Quest Those Who Walk Below

Zathria stood at the right hand of her Queen, ready to follow her into any chaos as she always had been. Side by side through thick and thin, it was in the good times and bad that Zathria had stuck beside Vyx'aria. She had no regrets even now.

The moon's rays were hidden behind the clouded night sky and darkness hung like a blanket over the woods, only the faint light of Bhathairk seemed to push back the all-consuming darkness.

She let her hands trace one more time over her equipment, each piece maintained and positioned with perfect efficiency. It was inevitable that conflict would arise and this was not the impotent surface-folk but hardened and cutthroat Drow of Zar'ahal.

The Queen cast her spell for the group and then they were off, Zathria leading the charge into darkness.

They passed by trees and over shrubs before descending into the passage that would lead them to Zar'ahal, its twisting tunnels lined with dirt and stone. To those who had not spent time in the Underrealm it would likely feel stifling, but to Zathria it felt like climbing into a warm bed on a cold night: comforting and reassuring.

She banished the thought as soon as it came. They were not going to anything that resembled safety they were heading into the jaws of a dragon.

She picked their path through the tunnels carefully, occasionally stopping to take note of a fork in the path that might lead them along the wrong way. Eventually, they came to a wider cavern, seemingly empty but Zathria knew better than to assume as much.

"Caverns like this are seldom unoccupied. Watch for cave spiders or worse," she said, her eyes scanning the darkness around them for anything that appeared out of place.

Szesh Darkweaver Zay Sreeya

Szesh was particularly out of place here. Standing head and shoulders above the tallest men, heavily muscled, and wrapped in silver scales, the presence of wings and a tail might not even be the most striking thing about him. A face like a miniaturized version of a true dragon observed Vyx'aria's speech without expression. This was partly because it lacked the necessary musculature for more than rudimentary changes in appearance, but mostly because he preferred that others not know what he was thinking.

He blinked several times as the drow queen's magic altered his vision, notably shaking his head at the sensation. He could have felt anger at the sudden spell... but his vision was strikingly clear all of a sudden. He begrudgingly accepted these developments.

He had begrudgingly accepted a lot of things to be here tonight. Though he had seen Vyx'aria's power and prowess first hand, he was not in any particular hurry to venture into the Underrealm, least of all to rescue some dark-magic-wielding prisoner. Vyx had undoubtedly known this, because she had enticed the sellsword in the most basic and reliable way: with money.

As Szesh followed the small band beneath the surface, he reminded himself exactly how much money had been discussed. As he felt the weight of Arethil grow over him, as the air stilled and moistened, as he hunched and tucked his wings in tightly just to fit through the passages, he envisioned all that he could do with those riches, and how he would never, ever need to do something like this again.

Did he have a certain respect for Vyx'aria's power? Had he been ever so slightly flattered that she had sought him out specifically? Was he curious what this subterranean stronghold might be like? Yes, perhaps, and just a little, but all of those things started to feel less and less important the deeper they went.

Draconians did not belong underground. Szesh was far too large and had far too many limbs to be climbing through tunnels. His innate advantage of flight was useless, and spouts of fiery breath were... complicated in tight quarters. He was grateful when they reached the cavern, and he could once again stand without his horns scraping the ceiling.

Zathria At'Arel said:

"Caverns like this are seldom unoccupied. Watch for cave spiders or worse,"

Click to expand...

Szesh inhaled through wide nostrils, but all he could smell was dirt and fungus. He watched the other drow, following their lead in this alien terrain.

The Underrealm. How long ago was it he had been here? An eternity, it seemed. He only remembered the vague sense of natural oppression: from the dark, from the stones, and of course, from its denizens.

Now he had traveled for some time as an unwilling companion to this drow raiding party. A party whose leader held mad ambitions that managed, somehow, to outpace her considerable power.

A journey into Zar'ahal, the sinister heart of drow, for a rescue mission? To J'rell, this seemed unbridled insanity.

But he had given his word. And by his word he would stand, for it had saved many lives in Hollowmere Crossing. However, he knew that fate often had a terrible sense of humour. It was likely that by the end of this oath, he would have sent more souls to the gods than he had saved.

Vyx'aria had gifted them with a portion of her own sight. It aided in drifting through this darkness, like clinging to a raft in an endless, black sea. Of course it came with conditions. Stay close or drown.

The pit in his stomach increased with each depth they plunged, each corridor they navigated. The deeper they went, the more distant turned the memory of the sun, stars and the sibling moons. Some of the few things to have remained the same through the ages; old friends he could always rely on to be there. Now he would even have to leave those behind.

He kept the rear of their guard, a reluctant shadow following in the wake of drow and other mercenaries. Zathria, as always, led eagerly from the front with her charge. Vyx'aria strode speedily through the darkness, near disappearing from the group at every corner and turn, as if deliberately keeping the group on edge; keeping them mindful that they might lose her, if they lost pace.

Among these mercenaries, the draconian stood out. A mighty scaled warrior, taller even than himself. This warrior belonged to sky and fire — what was he doing in these hollow, predatory depths? J'rell recalled his past respect for their race, admiring their controlled ferocity and calm cunning. A shame this one was to be lured by these drow, who was as like to kill them all as to pay them once their usefulness ran out.

At Zathria's warning, he hefted his sheathed blade slung over his shoulder, its weight a reassurance. Since he had joined this warband, he had armed himself with a quiver of javelins as well, and bracers and greaves to grant some marginal protection. A cloak fashioned from a lion's skin lined his shoulders, adding some warmth against the slow, cumulative creep of cold and dread.

A single stone tumbled down from the ceiling, near hitting his sandal. J'rell glanced up, but saw nothing but bulbous, black rocks protruding from the ceiling. He stopped and stared, looking closer, closer . . . willing any of them to betray movement.

They stayed perfectly still.

With an unconvinced sneer, J'rell marched on.

Dante was the newest member of this edgy little cadre. He stood at the back and as his eyes magically acclimated to the dark, he couldn’t help but wonder if brooding was this cohort's general state of being. Now, he expected it from the drow, humans had been telling bedtime stories about the Underrealm for time immemorial, but he’d hoped to get some form of entertainment from the Draconian or the other guy. Though to be perfectly honest, Storta wasn’t entirely sure the one called J’rell was entirely human… but if it walked like a duck and pissed like a duck… then sometimes it was just easier to say it was a duck.

Vyx’aria dolled out orders. She was precise, and clear. Two traits he loved in an employer. There was a smaller chance of error when your boss was crystal clear on what you were supposed to do. Then she said the part he was waiting for. They would be rewarded.

Dante’s sneer widened. His imagination wandered at the possibilities. He’d always wanted a sword that could burst into flame— aye? Spiders? Cave spiders?

He scoffed, “What could be worse than cave spiders?”

Even as he said it, Dante took stock of his equipment. He hated spiders of all shapes and sizes and the prospect of running into one bigger than a horse wasn’t ideal, so he’d be damned if he was caught unprepared. The Sellsword wore three daggers, two hidden— one up a sleeve, the other in a boot— and the newest prominently displayed on his sword belt. His broadsword hung in it’s scabbard on his right and a crossbow was on his left. His armor was studded leather, and he’d pulled back the cowl of his traveling tunic because it was dark as hell in here and the air of mystery was lost in the realm’s darkest shadows.

The clatter of falling stone in the cavern caught The Sellsword’s attention, but once it rolled into his line of sight, he let it go. By the gods, one mention of spiders and now he was ready to lash out at any stone that rolled his way…

The group started to move, and he knew it would be a longshot to strike up some form of conversation, but he was bored, and he didn’t see the harm in getting to know the people around him. He slunk up to the Draconian, “So, first time prowling about in the Underrealm?"

Sreeya Cynical Phoenix Szesh Darkweaver

There was a shift that was almost imperceptible as something in the stone groaned. The underground had a pulse of its own and it was almost like it held its breath waiting for the dangers to break free.

Zathria eased one of her sabers from its sheathe with a nearly imperceptible sound, holding it tightly in her hand, the grip adding a level of comfort as her heart began to race, the feeling of adrenaline flooding her body on combat-eve.

The ground rumbled around them and her mind raced through the myriad dangers that could cause such a movement before her question was answered.

It wasn't spiders but a massive worm that roiled out of the darkness and rushed toward them. The creature was at least thirty feet long with long, strange tentacles that reached out to feel the world in the darkness around it. It hunted by use of its many proboscis-like protrusions that touched and grabbed the world around it. At its front a massive, four-jawed maw was lined with razor sharp teeth that were large enough to swallow a man whole, and it was apparently very hungry.

It lunged toward the group, looking to swallow up J'rell in a single go, a delectable morsel to be consumed.

J'rell Dante Storta Vyx'aria Szesh

The conversation with the draconian was interrupted by a sudden stop. His mouth was half open as if about to say something when Vyx’aria’s withering gaze slipped across them. Once again his mouth was open to respond when the shuddering of the earth below them stopped him short. Confusion had just settled across his features when the monster burst forth from the ground.

Dante immediately pulled his crossbow and fired. His reaction had been good, hell the shot had even been dead on… unfortunately his bolt lacked the punch it needed to puncture this undulating monstrosity.

Panic clawed at his mind like a— like a… well, like a blasted cave worm.

“Okay, this is worse than a spider, this is way worse!” he yelped jumping back behind a stalagmite before he was grabbed by one of the Worm’s protrusions. His vision immediately started to dim and he cursed. He squinted through the darkness doing his damndest to spot The Queen, it took a moment, suddenly the crew he’d been with were corporeal shadows in the void and it was hard to make out who was who.

Confident he’d spotted her he eased out from cover… just in time to be unceremoniously back handed by the worm’s writhing tail. Dante rolled once, jagged rocks digging and scraping, then he managed to get to his feet. The whisper of his broadsword coming out of it’s scabbard announced his arrival, fortune had placed him next to the queen— Why were there two of her? Oh right, her commander, by the gods, that tail had knocked the sense clear out of him— “Any ideas?!”

Szesh Zathria At'Arel J'rell Vyx'aria

The creature moved with uncanny speed. By the time J'rell saw the group part, divide and retreat before its massive form, his world darkened even further under its saw-toothed tunnel. He managed to draw his orcish blade in a long, protracted snarl of steel from its iron ring, before the giant worm gobbled him up in a swift jerk of its corpus.

In the span of seconds, its head now occupied the space where J'rell had once stood, a spasm of its weird musculature coursing from its alien head past its first tentacles. Its eyeless mouth sought new movement, new blood to consume. It found it in the draconian, wriggling its way towards another large meal in the group, batting off any enemies on its sides with its writhing body.

Szesh Zathria At'Arel Dante Storta Vyx'aria

Szesh was not a good conversational partner. Decades of shameful exile and a fearsome appearance had made the opportunity for practice rare. His mouth was ill-suited to the more common languages of Arethil, though he had improved greatly in recent years. His black-on-black eyes regarded Dante invisibly, but he was able to offer little more than a grunt in response before they were beckoned to stop.

The worm’s approach was preceded by a rumble through the dirt and stone. If not for Vyx’aria’s gift of sight that would have been all that marked its presence. Szesh loosened his wings slightly out of instinct, but there was nowhere to fly in here even if he did open them fully.

He drew his weapon, a long axe with a blade that glinted ice-like… or would have had there been any light. Then worm dove and, horrifyingly, devoured one of their comrades. Then it moved for him.

Flight or no, the cavern was large enough for him to run and jump, so he leapt to the side when the worm neared, kicking off with powerful legs and swinging the axe heavily towards the side of the worm’s head. It bit into the creature’s carapace, though not as deeply as preferred. The slithering beast reeled, then swung its head back in retaliation. Szesh was knocked off his feet, his large claws scraping at the stones as he scrambled to rise before he too could be made a meal.

Fingers closed on his lion-fur cloak. His own arm was wrapped around an errant bulge within -- bloodied, but keeping him from travelling further into its intestines. He had about managed to force his blade up and above him against the crazed movement of this fleshy, bulbous cavern -- writhing, jerking, throwing him about in complete darkness, twitching on all sides and seeking to press and squash him -- when a hand pulled him out.

By the time Vyx'aria hauled him and his own legs worked for freedom, J'rell angled his sword to carve a bloody path along its upper, inner ridge of softer tissue. As he and Vyx'aria pulled free from its maw, the blade jumped from the fleshy roof behind its round mouth, leaving an arc of blood to splash out with a spray of grit, dirt, dislodged worm-flesh and thick, soupy saliva. It slathered them both -- J'rell was pushed behind the drow queen, bent over himself and bracing for balance by taking a knee; full of scrapes, bruises and cuts where his cloak and bracers hadn't covered him, sword resting on his shoulder. But very much alive -- and prepared to exchange more blows, his other hand curling around hilt and pommel slowly; eyes first wide with surprise at Vyx'aria, before darkening at the sight of the worm, confusion giving way to broiling, primal rage.

He might wonder why the drow queen had gone to such lengths to save him. But there was no time to ponder now.

The worm writhed and smashed itself against a wall in pain, causing pebbles and small rocks to dislodge themselves, quaking the cave. Its death throes were apparent; but even in its last, injured movement, it could be deadly. The party closed in with drawn steel.

Zathria At'Arel Dante Storta Szesh Vyx'aria

Zathria launched herself at the creature as the others attacked as well, watching as J'rell was swallowed whole and Vyx'aria fearlessly plunged in after him. Therein was why Zathria was so loyal and now J'rell would see it firsthand. Vyx'aria would plunge into the jaws - or stomach - of a worm for her people.

Zathria lunged forward and let the fingers of her left hand curl together as bright flames sparked to life. The moment J'rell and Vyx were clear, she unleashed a torrent of flame into the creature's stomach, a small belch of smoke coming out to puff into Dante Storta's face, a spicy burp of death?

Even so a probiscus whipped around and Zathria's other hand whipped the sword up, dampening the strike with her swing but even so it hit her hard enough to send her reeling back off of her feet, the sword clattering away across the stone floor as she tried to scramble back to her feet.

The worm's flailing turned to a screech as it whipped its body around in an attempt to strike - and crush - Szesh.

Vel’duith emerged from the moonlit bramble lining the stream she had followed up from Quarry Hill. Just ahead lay the granite cliff-face she sought. Only the scrub brush littering the stony ground differed at all from the memory she had revisited in her brief reverie. She unbuttoned her makeshift fur cloak, folded it, and set it behind the first clump of bramble to the left, making a mental note of its location.

As she stepped up to the cliff-face, she spoke a passphrase softly: “Ib'ahalii quar’val sharess!” The doorway opened soundlessly, and she slipped within. The portal runes shimmered softly in the dusklight as the door closed behind her. Immediately after stepping through the door, Vel’duith took cover and fell silent before beginning her descent, silently loping ever downward, listening intently to the echoes coming from the tunnels. After several hours, she slowed her pace as she approached the treacherous cavern she knew lay a short distance ahead. A number of secret surface tunnels fed into its tributary tunnels, and all manner of horrifying creatures prowled the cavern as a result, each promising careless visitors an even more horrible end than the last. It was an extra layer of security for the Undercity, as any outsider who wandered in by accident was quite liable to die horribly. The acrid stench of burnt worm-slime wafting on the cavern air currents assaulted the dark elf’s nostrils, and her jet-black face wrinkled in disgust.

Vel'duith's target this night was the engraved adamantine battleax she had stolen on her blooding raid so many decades ago, to either return it to the tower whence she had stolen it, or at least place it into worthy hands - and one particularly worthy pair of hands had crossed her mind. If all goes well, I ought to be back before Sigrun wakes in the morning…

The rogue's optimism and confidence were rooted in knowledge of the battleax's provenance since its theft. Her cadre’s yathrin, Beksesha Suulet’jabar, had long shown special favor to a particular young warrior, Nuljilit. He had been one of Vel’duith’s cadre-mates, specifically one of the gaggle of shebali ja’luks who cleft to that golden dunce K’mindu Mylochar like hungry stirges, leeching his second-house importance like it was lifeblood. Beksesha had since brought Nuljilit first to her temple as a guard, and finally into her house as a formal consort. Vel’duith had first seen him carrying the battleax at a feast a few years after her graduation, and on many Zar'Ahal social occasions since then. It was a trophy, quite literally stolen valor, displayed to amplify his own merit. A further irony was that Nuljilit was by reputation only good with a spear, and from what Vel’duith remembered from watching the overly ambitious bumbler’s various misadventures in cadre, she couldn’t help but wonder which “spear” exactly the rumor referred to. She banished the wayward thought with an eye roll and a shudder, refocusing on the task at hand.

The thin, diminutive dark elf froze in her tracks, hearing voices echoing ahead. One voice sounded nearly unmistakably familiar. A snowy eyebrow arched, intrigued, even as her mouth dropped open in surprise. What could the exiled queen be up to, so perilously close to the Undercity? There was surely useful currency of some fashion to be gained from finding out. She pulled her lurker-mantle fully over her, slipping into the mentality of her alter-ego, Vernutar - the tenebrous book-thief, a name whispered among the house wizard connoisseurs of Zar'Ahal's lively black market trade in tomes and scrolls. She started to slowly creep across the cavern to better eavesdrop, so low to the ground that she was the faintest ripple in the cavern floor, eyes scanning her immediate surroundings for perils as she followed her ears ever closer.

Szesh was able to rise thanks to the dark elves’ furious assault on the worm. He shook off the axe, and it flickered, dropping a small dusting of bloodied snow on the ground before appearing as clean and sharp as when it was first drawn. Szesh had been taught how to use its unique enchantments by the wizard who had gifted it to him, but he dared not fire its cold magic in these confined spaces. The self-sharpening, however, that he could do.

The worm was split open, and with a sickening squelch its recent meal was freed. The scene was lit up in flaming strobe by Zathria’s flaming blades. Szesh interpreted its flailing as a death throw, and perhaps it was, but its life wasn’t apparently ending that quickly. It’s lunge for him was unexpected, and with the speed of a truly desperate monster.

If instinct had not partially opened his wings, he would have borne the brunt of the worm’s attack. As it were, he was able to flap and gain enough force to push himself forward and just out of lethal crushing distance… but not far enough that his outstretched wing was not caught.

Szesh’s momentum was stopped abruptly as the tip of his left wing was pinned, and he landed heavily on his back. He felt the crunch of the delicate wing-finger bones breaking, and the electric jolt of pain that accompanied it. He roared in pain, higher pitch and sharper than a shout of intimidation.

He rolled onto his side towards the worm. He could not move far with his wing pinned. If the worm lifted itself he could pull it away, maybe get to safety. If it didn’t, if it just turned and slithered to swallow him, or impale him on its thick proboscis….

”Get back!”

It was all the warning he had time to give the party. Forget all those thoughts of “safe distance” and flashpoints. He needed that worm to move now.

To ensure this, he opened his maw and bellowed forth a plume of orange-white wrath. It was no dragon fire, but it would burn all but the steeliest of flesh. Worm and drow alike.

Just like any good time, this fight had shattered into chaos. The worm ate J’rell the man who wasn’t quite a man, the queen had taken that personally and took back what was hers. Dante blinked, for the first time in his life he wondered if he might be a touch out of his scope… Nah. That was crazy talk.

The Sellsword was in the thick of the fray, he dueled thrashing protrusions, and dodged the flailing body of the worm as the rest of the company did their best to take down this leviathan of the Underrealm.

Zathria’s attack lit up the darkness, and Dante’s magically enhanced eyes winced at the flood of light. The momentary distraction let a protrusion slip his blade and wrap around his ankle, the burp from the worm hit him right in the face and he wretched as he was whipped off his feet and flung into the wall.

The air in his lungs was evicted for the second time, and for a terrifying heart beat, Dante wasn’t sure his favorite tenant would ever return. He dropped to his hands and knees, broadsword clattering to the ground beside him, as he did his best to suck in air.

“Get back!”

Dante’s eyes snapped up toward the draconian’s voice.

“Oh, now he can talk?!” he wheezed, his sneer breaking the grimace on his lips as he pulled two of his daggers and charged the worm. The pinned dragon’s— That’s not a bad tavern name— gout of flame slammed into the serpentine entity. The tendril-like protrusions recoiled and writhed in pain and fury as the worm screamed in anguish.

Storta scrambled up a rocky formation and leapt through the air, daggers drawn back to strike as the worm reeled back from Szesh’s fiery blast, the glint of his daggers danced in the burning flesh of the worm as Dante buried them what he hoped was the worm’s brain.

For what felt like an eternity Dante hung from his daggers. He breathed, the worm shuddered once, he swallowed… then the beast collapsed… Dante yelped as he crashed to the ground still clinging to the daggers embedded in the dead worm's head.

He stood, brushing himself off and said, “Well, I don’t know about you guys, but I’m warmed…” he glanced down and noticed his cloak had caught flame, “GAH!” he yelped heroically while frantically trying to stamp out the tongues of flame.

Vyx'aria Zathria At'Arel J'rell Szesh Vel'duith Voiryn

Zathria scrambled around on the ground for her sword, snatching it up as she heard the warning to clear the area. She moved along the ground and slipped over a stone, curling herself down and flashing a spell of protection around herself as the wave of flames lit the cavern.

It was blinding and the sound echoed off the walls, and down the tunnels beyond.

When she stood back to her feet again, ready for the next stage of the fight, it was to the sight of the creature dead.

She let out a huff of pain as she rubbed her collarbone where the tendril had struck her, her eyes sweeping over the surrounding area, content that there were no more threats.

"What is eating if not its own regeneration," she said, heading over and carving off a piece of the creature's cooked flesh, skewering it on the end of her knife as she took a bite.

"Neat trick, though," she said to the dragonman. It may have been loud but it had certainly been effective.

Down they went into the next tunnel but this one wasn't just uneven rock. The path had been smoothed and the walls chiseled. Occasional carvings were etched into the surface of the tunnel that heralded they were drawing closer to the city itself.

Patrols would be hiding in tactical crevices, no doubt now prepared for someone or something to be coming through the tunnel.

J'rell Szesh Vyx'aria Dante Storta

A human ja'luk's voice arched Vel'duith's eyebrow again, as did the queen's answering voice speaking in trade-tongue. That explained much about the mysterious group's lack of silence. Had they been all drow, there would have been no voices at all in the tunnels, only silent flashes of hands sharing a steady stream of observations, banter, and insults. She could hardly believe that this group was aimed squarely at Zar'Ahal. One patrol passing within a hundred fathoms of all this ragtag racket, and they would find half the undercity's might mustered at its gates, waiting for them. If they somehow won entrance, they would then find the interior bristling on high alert. And so would she. Unless...

Vel'duith rose up to her fully disappointing height, hat brim tipped low, and leaned languidly against the tunnel wall as the ruckus clambered closer. She inclined her head low and opened her palms toward Vyx'aria immediately upon them passing into sight, greeting them in a soft voice, just loud enough for them to hear.

"Vendui, O Valsharess. Ironically, I am called by some 'Vernutar' - so perhaps you may regain 'discretion,' if you deign to hear me out. I, too, seek to enter and leave the city unnoticed this night, but my chances of succeeding on my errand seem greatly worsened by all the racket your co'nbluth retainers are making. And their presence forces you to speak with your voice rather than your hands. If any patrols hear and recognize your voice, there will be far too much vigilance in the city for either of our comfort. I know secret ways in and out, though I will not promise that your senses shall be much delighted by the routes I offer. You get in to do your errand; I get in to do mine. Have we an accord?"

Dante was just about to stop drop and roll, when the glint of steel flashed out. The Sellsword froze. His eyes wide and staring at The Queen. He swallowed, and as if on queue, his cloak fell from his shoulders, crumpling to the ground around his feet. His arms crossed over his chest as if trying to hide his boiled leather armor from The Underrealm’s all seeing eye. A flush dappled his cheeks and he rasped, “Th-thank you.”

Vyx’aria said nothing. Her eyes bore into his and he was the first to look away.

Dante took a hunk of the worm meat after finding his sword. He sniffed it, gave it a little lick, wasn’t completely disgusted by the prospect, then took a big bite. It was incredible. A part of his mind lamented that he’d be ruined for other food for a while, but he wasn’t going to admit he loved the taste of gigantic cave worm… he’d just been disrobed five seconds ago…

With the leviathan dead, praise the holy, they’d gained free passage, but that passage was paid for with their discretion. They were lucky a scouting party hadn’t already arrived. The Queen led the way and they followed. It was clear none of them were interested in another hick up, but as it turns out… sometimes the damn things can’t be avoided.

As if a shadow come to life, a being stepped from darkness and introduced themselves. Dante was pretty sure he’d been insulted. He’d grown up in the melting post of Lazular and he’d picked up more than his fair share of insults from different dialects, and he didn’t quite like the cut of this new drow’s jib.

“You're going to lead us through the sewers aren’t you…” It was phrased like a question but the slump of his shoulders suggested he was pretty sure they were about to be slogging through knee high drow excrement.

Vyx'aria Zathria At'Arel Szesh J'rell Vel'duith Voiryn

Vel'duith didn't flinch - she had honestly half-expected to be decked for taking such a strident tone. Her garnet-hued eyes met the queen's, before flicking over her, appraising especially her sword arm and shoulder. She caught herself about to bite her lower lip, and forced her usual half-smile back onto her thin lips.

"Yes, I can suppress a ward for long enough for us to pass it. We will encounter patrols quite soon if we continue any further the way you were headed... let us instead retrace through the cavern to the tunnel leading down to the Dragon-glass springs. There is a path we may take hidden among their outflow channels."

Taking the point of the chin jut, she finished her greeting gesture with a brief bob and flourish, and rose immediately into an easy, almost feline pace, heading back into the large cavern, then to the right, keeping close as possible to its wall, eyes scanning nonstop as they passed. She turned into the second tunnel entrance they came to, which curled downward, a humid heat wafting up from below. Passing a shelf of ripplebark, a cadaverous-looking fungal outgrowth, she reached up and broke off a piece without breaking her pace, brushing it off with gloved fingers before taking a few nibbles.

The boots the diminutive drow wore looked like they were of quite recent dwarven make, perhaps confirming the queen's 'outcast' suspicions, even though the rest of her attire was more to be expected of the upper city: several layers of spidersilk robes in dark hues, a hooded lurker-pelt cloak which had doubtlessly aided her close approach and eavesdropping, a wide brimmed, pointed spidersilk hat, thin lizardskin gloves, and a rune-etched weapon belt holding an adamantine short sword, an ornately carved darkwood hand crossbow with adamantine furniture, and a darkwood bolt box with a small lizardskin poison pouch nestled up against it. She also had a well-stuffed spidersilk satchel slung over a shoulder beneath her cloak.

Before long, they were approaching the hot springs. Before they reached them, she turned abruptly into what looked like a steaming alcove, and disappeared through a shadow. Her hand swiftly reappeared, signaling for them to come on through, gracefully signing: <<It's clear.>>

The worm was dead. Vyx'aria had cut a slice like one might take a piece of roasted venison from a spit, and not from a gargantuan monster that had sought to devour them minutes before.

Yes, this was the way of the Underrealm. Eat or be eaten. And he saw that she knew this lesson well.

The others followed suit, taking slices of their own. J'rell lingered, staring at the creature, a few of its legs still twitching. Normally, he might have taken a slice for himself. But it felt as if he would submit to the rules of the Underrealm then. The rules of the drow. He had given his word, but not yet surrendered his own customs. With a stubborness that almost felt foreign to him, J'rell slowly pursued the others, coming so far back as to near lose his gifted sight.

He left the creature to its smoking grave, untouched.

Glancing over his minor injuries, he wondered why Vyx'aria had rescued him. Risking life and limb to save another, a near stranger to her company? He couldn't understand it. This hardly spoke of the drow he remembered. Could they have changed in the time he had been away? Or was this a perculiar trait to this raiding leader?

When the prickles of lingering fear and energy of the fight abated, it gave way for a new sensation, along with the flares of pain from cuts and scrapes. A faint glow of warmth in his stomach admist all this cold and darkness. An assurance that his safety was guarded, so long as he kept to this company. But he resisted it. Surely it had to be a drow trick? A scheme to ensure his loyalty?

You do not take what is mine. He was a possession, then, as he had suspected. There was a strange comfort in that, as it aligned more with his preconceptions of the dark elves. But perhaps he was of more value than he himself had estimated. Recalling his conversation with Zathria in the jungles above, more words tumbled in his mind like coins thrown down a deep well; clinking and rattling against stone, before splashing into dark waters of unknowing: She is a leader worth following. Loyalty is earned, and I have seen the lengths she will go to those loyal to her. J'rell frowned. These words brought an echo of something within him, something rising out of the dark waters. Loyalty is the only currency that matters. Had those been Zathria's words? Or someone else . . . a name, right on the tip of his tongue . . .

Vel'duith Voiryn said:

"Yes, I can suppress a ward for long enough for us to pass it. We will encounter patrols quite soon if we continue any further the way you were headed... let us instead retrace through the cavern to the tunnel leading down to the Dragon-glass springs. There is a path we may take hidden among their outflow channels."

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Barely breaking their stride, another drow joined their company. He caught the end of their conversation, and the name near summoned sank back to the bottom of his consciousness.

Heat billowed over him when they reached the springs. A jarring sensation, after having traversed damp, stony cold. He noticed this new drow with a wide-brimmed hat break off a piece from a giant fungi, one whose name he forgot. Instead of eating worm meat, he dared to break off a piece for himself and taste it. Tough, jerky, with a strange cracking texture, but curiously nutty and earthly in its flavour. It would do.

He saw the signalling hand. Moving his way to the front with sudden decisiveness, J'rell came up next to Zathria, peering questioningly at Vyx'aria. The question in his eyes might well have been where are we going or why did you save me, as these and plenty besides swirled in his head like an overcooked broth, but soon, he would give both a slow, measured nod each. A nod of acknowledgement. Perhaps even of guarded gratitude. Of debts needing to be repaid.

Hefting his orcish sword, he kept it on his shoulder, to avoid the necessity of drawing it again. After them, he would approach the alcove, squeezing through to the springs beyond. Steam curled around his body, naturally soothing his surface cuts. It felt like a seductive breath of the cave beyond, the invitation of a dragon; hiding its teeth. More alert than ever after their last encounter, J'rell scouted it with well-wrought vigilance.

Pools of hot, murky water leered below long dresses of steam, allowing only narrow paths between them. They took up the titanic space, able to encompass a temple, and allowing for the steam to rise to new heights, forming a fascimile of clouds above, shrouding the underground ceiling.

Vel'duith Voiryn Vyx'aria Szesh Zathria At'Arel Dante Storta

Zathria's attention focused initially on this newcomer before letting it move out. Everyone else's attention and focus was on the new woman, and that meant it was the ideal moment for an ambush: someone else that could be lurking in the shadows.

Zathria's dark gaze slid over stones and cut through shadows, her saber still in one of her hands as she looked for accomplices or others who might be accompanying this Vernutar, but she saw none.

She trailed just behind the short drow as they moved toward the hot springs, enjoyable memories of this place returning to her as they moved through the steam, wrapping her like a warm blanket on a cold night.

But they weren't here for memories or for comfort, they were here to find a way into the city. She vaguely recalled the path from here. It was seldom guarded properly, but it wasn't uncommon for people to be sneaking their way through here.

"This path is rarely guarded, but people often come through here. We may bump into others," she warned in whisper to the others as they pressed inside. As the tunnel narrowed, what had moments ago felt like a warming relief now became a stifling humidity within a tighter tunnel.

"Let them come," J'rell mumbled back, his hand tightening on the grip of his sword, eyes staring daggers at their shrouded environment. "We shall be ready this time."