Out of the Abyss IC

[Spore]

Nilvae Half-Elf Warlock AC: 13 HP: 23/23 PP: 12 PIv: 11 PIs: 12 Conditions: - Concentration: - Nilvae finishes her song with a last verse, then falls quiet. After a while she responds. Why do you think I scare of predators? A simple request, my dear friends. Can you put my nightly quarters right side up. All this blood in my head is making me want to sing another verse. she insists, giving the last few words some sort of melody as if she wanted to start another song. If you want you can hang me up again, just the right side around. Spoiler Show Persuasion for a sensible request. (1d20+6)[19]

[cigaw]

Dworic Urgrimson Dwarf Barbarian AC: 15 HP: 35/35 PP: 13 PIv: 9 PIs: 13 Conditions: Exhaustion (2) Concentrating: -- Third Day - Back to the cell Dworic simply glares at the drow guard when he returns, making a show of his dusty hands and then of scratching his neck, leaving the guard to make the connection between hands strong enough to crush stone and wide enough to envelop an elven-sized neck. In silence, he marches back to the cell, finds a mostly dry spot in a corner and lies down. His breathing is even but other signs - such as the taught tendons and distended veins in his arms and hands, the cold sweat on his brow and the deep dark circles under his eyes - point to obvious exhaustion. Not long after that he falls fitfully asleep. Fourth Day The dwarf awakes early - or at least what his own inner sense of time tells him is early. He rolls flat on his back and simply stays there, staring at the ceiling. "Why would you let me be taken, Haela?" he mutters very low in dwarvish, under his breath. Feelings of betrayal, hatred and scorn all dance in his mind. When the half-elf is sick, Dworic sits up and looks on in silence. Despite trying to look uninterested, there is concern in the way he looks at Borthan. When the food arrives, Dworic gives Bort some of his own share. "Try to keep it down. You need your strength." With a curt nod, he then returns to his corner and chews slowly on his jerky. His ears perk up as the guard summons the drow prisoner and watches the exchange curiously. Spoiler: OOC Show • Insight: (1d20+3)[14] Does Dworic recover another level of Exhaustion? I don't think it's addressed on any of the previous spoilers.

[Amnestic]

Faedryl Melad Drow Hexblade/Evoker AC: 12 HP: 22/22 PP: 12 PIv: 14 PIs: 12 Conditions: -- Concentrating: -- Fourth Day, Cell That was good. It would mean a change in normality for the outpost. Slow messages, if any were sent, strain supplies. There were other routes here no doubt, but they'd be longer, and probably more dangerous for any supply transports. It'd buy them time more than anything. She hesitantly takes a step closer to the bars, hopeful that she could jump out of reach if he were to try anything. She can't help but voice the question now burning on her tongue. "Why tell me?" Everyone had an angle, especially drow. Leadership dispute perhaps? He planned to use her to oust the current outpost head? Faedryl might even be amenable to that, though she'd not stick around afterwards.

[RandomWombat]

Spoiler: OOC

Show

Dworic is down to 1 Exhaustion after the second rest, yes.

The Fourth Day

On the other side of the bars, now up close, Faedryl can see the drow's downturned face, the deep bags and dark veins under his eyes from infrequent trancing. And she can see boiling anger in his eyes. "I have my reasons. I assume you want to get out of here?" he whispers back, face mere inches from Faedryl's and voice too low for the others further in to hear - and especially not the other guards. "The road blockage means many more patrols are going to be dropping off their catches here. When you're ready, I can 'forget' to lock the door after a work day."

While they watch the drow whisper with each other, the big-nosed gnome saunters over to Borthan and nudges him in the shin with an elbow. He wears a wide, playful grin full of clean, well-cared for white teeth. He has not yet partaken of his share of 'breakfast'. "So, how about a little wager to make things more interesting?" he asks, running a finger and a thumb together. "I'll bet'cha fifty gold (once we're out of here obviously) she's not a spy."

After his messages to Faedryl are relayed, the scarred drow speaks up, his voice now clearly audible again. "It's time for another work day. Traitor drow, two male gnomes. It's your turn. Come up to the door and everyone else keep back." Breaking off from his conference with Borthan after waiting for an answer, Jimjar walks over to line up behind Faedryl. Topsy has to give her brother a pep talk in his ear before he reluctantly stands to follow.

The Fifth Day

Spoiler: Dworic

Show

It is a wonderful day.

Everything around Dworic is illuminated by a pale orange light that resonates through the tunnels, all-encompassing. Around him other festive partygoers dance and sing with one another upon the squishy, grey floor. Its folds and creases look much like a brain that's grown across the floor, the walls, the ceiling; it encompasses all. Smaller mushrooms with bright glow crop up here and there, like decorations amidst the pews of the chapel.

The impending nuptials of Dworic's queen are cause for much celebration, and infectious, uncharacteristic joy bubbles up inside him. But the time for dancing comes to an end and the venue's fungoid staff guide him down into his seat.
'
The bride begins her walk down the aisle. Tall, thin, with a veil of deliciously rotten, corpse-sweet fungal flesh hanging around her face. Dworic can feel spores catching in his teeth as he smiles widely at his Queen. She strides past rows of gathered celebrants, to the groom. A tall stalk of the grey matter that has been molded into a vaguely humanoid shape. On her arrival, the bride forgets the order of her ceremonies and tosses a bouquet of festive, colorful fungi. Everyone reaches up and, in spite of his shortness, it finds its way into Dworic's outstretched hands.

There in front of him are fungi in shades of blue, green, red and yellow, all popping against the suffused orange glow. In one of their smooth, bright surfaces, he can see a reflection of himself. His skull split open like a flowering plant, and stalks of orange growths rising up out of him.

This time it is the dwarf that wakes up with a sudden start, feeling a crawling sensation throughout his skull. A desperate, all-consuming itch.

Spoiler: Mechanics

Show

Dworic does not recover from any Exhaustion during his third rest, leaving him at 1.

He must make a DC 12 Sanity save against the nightmare. If he claws at his head and tears at it with his nails to make the itching stop, he will suffer two instances of his own unarmed damage (4), but will lower the save DC to 10.

Meanwhile...

The drow at camp look at one another and the one who'd pestered her to be quiet shrugs. "Fine, guess she's had enough." He gets up and walks over to her, wrapping a cloth gag tightly around Nilvae's head and in her mouth. "I'm cutting you loose to be retied. Don't try anything."

Bringing out a dagger, he cleanly slices through the silk, leaving Nilvae to fall down onto the stone floor below. Another drow keeps her from cracking her neck (can't sell a dead or paralyzed slave... not for as much, anyways), but lets her legs flop painfully onto the stone floor. They begin standing her against the wall to be spider'd again.

[Amnestic]

Faedryl Melad Drow Hexblade/Evoker AC: 12 HP: 22/22 PP: 12 PIv: 14 PIs: 12 Conditions: -- Concentrating: -- Fourth Day, Cell She takes care not to let her emotions show too clearly, instead nodding in agreement as he speaks before standing back for the work shift. Given who she was, and who she was with, hopefully it wouldn't be too physically intensive. She'd been right though, some dispute over leadership seemed the only thing that would make him turn traitor like this. She'd seen anger like that before. She'd felt it before. Maybe he'd lost his lover as she had. A twinge of sympathy tickled her chest, but she stamped it down quickly. Sympathy could wait. For now she'd play the diligent worker and when she got back to the cell, inform the others what she'd heard. Even the mad thinblood. It was all coming together. Was it fate? Divine providence? Seemed unlikely. Maybe she was just lucky, though that she was here in the first place put a damper on that idea.

[purepolarpanzer]

Borthan Zuek Half-Drow Ranger AC: 14 HP: 28/29 PP: 14 PIv: 9 PIs: 12 Conditions: 1 Level of Exhaustion Concentrating on: The Fourth Day When Dworic passes some of his own food to Borthan, the half-elf nearly objects. If he was sick once he might be sick again, and then the food would only go to waste. But then his stomach growled at the sight of the improved rations, and he accepts the extra food with only a Thanks, biggun. in Dwarvish. He wolfs down his food with a fervor, seeking to replace what had been retched across the floor. He also watched the female drow talk to the guard, eyebrow raised and trying to listen in to no avail. Then the big nosed gnome nudged him and offered him a bet. He chuckles, despite everything, and shakes his head. Don't got fifty gold in my purse, they've probably already emptied what I had into their own pocket, and don't know when I'm going to get paying work again. I never ring up debts I can't pay. He chews for a moment, considering. I'll try to think if there is anything I DO have to bet, but nothing comes to mind. Personally I don't think she's a spy, either. If she was a male, maybe, but for a female to be in this hole she musta done something REAL bad.

[RandomWombat]

The Fourth Day

Before he steps away for his shift, the gnome looks up at Borthan slyly. "These are the drow we're talking about. Could be she did something real good," he taps the side of his head and winks, before shuffling out with the others.

The Fourth Day, Work Shift

Their procession walks through, escorted by the crippled drow across the walkway. Off to the side, Faedryl can see out into a huge cavern, with spiderwebs sprawling beneath them that hide them from observers below, and below that a pool of dark water.

Ahead of them are three drow, an officer and two rank and file, assembled around a table playing cards. Behind them is a ladder leading up to another tier of the 'building', which has been carved into one of the large stalactites in the ceiling of the cavern. Jimjar has taken to eating his food while being led away, gnawing off a bit of jerky. One of the drow as they pass is seized by cruel impulse and slaps the food right out of the gnome's hands. "Clumsy you, dropping food like that. Not going to let it go to waste are you?"

Leaning down, Jimjar scoops up the piece of food and continues eating it without complaint, much to the disappointment of the offending drow. "Tch, least it's learned to accept the scraps it's thrown."

They go along another, longer walkway, past the waterfall. Flecks of wetness fall on their left side and faces. Finally, they come to another stalactite, where an ornate door has been constructed in the side with patterns of spiders and webbing carved painstakingly into the wood. A pair of quaggoth guards loom around this end of the walkway, while a young drow priestess stands beside the door drinking from a cup of tea, paying them as much mind as a surfacer would grass underfoot. Faedryl does not recognize her as the huntress from the tunnels, nor as part of her entourage.

The interior of the stalactite is draped in fine cloth and filled with silk cushions and blankets in many brilliant colors. At the center of the chamber is a statue of Lolth, the Spider Queen, standing tall and imperiously watching over the shrine. Towards the back of the room is a trapdoor leading down below.

Spoiler: Perception DC 14

Show

There is a giant spider nestled under some of the cushions and blankets, apparently asleep.

"You are to clean and polish the statue of Her Cleverness, Lolth the Spider Goddess," the scarred drow instructs them, picking up a wooden bucket filled with washcloths from the floor and holding it out to Faedryl. Near where it was resting is another cloth, and a container of polish. "When you are finished, our mistress Priestess Vandree will inspect your work. She expects it to be spotless. Failure to achieve expectations will result in cut rations for all prisoners. Do not attempt to enter the trapdoor if you value life and limb." He doesn't wait for any questions, before he shuts the door behind them and they are left alone.

Jimjar claps his hands together and rubs them. "Shall we?"

Gingerly, Turvy plucks one of the washclothes out of the bucket and wrings it into the water. He opens his mouth as if to say something, then closes it and shuffles to the base of the statue to start scrubbing it.

Spoiler: Mechanics

Show

It will be a Perception check to contribute to the maintenance of Lolth's shrine, to find blemishes or missed spots that may get them in trouble. A character may choose to work extra hard, gaining Advantage at the cost of a point of Exhaustion.

[Spore]

Nilvae Half-Elf Warlock AC: 13 HP: 23/23 PP: 12 PIv: 11 PIs: 12 Conditions: - Concentration: - I thank you! Nilvae says in the most friendly cheery voice these drow have probably ever heard. You know besides being grumpy slave-trading spider worshippers, you are not so bad yourselves. the half-elf praises her jailors. Have no fear I will create any trouble for you. I know when I am defeated. I may be mad, but I am not stupid. Outrunning a drow warband in the middle of the Underdark is not working. At least not for a surface elf like me. I just try to make my situation as good as can be right now. Did I mention I am a skilled herbalist and singer? Maybe you could note that and sell me according to these skills. I am not one for digging holes or for serving tea.

[cigaw]

Dworic Urgrimson Dwarf Barbarian AC: 15 HP: 31/35 PP: 13 PIv: 9 PIs: 13 Conditions: Exhaustion (1) Concentrating: -- Fifth Day The dwarf wakes with a start, a low haunting moan escaping his lips as he runs his hands through his beard and hair, unfocused eyes wide with fear as he begins to pound his head with his fists and rake his broken fingernails on his scalp trying and trying to stop the itch within. "not real not real not real not real not real not real not real," he says over and over again for a few minutes until he finally calms down. His breath starts to even and his eyes regain focus as he stares at the blood and hair on his hands. With a big, shuddering breath, he can't help but remark "What in the hells is wrong with his place?" Spoiler: OOC Show • History: (1d20-1)[0] • Religion: (1d20-1)[2]

[Amnestic]

Faedryl Melad Drow Hexblade/Evoker AC: 12 HP: 22/22 PP: 12 PIv: 14 PIs: 12 Conditions: -- Concentrating: -- Fourth Day, Work Shift Faedryl looks up at the statue, disgust rising in her throat. In some ways everything came back to Lolth and her poisonous influence on her people. Maybe that's what they had her cleaning this statue specifically. It annoyed her that, if that was the intention, that it was working. If the opportunity came she'd have to remember to smash it on their escape. Maybe even in front of some of the other drow, really drive the point home. She takes the bucket from the scarred drow, allowing her hand to briefly brush against his, but making no sign of acknowledging it. Once the guards are gone, she looks at the statue again. She doesn't particularly want to touch it, but there's a lot of things she doesn't want to do that ended up getting done. "If our performance affects everyone's rations, I'll push myself." She declares, to neither of the gnomes in particular. Losing rations for the group wouldn't endear herself, and she needed them pliable, not distrustful. Spoiler: Rolls Show Perception: (1d20+2)[12] With advantage for working hard: (1d20+2)[3] Fifth Day, Cell She's snapped out of her trance by the dwarf's mutterings, opening one lazy eye first to take in the scene. At least he wasn't throwing up all over the cell. "Just a 'bad dream'?" She asks with a bemused barbed tongue, taking a chance to look directly at the thinblood. First him, now the dwarf. Which of them would catch the madness next? "What did you see?"

[RandomWombat]

Fourth Day, Work Shift

Swallowing her pride, Faedryl is able to apply herself well to the cleaning of the statue. She can almost feel Lolth sneering down at her with satisfaction as she shines the spider queen's 'boots'. Turvy nervously avoids washing any 'inappropriate' areas, avoiding them subconsciously with a nervous dark-grey flush to his face. Too jovial for his own good, Jimjar whistles a jaunty working tune as he goes, moving to cover the places Turvy is too sheepish to wash.

As the work nears its conclusion, Jimjar reaches down to grab one of the pillows, carefully sliding out the silken threads of one of the gold-colored tassels. He still whistles as he goes, and when he sets the pillow back down it's as if nothing is amiss. Only by counting the tassels of every pillow would someone realize it had been tempered with.

Jimjar winks at the others as he slips the string away into hiding.

Spoiler: Mechanics

Show

Together the group achieves 38/35, enough to complete the job. Faedryl gains 1 Exhaustion.
Jimjar is able to subtly acquire another silken Garrote.

The big-nosed deep gnome hops suddenly to attention as footsteps are heard outside the door. The priestess outside enters, apparently having finished her tea. She motions with her arms for them to move away to the walls, as if parting the sea with her hands. Behind her, the scarred drow waits outside of the shrine.

She circles the statue with her hands folded behind her, haughtily looking at their work with pursed lips. At last she declares, "Acceptable. Take them back to their cell, Duskryn." She flashes the scarred drow a playful smile across the room, and he clears his throat, lowering his eyes in deference.

"Of course, mistress."

Spoiler: DC 12 Insight

Show

The junior priestess is clearly trying to play on the other drow's need for affection or acceptance.

Spoiler: DC 15 Insight

Show

Beneath his deferential head bow, the male drow's face is stony and set. He is absolutely not falling for her wiles.

Fifth Day

"This is the second time," Topsy points out, the female gnome echoing Faedryl's sentiments. "Something is wrong. Both of you, we need to know what these nightmares were of," she insists, eyes flicking between Dworic and Borthan.

Meanwhile...

Nilvae's cooperation comes as a surprise to the drow slaves. "Maybe this one has what it takes to survive in service after all."

"Assuming her mistress enjoys music," another quips. Though they seem disarmed around the warlock girl, they still call down a giant spider to tie her up again, and keep her from wandering off. "Tell you what. As a reward for being such a model slave, you can lie down before we tie you up. Get some sleep, we have a long march tomorrow," one of the drow points at the ground beneath her as the spider crawls over.

[Amnestic]

Faedryl Melad Drow Hexblade/Evoker AC: 12 HP: 22/22 PP: 12 PIv: 14 PIs: 12 Conditions: Exhaustion (1) Concentrating: -- Fourth Day, Work Shift Faedryl stays quiet and stonefaced as she follows instructions from the priestess dutifully, though she's a bit sluggish from the exertion. At least it was acceptable, they'd done what was required, that was something. And perhaps the gnomes would give her some sway with the rest of the cell. She had a name for her pet traitor though - Duskryn, and she hadn't missed the looks between them. Faedryl felt sure now - she was the reason he was betraying the outpost. It was unlikely she could find a chance to ask why, exactly, but that was more of a curiosity for her than importance. Knowing the cause would help her sell it to the rest of the cell though. An unexplained betrayal was one thing, but now that she knew why, easier to get them on board. "Male drow hates female drow in power" wasn't exactly an unknown story.

[Spore]

Nilvae Half-Elf Warlock AC: 13 HP: 23/23 PP: 12 PIv: 11 PIs: 12 Conditions: - Concentration: - The elven maid surveys the camp from her place, checking for obvious exits now that she has been cut loose. It did not matter much, invoking Puck's magic could easily alleviate her off the bindings, but her fleeing and being caught would only worsen her prospects of having a worthwhile prison, nor would it benefit her donkey-spider and dog companions. For now, she decided to rest her eyes and accept the fate of a prisoner.

[purepolarpanzer]

Borthan Zuek Half-Drow Ranger AC: 14 HP: 29/29 PP: 14 PIv: 9 PIs: 12 Conditions: Concentrating on: The Fifth Day Borthan shoots Dworic a heavy look after he stops clawing at himself. The half-drow had watched the entire event in silence. Did he look like that? Did he seem so... deranged? Shaking his head of these thoughts, he sits down against the door and sighs. Gods, what he would do for a little tobacco now. He looked evenly at Topsy and then down at the ground. It took him time. Time to recall exactly what he felt. Every bit of fear. And it took him longer still to speak it in Undercommon. I was hunting. A bounty. On a Gnome called the Pudding King. I tracked him down and then he trapped me. He melted into this... sludge. When I looked down it it was like black tar rising out of these yellow lights. Then it dragged me down and I started melting into sludge. Then the sludge began flooding out of my mouth. Then I woke up. I was... fine for a few seconds, then I seized up and couldn't move until I got slapped. He had let all this out in one breath, so he took a deep inhale, sighed again, and said The lights were from a real place. Hunted a weird cultist to his base of operations. Dark place. Underground. The black... well they had this ooze that lived in a dry fountain. And they would lower people into the fountain... to feed it. Did it while praying to Jubilex. Demon lord of slimes. Anyway... He is glad no one can see him blush. He was not used to being so open with people. Hell, he wasn't even used to speaking with people for longer than it took to kill them or gag them. His hand reached reflexively towards the knife, wondering it it would bring him comfort. But he clenched his fist instead.If fat-blood was right then one of you better get ready to ride the lightning, because my dream hurt. Hurt bad.

[RandomWombat]

The Fourth Day, Cell

The group from the work shift returns, and the scarred drow - now known to Faedryl as Duskryn - re-locks the door and leaves them be. Turvy quickly retreats from the spotlight of his arrival to shrink into the background.

Going over to Dworic, Jimjar slips a strand of silk out of his sleeve and holds it out to the dwarf. "Think you'll have better luck choking somebody out with this than me. Put it somewhere nobody'll see," he says in a low voice. Then he turns on his heel and regards the whole cell. "Why don't we get some proper introductions, huh? Work group was out last time we bothered. Jimjar, gambler and drifter, but not a grifter, at your service!"

"Topsy, and Turvy," the more vocal of the gnome twins points between herself and her brother.

The Fifth Day

"Jubilex, you say?" an unfamiliar voice to most speaks up from the twins' little nook. It's Turvy, the quiet gnome. He's sitting with his legs folded up in front of him, arms wrapped around them. For the first time he speaks up with a bit of interest. "As far as I know, nothing like nightmares are in the Faceless Lord's domain..." he ponders aloud, staring ahead at his knees with his tall brow furrowed.

Meanwhile...

Spoiler: Nilvae

Show

It is a bright day, sunlight sparkling down through dew-wet leaves as Nilvae twirls and spins. Bluebirds flutter around, lifting up a shawl around her shoulders as a pair of does prance to and fro in imitation of her steps.

The words of a song she doesn't quite recognize reverberate through the glade, accompanied by the whistling panpipes of satyrs lining the edges of the glade. Twitters of birdsong join with her own voice in celebration, and a tiny grig lands on her shoulder playing a fiddle with his legs.

Splatter on roses and whiskers from kittens
Warm copper flavors and fresh furry mittens
Cute shrunken heads all tied up with strings
These are a few of my favorite things

Nilvae reaches up and takes the grig from her shoulder, his fiddling reaching a fever pitch just before she plucks his legs from his little body and tosses him aside. The deer prancing around hunch over and cackle with deep, shuddering laughter. Their spines stretch out against the flesh of their backs, fur falling out in mangy patches.

Cream fur flecked with spots and laughter most brutal
Sweet country belles slurpin' guts like they're noodles
High soaring kites stretched out of live skins
These're a few of my favorite things

Another voice, harsh and gravelly joins Nilvae in her song as she dances around. The bird song is cut short with a sudden squawk as the does leap up to snap them out of the air in long, sharpening teeth. Their faces grow wider and their bodies bulk out with powerful muscle. They are not entirely deer anymore, not at all. The more that she sings, the more canine they become.

Girls in white dresses with bloody red splashes
Gore that clings to my face and eyelashes
Crunching their bones till they bunch up like springs
These are a few of my favorite things

The deer shudder and cackle as they begin to stand up on two legs, mouths curling back as they shriek to the sky. High above the sun slowly dies into dark, filling the clearing with shadow. Only the gleaming reflective eyes of the two hyenas standing in front of Nilvae show through.

The panpipes have stopped, as the bushes at the edge of the clearing crunch underfoot and the trees are toppled by a looming figure with a smile that goes on for miles.

"Guess who's baaaaack?" a snarling voice asks in a bloodcurdling singsong voice, vast malevolent eyes peering through Nilvae's own and piercing her soul down to something beyond.

Suddenly, Nilvae awakens in a fit of giggles, writhing against the web cocoon she's lying in. The drow slavers are in the middle of packing up camp when her awakening startles them, and one of them pulls out a club. "What are you cackling about, girl?" Another of the drow starts laughing as well, catching the attention of the one with his club out. "What? What in the pits is so funny?" Two more of them double over with laughter, and the ones not caught up in the fit spin around, beads of sweat forming as they try to puzzle out what's happening.

Spoiler: Mechanics

Show

Nilvae must make a DC 12 Sanity save. All the drow nearby are forced to make it as well.

[Amnestic]

Faedryl Melad Drow Hexblade/Evoker AC: 12 HP: 22/22 PP: 12 PIv: 14 PIs: 12 Sanity: 11 Conditions: Exhaustion (1) Concentrating: -- Fourth Day, Cell She returns to the cell on dragged feat, eager for trance, and probably some sleep on top of it too, but there were things that came first. She adds her voice to the introductions. "Faedryl, former scion of House Melad." She takes a seat, cross legged, though maintains just a touch of distance. She's not too eager to get close to the mad thinblood, lest he start lashing out with his dagger again. "I'm a spellcaster of some skill, among other things." Once names have been exchanged, she speaks up further, keeping her voice low from any wary guards listening in. "I have news. The main supply route between here and Menzoberranzan has been blocked, apparently by a collapse of some sort. Patrols will be sending more prisoners here while it gets cleared, they'll be cut off from assistance and they won't be sending us to the city in the next few days." She pauses to let it settle in before continuing. "The guard who told me seems to want us to break out so we can...remove the priestess in charge of the outpost when we break out. His hate for her seems genuine, and if I give him a signal he'll get us the key for the door." Another pause, she takes a deep breath. "Six of us against an outpost, even with one traitor guard, may not be doable, but if they bring more in the next few days, maybe scavenge some more tools, it might be enough. There may be a real chance here." It felt...odd to be talking like this. It wasn't her norm. It wasn't natural to her, but it does feel good, just a little, to try to encourage them. To lead, or at least guide, through something other than fear and pure power. Through something other than her family name. Though that might depend on how effective it turns out to be. Fifth Day, Cell "Worshipping Jubilex seems like a waste of time to me." Faedryl adds idly, mostly musing outloud. "If it's connected to a demon lord maybe it's not a contagion then. Maybe it's something about this place that's doing it? Some sort of...curse or corruption on the stones?" She runs a hand against the cold rock, trying to coax any insight from it, but she may as well try to coax blood from it for all the good it did her.

[RandomWombat]

Spoiler: Nilvae Madness

Show

Nilvae is Deafened for 20 hours, as she continues to hear the sound of hyenas cackling in her ears.

She loses 1 San and suffers the Fearful Panic, taking Disadvantage to fear and Sanity saves.

[Spore]

Nilvae Half-Elf Warlock AC: 13 HP: 23/23 PP: 12 PIv: 11 PIs: 12 Sanity: 7 (-1) Conditions: deafened, fearful Concentration: - These are a few of my favorite things... Nilvae wakes up shaking involuntarily. She struggles against her bindings. TAKE THEM AWAY! TAKE AWAY THE LAUGHTER! she shouts panicked as she slips into yet another giggling fit. She convulses, and finally, she understands, she needs to flee, to get away from there. Away from the hyenas, that wanted to tear her flesh. From the spiders, and other beasts. Her body turns into a fine mist that suddenly travels north and she materializes again. If the cave were lit, it would sparkle a bit. Standing up, she books it out of the camp. Spide. Brutus. Forgive me. she thinks as she flees into unknown caverns. Unable to see much, unable to hear.

[RandomWombat]

In the Dark

The sudden flash of mist catches the drow by surprise as Nilvae rushes off into the darkness. They shout after her, but the sounds of their voices are drowned out by the hyena's terrible cackling. Two drow are left behind at camp as they suffer lapses of sanity, and four chase after Nilvae, accompanied by a pair of giant spiders.

Two crossbow bolts slash by, glancing across Nilvae's side, and she feels a sluggishness in her feet that she must shake off to keep to her flight.

Spoiler: Combat Log

Show

Two drow remain behind, suffering from Sanity breaks.

Four drow give chase and shoot. Two are too far and suffer Disadvantage that causes them to miss, while two were closer to the opening of the alcove and get in range of normal shots.
Two giant spiders give chase, Dashing to catch up but still out of melee range.
Nilvae is hit twice for 4 and 6 damage by hand crossbows. She must make two DC 13 Con saves vs Drow Poison. Failure is Poisoned for 1 hour, while failure by 5 or more is also Unconscious for 1 hour.

[cigaw]

Dworic Urgrimson Dwarf Barbarian AC: 15 HP: 31/35 PP: 13 PIv: 9 PIs: 13 Conditions: Exhaustion (1) Concentrating: -- Fifth Day Dworic is silent for an uncomfortably long time after the drow's question. He's inwardly thankful that Borthan decided to share his own nightmare first, giving him time to shake off most of the night's horrors. When he finally speaks, his deep voice is low and rumbling. "It was some form of wedding celebration. The bride was a queen - my queen. She and the groom and the guests were different types of fungi and mushrooms as was the great hall itself. I saw myself breathe in their spores and then my skull split asunder and fungi sprouted from my brain."

[RandomWombat]

The Fifth Day, Cell

Outside, Eldeth is led with her head covered by a bag, and tied up to prevent her from getting it to fall off. Her hands are bound in front of her, and behind her another drow prisoner is being escorted. She hasn't seen who it is, only heard his smooth dulcet voice speaking in duergar-butchered Dwarvish. With the sound of a door creaking open ahead, she is shoved forwards.


Not long after Dworic's explanation, there are footsteps from outside. Many more footsteps than the previous visits from the drow. The door creaks open and a pair of new prisoners are shoved in. One is a female dwarf, with a bag tied around her head. The other is a derro with a broad, bristly beard and mustache, with a black blindfold over his eyes. The derro slips off his blindfold and stretches his neck. "My, my, my. We are in quite a pickle aren't we?" he states as calmly as if he were saying it's raining today, in dwarvish. His voice is soft and gentle. Reaching over, he unties the dwarf's bag hood and pulls it off of her.

The drow shut the door behind them, but do not leave right away. One of them calls into the room, "Traitor, mutt, dwarf - old dwarf. Line up by the door, it's work time. And best work fast if you want there to be any food when you get back," the drow officer smirks. Behind him, the prisoners can see the scarred drow waiting with a tray of food.

Spoiler: Dream: Religion

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Spoiler: DC 10

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With the earlier revelation of Jubilex's nightmare, a guess at the topic of this dream comes more easily to those with knowledge of demonology. The rival of Jubilex is Zuggtmoy, the Demon Queen of Fungi, with whom the Faceless Lord begrudgingly shares a layer of the Abyss.

Spoiler: DC 15

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Zuggtmoy's 'blessing' often takes the form of spores that take root in their host and gradually overtake them from the inside - not unlike a cordyceps mushroom in ants. During the gestation period of the fungus, Zuggtmoy cultists gradually develop many physical benefits, such as increased strength and rapid regeneration of wounds.

Spoiler: Dream: History DC 15

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The location of the wedding sounds like the Araumycos, a massive fungal growth that stretches across much of the Underdark. Its body consists largely of spongy grey fungal tissue that looks much like a brain covering the walls and floor of the cavern, but other symbiotic fungi grow within and around the greater mass.

It could even be said that much of the underground to the southeast of Darklake and Menzoberranzan is Araumycos. Where the tunnels end and the organism begins can be difficult to discern. The mysterious Myconids appear to consider the Araumycos to be holy ground.

Spoiler: Religion DC 15

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The Araumycos is suspected by some theologians to be an Avatar of Psilofyr, an Archfey and the patron deity of the Myconids. 'He' shares the domain of fungi with his rival Zuggtmoy. His primary concern is the benefit of the Myconid species, though he is also known to be surprisingly altruistic - if utterly alien - to those who do not mean his people harm.

Spoiler: Derro: History

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Spoiler: DC 5

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Derro are a kind of duergar.

Spoiler: DC 10

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Derro were once dwarves or duergar, but were driven mad and twisted by foul forces, believed to have once been slaves to the mindflayers not unlike the duergar - but subject to dark experiments. They now live among the duergar as second class citizens or slaves, only barely tolerated by the grey dwarves.

Spoiler: History DC 15 and Religion DC 20

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The two obscure, twin gods of the derro are Diiranka and Diinkarazan, former members of the dwarven pantheon disowned by Moradin. There are two conflicting stories of the gods' fall to darkness.

One story states that the two gods were jealous after the other dwarven gods cast them out, and sought to create a new type of dwarf. They stole terrible artifacts from the ithillid diety, Ilsensine, who caught them in the act. Diiranka stabbed his brother and left him to the mercy of Ilsensine, fleeing with the artifacts and creating the derro on his own. Diinkarazan was captured and trapped in the Abyss to endure eternal torment, plotting his revenge on his brother and the derro from an Abyssal layer called the Prison of the Mad God, where he is Lord, Prisoner, and sole resident.

The other story likewise states that Diiranka and Diinkarazan stole terrible artifacts from the ithillid deity. However, it was not to steal power, but to break free duergar worshipers who had been captured and enslaved by the mindflayers, and had been transformed into the mad derro by mindflayer experimentation. When they fled, Diinkarazan stayed behind to fend off Ilsensine, and was never betrayed by his brother, instead facing an eternity in the Prison of the Mad God for a selfless sacrifice. Diiranka in turn was able to save the derro, but was driven mad by the dark powers he stole from Ilsensine.

Both the derro and their two gods are quite mad, and often dangerously homicidal.

[purepolarpanzer]

Borthan Zuek Half-Drow Ranger AC: 14 HP: 29/29 PP: 14 PIv: 9 PIs: 12 Conditions: Concentrating on: The Fifth Day- Cell Borthan considers Dworic's dream for a few moments before speaking up. Did a bit of research into demons for that hunt. On the same layer of the Abyss as Jubilex there is another demon lord- Zuggtmoy, the demon queen of fungi. Can't be a coincidence. He continues working over this in his mind until the doors to the cell open and the new prisoners are shoved in. He is about to say hello to the dwarf woman when he spots the derro. He closes his mouth so fast his teeth clack together painfully. Then he speaks in undercommon, loud and angry. You're puttin HIM in here with US? He spits a curse and stands up from his sitting position before speaking again and heading to get in line. Be careful. All of you. This one can't be predicted.

[cigaw]

Dworic Urgrimson Dwarf Barbarian AC: 15 HP: 31/35 PP: 13 PIv: 9 PIs: 13 Conditions: Exhaustion (1) Concentrating: -- Fifth Day The dwarf listens as Borthan talks about Juiblex and Zuggtmoy and simply shrugs noncommittally. It's obvious this isn't his area of expertise. He stands when the call for the workers is made and lines up silently once more. As he sees the newcomers, he instinctively twists his nose in distrust at seeing the derro - a sentiment that is short-lived, seeing the dwarf he hangs his had down listlessly, his feeling of shame returning tenfold. "Undo her bonds," is all he manages to say, to no one in particular.

Eldeth Feldrun Dwarf Fighter AC: 12 HP: 25/25 PP: 13 PIv: 12 PIs: 11 Conditions: -- Concentrating: -- Fifth Day Eldeth stumbles as she's shoved into the cell. She's momentarily grateful when the hood is removed, only to find a derro face staring at her once her eyes adjusted. She takes stock of the prisoners. "Moradin preserve me," she whispers. Derro, Drow and some form of half-drow? She backs away and places her back to a wall, eyes wide, fighting down panic. Her enemies are in here with her! She finally sees the dwarf with the bloodied hair and tries to get his attention in dwarvish. "Clansman of whatever your Clan may be, help me! We must get out of here!" But her pleas fall on seemingly deaf ears; the older dwarf grunts and refuses to look at her.

[Amnestic]

Faedryl Melad Drow Hexblade/Evoker AC: 12 HP: 22/22 PP: 12 PIv: 14 PIs: 12 Sanity: 11 Conditions: Exhaustion (1) Concentrating: -- Fifth Day, Cell So two demon lords were preying on their minds. Unlikely to be a coincidence. Both sounded distinctly unpleasant, which made her escape - their escape? - all that much more pressing, which is why when the dwarf and derro show up Faedryl is secretly glad. More bodies. They were eight now. Better than before. "I am not entirely sure any of us can be 'predicted' right now." Faedryl responds quietly to Borthan's immediate distrust of the derro. If a malady of madness was afflicting them, then a derro was the least of their problems. She can't help but be a little put out by the new-dwarf's attitude. Too fresh to the Underdark perhaps. She'd learn soon enough. Or die. Either way. Faedryl moves to line up. Not feeding prisoners you're then planning to make work for you was a complete waste of time and effort. It just means they'll do a worse job and then you have to spend time on beating them or they end up in a starving spiral. She understands the idea behind the cruelty, but if they were intended to be additional labour then their efforts were misplaced. This was exactly the sort of needless stupidity she wanted to fix. Enslaving people and putting them to work made sense, but needlessly abusing the slaves for the sake of amusement was just inefficient. A healthy slave did better work than an unhealthy one. It was that simple.

[RandomWombat]

The Fifth Day, Cell

"How terribly rude," is all the derro has to say in response to his welcome as he strides past Borthan further into the cell, taking up position against the back wall. The glare of his white eyes shines in the glow of the luminescent fungus as he lowers down to a seated position.

"No Moradin here, dwarfess. Only us," the drow mocks as he leads the work group out. The door is shut behind them, and a scarred and weary looking drow limps up to the door, pushing a tray with bowls of mushroom broth and strips of jerky through a slot in the door.

A deep gnome with a large nose takes the tray and distributes the food, not looking too worried about delivering a plate to the derro lurking in the back of the cell. "Thank you kindly," the creature commends him in undercommon as smooth as his dwarvish.

At last the gnome comes around to Eldeth, taking a seat beside her. There are additional unclaimed portions of rations on the tray, for those who are not back yet. The gnome picks up a bowl of mushroom gruel and holds it out to her. "Hey there, Red. Name's Jimjar."

The Fifth Day, Work Group

Out they are led, once more down a route familiar to Faedryl - but new to the others. Through the drow guardhouse, past a waterfall and an ornate door, out into an open platform that could pass as a 'common area'. There are many doors surrounding them, as well as another walkway leading down along the cavern wall and a basket watched over by two quaggoth. The one they were all pulled up in, and probably the only way out that didn't involve a daredevil leap down.

Three quaggoth are lined up in the open area, and several tubs and basins of water have been assembled around the open area, as well as buckets, sponges, and washcloths. One of them has a stack of dirty stoneware dishes and metal cutlery piled up next to it. The prisoners recognize it as their own used dishes from the past several days.

"Today, you are going to be doing two jobs," their handler instructs. "You will be cleaning up after yourselves, and you will be giving some of the quaggoth of the outpost a bath."

Spoiler: Mechanics

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Each task is Perception based. A character can contribute to only one task at normal effort.

By exerting themselves, a character can either get Advantage on one task, or divide themselves between two tasks.

[Amnestic]

Faedryl Melad Drow Hexblade/Evoker AC: 12 HP: 22/22 PP: 12 PIv: 14 PIs: 12 Sanity: 11 Conditions: -- Concentrating: -- Fifth Day, Work Shift Faedryl twiddled her fingers a bit, waking them up from relative inactivity. Back home she cast spells daily, hourly sometimes, to practice and excel, but she'd been unable to while captive. It seemed the magic suppression existed only inside the cell, as she felt the flow of arcane up and down her body, washing over her as she formed the spells in her mind. Thankfully she had some that required no focus, just Faedryl. Just as she's about to begin it occurs to her to communicate anything at all to her fellow prisoners. "I have some magic that will help, though only with the dishes. Regrettably its applicability does not extend to living beings. Once I've done what I can with these however I will help with the quaggoths." It's exceptionally polite, almost too much so. She's putting on airs a little, trying to acquire their cooperation. Her statement said, without question or invitation for further comment, Faedryl kneels down beside the wash basin and begins the process of cleaning it as best she can. Her spell intonations are melodic, almost musical in nature, flowing from syllable to syllable to a steady, if occasionally interrupted, beat. A trick she'd learned as a child to help her memorise the incantations. Connecting words to music seemed to lodge it deeper into the mind, and so all of her spellcasting from that day forward had an element of musicality to her - much to the annoyance of her family at times. The song helps her get a rhythm going with the cleaning to, letting her progress with what she thinks is a good speed. Not that she's had much experience cleaning dishes. That was slave work. Once she's done what she can with the dishes, she moves for the much more physical labour of bathing the quaggoths. Unpleasant though it is. She'd make sure to either enslave or kill the quaggoths later. A mild retribution for being forced to lay her hands on them like this. Spoiler: Actions Show Using Prestidigitiatiatiton to assist with cleaning dishes: (1d20+2)[20] Advantage: (1d20+2)[4] She'll exert to assist with the quaggoths too: (1d20+2)[4]

[purepolarpanzer]

Borthan Zuek Half-Drow Ranger AC: 14 HP: 29/29 PP: 14 PIv: 9 PIs: 12 Conditions: 1 level of exhaustion Concentrating on: Borthan looks from the dishes to the water to the quaggoths. Then to the female drow when she volunteers a magic solution. Magic. That would be useful. He leans down and grabs a sponge, dipping it into the bucket and approaching the nearest quaggoth. "Sounds good. You want to do the dishes, I'll give the kids a bath." He plants his feet, looks the quaggoth in the eye, says "Alright, biggun. Let's wash some big furry monsters." then begins scrubbing him without further words with a firm, dutiful hand. He knows no one is going to enjoy their work today, but if it wasn't done he wouldn't see food tomorrow, so he would tackle the more degrading of the two tasks with real effort. He didn't like the way Dworic had carried the day at mining, and in some ways it was a feeling of competition that led Bort to put his back into it and focus on his task. That, and think of the food that would be waiting for them when they returned. If it would actually be there.

Spoiler: OOC

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Bort is pushing himself on washing the quaggoths. (1d20+4)[12] and (1d20+4)[21] for advantage.

[cigaw]

Dworic Urgrimson Dwarf Barbarian AC: 15 HP: 31/35 PP: 13 PIv: 9 PIs: 13 Conditions: Exhaustion (1) Concentrating: -- Fifth Day - Work Group Dworic nods with some appreciation at the drow's efficient use of magic. He then walks over to the quaggoths, grabbing a bucket and a sponge. He first dabs at his own torn scalp to clean away the blood and prevent any infections. Once satisfied, he starts scrubbing the quaggoths quite hard. Any grumbles are met with a hard stare and a snarl of his own. Spoiler: OOC Show • Quaggoth Washing: (1d20+3)[23]

Eldeth Feldrun Dwarf Fighter AC: 12 HP: 25/25 PP: 13 PIv: 12 PIs: 11 Conditions: -- Concentrating: -- Fifth Day - Cell Eldeth watches with sad disbelief as the other dwarf leaves silently. She looks around and finds a spot to sit away from the more distasteful occupants. When the deep gnome draws near she stiffens a bit but feels that the svirfneblin are likely the least bad of the bunch. "Eldeth," she says in undercommon, taking the offered food. "Thank you."

[RandomWombat]

The Fifth Day, Cell

"I'd ask what ya did to get in, but I'm pretty sure they're just scooping people out of the tunnels right now," Jimjar says, nudging Eldeth with his elbow. He nurses the bowl of broth in his own hands and nods towards two more deep gnomes, who look very similar to one another. "These are Topsy and Turvy. Aaand, what should we call you over there?" he calls to the derro at the back.

The mustachio'd madman is drinking from the mushroom soup with his eyes closed. Slowly he lowers the bowl to rest in front of his crossed legs. Slowly, again, he brushes the residue out of his meticulously groomed facial hair before he answers. At last he says, "You may call me Buppido."

The Fifth Day, Work Group

With a few waves of her hands, Faedryl draws the weave in a miniature symphony. The threads dance around the dishes, sloughing off the sticky or greasy residue with grace and ease. It doesn't take Faedryl long to complete the task, and she turns to apply herself to the quaggoth without letting herself rest.

All three of them begin applying sponge and cloth to the matted, unkempt fur of the creatures. The efforts are met with snarls and twitches as clumps of matted fur are pulled apart, but the drow watching the process click their tongues and the quaggoth remain obediently still, in spite of the glare shooting out of the corners of their eyes. They especially seem to rankle at the proximity of a female drow, and Faedryl finds they shy away often, inhibiting her work.

Drow pass by through one door or another, smugly stopping to observe before going on their way.

Spoiler: Perception

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Spoiler: DC 5

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The door to the east of the dish-washing station leads into a kitchen or mess area. The flicker of firelight can be seen, and the smell of food wafts out, torturing the prisoners' empty stomachs.

Spoiler: DC 10

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A few beds can briefly be seen through the opening and closing doors to south, suggesting a barracks or bunkroom.

Spoiler: DC 15

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The two doors leading into stalactites are the least used, and thus far only by drow officers, but a glimpse of a quaggoth with a comically undersized broom sweeping the floor under a wooden table can be caught through one.

The other quaggoth watching over the elevator basket let out breathy, growling chuckles as they watch the scene. In the end, the washed quaggoth look at least two shades of stone-grey lighter with all the dust and debris scraped out of their coats. When the work period is over, the two drow observing walk around, performing their inspection. One runs a hand along the washed dishes, testing for specks or traces that remain. The other circles each quaggoth in turn.

"Sufficient," the drow officer states. "But as a penalty for unauthorized use of magic," he continues, mouth twisting into a smirk, "Tomorrow's rations will be cut by precisely one person." The pair of smug drow begin leading the group back to the cell.

Spoiler: Insight DC 12

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The public display right where the other quaggoth can see appears to be embarrassing. This ironically might be a punishment for the washees as much as the washers, though what their offense is would be anyone's guess.

Spoiler: History: Quaggoth

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Faedryl treats these DCs as 5 lower.

Spoiler: DC 5

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Quaggoth are a race of bestial humanoids kept by the drow as slaves and guard.

Spoiler: DC 10

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In order to be trained and 'domesticated' a quaggoth needs to be raised by the drow almost from birth for the sole purpose of enslavement. Any life beyond this existence is unknown to those under the boot of the drow.

The slave quaggoth speak a pidgin form of undercommon, as they are never properly taught to speak, only to listen.

'Wild' quaggoth exist in the underdark, and are often brutal and tribal by nature. The only ones that wear clothing are pack leaders, who decorate themselves with marks of office in the form of accessories that are often plundered from victims. Unable to settle down without drow or duergar exterminators arriving soon after, they take up a nomatic lifestyle.

Spoiler: DC 15

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There are two theories about the origins of the quaggoth. One is that they were bred specifically for the purpose of being drow slaves; while accurate to how to drow treat them, other evidence suggests this is just drow propaganda.

The other is that they once had a kingdom or civilization, but were conquered by the drow and duergar.

Spoiler: DC 20

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The quaggoth kingdom was called Ursadunthar. It was built around conquest and ritual sacrifice, and was believed to have paid homage to Malar, the dark god of beasts and the hunt. Ursadunthar was sacked by the duergar of Gracklstugh, toppling their seat of power. This is believed to be when they scattered into nomadic bands to survive, and were subsequently enslaved by the drow.

The drow propaganda insisting that the drow created the quaggoth accounts for the proven existence of the Ursadunthar ruins by claiming that it was a rebel kingdom founded by escaped slaves and obviously collapsed because of their inherently inferior nature.

Spoiler: Sleight of Hand

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In addition to the dishes from the prisoners, there are some extra dishes and cutlery that were probably used by the drow.

A DC 16 Sleight of Hand could snag a bit of cutlery from the pile without notice.

[Amnestic]

Faedryl Melad Drow Hexblade/Evoker AC: 12 HP: 22/22 PP: 12 PIv: 14 PIs: 12 Sanity: 11 Conditions: Exhaustion (1) Concentrating: -- Fifth Day, Work Shift She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of a response, emotional or otherwise. That's what they wanted. What she would have wanted, were she in their position. To see the anger or upset, to be back talked or to hear objections. She would give him none of that. The minor indignities and offenses she suffered her now, the rumbling of her stomach, were temporary. Ripples on the river of her life that would be washed away by time's inevitable passage. But she'd dam their rivers once they made their escape. Quick or slow, brutal or efficient, they'd die, and she would live. But if she had time she'd like to get a little torture in first. Fair was fair, after all. Regardless of how holy or high her fellow prisoners held themselves (information that still had yet to be determined) Faedryl doubts they'd have too many complaints about their captors being given a taste of their own medicine. She says nothing and makes no comment as they are lead back to the cell.