Previously…
"We should go," the prince said quietly. "Hgraam is waiting."
Kazimir hesitated. There was something about the empty look in the duergar's eyes, something he could relate to… If he could pull himself out of the spiraling abyss that was grief and loss, Kazimir had to believe this guy could too. On a whim, he reached into his satchel, plucked three pearls from the strand he had claimed from the spoils of Archpriest Ploopploopeen's horde, and dropped them into the duergar's lap. It wasn't much, but it was something.
"May that help you get back on your feet," the wizard said as he quietly followed, and then the three went on their rest of their companions were now long gone.
"That was very kind of you," Derendil said softly as they walked.
Kazimir shrugged. "Yeah, well, I know that pain."
The prince had the decency not to press, but Zelyra's heart squeezed in her chest as she suddenly recalled a detail of Kazimir's past that he once shared in confidence.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The Dreamwalker
1485 DR / Day 41
Laduguer's Furrow, Gracklstugh
The sad pattern continued as Zelyra, Kazimir, and Prince Derendil made their way westward to Cairngorm Caverns. Destruction, death, silence, fear… The once bustling city of Gracklstugh was rank with it. What should have been a ten-minute walk quickly tripled due to the damage the red dragon, Themberchaud, had wrought.
And yet, there was one bright spot amidst the fallout—
Gracklstugh was already starting to rebuild.
The petty war that had broken out between clans was forgotten. Duergar, who had been at each other's throats, needlessly spilling blood mere hours before, now rallied together and stoically worked side by side to put out fires, clear the streets, and search for trapped victims. The trio did what they could to help along the way, which slowed them even further.
As they navigated the wreckage of the southern housing district, Zelyra's sharp eyes fell upon a figure lying near a collapsed building. The druid gasped and rushed forward. Derendil and Kazimir hurried after her. The body that Zelyra had found was none other than Grinta Ironhead.
Not only had Grinta been one of the co-conspirators of Blackskull's coup—she was Laird Thangus Ironhead's only daughter. [1] The once proud and fierce weaponsmith now looked so small and fragile, her armor cracked and scorched. Further search revealed Grinta's honor guard trapped among debris. The elderly priest who presided over their Heroes' Feast was also there. He lay flat on his back, his dark eyes trained upwards, lifeless and unseeing.
They had never asked the priest's name, let alone thanked him for the powerful adjuration magic that had undoubtedly saved their lives in the throne room…
And now they never could.
"How did it come to this?" Kazimir muttered.
"Pride was allowed to override reason," Prince Derendil replied, his head downturned. "No side would have come out of the coup without substantial loss. But they knew that, I think. Blackskull, Amber, Grinta, and the other lairds who sided with them… Themberchaud knew it, too. That's why he chose to attack when he did. It was his best and only chance. This was a battle that neither side could have won."
"They didn't deserve this," Zelyra said as she dropped to her knees beside the priest and reached out with trembling fingers to close his unseeing eyes in respect. "None of them did," the druid muttered. She then brought her hands to her mouth in a gasp. "Poor Blackskull! She must—"
Zelyra left the conclusion of 'guilt' unsaid.
But both of her companions knew what she meant.
"Yeah," Kazimir breathed.
The wizard reached into the pocket of his robes for the small, polished stone that connected him to Captain Errde Blackskull. He hesitated, his thumb rubbing its smooth surface before relaying the news and location of the bodies. Blackskull's response was swift and clipped, but the tiefling could tell it significantly weighed on her.
"I will send a recovery team immediately."
There was a slight pause, and then—
"Thank you for letting me know, Kazimir," the duergar said softly. "Stay safe. We've lost too many already."
Not for the first time, the tiefling wizard warred with himself internally. Surely, they could have done something more. Or perhaps they should have done the opposite and turned their backs on Blackskull, washing their hands of the duergar city altogether when they had the chance. But a nagging voice in Kazimir's subconscious that sounded suspiciously like Fraeya argued that Gracklstugh would have been worse off had they done that. If they had not exposed Shal, if they had not broken the succubus's hold and returned Deepking Horgar to his right mind—
Themberchaud's attack would have devastated the City of Blades.
And that effect would not have been limited to Gracklstugh. Had the duergar city fallen to the dragon, it would have had untold consequences on the entire trade infrastructure of the Underdark.
"Any news of Amber Thrazgad's whereabouts?" the wizard finally asked.
"None," the captain replied curtly.
The link between the sending stones fell silent.
Kazimir sighed. It was strange, given that their interaction with the head of Clan Thrazgad had been limited to just a few short meetings, but the tiefling felt as though a rock had settled in the pit of his stomach. Had the fiery armorsmith met the same fate as Grinta Ironhead?
The wizard took another deep breath and then released it. Around them, the duergar continued their grim work, cleaning the streets and tending to the wounded. There was resilience to them, some stubborn determination to keep going despite all odds. Kazimir had come to respect it during their time in the city. They might not see eye to eye on specific policies—the slave trade, for one—but these were a people who had built their lives in the harshest of environments, who had carved out a place for themselves in the unforgiving Underdark. They would survive this, somehow.
Kazimir shared Blackskull's message with the prince and Zelyra, and it was decided that they would wait for the recovery team to collect the bodies, even if it ultimately delayed their journey to Cairngorm Caverns. It just felt wrong to leave them. And so, they stood vigil until finally, a patrol of Stoneguard approached them. The lieutenant had a thick beard and sharp eyes. His stern expression softened as his gaze fell to the bodies at their feet. It was a rare glimpse of the grief that he, too, was carrying.
"We'll take it from here," the lieutenant said gruffly, but his voice showed a hint of respect. "Thank you for finding them."
"Thank you for seeing to them," Prince Derendil replied diplomatically.
"Has Laird Ironhead been informed?" Kazimir asked.
The lieutenant dipped his head. "Aye, I believe so. That's always the hardest part…"
Soon after, the bodies of Grinta Ironhead, her honor guard, and the duergar priest were borne away by the solemn-faced soldiers to the temple of Laduguer. There, they would receive their last rites and be entombed with the honor befitting their sacrifice.
The trio stood by and watched, the scene pressing down on them like the dark plumes of smoke that seemed to perpetually shroud Gracklstugh. There was nothing more they could do here, no words that could ease the pain of what the duergar had been through. And so, with one last look at the departing figures, Kazimir, Zelyra, and Prince Derendil turned and continued toward Cairngorm Caverns, where Stonespeaker Hgraam awaited their arrival.
. . .
Ghohlbrorn's Lair, Gracklstugh
Fraeya, Sarith, Nine, and Broot—the latter carrying an incapacitated Fargas—pressed on to their intended destination. To their dismay, the common room of Ghohlbrorn's Lair was eerily quiet when they entered. Chairs were overturned, and tables were knocked askew. Trays of forgotten food had begun to attract scavengers, small and shadowy things that lurked and skittered in corners. The bar, likewise, was in disarray. Broken glass littered the floor, and the remnants of spilled drinks slowly seeped into the wooden-planked floor below. There was not a soul in sight; not Lizva, not young Vanum, not even a wayward drunk patron.
"Where is everyone?" Fraeya asked. The drow's stomach growled traitorously as she stared at a discarded bowl of blue cap stew. "What a waste of perfectly good chowder…"
"Not here, obviously," Sarith muttered. But his crimson gaze scanned the room for hidden threats, and his hand rested on the hilt of one of his swords—just in case. "They must have evacuated during the attack."
"Duergar do not evacuate," Broot promptly corrected. "Every abled body would have rallied to protect the city."
"Not everyone," Nine replied. Many of the torches that lined the tavern walls had been snuffed, but the half-elf's darkvision caught a pair of boots peeking out from beneath a nearby table. "There's someone under there," she said.
"Are they hurt?" Fraeya asked.
Nine crossed the space and crawled under the table to investigate. The stale stench of alcohol was evident. It practically rolled off the unconscious—but still breathing—duergar in waves. "Oh, this guy is way past three sheets to the wind," the ranger said. "Wonder how long he's been out?"
Sarith and Fraeya exchanged a glance.
"Three sheets to what?" the female drow echoed.
"Drunk. No, beyond drunk! He's been marinating in it," Nine said with a grimace.
"I said able-bodied," Broot reiterated. "That one is clearly unfit."
"Well then, he really isn't our concern, is he?" Fraeya ranted. "The poor sap will wake up with no more injury than a hangover. Hells, he might not even realize there was a battle! That is more than the rest of us can say. I would certainly like to wipe some of today from my mind…"
The drow's spiel caused the group to sober. Yes, many things had occurred that day that they would all like to forget. And yet, to forget would also be an insult to Balasar and Eldeth's memory. After everything, even Sarith felt a flicker of remorse at their loss.
Nine quickly crawled out from beneath the table. "Let's check our rooms and ensure nothing's been taken," the ranger said, swiftly changing the subject. "Post-battle is prime time for looting."
The group bypassed the bar and wandered down the narrow halls of the underground tavern. Broot carried Fargas gently, mindful of the halfling's fragile state as they passed each door that led to shared spaces, such as the kitchens, the storeroom, and the bathing chambers. Everything appeared intact, with no signs of forced entry or ransacking. Finally, the party reached their own stretch of rooms. A quick peek inside the first, the space Fargas, Kazimir, and Derendil had briefly shared with Balasar revealed nothing out of place—though Fargas was not exactly coherent enough to confirm it.
"Where should I put the little one?" Broot asked, lifting his arms slightly to emphasize the unconscious halfling.
"I think rest is best," Nine replied. She pointed to one of the bunks and said, "That's his bed, I believe."
Broot slowly lowered Fargas onto said bunk.
"Gently!" the ranger barked.
Broot's head snapped up to look at her. "This is gentle…"
"Not nearly gentle enough," Nine bit.
The warforged made an exaggerated effort of slowly tucking Fargas into bed. The poor guy was so out of it that he did not stir. "Was that gentle enough for you?" Broot asked once the halfling was settled.
The ranger sniffed. "It'll do."
"Guess you care for the little guy, huh?"
Nine glared at the construct and then left the room.
Broot shrugged and turned to the drow elves lingering in the doorway. "Well, I delivered my quarry. If there's nothing else, I should return to Cairngorm Caverns," he announced.
"Of course," Fraeya replied. Then, hesitantly, she added, "I… I hope Rihuud is okay."
Broot straightened. "I hope so, too."
Fraeya and Sarith exchanged a measured glance before moving on to their lodgings and found it much the same. Everything was precisely how they'd left it. And so, the drow elves joined Nine at her doorway. As the ranger turned the key and the door creaked open, the trio was instantly hit with the sight of Eldeth's cot. Many of her belongings were scattered across it—a stray hand-axe, a half-carved wooden figure, the small mirror she'd used to check her braids—as if the shield dwarf had left them in a rush, intending to return. [2]
But there was no returning now, not for Eldeth.
What are we going to do with her things?Nine thought bitterly. Or Balasar's. Both lost, both gone. But before the ranger could voice those thoughts, a sudden movement caught her eye. Two small forms were huddled in the shadows near Eldeth's cot—Stool and Rumpadump, the myconid sprouts. They were clearly frightened; their small bodies trembled as they clung to each other.
The sprouts bolted for Nine as soon as they noticed her, releasing bright red plumes of distress spores. As the telepathic connection flared to life in the ranger's mind, their frightened emotions flooded her thoughts.
Scared! So scared!
Nine knelt instinctively, catching Stool as the sprout nearly collided with her. She cradled the small myconid in her arms while Rumpadump pressed close to her side. "Shh, it's okay now," the ranger whispered, her voice soft. "You're safe. We're here."
Fraeya, standing just behind Nine, exchanged a flabbergasted glance with Sarith. The half-elven ranger was…unquestionably…temperamental and pragmatic. But there was a tenderness in the way she comforted Stool and Rumpadump now that neither drow would have ever expected from her.
"Didn't expect to see nursemaid behavior from you," Fraeya said.
"They're just kids… in their own way," the ranger bit back.
"Aaaaand she's back," the rogue drawled. Fraeya then tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. "Huh. Do myconids even have ears? How did they know what was happening?"
"They don't hear the way we do," Sarith answered, his arms folded firmly against his chest. "Myconids sense vibrations. They likely felt the attack through the ground." [3]
Fraeya blinked, digesting the information. "That explains a lot," she said. "No wonder they're so scared."
Once Stool and Rumpadump were settled, Fraeya and Sarith returned to the common room. Nine would remain with the sprouts and vowed to check on Fargas occasionally—"Just to make sure he is still breathing," the ranger the drow elves entered the space, they found it still eerily quiet. The unconscious duergar had mysteriously vanished and there was no sign of anyone else, so Fraeya and Sarith helped themselves to supper from the Lair's storerooms. They left compensation for their plundering on the bar top, hoping Lizva would eventually return.
The dim light of the common room cast long shadows as the drow sat alone at one of the wooden tables, picking through their modest meal of dried meats, mushrooms, and some questionable stew. The silence between them was comfortable in its own way. But then Sarith's gaze flicked to Fraeya as she silently gnawed on the last piece of dried meat on her plate. The rogue understood immediately. He had long since finished his own meal, but as was the norm in drow society, the warrior waited for her direction.
And so, she gave it.
"The others haven't returned from Cairngorm."
Sarith gave a nonchalant shrug, his crimson eyes half-lidded, making it hard to tell if he was indifferent or simply exhausted. Knowing him, it was likely a bit of both.
"I'm sure they're fine."
"Well, someone should probably wait up for them."
The warrior sighed, clearly not eager to get involved in emotional handwringing.
"If you wish," he replied evenly.
There was another pause, during which Fraeya stared into the flickering torchlight beyond them as if contemplating something deeper. "Will you… wait with me?" she eventually asked. Sarith's sigh was louder this time, but wordlessly, he adjusted his posture and settled back into his chair.
The hours dragged on, the quiet of the Lair unnerving in its stillness. Fraeya tapped her fingers on the table, her thoughts drifting. Had something gone wrong at Cairngorm? Was Rihuud okay? Her unease grew—gods, why did it bother her so much. The rogue was nearing the breaking point of voicing her traitorous fears when, at last, the door creaked open. Lizva, the surly duergar barkeep, entered with young Vanum trailing behind looked exhausted, their faces drawn and haunted.
Fraeya's silver eyes met Lizva's, but neither said a word. Instead, a quiet understanding passed between them—the city had seen far too much loss today. Both duergar quickly made themselves scarce. Lizva did not even pause to collect the coin the drow elves had left on the counter.
And so, Fraeya and Sarith settled in again.
Half an hour later, the door thudded open a second time, and in strode Captain Errde Blackskull, her heavy boots echoing against the stone duergar captain looked even more worn than the last time they had seen her; the weight of command clearly bore down on her shoulders. Her dark eyes swept over the two drow elves as she approached and gave them a slight nod.
"Just you two this eve?" the captain asked, her voice gruff.
"Just us two," Fraeya confirmed.
Errde didn't waste time with pleasantries. "Amber Thrazgad has been found alive," she began. "But she's badly wounded. We duergar do not have anonymity like you... We did not penetrate the Whorlstone Tunnels far enough to retrieve Clan Thrazgad's ore, nor did we prevail against the Council of Savants. The resistance of the derro was too great. We plan to heal our wounded, then regroup for a secondary assault."
Fraeya side-eyed Sarith. Neither had any interest in sticking around for another assault. Blackskull must have sensed their reluctance, for she quickly added, "I have no plans to ask for your help again. You've done more than enough."
"So, Amber's alive. What about Grinta Ironhead?" Fraeya asked.
Blackskull's expression flickered, and she hesitated. "Do you not know?" she asked.
"Obviously not," the rogue replied flatly.
Errde cursed under her breath. "Grinta fell," the duergar captain admitted heavily. "Her body was found by your own companions as they traveled to Cairngorm Caverns."
The news hit Fraeya like a punch to the gut, but she swallowed her emotions, keeping her face as stoic as 's what she had been taught from a young age. Show no emotion. Those who fall in battle are weak. They deserve death. And yet, after today, the rogue could no longer rationalize that. Balasar. Eldeth. And now Grinta, too.Another loss on an already staggering list of proud warriors. All of them—gone.
"Have your companions not returned?" Errde asked.
"No," Fraeya said. The drow pointedly added, "And we have no way of contacting them as you still possess our other sending stone."
The captain sighed. But before she could address that matter, Sarith cut in with another. "What about Xalith?" His voice was sharp, cutting the tension like a blade.
"Xalith?" Blackskull echoed, clearly thrown by the change in subject.
"Yes. We upheld our end of the bargain—" Sarith began.
"And then some," Fraeya chimed in.
"Our agreement was that you would allow a private audience," the warrior finished.
Errde's expression darkened. "Yes, I remember. But that will be difficult to uphold. Xalith escaped," she said. "Whether someone on the inside released her or she managed to find an opening in our defenses during Themberchaud's attack, I do not know."
"Escaped?"
The word came out like a growl, a low and dangerous rumble. Fraeya's stark brows arched in disbelief, but Errde straightened and stared the warrior down contemptuously.
"We have all experienced frustration and disillusionment today," the duergar said measuredly. "We have all felt loss." Her tone suggested she was not in the mood to coddle anyone—especially not a moody drow. "I do not tolerate traitors within my Stoneguard, and I certainly do not accept lapses in our security. I will investigate this breach, but nothing can be done now. I have far more pressing matters to attend to."
And with that, Captain Errde Blackskull turned on her heel and stalked out of the Lair with her dark blue cloak billowing behind her.
Fraeya glanced at Sarith, watching as his hands balled into fists.
"Was that necessary?"
"Yes."
"Now? Hours after the battle?"
"Yes."
"It could not have waited until tomorrow… when everyone, including ourselves, has had a moment to breathe and process all that has happened this day?"
Sarith's gaze fell to the planked floor, and he did not answer.
"Why did you need to speak with Xalith anyway?" Fraeya pressed. "Who is she?"
"That's none of your concern," the warrior snapped as he turned away.
Fraeya watched him retreat, frustration bubbling inside her.Fine,she thought,keep your secrets.The rogue sighed and leaned back in her chair for a third time, vigilantly awaiting Zelyra, Kazimir, and Prince Derendil's return.
It wasn't worth the fight. Not now.
As Sarith disappeared down the corridor to their chambers, he nearly collided with a groggy Fargas, who was stumbling out of his own room. Sans darkvision goggles, the halfling pressed a hand to his forehead and looked up at the drow, blinking wildly in confusion as his hazel eyes adjusted to the dimly lit conditions. "You look like you swallowed something sour," Fargas mumbled, his voice still thick with sleep.
"I'm going to bed," the drow spat, brushing past the halfling without another word.
Fargas scratched his head. "What's gotten into him?"
Back in the common room, shuffling feet soon caught Fraeya's attention. Fargas wandered in shortly after, rubbing his hazel eyes like he'd just awakened from a long, restless sleep. He blinked blearily at the rogue before plopping himself down on a nearby chair with a grunt.
"What's up with dark-and-moody?" the halfling quipped, referring to Sarith as he stretched out, his short legs dangling off the edge of the chair.
"You've traveled with us long enough to know how he is," Fraeya said.
"Well, your former companion was right to give Sarith that nickname."
The rogue's expression tightened. "Jimjar… His name was Jimjar."
Fargas nodded, but his usual energy was subdued. His face grew more somber as he gazed into the dim room. "You know, I had the most gods-awful dream," he murmured, his voice soft and distant. "I dreamt of Themberchaud and the throne room. Balasar and Eldeth. They were fighting, and then… Then they were gone. Like… like they died."
His words trailed off, filled with a sadness that hadn't settled into acceptance.
Fraeya's heart sank. The drow stared at him for a long moment before she finally spoke, "It wasn't a dream, Fargas."
"It wasn't…?" the halfling repeated, his face paling.
Fraeya shook her head. "No. It wasn't."
. . .
Cairngorm Caverns, Gracklstugh
Gracklstugh's housing district on the south side of Laduguer's Furrow was a maze of tunnels and stone architecture, but the path that split westward to Cairngorm Caverns was unmistakable. The air grew cooler as the oppressive heat of the forges gave way to a more serene, earthen atmosphere. Massive stone pillars rose from the ground, each carved with the likeness of giants, their faces weathered but resolute. Two towering stone giants, younger than most, stood guard at the cavern's entrance. "Stonespeaker Hgraam is expecting you," one of them rumbled, his voice deep and resonant like the shifting of tectonic plates. He stepped aside, gesturing for the approaching trio to enter.
"Thank you," Kazimir replied, inclining his head slightly as they passed.
The interior of the stronghold was just as awe-inspiring as its exterior. The ceilings stretched high above them, and their footsteps echoed against a smooth, polished stone floor that housed veins of precious minerals that ran like frozen rivers of gold and silver. Zelyra was here to answer Stonespeaker Hgraam's summons. Kazimir and Prince Derendil had accompanied her, but none of them knew exactly what to expect. The day had already taken much from them: friends, hope, a sense of security. As they walked deeper into the shadows of Cairngorm, the druid's heart thrummed with trepidation.
"I don't know if I'm ready for this," she whispered to Kazimir.
The tiefling wizard looked at her, his silver eyes glowing faintly in the dim light of the cavern, and offered a reassuring smile. "You'll be fine. Whatever Hgraam sees in you… he's right. You've got this."
Zelyra wasn't so sure. She had healed people before—mended wounds, soothed burns, even cured poison. But this… if it was indeed a resurrection? Well, that was something far beyond her realm of experience.
"We don't yet know what Hgraam's task for you is. You are merely going off Blackskull's word," Derendil said as if reading her dismal thoughts—though, more than likely, Dawnbringer was giving him insight. "The Stonespeaker has asked for you to come, and it is only right that you answer the call. It doesn't matter if you think you can do it or not. The right path is not always the easy path."
"But what if I fail?" the druid asked miserably.
"You won't know until you try," Kazimir said. "But you fail automatically if you do nothing."
As they passed a large meeting room, the group abruptly stopped. The bodies of seven fallen stone giants were laid out on massive stone tables. Other giants carefully moved about the space, cleaning the bodies and draping ceremonial cloths over them in preparation for their final rites. The air was thick with the scent of incense but also heavy with a sense of loss as even the stoic stone giants seemed burdened by grief.
Zelyra's heart clenched. It was yet another reminder of the unexpected cost of Blackskull's plan. The stone giants had vowed to remain neutral in the duergar vs. derro conflict… but it seemed they had been drawn in, nonetheless.
Kazimir placed a hand on the druid's shoulder, his expression equally grim. "We have to focus on what we can do now. For Rihuud," he said.
Zelyra nodded and tore her gaze away from the fallen giants.
They continued on.
Eventually, the trio stood before the large chamber that served as Hgraam's study. The room was dimly lit by the soft glow of bioluminescent fungi that clung to the walls, casting a pale blue light over the scene. It was spacious but sparsely furnished with large stone slabs serving as tables and chairs. The walls were lined with shelves carved directly from the stone, filled with ancient tomes, scrolls, and other artifacts. In the center of the room, seated in deep meditation on a stone dais, was Stonespeaker Hgraam. The stone giant barely stirred as they entered. His eyes remained closed, and for a moment, it seemed he was unaware of their presence. But then he spoke, a deep, resonant rumble that seemed to vibrate through the very earth.
"I was wondering when you would come."
Kazimir stepped forward, his voice laced with concern. "Stonespeaker, we came as soon as Captain Blackskull delivered your message. How is Rihuud? Is there anything we can do?"
"Yes." Hgraam finally opened his eyes. "The news is grim, I'm afraid. I called you here because I require assistance in a ritual."
The giant's attention fell decisively on Zelyra.
"Assistance?" the druid squeaked. "I am not a priest, Stonespeaker. I don't—"
Hgraam silenced her with a raised hand and a severe stare. "The earth does not choose only clerics, Zelyra. It chooses those with strength and have been touched by something special, dreamwalker."
Dreamwalker.
She'd been called that before. [4]
A memory suddenly surged to the forefront of her mind, unbidden and vivid. The druid recalled the portal she had inadvertently discovered within Neverwinter Wood all those months ago as she, Varan, Krom, and Arlathan returned from Goldleaf. It felt like a lifetime ago, yet the memory was as still clear as day. The strange vision that had overwhelmed her when she touched the portal, the two opposing figures, the voice that had spoken to her—
Zelyra shook her head.
"I'm sorry. But I can't bring back the dead," she whispered.
Hgraam's gaze softened, though his tone remained firm. "I ask you not to bring back the dead but to help me retrieve a soul."
The druid blinked in surprise. "Retrieve… a soul?"
"Yes. Rihuud's has been lost, cursed to the Abyss—"
Kazimir and Prince Derendil each sucked in a sharp breath.
"—by the Council of Savants. I am trying to reach him, but the effort is great, and the distance is vast," the Stonespeaker explained. After a pause, he added, "During my search, I touched the souls of two others who wish to put your hearts at ease."
Zelyra's breath caught in her throat. "What?"
"Others?" Derendil echoed.
"The souls of your fallen companions… Eldeth and Balasar. They wish for you to know that they are at peace," Hgraam said, his deep voice carrying a note of reassurance, though his dark eyes seemed to search Zelyra's own, sensing the guilt she harbored.
The druid's lip quivered. Eldeth and Balasar might still be alive if she had been stronger, faster—better. It was her fault, all of it. Tears welled up in her eyes as she struggled to maintain her composure.
"Your friends are at peace," the Stonespeaker repeated softly. "But Rihuud is not. Again. Zelyra Erenaeth, I ask for your help."
Kazimir and Prince Derendil both held their breath, watching Zelyra intently. The room was thick with tension, each second stretching into eternity as they awaited the druid's answer.
"Z…" Kazimir said softly. "Rihuud needs us."
"You doubt yourself. That I can see, Zelyra Erenaeth. But again, I must stress: your connection to the earth is strong," Hgraam said. His eyes then curiously flicked to Kazimir. "And your bond to the threads of this world is grounded. It is good that you came with her. Your magic might lend an angle I had not originally considered. If you would be willing to join us…"
"Of course," the wizard immediately agreed. "Anything I can do to help."
Zelyra closed her eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. The memory of the portal, the dreamscape that had come to her in her dreams, and the voice that had guided her all seemed to converge in this moment. She was not alone. She had never been alone. At last, the druid nodded, her resolve hardening. "Tell me what I must do."
Hgraam nodded in approval. "Thank you. We will begin at once."
The Stonespeaker led Zelyra and Kazimir to another quiet chamber deep within the caverns, where the very stones seemed to hum with ancient power. Prince Derendil trailed along in silence behind. His proud, regal bearing was slumped under the weight of his quaggoth form, but something in his eyes—a distant sadness, an acknowledgment of the suffering around him—made him seem even more out of place. His friends had a part to play. Derendil came willingly to stand by them. But he couldn't shake the feeling that he was becoming a mere observer in a foreign life. What was his purpose?
"You are a protector," a soft voice brushed his mind. Dawnbringer. "Just as Balasar before you."
In the chaos since the throne room, the prince had nearly forgotten he was now the sentient sun sword's bearer. "I don't feel like one," he lamented.
"That choice is yet before you," Dawnbringer replied. "Do you succumb to your fears? Or do you rise to the occasion? I think I know your answer. I did not choose you as my new bearer without purpose."
The room Hgraam had led them to was circular, with smooth, polished walls and a floor inlaid with intricate patterns. The faint glow of the faerzress, the wild magic of the Underdark, flickered ominously across the cavern walls. In the center lay Rihuud. A stone bowl sat upon the giant's chest, filled with herbs and oils that gave off a soothing, earthy scent. Scars and burns from the battle marred his stone-grey skin, and his chest rose shallowly with each labored breath. Even unconscious, the weight of Rihuud's curse was evident. Dark tendrils spread across his body like veins of shadow, twisting through cracks in his stony flesh.
"Come forward, Zelyra, Kazimir," Hgraam's deep voice rumbled.
The druid moved to the designated spot, standing opposite the Stonespeaker, while the wizard positioned himself to their left. Prince Derendil lingered near the doorway, his sizeable quaggoth form tense and uncertain. He watched the proceedings with apprehension and curiosity but did not join them in the circle.
"What exactly are we facing?" Kazimir eventually asked, his sharp, infernal gaze locked onto Hgraam's towering figure. "Retrieving a soul from the Abyss is no small feat. We'll need more than just healing magic."
Hgraam nodded, his stony face unreadable. "The Abyss is chaos incarnate, where a soul will be torn apart by the demonic forces that dwell there. Rihuud is strong, but the curse that binds him was cast by beings who revel in torment. This will not be a battle of physical strength but one of will."
Kazimir's silver eyes flickered with understanding. "A spiritual journey, then," he said. "We'll need to tether Rihuud's essence back to his body while fighting off whatever demonic entities are clinging to him."
The Stonespeaker extended his massive hand, and in his palm rested a stone, smooth and polished, glowing faintly with an inner light. "This is the heartstone of Cairngorm Caverns, a relic passed down through generations of stone giants. It can connect the soul with the earth, a bond older than any magic you know." The giant gestured for Zelyra to step closer to Rihuud. "You must trust in your connection, Zelyra. Place your hands upon the earth, and let it guide you."
The druid nodded and sank to the cold stone beneath her. As she did, she closed her eyes, willing herself to focus and feel the energy that Hgraam spoke of. Though she could not see it, Kazimir offered Zelyra a nod of encouragement. He knew the druid could do much more than she gave herself credit for. He had seen her draw upon the power of nature before, and something told him that the Stonespeaker was right—she was guided by something ancient and powerful.
With a deep breath, Zelyra let her mind drift, reaching for that familiar pulse of life within the earth. At first, she felt nothing but the cold stone. Her anxiety rose with every passing second. But then, just as she was about to give up, she felt it—a faint tremor beneath her fingertips, a low hum of energy, steady and persistent.
"There," Hgraam praised. "You've found it."
Zelyra's eyes fluttered open, her breath catching in her throat. The energy was there, stronger now, pulsing in time with her heartbeat. She could feel it rising from the stone, coursing through her hands, up her arms, and into her chest. It was warm, comforting, like the embrace of the forest, of the wilds she called home. The druid began to breathe in rhythm with the stone, allowing herself to sink into a meditative trance, just as she had been taught by the Masters of the Wood.
Hgraam nodded approvingly before turning to Kazimir. "And you, wizard, you must help her stabilize the connection. The Abyss is a realm of chaos, of madness. It will try to corrupt and distort our efforts. You must weave a barrier to keep its influence at bay. The Stonespeaker Crystal will aid you."
The tiefling accepted the charge and retrieved the crystal from his pack. His eyes narrowed in determination, and his hands moved in practiced patterns as he concentrated on the Weave. The air shimmered with arcane energy, forming a protective barrier—if you will—between the group and the creeping shadows of the Abyss. He could feel the malevolent presence of that dark realm, lurking just beyond the veil, waiting for a chance to strike. But Kazimir was ready. He had studied the planes, delved into the mysteries of the Abyss before, and would not allow it to claim Rihuud.
As Kazimir's magic flared to life and flowed through the shard gifted to him by the Stonespeaker, Zelyra felt the earth's energy grow more potent, more vibrant. Hgraam stood behind them, towering like a silent guardian, his deep voice chanting words of ancient power in a language long forgotten. The heartstone in his hand glowed brighter, its light casting long shadows across the cavern walls. The druid pressed her palms deeper into the stone, her connection to the natural world solidifying. But even as she focused, a creeping darkness began to seep into the edges of her consciousness—shadows that twisted and writhed, whispering horrible things in her ear. The Abyss was pushing back, its chaotic nature fighting against the ritual.
Zelyra gritted her teeth, her hands trembling as she struggled to hold onto the energy. The shadows were growing stronger, pressing in on her mind, trying to break her concentration. She felt like she was slipping for a moment, losing her grip. But then, a presence emerged from the shadows. It was a gentle, guiding hand, warm and familiar. It wasn't the Abyss. This was something else. Something… protective.
The druid sank deeper into meditation and found herself in a familiar dreamscape—a field full of wildflowers, the sky painted with sunset hues. There stood the ancient tree with mighty boughs reaching out like welcoming arms. But something was different this time. Shadows began encroaching upon it, dark tendrils creeping in from the edges of her vision. She could feel the presence of something malevolent that sought to twist and corrupt the purity of the space.
"The balance is fragile," a voice whispered in her mind. "But you are never alone."
Kazimir's voice cut through the haze, sharp and urgent. "Zelyra, focus!"
The druid redoubled her efforts, pushing back the darkness with the force of her will. She could feel Rihuud's fragile and frayed soul clinging to the edge of oblivion. The shadows clawed at him, trying to drag him deeper into the Abyss, but Zelyra wouldn't let that happen. She could feel the power of the earth flowing through her, grounding her, giving her the strength to fight. The shadows recoiled, hissing in anger. Zelyra did not relent. She fought them with all the determination she could muster.
This was her battle, and she would not let the darkness win.
Meanwhile, Kazimir saw the threads of the Weave converge in his mind's eye. There was one that did not belong. He reached out and plucked at a single, inky strand that stood out against the other silver ones—severing it.
And then, with a sudden, jarring finality, the darkness receded.
Behind them, Prince Derendil watched the ritual unfold with wide eyes. His heart ached with longing, not for Rihuud, but for himself. He saw in Zelyra and Kazimir the power to bring someone back from the Abyss, and a part of him wondered if the same could ever be done for him. Could his cursed quaggoth form ever be undone? Was there a way to retrieve the lost prince of Nelrindenvane?
"Do you truly wish to go back?" Dawnbringer whispered.
Slowly, the bowl lying on Rihuud's chest began to move. It was subtle at first, a barely perceptible rise and fall. But then it became apparent to Derendil, at least, that the giant was breathing.
"Yes. Yes, I do," the prince replied.
"Even if that means abandoning your friends?"
This time, Derendil hesitated.
Zelyra's eyes flew open as she returned to the present, her heart pounding with relief. Hgraam, too, opened his eyes, his expression one of exhaustion but also triumph. "We have done it," the Stonespeaker announced, his voice tinged with pride.
"Thank the gods," Kazimir sighed.
Zelyra simply nodded, her mind still reeling from the experience. She didn't understand exactly what had just happened, but she knew one thing for certain—she had faced the darkness and won. And as that thought crossed the druid's mind, she gasped as she recalled a similar conversation with the guide in her dreamscape:
"If this portal is a wound, can it be healed? Can I stop it?"
"Perhaps, but healing is not always painless. Seek the guidance of those who came before you. The portal is a gateway to what lies beyond, to places where the balance has been lost. To stop it, you must first understand it, and to understand it, you must be willing to confront the darkness it harbors."
"I'm not sure I'm ready for that."
"No, you are not."
"And… I'm not sure I could do it alone."
"You are never alone."
Had Hgraam somehow known all along?
The Stonespeaker looked at Zelyra and Kazimir, his gaze steady. "Hopefully, Rihuud will have information for us in a few days. In the meantime, you should return to your lodgings. Meet up with the rest of your group and rest. You have done much today." He then turned to Prince Derendil and mysteriously said, "Do not give up hope."
The quaggoth blinked in surprise.
Kazimir offered Zelyra a hand to help her stand. The druid took it, her legs shaky from the effort of the ritual, but there was a slight smile on her lips. They had succeeded. Rihuud was alive, and Eldeth and Balasar were at peace. As the trio made their way back through the caverns, their hearts began to lift, if only slightly. There was still much to do, and many challenges lay ahead, but for now, they could rest, knowing they had made a difference. And in the Underdark, that was no small feat.
. . .
Ghohlbrorn's Lair, Gracklstugh
The quiet of the Underdark has its way of stretching moments, distorting time in ways that only deep darkness sat alone in the common room with only the low crackling of the fire in the hearth for company. Another hour passed. Then another. Kazimir, Zelyra, and Prince Derendil had still not returned. The drow grew weary as the night drew on. The distressing conversation with Fargas was still fresh in her mind. She had confirmed what the halfling feared most: Themberchaud's attack and Balasar and Eldeth's deaths were not the fabrications of a nightmare but the harsh reality. Fraeya had watched the halfling's face crumple in anguish, and though he eventually wandered back to his room to grieve in private, her own heart went with him.
The rogue often masked her emotions beneath sharp, sarcastic edges. But on this night, she could not hide her grief. The day's chaos lingered in her mind, a haze of fire and ash, loss and survival. They'd lost friends—yes, the drow now felt that she had spiraled far enough into self-doubt to address them as such. Fargas's broken-hearted face, his confusion, his sorrow. He hadn't known. He thought it all a dream… She had been the one forced to shatter his disillusion. It all weighed on her.
But one mystery remained: Xalith.
And that was enough for the rogue to zero in on and deflect her pain.
After a moment of contemplation, Fraeya stood, the flicker of curiosity overpowering her weariness. She left the warmth of the common room and made her way down the dimly lit corridor to her shared rogue was greeted by silence when she entered. Sarith sat on the edge of his cot, bathed in the dim light of a single torch. His crimson eyes were distant, and his recently scorched hair—courtesy of a particular red dragon—gave him a sharper, more dangerous appearance. Sometime between leaving the common room and now, the warrior hastily took a blade to it. The cut was jagged and uneven, the tips now barely brushing his shoulders. It surprised Fraeya, and she almost commented on it but then decided there were more important things to discuss than a makeshift haircut.
Fraeya closed the door quietly behind her. "You're brooding," she said, her voice low but carrying the teasing edge that often broke through the tension between them.
"I'm thinking," Sarith corrected.
The rogue gave him a sidelong glance as she crossed the room, sat on her cot, and ran her fingers through her hair. "That's what I said. You're brooding."
This time, the warrior scoffed.
"Fargas thought it was all a dream. He's…taking it hard," she continued.
Sarith looked to the wall again, his gaze locked on some indeterminate point in the distance. "He'll live," he muttered, though his tone lacked the usual venom it carried when discussing their non-drow companions.
Fraeya leaned back on her hands.
"Are we going to talk about what Blackskull said?" she asked, her voice softening.
Sarith's fingers twitched, but he didn't turn. "No."
"That wasn't a question," Fraeya pressed. "You wanted to speak with Xalith. You brushed me off when I asked who she was to you. I let it slide then, but I'm not now."
The warrior's jaw clenched, his crimson eyes narrowing as he stared at the wall. He had hoped to avoid this conversation. He didn't owe Fraeya anything. Not his past, not his thoughts. But she was persistent, and something about her had always unnerved him. It wasn't just her unnatural silver eyes, the ones that marked her as an omen in the eyes of the drow. It was something else. Something dangerous, yet different.
"She's…no one," Sarith finally muttered, but the bitterness in his voice betrayed him.
Fraeya let out a short, dry laugh. "Clearly, she's not 'no one,' or you wouldn't be sulking about her."
He turned just enough to glare at her. "Drop it, Fraeya."
But the rogue dug her heels in deeper. "You know I won't. I've got all night."
There was a long, tense silence as Sarith weighed his options. He could lie, deflect, or simply refuse. But he knew Fraeya well enough to know she would pry until she got what she wanted. Drow elves like her didn't take no for an answer. And so, with a sigh that felt heavier than it should, the warrior finally faced her fully.
"Xalith Masq'il'yr was an emissary for House Mizzrym," he began. "She came to Velkynvelve often…for Ilvara. For House Mizzrym's interests. And sometimes, those interests included me."
Fraeya raised an eyebrow. "Included you? You mean politically or…?"
Sarith's eyes flashed with irritation but didn't rise to the bait. "Both. Drow relationships are transactional, Fraeya. You know that."
"I suppose." The rogue folded her arms over her chest. "So, you were…involved."
"Call it what you want," the warrior snapped, suddenly defensive. "She used me. I used her. Xalith wanted information. I wanted her influence. It worked…for a time. It's what we're taught, isn't it? To use and be used. That's the way of Menzoberranzan."
Fraeya watched him closely, her sharp eyes catching the brief flicker of something—anger, regret, maybe even hurt. Sarith was a drow through and through, molded by the cruelty of their society. Yet, there was something more beneath his cold exterior, something he kept hidden even from himself.
"But it still bothers you," she observed.
"Of course, it bothers me!" Sarith spat, his composure cracking for a moment. His eyes flashed with anger, but it was quickly swallowed by a darker, more haunted look. He leaned back against the cold stone wall, his fingers clutching the hilt of his dagger. "She was part of it. Part of everything that led to my downfall. She—" He paused, biting back his words. "It doesn't matter anymore. She escaped, and I missed my chance."
The rogue tilted her head. "If she was just another drow using you, why bother?"
Sarith's fists clenched at his sides, his mind swirling with memories he would rather forget. Xalith had used him, just like everyone else in his life. Just like Jorlan. Just like Ilvara. Xalith Masq'il'yr had been a crucial part of his demise—whether knowingly or not—and that fact had eaten away at him ever since.
"She betrayed me," Sarith finally said, his voice sharp as the blade in his hand. "When I was accused of murdering Imbros Mizzrym, Xalith sided with Ilvara without hesitation. Whether she believed I was guilty or not, it didn't matter. She saw an opportunity to gain favor. She took it…and threw me to the spiders."
"Imbros Mizzrym…" Fraeya repeated. "The murder you don't remember."
Sarith's eyes flicked up to meet hers, and for a moment, the other drow saw something raw in his gaze. "I don't remember," he admitted, his voice filled with frustration. "I don't remember killing him! Everything about that night in Neverlight Grove is a haze. One moment, we were searching for the gods-damned luudren tree and the next… I woke with Stool by my side! But the blood was there. On my hands. On my sword. I don't know what happened. I don't know if it was me or—"
He stopped, his teeth clenching as if the words themselves betrayed him.
The voice in your head? Fraeya wanted to ask but refrained. Now was not the time.
The rogue instead remained silent, processing what Sarith had shared. There was more to this than just a simple murder accusation. There was a lifetime of betrayal behind his words, behind the way he carried himself. She had always known that drow society was cutthroat and cruel, but hearing it laid out like this—so familiar—it made her stomach twist.
"And Jorlan?" Fraeya asked carefully, mentioning another name from the warrior's dark past. "Do you think he was part of it? Even though he let us escape?"
Sarith flinched at the mention of Jorlan Duskryn, the once-proud warrior who had taken him and Rava under his wing after the failed raid against their House. House Kzekarit no longer existed. But House Duskryn had promised to make the surviving members strong. Jorlan had been like another brother to Sarith at one time, a figure of asset and camaraderie—until Ilvara had broken him physically and mentally.
"He…" Sarith hesitated, his fists tightening. "Jorlan was… like family. But when Ilvara discarded him, he became obsessed with getting back in her favor. It twisted him, made him desperate. When I was accused, he turned on me, too. Thought aligning with Ilvara and Xalith would save him." He sneered, the bitterness in his voice unmistakable. "I was just another pawn in their games."
The rogue could see the pain buried beneath his anger, though she knew he would never admit it aloud. Trust was a foreign concept in drow society, but Sarith had learned the hard way that it simply did not exist. Everyone he knew had betrayed him in some compacity—Xalith, Jorlan, Ilvara, rivals in Menzoberranzan… Fraeya also knew that kind of treachery, had experienced it firsthand. But Sarith had never asked. And so, she locked her own demons away, far from her everyday thoughts.
Until conversations like this had them rattling at their chains…
"You think I'll betray you too," Fraeya said quietly, her voice steady.
Sarith met her gaze again, his eyes narrowing. "You are drow," he replied bluntly. "It's in our blood. We're all capable of it. You'd be a fool to think otherwise."
Fraeya didn't flinch at his words. Instead, she leaned forward slightly, her silver eyes gleaming with something different—something softer yet unyielding. "Maybe. But I'm not like Xalith or Jorlan. And you know that."
Sarith stared at her, crimson eyes searching her face for any sign of deception. He wanted to believe her, but the scars left by Xalith, Jorlan, and countless others were too deep. Trust was not something he could afford, not anymore.
"Don't patronize me," he bit.
"I'm not," she insisted. "We're in this together now. Maybe you can't trust anyone. Not me. Not Kazimir, Zelyra, Derendil, Fargas, or Nine. But trust that you're not alone, Sarith. Not anymore."
"Don't make the mistake of thinking like them," Sarith said. "It'll get you killed."
Fraeya allowed a ghost of a smile to tug at her lips. "Maybe I don't care anymore."
Sarith scoffed, shaking his head. "Then you really are a fool."
"Maybe," she repeated, her smile growing. "But at least I'm a fool with my eyes open. I don't know him… but from what you've alluded, don't you think Rava would agree?"
For a moment, the warrior said nothing. He thought of his brother, his ideals that had always seemed so out of place in the brutal world of the drow. Rava had spoken of a different path Sarith had dismissed as preposterous as the exiled Drizzt Do'Urden's values. Now, staring at Fraeya, he felt conflict stirring within him. Something flickered in his eyes—doubt, maybe even hope—but then he quickly squashed it down, burying it beneath familiar walls.
Ulu z'hin maglust dal Que'ellar lueth Valsharess zhah ulu z'hin wund lil phalar.
To walk apart from House and Queen is to walk into the grave.
"Go to bed, Fraeya," the warrior snapped, turning away. "I'm done talking."
"Goodnight, Sarith," she replied softly.
[1] It's been a while, so I won't ask you to refer to previous chapters for Thangus Ironhead, Grinta Ironhead, and Amber Thrazgad's roles. They are minor NPCs but are still essential to Gracklstugh's storyline. Amber and Grinta were the main supporters of Blackskull's coup. Thangus (Grinta's father and Laird of Clan Ironhead) was the elderly duergar that Fraeya, Nine, Sarith, Balasar, and Eldeth rescued from an assassination attempt in Chapter 34: Assassins Interrupted. This act nullified their truce with the Empty Scabbard Killers.
[2] Balasar only stayed at the Lair with the party for a couple of days and, unfortunately, did not have many personal items (thanks to his former slaver Bunrick)—unlike Eldeth. I just wanted to clarify in case anyone thought: what about Balasar?!
[3] Is tremor sense an ability for myconids? I don't think so. (?) But it kinda sounds like an ability that fungal creatures attuned to the earth might have, so I'm rolling with it.
[4] There are several references in this chapter to Many Partings — Parts One and Two of Zelyra Erenaeth: Origins. I recently completed the short series. If you have not read it yet, it is the prequel to The Grey Warriors.
Summary: "What led Zelyra Erenaeth to be captured by drow and imprisoned deep within the Underdark? Well, that is an unrelated tale that begins on the surface. The Archdruids of Neverwinter Wood send two druids-in-training, a half-elven ranger, and a half-giant barbarian to investigate claims of a malevolent nature spirit's work against a small village on the northeastern edge of the forest. It was supposed to be a training exercise, nothing more. But what the party uncovers is something far, far more sinister."
This project took a backseat after my husband and I experienced a personal loss last December. DnD and writing, in general, can be used as an escape. I get that and have used it. But parts of this chapter are very depressing, and when you are struggling, you obviously don't want to write about sad things! So, after weeks of getting nowhere, I reached out to a friend (aka Arlathan's player3) who suggested I try writing something in a totally different storyline. I hadn't worked on Zelyra Erenaeth: Origins since last April, so I shifted my focus there, and lo and behold—I found my voice again.
Origins is finished. I'm back in my writing groove and ready to tackle the main story again. And it works in my favor! The ritual scene was always meant to be a turning point for Zelyra… but with bonus content from Origins, I can weave in parts of her background that would not have made sense otherwise.
In our playthrough, only Zelyra and Hgraam participated in the ritual. Kazimir and Derendil were just there for moral support. I decided to include Kazimir for a few reasons— 1) the 'rule of three' (I can't remember if that is an actual DnD rule or Matt Mercer homebrew when it comes to ritual spells such as Raise Dead, etc.), 2) to showcase Kazimir's abilities as a Divination wizard. Portent is such a clutch class feature :D and 3) The collaboration of these three individuals brings the balance of divine, nature, and arcane to the table. It felt better, even if that left poor Derendil watching alone from the sidelines.
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Last friendly reminder: The Grey Warriors will be divided into multiple parts to keep the chapter and word count reasonable. We have three more complete chapters plus an epilogue to go for Part 1. :)