To any and all of my friends who may or may not still be on : I'm sorry.

I'm sorry that I've been radio silent for so long. I'm sorry that I got a near decade long writer's block that absolutely crippled my ability to write. But most of all; I'm sorry that I deleted all records of my previous stories in a crisis of confidence. And when I say all records, I mean all the notes and drafts that would have saved them from the aether. I am truly, unequivocally, sorry.

But alas, I have returned. Though I can not promise a return to the quantity or quality of my stories. Though I can not promise I will even return to the original fandoms I once lived in. And though I can not promise any of my old stories will ever return. I promise to try. I promise I will never again delete my published work that so many have once loved.

Now, with all the sap put away. I proudly present: Wayward Wayfarers: Call of the Netherdeep!

Act I:

A Fateful Competition

Chapter 1:

Festival of Merit

Llyn dexterously weaved through the ever condensing crowd of goblinoids and orc-kin. Children cheered and adults howled as the Festival of Merit was well underway. Hawking merchants were busy selling all kinds of colorful clothing, festival food, nicknacks, and silly souvenirs to villagers and visitors alike. The bustling energy and excitement reminded Llyn of her trip through Hupperdook. Except those celebrations were always at night, this was early in the day.

"You sure this was the street they went down?" Benjicot asked in his gruff voice. "Cause I don't see 'em"

"You're a dwarf, remember?" Llyn retorted as she kept an eye out.

"Duergar," Benjicot corrected under his breath. The old guy was always grumpy and rude, but he cared… in his own way.

Soon enough Llyn spotted who they were looking for sitting at a picnic table in what seemed to be a meat pie eating contest.

"Found em," Llyn gestured toward the table for Benjicot's benefit. Sitting around the table were five individuals. Two halflings, one a man and the other a woman, a drow elf, a scrawny looking human, and an unusually short firbolg.

The halfling woman had barely gotten into her second pocket pie before calling it quits. Two pies later and the drow vomited and the halfling man called it quits not long after. Leaving only the scrawny human and the firbolg.

Both remaining contestants honestly looked pretty sick by the time the fifth pie had arrived. But they fought through slowly and methodically until the human nearly vomited and waved his hand in surrender.

"Of course Dewhert wins." Benjicot commented with pride in his voice. "I've seen the boy put down all kinds of things into his gullet,"

"Hey! Dewhert! Elijen!" Llyn called out to the firbolg and the halfling man respectively.

"Oh!, Hi Llyn, hi Ben!" As a firbolg, Dewhert had the blood of giants and fey within him. Though his height certainly didn't reflect that. As he was as tall as your average human at around six feet. That still made them taller than the rest of the group. But nowhere near as tall as other firbolg ranging from seven to eight feet. His almost bovine face was always smiling and kind-eyed.

"Oi, how'd the client pay?" Elijen briskly asked in his strange accent. Elijen was a halfling, but he was unlike any that Llyn had ever encountered back in the empire. And not just because of the unique accent. Elijen always had a lotus flower or two actively growing in his hair, whether he liked it or not. A trait he believes all halflings have. When Llyn explained that back in the empire no halflings she's ever seen do this, he simply scoffed at the notion.

"The client paid well for the moorbounder hide." Ben answered as Llyn gave them their cut. "Fifty silver each, as promised,"

With the coin distributed; Llyn noticed that they were short a member, "Where's Lostmark?"

-V-

Naturally, the group found Lostmark at the docks watching the fishing boats heading down the river and out into the bay. Lostmark, or L.O.S.T. MRK.1, was an aeormaton from the frigid north. Some kind of mechanical being from a bygone age before The Calamity. They were rusted and heavily damaged but functional when Benjicot met them in Palebank Village. But now… they were still quite damaged as they had no memories of their past life thanks to the large hole in the side of their head.

"Hey, Mark?" Dewhert called out at the aeormaton. Who turned his gaze away from the water to greet their friends. Revealing their pale blue orb serving as the left eye and the almost human looking green ersatz eye, a magical object that replaced their missing eye.

"My friends, I'm sorry if I inconvenienced you," Lostmark apologized in a slightly feminine yet metallic voice, "I was simply admiring the boats as they headed out. I still do not know why I find them so fascinating unfortunately."

"It's okay Mark," Llyn assured the metal being as she offered the coin pouch to them.

"Thanks," The aeormaton accepted the money without a second thought, "So, what should we do next?"

"I heard that there was an arm wrestling competition further in the town," Dewhert suggested.

"What about those horizonback tortoises?" Elijen pointed out, "I saw people riding them in a race of some kind in the town square."

"Perhaps we should do the swimming competition just further down the docks?" Lostmark pointed out the gathering of people that were indeed by the docks.

"Like kids in a toy carver's shop," Benjicot muttered, but Llyn picked up on the amusement in his voice.

"Come on you old geezer," The half-elf nudged the duergar. "I think we all could use a day to relax after that month of moorbounder hunting and bandit routing."

"True…" Benjicot relented as the five friends traveled further into the bustling town to see what awaited them.