Realms of the Underdark a-4

by Mark Anthony

  "Oh, no," Woodehous cried out loud, hastening in fast pursuit of the key to his possible redemption. He was almost out the door when an orcish arm grabbed him by the collar.

  "Pig, old boy," Wurlitzer said in a friendly tone that didn't mask an implied threat, "aren't you forgetting something?"

  The erstwhile maitre d'/waiter/cook of Traitor Pick's quickly took half a second to fish from his pouch the first coin his fingers touched, flipped it to the bartender, and continued on his way, in earshot long enough to hear the bartender remark that three guineas in a row in tips wasn't bad for a midweek evening without paid entertainment.

  Glancing in both directions down the nocturnal alleys of Skullport-and seeing his quarry neither way-Woodehous quickly chose a likely course and set off in search of the traveler. He cursed his own haste and the misfortune that had just cost him his dinner allowance for the whole week, and wholly disregarded the fact that the allotted time for his dinner break had long since expired.

  After more precious time had passed, Woodehous wondered aloud, "Which way did he go?" The question was born more out of exasperation than practicality, since Woodehous had long since given up noticing any of the other alley wayfarers of the Skullport twilight scene.

  "Which way did who go, Pig?" inquired a voice from behind.

  The now-former maitre d'/cook/waiter of Traitor Pick's quickly turned around and was confronted by the tentacled visage of one of his now-former patrons.

  "Oh, it's you, Malix," Woodehous replied.

  "Correct," replied the mind flayer mage, who had taken a fancy to Woodehous's recipe for duergar deep-dish. "I repeat the question. Which way did who go?"

  "Volothamp Geddarm."

  "You mean the loudmouthed storyteller from the Double G? He went thataway," Malix replied, one of his facial tentacles pointing down a dark alley. "Just follow the path of glowing dust. He must have stepped in something along the way. And beware! He was being followed by two unsavory-looking drow."

  "Thanks, Malix," Woodehous replied, taking off into the shadows in the indicated direction.

  "Don't thank me," Malix instructed, calling after him. "Just finish up your business and get back to work. I have a hankering for some dessert, and the faster you finish, the sooner my craving will be sated."

  Woodehous raced down the narrow alley even though he couldn't see the path of glowing dust Malix had indicated. His diligence was soon rewarded. The alley ahead made a sharp turn to the right, narrowing down to a single body's width, and then right again, and opened onto an apparent dead end shrouded in total darkness.

  He barely heard someone cry out "No," before he felt a sharp blow to the back of his head, upon which he was immediately drowned in the pitch-black ocean of unconsciousness.

  Walking in Darkness

  Woodehous had no idea how long he had remained unconscious, and barely noticed coming around. He was poked and prodded to his feet, and then partly led, partly dragged through a narrow tunnel of darkness. The passage was lit occasionally by four marbles of purplish glow that bounced in step with his apparent captors.

  Soon he felt the tunnel widen around him, and noted the absence of Skullport's telltale sea breeze. They seemed to be following a steady incline downward. His wrists had been tied together in front of him, and connected to a noose that had been cinched tight around his neck. The noose was in turn connected to some sort of leash, with which he was being led as he stumbled forward into the darkness.

  Woodehous soon realized he was not the only unwilling member of the subterranean party.

  "C'mon, you guys," implored a voice Woodehous recognized as Volo's, "can't you give us a break? We've been walking for hours. Can't we rest a bit?"

  "All right," replied a mouth located just below two of the dancing purple orbs. "Skullport is now far behind us, and it would be foolish of you to imagine you could find your way back, anyway. You may sit and rest a bit."

  "May I reach into my traveling pouch?" the famous gazetteer requested. "I have a gem that gives off a bit of illumination, which might make things a little easier for those of us not gifted with such acute night vision."

  "All right," the voice replied, "but no funny stuff. Though I have every intention of taking you alive to Menzoberranzan, that does not preclude me from certain nonlethal treatments of your person that I am sure you would find quite unpleasant."

  "Funny stuff? I wouldn't think of it," Volo replied.

  Woodehous heard a rustling like fingers fishing in a purse, which was followed by a flash that required him to quickly shut his eyes. Slowly he reopened them, squinting toward the illumination. He turned away from the source of the light and took a few seconds to gaze at the surroundings, which slowly came into view as his eyes grew accustomed to the luminescence.

  The group was in a cavern with walls formed of what appeared to be black glass, smooth and flat. If the telltale shadows of their party of four hadn't been cast upon the walls, there would have been an illusion of infinite darkness, the void of starless space.

  "You look kind of familiar," Volo said to his fellow captive. "Do I know you?"

  Woodehous returned his attention to the source of the illumination, realizing that the question had been directed at him. The light showed that Volo's hands and neck were similarly bound. "You probably don't remember me, but…" the former maitre d'/cook/waiter started to answer.

  Volo snapped his fingers and quickly interrupted.

  "You used to work at the Shipmaster's Hall back in Waterdeep," said the gazetteer. "I never forget a face. What in Ao's name were you doing in Skullport?"

  Woodehous was at a loss for words. He wanted to blame the writer for all of his woes: his loss of social status, his banishment to that culinary pit in Skullport, the besmirching of his reputation… But such accusations would have all been for naught, given their current situation.

  "I worked there," Woodehous replied, "at Traitor Pick's…"

  Volo snapped his fingers, once again interrupting. "You must be Pig. I've heard wonderful things about your cooking. I can't wait to try it. How did you wind up working there?"

  "Thanks for the compliment," the beleaguered gourmet replied, now resigned to the fact that he would probably be known by that horrible moniker until his dying day-whose possible proximity was beginning to cause him great consternation."My full name is Percival Gallard Woodehous. I lost my job at the Shipmaster's Hall through circumstances beyond my control, and I needed a job."

  "Quit your yammering!" one of the drow captors ordered, kicking Woodehous in the side and cuffing Volo alongside the head. "Rest while you can, and you'd best do it quietly. It's a long walk to Menzoberranzan."

  "Sorry," the gazetteer apologized. "I just figured that since it was going to be such a long trip, we might want to get to know each other a bit. Now I assume both you and your equally dark-skinned companion are probably two of Lloth's famous warriors."

  "We will be, once we bring you in," the captor boasted proudly. "Soon everyone in Menzoberranzan will know the names of Courun and Haukun as the lone protectors of the privacy of the Spider Queen. No surface dweller has ever dared violate the sanctity of her domain, let alone document such visitations in a travel guide."

  "You caught me red-handed," Volo conceded. "I hadn't even had the chance to turn the manuscript over to my publisher yet."

  "And you never shall," said the drow known as Courun. "You are our ticket out of exile."

  "And what am I?" Woodehous inquired, quickly receiving another kick to the ribs.

  "Just another slave bound for the work pits," said the drow known as Haukun, "and believe me, it's not a pleasant place."

  "That's why we left," Courun inserted. "Had we stayed around, that would have been the most favorable fate available to us."

  "Slavery still beats being turned into a drider," Haukun added. "But all of our past faults will be forgiven when the matron mother hears how we saved the day."

  "Not to mention preserved the Spider Que
en's honor," added Courun.

  "What exactly did you do to fall out of favor?" Volo inquired, with a tone of such sincerity and caring that both drow warriors continued to let their guards down.

  "They thought we were inept," Haukun confessed.

  "And not suitable for becoming warriors," Courun added.

  "We returned from a surface raid without any captives…"

  "And worse still, there was a trace of broken spider-web on our boots…"

  Volo nodded in understanding. Among the drow, to fail as a warrior was almost unforgivable, but to be suspected of having caused harm to one of Lloth's chosen children was a far greater crime. Still, even offenses of such magnitude could be forgiven after a great act of fealty or heroism.

  "But that's all in the past now," Haukun proclaimed proudly, then ordered, "Back on your feet! The sooner we get to the beloved place of our birth, the sooner we shall be vindicated."

  Quickly, the two captives regained their feet and set off down the passageway, farther into the bowels of Toril. The captors did not seem to notice that Volo had not returned the stone of luminescence to his pouch, instead attaching it to a thong that hung around his neck, thus providing a helpful torch for both himself and Woodehous.

  The Road to Menzoberranzan

  Much later, after endless hours of walking, the party of four stopped to rest by an underground pool. The two drow captors offered their captives some leathery jerky made from a long-dead lizard of undetermined species.

  "Eat," Haukun instructed. "We have no intention of dragging your starving carcasses the rest of the way. This should sustain you for a while."

  The jerky tasted awful and was far from filling, but both captives realized that eating it was better than going hungry. They tried their best to ingest the leathery sustenance. Woodehous also noticed, with some consolation, that neither of their captors seemed to enjoy the meal either.

  "Too bad there aren't any fish in this pool," Volo said matter-of-factly.

  "Why do you say that?" Courun inquired just as an eyeless trout broke the surface with a flick and splash.

  "Well," Volo replied, "I've always heard that drow are excellent fishermen, and given that my compadre in captivity is one of the best chefs in all Waterdeep-let alone Skullport-I don't see why brave warriors such as yourselves should have to make do with inferior field rations… I guess that sort of self-denial is what makes you such great warriors. I, on the other hand, could really go for some fish stew. Then again, I've never claimed to be a great warrior, let alone the equal in fortitude of the noble and great drow."

  Courun and Haukun looked at each other for a moment, and then said something in the drow tongue. Haukun turned to Woodehous and said, "Are you really a good cook?"

  "The best," Volo answered in his stead, adding for agreement, "right?"

  "Well, I don't like to brag," Woodehous responded, seeing the opportunity for a better meal than the rancid jerky, "but, well, let me put it this way, all of Waterdeep can't be wrong."

  "Let alone Wurlitzer of Skullport," added the gazetteer. "He's a noted connoisseur."

  The two drow looked at each other in puzzlement.

  "That means he likes good cooking," Volo quickly explained.

  A quick exchange of words between the two, and Haukun took to his feet, grabbed his spear, and positioned himself on the pool's ledge, eyeing the water for a trout. Courun meanwhile arranged some rocks in a pile and said a drow incantation.

  In no time at all, the rocks began to glow fiery hot, and a sizeable trout had been freshly speared. Both Woodehous and Volo's hands were unbound, and instructions were given.

  "Cook!"

  Volo whispered to Woodehous surreptitiously.

  "Okay, Percy," the gazetteer said, "do your stuff, and you better make it good."

  "I need a pan or a pot of some sort," Woodehous replied.

  "But of course," Volo agreed. "Courun, can he borrow your breastplate?"

  "Sure," Haukun replied.

  As Courun undid the fastening from his tunic, the chef gazed around the subterranean chamber as if looking for something in particular.

  "What are you looking for?" Haukun demanded. "You have a pan now. Why aren't you cooking?"

  Woodehous prepared to place the trout on the breastplate. "It's just that pan-roasted trout is so bland," the maitre d'/cook/waiter explained, still looking around. "Would you do me a favor and fetch me some of the moss from that half-submerged rock over there, and perhaps some of the hanging fungus from that stalactite as well?"

  "Why?" the drow demanded.

  "You'll see," Volo assured.

  The two drow once again exchanged gazes of puzzlement, and then, with a shrug, Courun set off to fetch the requested ingredients.

  Expertly, Woodehous the chef gutted the trout and removed its innards, replacing them with some of the recently obtained hanging fungus. He then added a little water to the breastplate pan and sprinkled some of the fungus into it. The water began to simmer with a truly delicious odor of spice. While the water was heating up, Woodehous rubbed the moss against the outside flesh of the fish until little flecks of vegetation had permeated the meat. He then added the thoroughly seasoned trout to the pan, carefully turning it every few moments so that it cooked both completely and evenly.

  The cavern was soon filled with the tempting and savory aroma of a gourmet's delight, and in no time at all, the four travelers were enjoying a nourishing and delicious meal.

  "See," Volo attested, "I told you."

  "No complaints here," Haukun agreed. "If you can cook this well all the time, my partner and I might be willing to let you continue the journey with your wrists unbound, that is, provided you don't try to escape."

  "Where would we go?" Volo reminded him. "We'd just get lost and die in the dark without your expert guidance."

  "You'd better believe it," Courun replied, his mouth half full of the gourmet's delight.

  Once the meal was over, the foursome rested while Courun allowed his breastplate to cool. Once it was back in place, they recommenced their journey, following the stream that evidently fed the pool that had been the source of their splendid repast. In a little while, they decided to make camp to rest a bit, and get a little sleep. Woodehous quickly realized that the concept of day and night no longer really existed. He had quite lost track of the time that had passed since he had first spotted Volo back in the Double G and raced after him through the alleyways of Skullport. He had also not realized how tired he really was, and quickly found himself fast asleep.

  "Percy, wake up!" Volo urged in a hushed tone.

  Woodehous stirred from his moments with Morpheus, and opened his eyes.

  Sometime during their rest, their two drow captors had been confronted by a pair of kuo-toa-tall, nasty, pot-bellied amphibians-and harsh words were being exchanged. During the course of what had started as a cordial though wary meeting, the conversation between representatives of the two dominant subterranean species had quickly deteriorated into a heated argument.

  "The tall kuo-toan," Volo explained, "claims he can smell the blood of his people on Courun. No doubt he really smells the residue of our dinner on our captor's breastplate."

  "One would have thought that he would have washed it off before putting it back on," Woodehous observed.

  "No doubt," Volo replied, "but then again, neither of our captors have shown much evidence of common sense or brainpower. If their superiors back in Menzoberranzan thought they were incompetent, the odds are that they really are. Drow matrons are usually keen judges of competence and potential."

  The disagreement was quickly turning into a shoving match between the two pairs.

  "What are they saying now?" Woodehous inquired.

  "He just called Haukun a son of an illithid," Volo translated. "They should come to blows any moment now."

  The drow and the kuo-toa began to use their spears as quarterstaves in a battle that had not yet escalated to lethality.

 
"I foresee a few bruises and contusions exchanged, but no death blows," Volo observed. "We can go back to sleep."

  A thought crossed the maitre d'/waiter/cook's mind.

  "Why don't we take this opportunity to escape?" Woodehous asked with great urgency. "Our captors are distracted, and we never know when another opportunity will present itself."

  "Don't worry about that," Volo replied, returning his head to the pillow of his pack."You could never find your way back to the surface on your own, and my mission is nowhere near completed yet."

  "What mission?" Woodehous blurted, his voice a trifle too loud.

  "Hush!" Volo demanded, quickly looking over to make sure that their captors had not heard him. Luckily they were still beating each other with the shafts of their spears.

  No doubt, hair pulling and scale scratching would soon follow.

  "Just trust me for now," the master traveler instructed. "I assure you I have no intention of spending my remaining days as a slave or worse in some Ao-forsaken city of the drow, nor do I intend to abandon you to that fate. Just trust me. I have a plan. Now go back to sleep."

  Volo turned over, closed his eyes, and was soon snoring, leaving a puzzled Woodehous, wide-eyed and wide awake to contemplate this recent revelation of facts.

  The following morning, the drow captors were far from gentle in bringing their captives to consciousness so they could resume the long trek beneath the surface of Toril. There was no sight of the kuo-toa, and Courun and Haukun looked the worse for it, their deep ebony skin mottled with bruises and swelling.

  "What happened?" Volo asked innocently. "You look as if you've been attacked."

  "The Underdark is laden with danger," Courun replied. "Haukun and I had to fight off an entire army of fierce kuo-toa warriors to save your sorry skins."

  "Thank you," the gazetteer replied.

  "We didn't save them for you," Courun replied churlishly. "Lloth prefers to render her punishments and torture. It was our responsibility to save you for her, rather than let you fall into the fishy hands of her enemies."