Chapter Thirty-Three

The Pieces of a Puzzle

1485 DR / Day 37

Cairngorm Caverns, Gracklstugh

At Kazimir's request, Rihuud led the party to a chamber deep within Cairngorm Caverns. Like the main hall, this room was open and airy, with many tall pillars that reached up to meet a domed ceiling filled with clusters of crystals. But unlike the receiving chamber, this space lacked rich carvings and reliefs and was not suffused with darkness. Instead, the crystals created an illusory trick that bathed the cavern in pale light and illuminated narrow niches carved into every inch of the walls. Each slit was neatly fitted with a single stone tablet. There were hundreds of them, possibly thousands! It was hard to tell as the tablets fit into the niches seamlessly.

Rihuud entered the bright room with ease, thus confirming that it was not all light that bothered the stone giants, just flame. But as Kazimir followed in behind the apprentice, he stopped short in the doorway, for the sight before him triggered a memory. His reoccurring dream of the subterranean library had looked much like this—just on a far grander scale.

Zelyra took notice of the wizard's thousand-yard stare and asked, "What is it?"

"It's like my dream," Kazimir whispered in deep reverence.

"Wait? This is the library?!" the druid replied excitedly.

The tiefling shook his head. "No, not quite. But I think it might be a lead…."

Once the adventurers, Stool, and Rumpadump had filed inside, Rihuud addressed them. "These tablets are a collection of our clan's history and Gracklstugh's relations with other civilizations in the Underdark throughout the ages. Most of what you will find will be written in Giant, so I can translate if needed," the apprentice offered. "You may explore at your leisure. Unless there something specific you are searching for? I have spent many years studying here and know nearly every tablet's location by now."

"I think we're here for him," Fargas said as he jabbed a thumb in Kazimir's direction.

"Hgraam's warning…" the wizard muttered. "A cave with two faces. Rock devoured, and the land overgrown. The pebble believes itself flesh. The earth rejects its wards, and the tunnels shake with fury. It's the cave with two faces part that got me. I think he was speaking of Demogorgon. But what about the rest?"

To the group's surprise, Sarith said, "There are other demon lords beyond Demogorgon and Orcus."

"Yes. I know," Kazimir said as the burning sensation returned to his left palm. He squeezed it out of reflex and glared at the drow as Broot's warning came back to him. "Do you know their names?"

"No," Sarith swiftly countered, recognizing the tiefling's accusing tone. "Do you?"

"No."

Zelyra's gaze flitted uncertainly between Kazimir and Sarith before addressing Rihuud. "I know it's a strange request, but we're seeking information on the demon lords. Aside from the savants worshiping Demogorgon, we also encountered a former companion of ours in the Whorlstone Tunnels who was a secret servant of Orcus…" the druid said with a shudder.

"He renounced his soul and was made a bodak," Kazimir added grimly. "When he made his pledge, a portal opened, and a hand holding a skull-tipped wand reached out to cast the curse upon him."

Rihuud's heavy brow rose in alarm. "This is news."

"I'm not sure we found it relevant during our previous conversations, especially concerning the Deepking," Prince Derendil said. "We began this quest looking for corruption among the Stoneguard at the behest of Captain Blackskull. What we have since uncovered is…far beyond that. So, you can surely forgive us for not knowing what puzzle pieces fit where."

The Stonespeaker apprentice considered the intelligent quaggoth's words. "I doubt our hall of scrolls will contain the information you seek. As I said, this is our clan's history—wait!" He suddenly stopped short. Faster than any of the companions thought possible, Rihuud thundered across the room and began sifting through niches while muttering, "Where is it? Where is it?"

"Where is what?" Fargas asked.

Rihuud did not answer. The apprentice continued to rapidly read through tablets. "Hgraam said it was not a problem of the past or present, but the future…" he privately grumbled. "When the time came, we would know! But if the future is now present…."

"Ah, Rihuud? Are you okay?" Kazimir called out, his dark features twisted in bewilderment.

The stone giant ignored the tiefling's concern and plucked another stone tablet from the walls. As he read the text, Rihuud felt both elation and dismay. It was the tablet he was searching for, but somehow, it had been corroded. Nevertheless, he handed it off to Kazimir. The first paragraph was still legible.

The wizard skimmed the carving momentarily before saying, "It's about the tanar'ri demon princes, and it's written in Common." The announcement was met with many a puzzled brow. Kazimir then read aloud to his companions, "Even after the retreat of the Queen of Chaos and the resulting defeat of the obyrith lords in the age before ages, the Abyss still knew not peace as the tanar'ri fell to war amongst themselves. Former alliances were forgotten as the evolved ones now fought to reclaim the mantle of Prince of Demons, formally held by Miska the Wolf-Spider. Two mighty beings, Orcus and Graz'zt, rose to prominence during this time and contested the title. But in their fight against each other, they were blind to the twisted form that lurked in the shadows. When Demogorgon rose from the depths and unexpectedly claimed the throne, Orcus and Graz'zt were powerless to stop him in their weakened states. And in the ages since, the three princes have been locked in a never-ending battle of—" he paused. "It ends there. The rest seems to have been scratched out."

"Scratched out?" Rihuud echoed in alarm.

The tiefling nodded and pointed to suspicious gouges within the stone. "This is not natural corrosion. This was done purposely with some sort of tool," he said. Rihuud hurriedly took the tablet from Kazimir's hands to examine the damage for himself.

Zelyra pressed her fingers to her temples. "Tanar'ri and obyrith? Queen of Chaos? A wolf spider? Evolved ones? It all sounds like a mess of gibberish to me," she moaned.

"Not necessarily," Derendil countered, his interest piqued. "I think by 'evolved ones,' it means other demon lords. So now we have another name—Graz'zt. And we know he is a direct rival of Demogorgon and Orcus."

Sarith observed Fraeya for a measure, and when the drow female made no move to speak up, he told the group, "Obyrith and tanar'ri are two subraces of demons. The obyrith are the ancient race from which the tanar'ri later spawned. They were virtually wiped out by their own offspring." His gaze then cut sharply to Fraeya. And then, privately through the sending stone, the rogue heard, "All learned drow elves are passably familiar with the history of the Abyss and the kinds of demons that inhabit it. It's taught in the later years of study at Melee-Magthere, Sorcere, and Arach-Tinilith. I'm shocked you were not itching to share that yourself…."

"I was waiting to see if you would willingly participate in a conversation for once," Fraeya replied, fighting to keep her expression neutral. She had, in fact, not known the difference between the two subraces of demons because she had never completed those later years of drow schooling. To her, a demon was just a demon. But Sarith did not need to know that. The rogue thus urged, "So, why don't you just continue since you're doing such a fine job already."

The warrior rolled his eyes.

"Most demons encountered outside of the Abyss are tanar'ri. The chasme and vrock many of us saw upon our escape from…the outpost…are but two examples." Sarith purposely omitted the name Velkynvelve as Rihuud stood among them. Not that the stone giants were likely to turn the escaped prisoners into their drow pursuit, but one could never be too careful. He continued, "There are thousands of different tanar'ri. But some have gained enough power during their lifetimes to control legions of demons. These tanar'ri rule entire levels of the Abyss and are known as lords."

"How many levels are we talking about?" Nine asked.

"666," the warrior answered mechanically.

"And so there must be a great number of demon lords to rule so many layers," the ranger concluded.

"One can only assume," Sarith said ambiguously. "But some have risen beyond that station. Those select few are known as the demon princes." [1]

"I thought you said you didn't know about them!" Kazimir demanded.

"I said that I don't know their names," Sarith said with a blasé shrug. "In our studies, the demon princes were said to be the only threat to Lady Lolth's power in the Abyss. But even with the mantle of Prince of Demons, Demogorgon does not have the power to contest Lolth alone. He'd need the help of the other princes, and they are too concerned with fighting each other to join forces against Her. And so, the Spider Queen holds no true fear of them. They are a mere annoyance, if anything."

"You weren't told their number during these studies either?" Nine asked.

Sarith shook his head. "Demogorgon and Orcus are the only ones I can recall."

"You'll have to forgive his aged brain. Those studies likely took place two centuries ago," Fraeya muttered with a teasing smile. But Sarith glared at her, and through her sending stone, the rogue heard, "At least I've broken triple digits."

"And who says I haven't?"

"Your childish and impressionable attitude."

This time, it was Fraeya who rolled her eyes. She would let Sarith believe whatever he wanted to believe.

"Here's a question I'm sure we've all thought of but haven't voiced aloud—how did Demogorgon escape the Abyss?" Zelyra said shakily. "Was it Bloppblippodd's ritual that summoned him—or something else?"

No one had an answer for that. The room fell quiet as the companions processed the wealth of unexpected information the stone tablet and Sarith had given them. It seemed as though every corner they turned, the evidence mounted. And yet, as Derendil said, they were no closer to understanding how those puzzle pieces fit together than when they began. It was a mystery that seemed to have no rhyme or reason. All they knew was that something had shaken the hearts and minds of many in the Underdark, and the demon princes seemed to be somehow linked to it.

Meanwhile, Rihuud studied the damaged tablet with confusion and worry. As Kazimir suggested, with closer study, the stone giant recognized that the markings that destroyed much of the original text had been done with a tool—likely a chisel. The apprentice's distress was apparent to all the adventurers.

"You look troubled," Kazimir observed.

"That is because I am," Rihuud replied sharply. "Who could have done this?! Not one in our clan would dare to deface a single inch of the Hall of Lore!"

"Have you had any other visitors to the caverns recently?" Fraeya asked.

The apprentice shook his head. "Aside from your group, none have come but the Deepking and Shal—but their last visit was many cycles ago."

Zelyra awkwardly cleared her throat. "You're not suggesting that we—"

Before the druid even finished the question, Rihuud's gaze shot up in alarm. "No! You were unaware of the hall's existence until I showed you. Besides, why would you wish to destroy the one tablet in this room that was supposed to help you? Hgraam is going to be furious…." the giant muttered.

The companions exchanged curious looks. So the tablet had been meant for them to find…?

"Why do you have something like that in your possession anyway?" Kazimir asked, pointing to the damaged tablet for emphasis. "I thought you said this place was dedicated to your clan's history."

The apprentice hesitated as he fought to rein in his emotion and recenter himself. He'd already revealed too much. "It is, yes," Rihuud insisted. "But our Hall of Lore is also dedicated to Gracklstugh's ties to various places in the Underdark. This tablet is a copy, but that is all I can say. It is not my place to say where it came from. For that, you will need to speak to Stonespeaker Hgraam."

The wizard resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Why was that not a surprise? Hgraam seemed to be full of secrets and carefully worded riddles. Rihuud was turning into a close second.

"Are you satisfied with the information you have collected, or do you wish to keep looking?" the stone giant asked as he carefully placed the damaged tablet back in the niche from whence it came.

Kazimir's shoulders sagged. "Yeah, I'm satisfied."

"You don't sound like it," Zelyra pointed out.

"That's because I'm starting to form a theory, and I really don't like it," the tiefling said.

"What kind of theory?" Fargas asked.

"A problem for later," Kazimir muttered absently with a wave of his hand. "Right now, we must focus on our present dilemma—war."

. . .

With their business among the stone giants complete, the companions gave their regards to Rihuud and left Cairngorm Caverns for Gracklstugh proper. Once the group reentered the Darklake District, they stopped by the Shattered Spire for bowls of the tavern's famous blue-cap stew and a few rounds of ale. But little frivolity was had, unlike their last venture to the rowdy establishment. Instead, the adventurers debated their next move as they dug into their dinner and sipped on their tankards.

Captain Blackskull had requested the adventurers strengthen their ties with Clans Ironhead and Thrazgad. Their vote for war was vital. So, to speed up that process, the group decided it best to split their efforts. Zelyra, Derendil, Kazimir, Fargas, and the sprouts would seek out Clan Thrazgad's armor shop in the morning while Fraeya, Sarith, Nine, Balasar, and Eldeth would make for Clan Ironhead's smithery. With that goal in mind, the party finished their meal and returned to Ghohlbrorn's Lair for a must-deserved rest. While they had not physically taxed their bodies that day, the emotional weight of the charge they had unexpectedly been given was enough to exhaust each of them. Even Sarith saw a few solid hours of reverie that night—though not without consuming a full flask of Spiderblood wine. Fraeya watched him drain the shiny container's contents dry before turning in for the night with a disapproving side-eye.

The companions rose the following morning and convened in the common room to break their fast before setting out. But Vanum, Lizva's young assistant, pulled Fraeya aside and told her that a package awaited her. Immediately skeptical, the drow momentarily excused herself and went with the duergar to inspect it. But there was no need to worry. As promised, Captain Blackskull delivered their invisibility potions, a chest containing 4,500 gold pieces—their advance for agreeing to go to the palace—and a scroll of illusion to disguise the dragon egg for transport. A scribbled note accompanying the scroll promised that it was an enhanced version of the common spell. The party would have an hour to get the egg to the palace before the illusion wore off instead of the standard minute.

Fraeya quietly smuggled the goods to her and Sarith's lodgings before rejoining her companions. She made it back just in time for Lizva to deliver their breakfast. Cups of steaming lion's mane mushroom tea were poured into tiny tin cups, and a spread of rothé sausages drizzled with fire lichen and sweet mesh'it sauce, bluebread, crimson moss cakes, and cave jelly was eagerly devoured by the hungry adventurers. Kazimir, Zelyra, Eldeth, and Prince Derendil found themselves finally branching out. As they ate, they unanimously agreed that most Underdark cuisine was not half bad when adequately seasoned by a cook as good as Lizva. And with that in mind, Fraeya called Lizva over for a quick exchange. A short time later, the drow challenged Kazimir to try an arachnidumpling.

"If you think your taste has evolved to Underdark cuisine, then you should try one of our delicacies," Fraeya told the tiefling with a calculative grin. She was feeling rather feisty that morning. The rogue reached for a plate that had just oh-so-conveniently been delivered to the table and said, "Lizva made these up fresh, just for you, as you so gallantly praised her—what did you call it?"

"Revolutionary cooking!" Fargas howled in answer.

"Yes, that's right! Revolutionary cooking. You wouldn't want to go back on your word, would you?" Fraeya said.

The halfling further coaxed, "Oooh, you're in for a treat, buddy! Lizva is famous for her arachnidumplings!" Nine smiled slightly and shook her head at his theatric antics.

Kazimir eyed the plate of pale-colored, squishy-looking dumplings with uncertainty. The taste of mushrooms disguised by spices was one thing—but spider meat? Was there even 'meat' to be found on one?! Beside him, Eldeth gagged and covered her mouth while Zelyra turned slightly green in her seat next to Fraeya. For once, it was not the smell of the meal that affected the scent-sensitive druid but the thought of consuming a dough-encased spider! Prince Derendil, however, was now paying little attention and seemed lost in his private thoughts.

"Tell me yer not goin' ta give in to her wiles, Kazimir!" Eldeth yelped. "Eating spiders is unnatural!"

But Lizva stood nearby with a spark of rare excitement gracing her typically stern features. Kazimir knew then that he could not disappoint their host. After all, it would be rude to refuse a dish she had made explicitly for their table.

The rogue continued her ruse, waving a hand over the plate to further push the spicey scent into her nostrils, and inhaled deeply. "Ah! Delicious!" she claimed.

"Okay, okay, okay! Don't twist my arm or anything…" the tiefling grumbled as he ripped the plate out of Fraeya's hands.

When Kazimir popped one of the dumplings into his mouth, Lizva quietly sniggered to herself as she returned to the bar. The wizard was glad her back was turned—because the audible crunch that sounded as soon as he bit into it nearly caused him to spit it out. And yet, he forced himself to thoroughly chew and swallow.

"How was it?" Zelyra asked.

Kazimir's hands drifted down to his stomach, where already, it was beginning to twist and turn. "Tastes like grass," he groaned. [2]

The druid and many others burst into laughter, but Fraeya tilted her head and asked, "What's grass?"

"It's a type of plant that covers much of the ground on the surface. I suppose your closest equivalent would be moss," Zelyra said after careful consideration. She'd never had to explain grass to a person before.

Fraeya curiously swiped one of the dumplings off the plate and popped it into her mouth. She chewed for a moment, reflecting on the strange flavor, before speaking with a full mouth, "I don't know what you're complaining about, Kazimir. This is delicious!"

Sarith lost control of his detached façade. His stark brows rose to his hairline. It was taboo for a dark elf to consume arachnidumplings. But Fraeya showed little care or remorse as she chewed away on a sacred creature of their people. That single action told Sarith all he needed to know of the rogue's feelings for Lolth—not that he had doubted before. But to be so brazen about it! Was she that comfortable in front of him? Did she think he would not turn her in as a traitor to their patron goddess without a second thought?

But it also made Sarith wonder…

Was she right to show no fear in front of him? Would he expose her if given a chance?

Deep down, Sarith could admit no—no, he wouldn't. Because he secretly hated Lolth and the dominating ways of the matron mothers just as much as Fraeya did. He and Fraeya walked a fine line, dancing between acts of outright defiance and, other times, stubbornly clinging to the indoctrination of the drow.

But Sarith's paranoia grew as Fraeya ate yet another dumpling. He found his gaze sweeping the room, seeking out any other drow or possible emissaries. Fortunately, the common room was all but empty at that early hour. A table in the far corner was occupied by four duergar. They paid Sarith and his companion's little mind. The only other patron was a gnome—notably, not one of the svirfneblin—but a forest gnome with a shock of red hair. A pair of black-rimmed spectacles were perched upon his nose, which amplified the effect of his big, blue eyes. And those eyes were presently fixed in the drow's direction. Not Fraeya or any other of his companions, but Sarith specifically.

The gnome's expression clouded with momentary recognition as Sarith met his gaze. But then he shook his head and turned back to his plate, mumbling to himself.

When the gnome's attention was no longer upon him, Sarith let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Kazimir's obnoxious voice then emphatically cut through his panic.

"It's your turn Zelyra!"

"But you said it tastes like grass!" the druid whined. "Besides, I've eaten a spider before and don't care to repeat that experience."

"Not going to ask…." Kazimir replied with a raised eyebrow. "ButI wasn't there to witness it, so it doesn't count!"

"It was before I met you! How is that any fair?!"

"I'll do it if you do," Nine unexpectedly proposed.

Now that gave Zelyra pause. The fact that the obstinate ranger freely offered to do something impulsive was enough to convince her. "Okay," she begrudgingly agreed.

As others at the table were roped into trying an arachnidumpling one by one, Prince Derendil used the distraction to discreetly garner Balasar's attention. When he had it, the prince nervously cleared his throat and said, "Ahem, Balasar! I was wondering if I might ask a favor."

"Yes?"

"I wonder if I could persuade you to give me the same lessons you gave Kazimir."

A surprised, open-mouthed smile stretched across the dragonborn's great maw to show off rows of shining teeth.

"A fine idea!" Dawnbringer praised telepathically.

But before Balasar himself could respond, Derendil continued to prattle, "My sister was the fighter in my family, not I. Father paid for fencing lessons when we were young, but I was never interested in learning anything beyond the basics of defense. But if my time among you has taught me anything, I cannot afford to fight defensively. I need to fight properly. And by properly, I mean in a way where I am not relying on blind rage or the abilities of this ghastly form. My lack of control has already harmed one of us once. I won't see it happen a second time."

When the prince gestured to the quaggoth skin he was cursed to wear with utter disgust and dismay, the dragonborn's smile fell. Balasar realized then that Derendil's request was one of disinclination; he was ashamed of his undiscipline and felt he had no other choice.

The fighter had briefly heard about how Derendil attacked Zelyra in the wake of the party's battle against Buppido—and by briefly, Fargas barely got out more than a sentence before Zelyra interrupted and pushed the conversation in another direction. But Balasar had seen the gouges in the druid's supple leathers. He reckoned a nasty scar lay beneath.

Derendil saw the gouges too. Every day. There were times when the guilt gnawed at him so much that he found himself staring at his friend's ruined armor in a daze. It had troubled him for a long while, but he was just now gathering the courage to acknowledge it.

"Of course, I'll help you," Balasar said after a measure of silence passed. "But I don't think you should be so hard on yourself. Zelyra doesn't blame you."

"She has every reason to," the prince said bitterly.

Balasar sighed.

"The only person placing blame is you. Until you face that, you'll never be rid of your guilt," Dawnbringer told the distraught prince.

But Derendil disagreed. "I wish to learn to fight our enemy by sword, not teeth and claws," he said, gesturing to the short sword he'd taken from the Stoneguard armory. It was a simple design but was well-crafted and sharp, which was all a sword needed to be.

Balasar acknowledged the sword and said, "After we complete our separate errands this afternoon, I'll ask Lizva if she has any spare rooms we can use for practice. I assume you wish this to be a private affair?"

Derendil nodded.

"Then this will just be between us," Balasar said.

And that was true. The others were still wildly caught up in the distraction of the arachnidumplings. Kazimir had finally persuaded Eldeth to try one, but the shield dwarf ran for the toilets after one bite. Sarith outright refused, so Fargas went next. He and Fraeya were now fighting over the last dumpling on the plate. Thus, the words shared between the cursed elf prince and dragonborn were uttered in complete confidence.

. . .

1485 DR / Day 38

When the companions' unexpectedly dramatic breakfast concluded, they left the Lair, walked up the slope that led to the surface level of Gracklstugh, and found themselves on the outskirts of the Blade Bazaar. Here, the group split as planned. Fraeya, Sarith, Nine, Eldeth, and Balasar turned south, seeking Clan Ironhead's smithery, while Zelyra, Kazimir, Derendil, Fargas, and the sprouts kept due west. But as the second group made their way across the Bazaar, Derendil's attention was suddenly caught by a thatched-roof shack with an overhead sign featuring a spool of thread and a thimble.

"You don't suppose that would be a tailor?" the prince said eagerly. "I wouldn't mind having a look around…."

"Only one way to find out," Kazimir flippantly replied as he changed course for the door.

The four adventurers and their myconid companions entered and found that it was indeed a tailor. The shop was far more expansive than it appeared from the street. One could easily get lost in its organized chaos. Rows upon rows of racks haphazardly filled the space containing all manner of clothing, from cloaks to trousers, linen shirts, utilitarian undergarments, and even a small section of fine robes. Zelyra was instantly waylaid by a sneezing fit as dust and mildew assaulted her sensitive nose. Kazimir and Fargas wandered off towards the cloak section while Derendil was drawn to the finery. [3]

As the prince lightly fingered a deep blue robe that reminded him of his ruined palace garments, he instinctively turned to ask Zelyra's opinion. But the words effectively died on his tongue when he saw the druid now several paces away, continuously wiping at her nose as she rifled through racks of plainer travelers' clothes. "What do you think, Stool? Rumpadump? This tunic looks nice—doesn't it?" she could be heard asking the sprouts, though they likely had no opinion on clothing. Instead, a certain fey mouse scurried to Zelyra's shoulder and began squeaking their approval.

Derendil placed the ornate robe back on the rack with sinking disappointment. Zelyra was thinking sensibly. What good were fine garments in an adventuring lifestyle? It was not as if he, or any of them, would attend a royal gala or function anytime soon. They were about to fight a war! And so, Derendil reluctantly joined the druid and myconids by the travelers' clothes. As he approached, Zelyra sighed in dismay. "I don't think any of these will fit you, Derendil," she said. "I can mend in a pinch, but I'm no seamstress. Most of these would need to be altered."

"Did you say alterations?" a squeaky voice asked.

Zelyra startled and turned but was met with empty space. The druid then looked down to Stool and Rumpadump's level and finally saw the hunched three-foot-tall figure that had snuck up on her. It was a female svirfneblin with sagging dark grey skin and thinning white hair that was pulled back into a simple bun. A pair of thin-rimmed gold spectacles sat on the tip of her nose, and she wore handmade patchwork robes.

"Alterations, yes," Zelyra said when she finally found her voice. She gestured to Derendil and asked, "I don't suppose you have any travelers' clothes that might fit him?"

The deep gnome eyed the hulking seven-foot-tall beast suspiciously before saying, "Clothes for a quaggoth? Don't reckon I do. But if you're making a serious inquiry, they can be made. It'll cost you extra, though!"

"How much extra?" Derendil asked warily.

"For a complete outfit—boots, undergarments, wool breeches, sturdy belt, a tunic with a nice vest or jacket, and an ample cloak with a hood—would run you about five gold pieces. Standard is four gold, but I'd be tacking on extra for the…extensive…alterations you'll need," the shop-keep bartered.

Derendil and Zelyra shared a glance and shrugged. It sounded reasonable. They'd learned that the prices for goods and services in the Underdark were much higher than their equivalent on the surface.

The prince reached into his coin pouch and pulled out fifteen shiny golden coins. "I do not require boots, but everything else is agreeable. I would like spares if you can manage them. How does three outfits for fifteen gold sound?" he offered.

The gnome's brow furrowed. "That's a lot of work…" she tsk'ed.

"But you've already given him your price, and he says he doesn't need boots!" Zelyra cried.

"That was before I knew he wanted three complete outfits! It could take me nearly a tenday to finish. And I have other patrons, you know!" the aged gnome said stubbornly.

Prince Derendil returned two-thirds of gold coins to his pouch and offered the remainder to the gnome. "Okay. We start with one outfit, and when you've finished that, I can place a second order. We will be in the city for…a few more days, at least."

Zelyra's expression twisted. Gracklstugh was about to be ravaged by war. And given how it played out, they might not have the time later—or their freedom, for that matter—if things went south. But the druid was not about to voice those fears in front of a random shopkeep.

"Do we have an accord, Miss…?"

The gnome eyed the five golden coins in Derendil's massive, outstretched hand.

"Gnaddne Tinmender! Throw in an extra gold, and I'll have your first outfit done in a cycle."

The druid's jaw dropped in insult at the old woman's swindling ways, but the prince happily paid the extra coinage without a blink of an eye. Coin in pocket, Gnaddne then gestured for Derendil to follow her to a dusty dressing area to take his measurements. Zelyra was thus left alone with the sprouts and suddenly wondered where Kazimir and Fargas had wandered off to…

. . .

When Kazimir entered the tailor shop, he had a single purpose in mind. It was a long shot, but the wizard had heard tales of ordinary cloaks with magical enchantments placed upon them to protect the wearer. And so, out of pure curiosity, the wizard closed his eyes, wiped a hand across his brow, and whispered a few Infernal words under his breath. Then, when his pupilless, silver eyes reopened, he saw the clothing displayed on the racks in a different sort of sense. Colors were brighter on a few fabrics, and as he searched the store, he noticed one garment that glowed with a similar kind of radiance to Dawnbringer. It was a high-collared cloak, deep purple in color, and looked to be fashioned of some sort of velvet material.

"What's that smile for?" Fargas asked as he sidled up alongside his companion.

Kazimir pointed to the purple cloak, which to his eyes, burned like the power of the sun. "That is a magic cloak," he whispered conspiratorially.

The halfling's brows rose from behind his enchanted goggles. "Those are rare. What kind of enchantment does it have?"

The wizard concentrated momentarily before replying, "Well, it's abjuration magic—so a warding, most likely. But I'd have to attune to it to know for sure. I wonder how much they want for it…."

Fargas and Kazimir searched the ample-sized shop for signs of life for several minutes before finally finding Gnaddne Tinmender in the middle of taking Prince Derendil's measurements. Derendil gave a nod of acknowledgment to his companions as they approached, but the elderly seamstress ignored them entirely. She had three pins clenched between her teeth and was currently draping fabric scraps around her most unusual quaggoth client. Never had she been asked to make clothes for one of the beast folk, much less one that showed intelligence.

"Excuse me," Kazimir began, clearing his throat. "I would like to inquire about your pricing on magical cloaks."

"No magic here," the svirfneblin muttered distractedly. "Everything here is hand done as per the Deepking's new law! So if you want fancy items, you'll have to go someplace else!"

Kazimir and Fargas exchanged a glance, for they knew that was untrue.

"I must have been mistaken… Still, there is one cloak that I am interested in," the tiefling said.

The deep gnome looked up from her work, pins still sticking out of her mouth and her dark eyes flashing behind her spectacles. "Can't you see I'm working, young man! If you want to know the price of an item, you'll have to bring it to me," she said irritably. Then in Gnomish, she continued to grumble, "These young folk! Only thinking about themselves. No patience…can't see that I'm working with another patron—bah!"

Kazimir took the muffled tongue-lashing from the aged svirfneblin with grace. If she wanted the cloak in question brought to her, he would do it. Without a word, the wizard excused himself and returned a few minutes later with it in hand. "It's a beautiful piece and would complement my robes exceptionally," he boasted.

"Whatcha got—" The shopkeep stiffened when she saw the object in Kazimir's hands. The pins abruptly dropped from her clenched teeth and scattered across the wooden planks beneath their feet. "That's not supposed to be out on the floor…" she muttered.

Kazimir's brow furrowed. "Why?"

The svirfneblin did not have an answer that would not also give away her lie. Perhaps she dabbled in some magic, but those items were reserved for specific, trustworthy clientele. Gnaddne, along with many others in the Bazaar, had been forced to adjust their business strategy since the Deepking passed the law which forbade non-duergar to sell magic items in their shops and stalls. The cloak must have been missed in her panic to hide 'non-compliant' items.

"That cloak is 800 gold," Gnaddne said instead.

Kazimir's jaw dropped, this time, in false fury. "For an ordinary cloak? I think not!"

"I spent a lot of time on that one…" the svirfneblin argued nervously.

The tiefling's gaze swept over the shop, noted the vast amount of clothing sitting on racks, the dust which covered many unused spaces, and critically eyed the aged gnome's patchworked clothing. He reasoned that it was likely hard for her to make ends meet in a duergar-dominated marketplace. And judging by the lack of other attendants, she did not have the means to pay for extra help, either.

"I can't do 800 gold, but I'm willing to give you three platinum pieces for it," Kazimir bartered. He was confident the cloak was a magic item, despite the gnome's stubborn insistence that it wasn't, and was willing to make a gamble. Before the aged gnome could argue, he held up a hand. "You and I both know that is thrice the fair price of an ordinary cloak. Plus, I'm sure you don't often encounter customers who offer to pay in platinum."

"P-platinum?" the elderly shopkeep sputtered.

Kazimir reached into his coin purse, pulled out the three shiny platinum pieces he received from his share of Ploopploopeen's horde, and showed them to the gnome.

"Platinum is worth far more than its weight in gold," Gnaddne said, her eyes impossibly wide. "Where did you ever get a thing like that?"

The wizard hesitated. To tell the truth would be to tell the poor, unassuming deep gnome that the platinum was looted from a kuo-toa priest's home in the wake of Demogorgon's devastating attack on Sloobludop. But as Kazimir looked to Fargas beside him, he instead settled for truth and a lie. "I hail from the surface, and my…employer trades in many fine goods. As you say, platinum is hard to come by. Trust me, it pains me to part with it, but it is all I have, and I really do like this cloak," he said while allowing just the slightest pinch of magic to seep into his words.

Fargas fought to contain his smile.

The gnome studied the well-spoken, charcoal-skinned tiefling before her, trying to discern his angle, and yet, she found none. Nothing about him gave away even the slightest hint of dishonesty. While it pained her to part with a cloak imbued with a bludgeoning resistance enchantment for the monetary equivalent of thirty gold, she desperately needed that coin. Most duergar did not want to buy clothing from an outsider. And so, Gnaddne was typically forced to rely on foreign travelers like these folk to make ends meet. But few had made purchases since she smuggled away her magical wares. Travelers were not interested in ordinary garments! They were looking for treasures to aid them in an unforgiving environment.

The Deepking's sudden edict had hurt Gnaddne's business, indeed. But a few platinum might set her back on course. Perhaps she could haggle Clan Hammercane to make much-needed repairs to her shop. "Aye, I'll settle for that trade. But you didn't get it from me…." the elderly gnome said mysteriously.

The wizard eagerly pressed three platinum pieces into Gnaddne's outstretched hand and dawned the cloak with a flourish. It fit like a glove. The deep purple velveteen fabric was a perfect complement to the Kazimir's crimson and gold-trimmed robes, and even Gnaddne had to admit that it looked as if it had been made specifically for him. That helped to soften the blow of such a lowball sale.

Kazimir and Fargas chatted with Gnaddne as she finished the prince's measurements. The elderly seamstress warmed to their eccentric but charming attitudes by the end of the exchange. She even offered them a genuinely felt farewell at their parting. But as Gnaddne disappeared into her private rooms to begin work on Derendil's order, the males suddenly realized they were missing half of their group.

Where had Zelyra and the sprouts wandered off to? They were nowhere to be found in the tailor shop…

. . .

Zelyra saw the beginning stages of Kazimir's haggling with Gnaddne over the mysterious purple cloak from afar and had no desire to stick around. So instead, she left the shop and wandered into the Bazaar. Stool and Rumpadump went with her. The trio found a quiet spot between two vendors within sight of the tailor shop and settled in. The space was warm and well-lit as a brazier hung overhead. Zelyra dawned the hood of her cloak, rested her back to the stone wall behind, and set to people watching. Stool and Rumpadump were tucked in on either side of her while Peanut quietly dozed off in her lap.

Though Blackskull had promised their anonymity, the druid took no chances and tried to make herself and her companions look inconspicuous. Many drow elves perused the open stalls of the marketplace, and it was hard to know if they were allies of House Mizzrym or not. But she was curious and often found her eyes drawn to them. This was the first place in the half-elf's experience that she could watch drow interact with foreigners in a free environment.

Not every shop was enclosed and permanent like Gnaddne Tinmender's was. Instead, most were pop-up tents manned by non-duergar—just like the mysterious tent where Kazimir bought his bag of tricks. All manner of language was spoken, from Undercommon and Dwarvish to a harsher variant of the Elvish language than Zelyra was unaccustomed to—likely Drow—as well as Gnomish, Goblin, and Draconic. It created a menagerie of melodic versus grating sound that was strangely pleasant to listen to. And even though she did not understand half of those languages, the half-elf could supplement by assessing the speaker's body language and reading their expressions to create a narrative within her own head. It was something amusing to pass the time as she waited on the boys, at the very least.

But as Zelyra was caught up in her people-watching, the bustling crowds of the Blade Bazaar were suddenly displaced by a procession of grim-faced Stoneguard using female giant spiders, known as steeders, as mounts. The eight veteran warriors traveled quickly in formation towards Overlook Hold, barely pausing for civilians to move out of their way. The onlooking druid could not help wondering if this was a sign of Captain Blackskull's preparation for war. She watched the mounted cavalry until they were lost in a cloud of dust.

"There she is!" a familiar voice rang out.

"I told you they couldn't have gone far," another answered.

The druid turned and found Kazimir, Derendil, and Fargas strolling purposely in her direction. Kazimir dawned the high-collared purple cloak she'd seen him haggling for in the shop, but Fargas appeared empty-handed, and Derendil's attire would obviously take time.

"I see you got the cloak," Zelyra said to Kazimir as she rose from the cobblestone ground with a big stretch.

The tiefling grinned impishly. "A magic cloak for three platinum pieces? I'll take it."

The half-elf's green eyes went wide. "That's all?"

"Gnaddne refused to acknowledge that it was a magic cloak. So, I paid thrice what an ordinary cloak would be worth," the wizard said with a blasé shrug. "Seemed more than fair to me since she was being stubborn."

Zelyra frowned. "But why lie about its magical properties? Surely, she would want to get her money's worth for her wares."

"Well…she mentioned something about following the Deepking's new laws and was very insistent that all her products were handmade. If Kaz wanted fancy items, he'd have to go somewhere else," Derendil answered.

"Sounds like more evidence of the Deepking's strange behavior," the druid muttered.

The prince nodded. "That was my thought as well."

The unexpected stop at the Gnaddne's shop set the companions back about an hour. And when they finally resumed their search for Clan Thrazgad's armory, they wasted yet another hour hopelessly wandering through the Bazaar—notably, against Zelyra's advice—before Fargas finally broke down and asked for directions. Thankfully, a talkative red-haired forest gnome merchant and his notably bald and beardless hill dwarf partner were all too happy to point them in the right direction. Manitou and Brondiac, as the companions were soon introduced, thoroughly described Clan Thrazgad's storefront and neighboring shops. Manitou then spent a solid ten minute's time attempting to sell the companions on his exotic coffees and teas. They respectfully declined samples but promised to return when they had more time.

With Manitou's detailed directions, the companions finally found Clan Thrazgad's shop tucked away in the far western portion of the Bazaar two hours after they set about their quest. They'd actually passed by the storefront twice during their search! But as the building had no obvious sign hanging overhead and all was quiet from within, it hadn't caught their attention.

"Looks rather dark inside," Fargas said.

"And silent," Derendil agreed.

But Kazimir argued, "We didn't come all this way to turn around!"

"Let's just check it out. Worst case scenario, we get kicked out for stopping by during off hours," Zelyra suggested.

As the group opened the door and hesitantly stepped inside the dimly lit shop, they were immediately hit with a predictable mixture of smells. Leather was predominant, but a sharp metallic scent also hung in the air. The only light source was the great forge at the room's center. Its flickering flames reflected off every bit of metal within the space and cast long shadows that made the shop feel far more cramped than it actually was. Armor of all sorts and sizes lined the walls, from helms and breastplates to grieves, pauldrons, and shields—all in neat order. Zelyra was immediately drawn to the shield wall. Though they were all made of metal, she could not help but appreciate their simple design. So much of what they had seen in Gracklstugh was utilitarian. But there was a subtle beauty to the craftsmanship of the armor on display that made the druid second-guess her opinion of duergar artistry.

Only one worker was in view, a female grey dwarf, and she was hard at work hammering a series of rivets into what looked to be a leather chest guard. She was on the younger side for a duergar, appearing in her mid to late-100s, and wore her stark white hair in a messy crown braid. Her clothing was plain and covered by a thick leather apron covered in stains. But her most startling feature was her eyes, which glistened a bright gold. This was irregular, as most duergar had dull, black eyes that matched their sullen attitudes. This female would prove to be the exact opposite.

As the adventurers entered, the armorsmith lifted her head and assessed them. Then, to their surprise, a blinding smile stretched across her face, and she abruptly dropped her hammer. "Well, I guess the clan won't have to send a search party after your lot, after all!" she said vibrantly.

The companions exchanged confused glances. First, at the duergar's strange, friendly conduct, and second, at the implication that she had been waiting on them.

Luckily, the armorsmith didn't make them wait long before clarifying. She rushed forward, hand outstretched, and said, "I'm Amber Thrazgad—head of Clan Thrazgad. Captain Blackskull said that individuals matching your description might be stopping by. And even if she hadn't, my cousin Ingres told me about you!" [4]

"Ingres. Ingres…" Fargas repeatedly muttered as he tried to place the name.

Derendil elbowed him and whispered, "Ingres was the Stoneguard that first escorted us to Cairngorm Caverns. She told us she was from Clan Thrazgad."

"Oh, Ingres! Right…" the halfling quietly replied. "Sorry, I've slept since then."

The prince rolled his eyes.

Amber continued, oblivious to the hushed conversation, "On behalf of the entire clan, I wish to express our gratitude and give you a hearty welcome. We all stand in your debt for recovering our missing ore."

"Oh—that?" Kazimir said with a wry grin. "Well, it was a sort of on-the-way thing…."

The duergar's eyes widened cartoonishly. "Captain Blackskull reported that you took down four savants and the sniveling rat that stole it!"

It was not clear if Droki had been the one to specifically facilitate the ore theft, but one could assume he played some part. Blackskull clearly believed it. She would not have shared those details with Amber otherwise.

Zelyra's eyes darted nervously around the shop. They appeared to be alone, but one could never be too sure. "It's clear that the captain has shared at least some of our findings with you. The question is, how much? There is much more at stake than recovering your ore," she said.

"And if we are to get into that discussion, perhaps we should move to a more private setting," Prince Derendil added. The druid shot an appreciative nod his way. They were on the same wavelength.

The duergar's cheerful disposition dampened. "Captain Blackskull doesn't plan to aid my clan as promised?"

Kazimir held up his hands. "That's not what we're saying. Recovering your stolen ore is but one of many moving parts. Perhaps we should take my colleague's advice and move to a more private setting," he said smoothly.

Amber crossed the room and triple-latched the front door. She then turned to the four adventurers, and their myconid companions with her hands pressed to her hips in such a way that oddly reminded them of Fraeya. "This is as private as you'll get. Unless you wish to present your case for war in a closet," the armorsmith said dryly.

The companions exchanged tentative glances. Once again, they wondered how much Captain Blackskull had already divulged to the head of Clan Thrazgad. Could they speak freely? Moreover, could they trust Amber?

Blackskull seemed to think so…

"For us to do that, we need to know precisely what the captain has shared with you already," Fargas countered.

"She told me that our missing ore was discovered in the hands of the Council of Savants and asked for representatives of the clan to be present at a council of war—I assume to take revenge against the derro," Amber said.

The halfling cringed. "Well, that's…half of it,"

"What more could there be?" the duergar exclaimed.

"More," Fargas replied. "A lot more."

Long-winded notes ahead…

[1] One of the biggest peeves I have developed with the module since I started writing The Grey Warriors is *all the lore* that the Out of the Abyss module (and 5e) ignores. I can't get too far into my rant, as certain plot threads have yet to be revealed, but…

…I think there needs to be a clear distinction between demon lord and demon prince. They are not one and the same. I recently managed to get my hands on a 3e guidebook called Fiendish Codex 1: Hordes of the Abyss. It was very illuminating, and I plan to work several things from that book into this narrative to help drive the overarching plot.

[2] This entire scene stems from real-life experience. Our favorite local pub is known not only for its food and house-brewed beer but for Malört. If you've never heard of it, I'm not surprised. Malört was first introduced to Chicago in the 1930s by a Swedish immigrant. It can still be found in some Chicago-area taverns and liquor stores but is hard to find elsewhere in the United States. We don't live in Chicago or anywhere near, so the fact our little pub has it is a big deal.

Let me start off by saying Malört tastes terrible, and it lingers… But our local pub has turned it into a rite of passage. The owner and his wife will take a shot with you, the bartender, other regulars at the bar, etc. Nobody actually enjoys it. But watching a person's face when the bitter taste hits them is so funny. A good friend dramatically claimed that Malört tasted like grass on his first try, and the joke stuck.

[3] All I could think of when describing Gnaddne's shop is the leather shop at the Renfair that DM/husband visit every year. The building isn't that big, but it has three or four separate rooms filled with SO MUCH COOL STUFF. It's easy to wander off into a nook and cranny to look at something and lose the rest of your party.

[4] I can't exactly recall Amber Thrazgad's word-for-word role-play with the group, but the supplement describes her as "a 158-year-old duergar who is boisterous and wisecracking, and who believes in a strong sense of community." Did I hit the mark?

Balasar and Eldeth were the ones who originally found the 'badly damaged book' in the stone giant's library. Kazimir teased that "he didn't know Balasar could read." To which Eldeth instantly replied, "He can't. It's a picture book." As much as I wanted to squeeze that roast into the library scene, it didn't fit. I reconciled by mentioning it in my end notes.

I had every intention of delving much further into the political plot in this chapter, but then arachnidumplings and Gnaddne happened. Why did I turn Malört into arachnidumplings instead of some Underdark equivalent liquor? I couldn't tell you. And why did it unravel into a 2k scene? Again, no idea. These characters write themselves sometimes, I swear… I think it turned into an unexpected opportunity for Sarith, Balasar, Dawnbringer, and Derendil's characters to see some development while also serving as a nice break from the doom and gloom of former chapters.

But then I did the thing. Perhaps I should have titled this, 'the shopping episode.' Gnaddne was a character I also didn't expect to create. *Kazimir originally intimidated a random shop owner into giving what was supposedly a 'non-magical' cloak away for 5GP.* But after establishing an elderly gnome tailor in this narrative, I couldn't in good conscience have Kaz outright steal from her (even though their agreement is still bordering a gray area). So I embellished and threw in some platinum. The character had it in inventory, and Gnaddne is getting a rare item out of the exchange.

In a recent game of the homebrew campaign DM/husband and I currently play in, our party struck a deal with an elderly merchant for a "buy-five-get-one-free" sale on health potions. My cleric elected to pay her share in platinum pieces. The old woman was floored to see the platinum and, to our absolute bewilderment, decided it was what she needed to finally retire. She abruptly packed up her things, left the key and deed to the shop in my character's hands, and went whistling out the door. So, now our party owns a random apothecary. I 'borrowed' that idea and used it to give Gnaddne a reason to agree to a lowball offer for the cloak—aside from her not wanting to risk these strangers ousting her illegal dealings to the Deepking.

Overall, thoughts are appreciated. This chapter went in a 180 direction from what I originally outlined…which is probably why it took twice as long to write…