Our brave adventurers have limped out of the mess hall, wounded and frayed down to the nerve. The lights were fading in the outpost as the drow fell against the demons, and against our heroes. They were suddenly struck by the grim realization that the noise from the demons was growing fainter and fainter, which meant they were being dealt with. And after the drow had dealt with the demons….
Sorn’s words still echoed in their minds. “I am done playing games with you. You will die here.” And though Sorn was the one who had been executed in cold blood by one of their companions, they were feeling the pressure.
They headed towards the nearest shelter they could find, narrowly avoiding a demon corpse that had dropped from the sky. (Most of them, anyway, one of their group was not what we would call “nimble”.)
Unfortunately for our adventurers, the shelter they found housed yet another drow elite, and his quaggoth attendant. He was not there when they arrived, but they could hear his footsteps getting closer as he descended down to their level. They knew they could barely survive another fight with a quaggoth, much less one of the hand-picked elite warriors of this outpost. And though our adventurers had superior numbers, the raw power of that drow could easily overwhelm them, even though they all tackled him as soon as he entered the room. It looked as though this drow elite would deliver on what Sorn had prophesied.
One adventurer cleverly remembered that he had found a bottle of incredibly strong, incredibly sweet, incredibly syrupy blue liquor. Drawing on his past as a potato-peeling cook on a ship, he recalled that for the most part, elves cannot hold their liquor. And he gambled that this elf was no exception. It was a high risk, high reward gambit: If this drow behaved like most drow, he would be pleasantly poisoned for hours. If he behaved like a dwarf, then things would come to a horrific and bloody end. Tensions were high.
But the monk had guessed correctly! The drow elite, pride of the Velkynvelve, servant of Lolth, was rendered into nothing more than a bumbling fumbling sot at some backwater bar in Mumford.
Though our adventurers may not have expressed it, they know they owe a great debt to that monk; so much so that they will completely overlook the fact that that liquor could have netted them 10 gold.
They were able to easily dispatch the quaggoth, but not without one of their own taking some injury. Prince Derendil was injured in the battle, and in a shocking display, he pounced on the drunken drow and began feasting on his throat. It wasn’t until he was physically removed that he lamented he was losing himself to the curse he had been placed under.
Buppido then began to mutter “Dinkarazan” again, and started that process of eviscerating corpses and rearranging their organs; however, at this point, no one was in the mood for his shenanigans. He was forcibly removed and taken with the group to continue their escape.
Our adventurers had opted for Jorlan’s plan, leaping to the webs below the slave pen and dropping to the pool below. The giant spiders had not attacked them as they made their way through the gargantuan canopy of webs…perhaps Sarith was right in slitting Sorn’s throat and tossing his corpse to the spiders.
As another demon fell from the heights of Velkynvelve, our adventurers recalled that their was a grey ooze in the pool, but it was harmless unless disturbed. They made it a point to not disturb it.
The ooze had its own agenda, though, and with a cry of “Flesh For The Faceless Lord”, it attacked them. It was defeated, but this called into question Sarith’s knowledge of this place…or his motivations. It also damaged the armor and greatsword of one of our heroes, but it did allow Fan Fan to teach them a valuable lesson: You can indeed punch a grey ooze in the face.
Sadly, the time spent dealing with the ooze allowed the remaining drow to catch up with them. They descended upon our heroes from spider-silk zip-lines, peppering them with hand crossbow bolts while moving to engage them. Curiously, the giant spiders they had with them ignored every other escaping slave and went straight for Jimjar. After a brief confrontation, it was revealed that Jimjar was not above pocketing those polished jet eyes another one of our heroes had also had her eye on.
The drow and their giant spiders were dispatched. And while our heroes tried to laugh off Jimjar’s theft, they ultimately realized it was a reckless, dangerous, completely unnecessary risk that jeopardized the well-being of the group. And was Jimjar going to share the wealth? Can they truly trust him?
They were unable to discuss that, because they heard Buppido mutter something about a divine offering, and saw him raise a crossbow to the skies. They let him fire (for some odd reason), and a vrock demon came careening down to the cavern floor below. It let out an ear-splitting screech that stunned nearly all of our heroes…save one monk. A monk, who challenged and defeated a vrock in one-on-one combat.
As our heroes regained their senses and composure, a sound was heard from the shadows. Ara turned to see the half-handsome face of Jorlan, who had held true to his word. She approached him, smiling, seeking to thank him. Jorlan did not return the smile, said nothing, and raised a hand crossbow and leveled it at her head. It was only the quick reaction of Sarith that spared our infatuated warlock a poisoned crossbow bolt to the head. Sarith pulled Ara aside, then used the momentum to pivot off her shoulder and kick Jorlan in the face. As he fell, Sarith pulled her to the rest of the group, cutting off her next works with a harsh phrase in Elvish: Khaless nau uss (“Trust no one”.).
With the drow defeated, the party had a clear path to an exit from the Velkynvelve. They knew the north path led to Menzoberranzan, the Drow City of Spiders. The south path was too far from where they were, so they headed west. For the first time in days, they could feel a sense of hope.
The nightmare was over.
The thunderous voice of Mistress Ilvara of the House of Mizzrym told them otherwise. “How dare you?” Her voice echoed throughout the cavern, and as our heroes looked up, they could see her floating towards them. Dancing lights illuminated their position, though she could seem them even in absolute darkness. “You have the gall to oppose me? Ignorant cattle!” A swarm of biting, stinging insects appeared in the passageway, creating a living, carnivorous cloud between them and freedom.
Shoor could be heard, as well. It was then that Jimjar warned the group to drop. As they did, the viscid glob he shot at them sailed harmlessly overhead until it hit the insects, trapping them within it.
Wasting no time, our heroes pushed past the insect cloud…it was then that the dwarves in the party noticed a crack in the rock above them. With enough damage, they could trigger a cave in that would hold off the drow.
It was a race against time as our heroes, exhausted, spent, but determined began firing attack after attack at the weak point in the ceiling. Ilvara continued her descent, her fingers moving in delicate somatic patterns as she beseeched Lolth for aid in teaching these ignorant surface dwellers the price of defiance.
Closer…closer…the air around her starting to hum…
…and then, our heroes were able to trigger the rockslide. It only lasted for a few seconds, but it seemed like an eternity. Nearly two tons of rubble stood between our heroes and the Velkynvelve. The drow had been stopped.
Our heroes…were finally free.
…in the Underdark.
(End of Chapter 1)
Players: Fan Fan, Chryso, John Willow, Nordafrost
Enemies Defeated/Dealt With
- Vrock (1)
- Grey Ooze (1)
: 10 Days
Potentiality For Group To Come To The Distressing Realization That They Are More Or Less Lost In The Underdark: Certain.