fraeya…and perhaps seek a little healing for himself. Stool and Rumpadump went with him.

Nine looked over the guards. Those poorly equipped, ragged derro had little on their persons—perhaps a few copper pieces and some arbitrary weaponry. The ranger frowned upon seeing the sad state of their crossbows and hooked shortspears. Never would she be caught dead with such a poorly crafted weapon.

Fargas, meanwhile, found several items of note on the dagger-wielding derro, including a brand that signified him as a high-ranking member of the Grey Ghosts, the local thieves' guild of Gracklstugh. It was a brand that the halfling was well familiar with. While he had only hinted such to his companions, this was not Fargas's first trip to Gracklstugh. Nor would it be the last. It was part of his agreement with his employer, unfortunately.

"Well, at least Eldgrim and his crew will be happy that we fulfilled our end of the bargain," the halfling muttered to himself as he warily took in the slew of slain bodies.

The Empty Scabbards would indeed be pleased by the kill count. But it was not as if Fargas and his companions had set out to slaughter everyone in the obelisk room just to get to the dragon egg! It just…sort of…happened that way.

Aside from the brand, Fargas also found a handful of papers stuffed in the master thief's pockets. After a quick skim of the Undercommon writing, the halfling surmised that they were letters from individuals called Aliinka and Zubriska, instructing someone named Uskvil—presumably, the master thief—to aid a 'Pliinki' in her experiments with the eggand research ontheobelisk. Each of these letters had a 'Y' shaped symbol stamped onto them near the signature line.

From this evidence, Fargas took away three things. First, the female mage was likely Pliinki. The second had him leaning more in favor of Themberchaud's demands. The egg needed to be destroyed. Whatever hatched from it would likely not be a mere wyrmling. The halfling could not be certain, but he had suspicions based on the 'Y' shaped symbol. It was not hard to connect it to other strange occurrences. More specifically, an otherwise peaceful stone giant suddenly springing a second head and attacking the city… And as for his third revelation, according to the letters, the Council of Savants had fully taken over the Grey Ghosts. Aliinka and Zubriska led the thieves' guild along with Uskvil. The entire guild was now under the protection of the savants.

It was a lot of information to take away.

Unfortunately, the obelisk's purpose was not mentioned in any of the letters. Fargas looked over to the strange, obsidian structure. Kazimir was hunched in front of it, rifling through the mage's belongings. The halfling sighed. Perhaps the wizard would make better sense of that part of the puzzle.

. . .

Kazimir struck gold on the mage—not literal gold, unfortunately—but the next best thing. Physical evidence. The derro's notebook was teeming with more damning proof against the Council of Savants. Captain Blackskull would be very pleased.

As Fargas had suspected, the mage was indeed Pliinki. She was second-in-command to Narrak, the leader of the Council. Notes and letters exchanged between the pair indicated that the experiments Pliinki had been conducting on the red dragon embryo were meant to give the dragon a second head, wherein upon success, it was destined to be presented as a gift. The notes did not specify to whom, but the wizard's gut feeling was that the two-headed nature of many strange happenings in Gracklstugh was not a coincidence.

Had the companions not feared that Demogorgon's terror in Sloobludop was just the beginning of something that would spell really bad for the Underdark? Had they not feared the cults would spread? Gracklstugh was proof that it undoubtedly had. Somehow, the Prince of Demons also had followers within the city.

Was Orcus not enough?

"Two demon lord cults," the tiefling muttered. "Great…just great."

More than ever, Kazimir longed for home, for the familiarity and safety of the surface. But there was no use dwelling on homesickness at present. The wizard tucked the savant's notebook into his satchel and came to stand before the obelisk. Immediately, the vision from the evening before came back to him in full force. He saw it again, with his waking eyes, in startling clarity.

He then found himself standing before the obelisk. The cloaked figures were gone. He was there, alone. The tiefling peered closely into the shiny black surface, saw his horned reflection, and reached out to touch it. As his hand made contact, the world around him erupted in hellfire, and a sudden bright light encased the entire cavern. Voices called out in confusion and worry, but it was dark. So very dark.

But as the vision faded and Kazimir's hand came to touch the obelisk's surface, nothing happened. There was no explosion of light, no hellfire, nothing. Instead, his dark fingertips scraped against cracked stone. And that, in itself, was odd. Now standing so close to the structure, Kazimir saw several imperfections. Repairs had been attempted by filling the cracks with the same strange black ore found in Droki's satchel and by the workbenches near the dragon egg.

Kazimir closed his eyes and let his understanding of the Weave surge through the structure. What was it? What did it do? For ten long minutes, he concentrated on an identification spell. All that the wizard came away with was the obelisk leaked quasi-magical energy. Feeding any sort of magic to the column would activate its dormant power. But what that latent power was anyone's guess.

The tiefling really wanted to know what that latent power was.

Suddenly, it all clicked. The vision, the hellfire, the light. He was supposed to activate it. It was probably not the best time to test such a working theory, but, in the end, Kazimir's unsatiable curiosity got the better of him. "Fraeya is going to kill me for this," he murmured with a mischievous grin.

Kazimir held one hand against the obelisk as a ball and waved his crystalline staff with the other. A rolling ball of flame burned into existence and slammed into the structure's other side.

The wizard's companions looked up in alarm as the raging sphere of hellfire appeared. But none of them could adequately react before the magic made contact.

Immediately, a piecing, bright white light filled the cavern. Wind gushed through the adventurers' ears—loud, howling, and unmerciful. Their bodies seemed to twist and be pulled in all directions. Their stomachs felt like they had dropped to their toes. But the light was so blinding there was no recollection of time or space. The entire disorienting experience could have lasted hours or mere seconds. There was no way to know for certain.

When the light faded, the companions found themselves in a totally different space, not within the Whorlstone Tunnels at all. Instead, this place better resembled the tunnels outside of Gracklstugh proper. The companions lay in a haphazard heap—some seated, some laying. Fargas, notably, found himself draped over Nine's lap. The halfling shot the auburn-haired half-elf a flirty wink as he clamored to his feet. But overall, they were safe, unharmed, and whole.

Whatever dormant magic Kazimir had activated from the obelisk had teleported the companions somewhere outside the city…

…but not all of them.

. . .

1485 DR / Day 35

The Assassin Headquarters

The Whorlstone Tunnels, Gracklstugh

A loud bang resounded through the assassins' headquarters as Eldgrim threw his shoulder against the adjacent doorway and forced his way inside. There, the grizzled duergar froze as he was met with a conflicting sight. The chamber had once been home to the Grey Ghost's alchemist. As such, it was expected to see workbenches, potions, and the like. But the master's twisted additions…well, they set the hardy duergar on edge. It was one of the reasons he typically avoided Qualax's quarters like the plague.

Eldgrim and all the other assassins were well aware of the master's twisted experiments. They lived with them now—intellect devourers, cranium rats, a mindwitness—but to see the work-in-progress firsthand? That was a whole different matter.

Qualax's ultimate prize also lay hidden away in this chamber. It was the first time Eldgrim had seen it. Up until now, he had followed Qualax's orders without question. But now? He wanted to back out of the room and run. Part of him wanted to leave the guild entirely and start anew someplace else. And yet, the assassin knew there was no backing out now. He, and the guild, were all in too deep.

After all, how could one say no to an illithid master?

Eldgrim and the others had survived this long—which was more than their former leader could say. All they could do was buy their time and pray that they did not end up a meal.

Qualax did not bother to look up as Eldgrim barged into the room. A puff of smoke arose as the illithid used one of its facial tentacles to pour a bubbling potion into a brine pool at the far western corner of the workshop—its hands were currently occupied by a notebook and quill. Within the pool lay a brain and a handful of tiny eggs. Qualax's current focus was the brain.

The brain had originally belonged to the Empty Scabbard Killers' former leader, Lorthio. But no longer. The illithid had seen to that. One day, the fledging elder brain would mature under Qualax's careful guidance. And once the other tadpoles finally hatched…well, Qualax was eager to be amongst their kind again. They had plans. Great plans.

"What?" the illithid's voice dissonantly hissed in Eldgrim's head.

A shiver ran down the duergar's spine. And though Eldgrim knew it was the only way the illithid master communicated with them, it still put him on edge.

"They've stolen the contracts!" the assassin said.

"Who?" Qualax demanded.

Elgrim wished to respond with, 'Who do you think?' but obediently answered, "The mercenaries."

Still, Qualax did not look up from their work with the fledging elder brain. "Good," it said simply.

"Let me make myself clear. It was not just any contract—it was the contract," Elgrim sputtered in disbelief.

Still, Qualax did not react in alarm. If anything, they seemed even more unperturbed. "Let them try to convict him. Let them start a civil war within Gracklstugh," the illithid murmured. Then they rose and turned to face their second-in-command fully. "Believe me, I will revel in it!"

Turmoil within the City of Blades would only lend to Qualax's plans. The city would be weakened. It would be easier for the illithid to take control then, to find healthy hosts for their tadpoles, and to build a sister city to Cyrog.

Qualax had only been a tadpole at the time of Cyrog's death. But they had still been a part of the hive mind and, thus, had all the memories of every illithid connected to the elder brain. Cyrog, the city's ancient elder brain, had inexplicably died, and the entire city mourned it.

But then a rift had opened, and a hulking, horned figure that reeked of putrescence stepped forth. It raised a skull-tipped wand and pointed it at the dead elder brain. The brain pulsated, and there were sudden flashes of purple energy beneath the grey, rotting flesh. Cyrog was reborn. The entire city had kneeled before the horned figure as the elder brain spoke to them again, telling them that Orcus, the Demon Prince of Undeath, had saved Cyrog and commanded the city to follow them into undeath.

At first, Qualax had cursed those few illithid that had dared to flee from the savior of Cyrog. Those cowardly traitors had taken Qualax and several other tadpoles away with them. But upon reflection, Qualax now saw the larger picture. They had an opportunity.

Qualax had been dropped as the others swum across the Darklake. The tadpole had floated listlessly through the dark waters for days until they were drawn to psionic energy near Gracklstugh. They wiggled through cracks beneath the city, ever drawn to that energy, to eventually find themselves in the faerzress-infused Whorlstone Tunnels. Qualax had then wriggled their way into the ear of an Empty Scabbard Killer. From that point on, there was no going back.

The unfortunate victim had tried to fight it, but Qualax hungrily ate away at the duergar's brain matter to replace it. The process erased all the subject's personality and memory but left the physical body alive and under Qualax's control. A week later, ceremorphosis was complete, and Qualax emerged, full of vigor and eager to create their own colony beneath Gracklstugh. They would willingly offer it to the Demon Prince of Death!

Two illithid cities under the demon prince's control.

Orcus would be pleased.

"So, you are just going to let them keep the contracts? We are to do nothing?" Eldgrim asked incredulously, breaking the illithid from their rampant thoughts.

"The adventurers have their use to us," Qualax hissed. "You are to let them carry out their task without interference."

Eldgrim bit his tongue to keep from spewing forth expletives.

The illithid was aware of the assassin's anger but frankly did not care.

"Do not worry. They will learn their lesson," Qualax coaxed. "Maybe not this day. Maybe not this month. But they will pay for stealing from me. You see, I exercise patience, which you are sorely lacking."

Eldgrim spun on his heel and left the illithid's quarters. He was sure to slam the door behind him as he went. Call it foolish—but the scarred duergar was far more afraid of the Deepking's wrath when he found out his hit list had been exposed than an illithid master.

Qualax narrowed their eyes as the traitorous thoughts grazed their mind. They stared furiously at the closed door of the chamber as the sudden urge to feed washed over them. Never had Eldgrim questioned the illithid's motives or orders. On the contrary, he had been a faithful second-in-command until this day. And that presented a problem. Qualax could not stand for that type of behavior spreading to the other assassins. There could be no doubt. The Empty Scabbard Killers would fear Qualax and only Qualax.

The illithid rose and swiftly strode towards the closed door. The adventurers would not be the only ones to pay for waywardness. Qualax would make an example out of their faithless second-in-command.

[1] We really did try to talk with the derro before outright attacking them, but they had absolutely no interest in treating with us.

[2] Have you ever heard a cougar scream? That is one thing I wouldn't want to hear while walking around the woods at night.

Game Mechanics: This choice is congruent with our gameplay. I chose the panther form because they have a 50ft movement/40ft climbing speed. So, by dashing, I could get 80-100ft in one turn, depending on the terrain…pretty great, huh? And if you move 20ft in a turn and hit with a claw attack, you can knock the target prone and make a bite as your bonus action. Admittedly, I didn't utilize animal forms often—not that kind of druid—but when I *did* it was to capitalize on their abilities, not necessarily for the damage they could inflict.

Obviously, I can't remember every action or spell a character took in combat, so I have to make some of this up. After I wrote this scene, I rolled the damage for everyone's attacks to see if I was even close to an accurate playthrough. Ironically, Kazimir's Fireball damage (halved, as it is implied the savant made their DEX save) and Nine's two arrows (including Ensnaring Strike damage) alone took the savant from 36HP to 7HP, meaning Derendil could have *easily* taken her out without Zelyra's assistance. But somehow…I remember the battle against her taking much longer. Either DM/husband upped the HP on the savant stat block, or we missed a lot of attacks :D

[3] Game Mechanics: I'm utilizing the (druid) Circle of Dreams' Balm of the Summer Court ability here. For those who are unfamiliar with it…

"At 2nd level, you become imbued with the blessings of the Summer Court. You are a font of energy that offers respite from injuries. You have a pool of fey energy represented by a number of d6s equal to your druid level. As a bonus action, you can choose one creature you can see within 120 feet of you and spend a number of those dice equal to half your druid level or less. Roll the spent dice and add them together. The target regains a number of hit points equal to the total. The target also gains 1 temporary hit point per die spent."

^^ And this, my friends, is why I *love* Circle of Dreams druids :D

That class's abilities, in conjunction with a dip in Grave Domain (cleric), is how Zelyra kept most of the party alive.

Wishing you all a very Merry Christmas!