(Following
The Witch's Crew
)
Rising from the Deep
Runi was the first to sense just how wrong this underworld had just turned. As the blood from the sacrifices, the battle among the kuo-toa, and the frenzying of demon rays flowed into the Darklake, a growling sound felt as vibrations in the pit of one's stomach more than one's ears delivered a hushing wave over the clamor in the fish-folk's settlement to all but the rays. Indistinct to the eye, but summoning primordial fears from intuitive senses - the foaming water bursts with one thick oily tentacle, then another, then another until two monstrous heads break the surface - aglow as if coursing with magma, resembling ferocious baboons with wicked tusks. A single torso begins to loom from beneath the pair as the growling bloodlust and madness expands from shaking spirit to deafening ears - a roar echoing throughout the cavern causing all to cower at its intensity.
Runi glanced from t he resemblance of the Leemooggoogon altar to the Deep Father - twin octopi heads, tentacles - to this monstrosity wading purposefully toward the docks, unquestionably Demogorgon , the Prince of Demons. Many of the kuo-toa simply froze, paralyzed with fear, others dashed in schools to shelter, even to the waters. Great tentacles and swarms of the demon rays smashing and lashing and tearing as this creature - taller than five men, strode to the water's edge.
Already exploiting a distraction-by-fire, Alyks Askaria, Vaxz, Derendil and Jimjar made haste to reach the eelcraft. The navigator and T&T were already eagerly casting off to flee as the party members dodged through the panicking crowd to make the dock and escape this terror. All were accounted for but Dex and Sarith Kzekarit - until the pair, looking even more grey and gaunt than usual joined the crew - Dex employing Vortex Warp to get the dark elf aboard, while crossing the gap in the dark waters himself with the sickle-staff's hovering magics. Immediately then, the human knight and the massive quaggoth stabbed spines to their flesh - feeding the eelcraft to slither off with a blur of speed.
Few dared even look back at the destruction behind, the settlement of Sloobludop falling under the unstoppable might of the demon lord. None spoke. All shivered. Eyes met but then darted away, noting the shared madness among the party. The next day's travel continued as such, with only Runi, Jimjar, and the navigator coherent. Even Topsy & Turvy had their moments whimpering, curled on the ground. Sarith became catatonic for a period. Derendil rocked slowly, away from the others. The unsettling broke only on the second day as Jimjar urged Runi join him in a song so old and so common across the many races of Faerûn, as to be known to all. Eventually, all sang along and hearts seemed to once more return color to the faces of the party as they finally made landfall and bid farewell to T&T and the navigator.
The Silken Paths
The tunnel rose for half a day until reaching a immense, but oddly quiet cavern - choked with a thickness of spider silk as to muffle sound and obscure its vastness. Distant glows bent through translucent silk marking this unmistakably the Silken Paths spanning tens of miles of open space above hundreds of feet down into darkness, into lava, or into filth. The inhabitants no doubt masters of stealth and a vicious ecosystem of parasites and predators - Jimjar led on to a small tent on a pillar just off the edge of the gorge, where a small fire crackled.
A pair of odd-colored goblins greeted the party with a disarming friendliness and fearless twinkle in their eyes. Their manner of speech blended common, undercommon and goblinese with a lilt and ease that seemed a bizarre combination of Shuushar's calm confidence and Jimjar's practical but easy-going focus. These thrill-seeking Web Runners leapt between strands, eager to pitch their services as guides - the smaller twitchy fellow calling himself "Yuk Yuk" while the lanky one with eyes more distant and slightly more "chill" named "Spiderbait". At the conclusion of negotiations came the first lessons in applying a magical grease to boots and learning to "surf the webs ".
They prove to be exceptionally competent guides - as well as friendly and helpful (except in encounters, which they had been very clear about was not their problem). While capably steering the group around threats, the occasional incursion by a swarm of blood-sucking stirges or nest of giant spiders became the burden of the party to address. Two days in, a particularly vicious ambush by said spiders resulted in the quaggoth falling into a comatose paralysis from which Vaxz was unable to rouse. Far too large and heavy to carry over the often-sticky and always precariously-balanced strands of tangled webbing, there was no option to carry the beast along until reviving. Perplexed by the possibility of abandoning him to be eaten alive, the druid took upon himself to move the white-furred creature to the edge - and drop him down down down to his demise in a pool of magma far below.
And so ended the tale of one who called himself the Elf Prince Derendil, of the Kingdom of Nelrindenvane in the High Forest, cursed by the evil wizard Terrestor, trapping him into the form of a beastly creature known as a Quaggoth. Despite the madness afflicting so many in the Underdark, especially lately with whatever is happening with the Demon Lords, to be sure he spoke perfect High Court Elvish and conducted himself with a noble demeanor (at least when not enraged by any challenging his story). Now passed, his story remains a mystery - though none since have claimed to know of any such "Nelrindenvane".
Sister of the Dark Mirage
The third day out, the party arrived what could only be the domicile of Nanny Plunk's coven-Sister of the Dark Mirage, who the Web Runners say goes by "Dame Delve". They keep a significant distance, as does Jimjar, leaving negotiations to the rest. Her cottage sits precariously on a flattened stalagmite, composed of patches of giant insect plates, grey gloopy stuff, crusty flakes like a titan's dandruff, weaves of impossibly long hair, and random oddities - truly little more than cobbled together with wax and spidersilks. The whole area holds a solemn silence and a musty scent steals from any slightly pleasant smells that dared intrude.
Dame Delve responds to the brazen banging on her door with a curt warning to leave her alone, she's busy, and you'd be wise to take your business elsewhere. Even shoving the message under the door simply resulted in a gust sending it flying and requiring someone catch it before drifting away. But, insistent on terminating the agreement with the lake witch, Runi pressed on to raise the hag's attention until the door swung open and framed a shrunken and withered creature that could once have been almost any race before being devoured by wrinkles and dehydration.
Dame Delve would offer no tasty meal, no curiosities to examen, not even bothering to speak in rhymes and riddles - and while a tad disappointing, her plain-spoken directness was somewhat refreshing. Before any businesses, she inquired about the meal that was, apparently, expected to be delivered on any such visit. Runi recalled a cocoon-of-something a short distance back, and convinced Jimjar to go with her to fetch it. Meanwhile, the hag perused the message from Nanny Plunk and muttered and fussed, occasionally sweeping a glare toward the party to make sure there were no shenanigans.
Freeing the cocoon from its sticky strands, Runi's heart sinks a bit on realizing by its shape and heft - inside is either a gnome, a goblin, or a halfling, and most likely in whatever not-quite-dead state that had taken Derendil. Jimjar steadies the knight's hand, affirming there is madness all around - and none will judge and all this will be over soon (but not before staking a wager that his money is on the creature being a goblin - which, to the poor gnome's usual luck, he lost).
Before departing this place, Runi's own curiosity draws her attention to the floating (but sturdy) platform on which they were able to gather the cocoon - this turns out to be a dirt-coated shield with a still-aloft skeletal forearm in its straps and a ring upon one bony finger. The ring is pocketed, and (much later by Alyks' Identify) found to have interesting magical properties.
On offering the food delivery, Dame Delve is unimpressed and declares that she will simply choose to eat what she wishes from the buffet of this party. As the members of the group muster their guard and prepare to defend themselves, the hag's shape pulls back, as if distant, while at the same time growing and transforming into a spindly and wicked arachnoid creature (a Beldam), looming above them and drawing fully upon the powers of her lair. But just as she is poised to strike, her mesmerizing words of impending doooom are interrupted by a noise from above.
At first the thudding of meat against stone is muffled, but grows louder with a fourth and fifth time, all looking upward, confused (including the hag!) when a whooshing rush of air ends in a SPLAT! The witch has been crushed (at least for the moment? ) beneath an enormous white carcass of scales and leather and claws and teeth. Relieved, but also disturbed, the party examines this fortunate accident to find the creature to be a Unknown. In the process noting a sound coming from inside - a voice calling out and struggling.
With some assistance cutting through the armored scales and thick skin of the belly of the beast, a darkened creature, soaked in blood and ichor, cuts through the final layer of sinew, emerging and shifting her shape before the group's eyes into an attractive female drow. The woman struggles with her ruined purple clothing, thanking the party then introduces herself as "Vyerith".
(Next: Upward into Daylight )