With two days before the caravan sets out, the company returns to the market. First stop is to Frecklin, who has the contract to be signed promising payment of 3gp per day with a bonus of up to 500gp (sliding scale) depending on how much cargo makes it. Most likely a seven-to-eight-week journey to reach the surface. You are expected to have your own weapons and armor. Your consumables to be replaced by the caravan, bolts, water, food, etc. He takes you towards the stables where the caravan master is getting ready.
Caravan Master Redford Stonelegs, a weathered svirfneblin who looks the part, introduces himself and checks out the party. “Heard about you,” he looks the group over, “you look well equipped.” Ne nods, then begins his spiel, “Protect Conlanparmin at all costs.” Redford nods to a nearby myconid, “He’s our healer and beast master,” says the caravan master. Moving to the lizard pack beasts he shows a thick strap, “This is where you cut the harness,” he gestures with a dagger, “the load will fall right off the lizard. We usually lose a mount; we don’t have to lose the cargo. We can lose two beasts and it won’t slow the others down much.”
“What are we most likely to face,” Baern asks? Redford nods sagely at the good question, “Most of the things we face will attack from hiding and try to eat something. Big worms, insects, lizards, all kinds of stuff. Hit back hard and fast. Make it think twice.” Redford shrugs, “Other than that, the usual issues are raiders, slavers, and always, the drow.”
“Grigheed leads the senior team, Edalyx the second. Who speaks for you lot, one of you is accountable, up to you who that is?”
Grigheed Leadswitcher is a svirfneblin gladiator who won her freedom in the Pit. She is tough, resourceful, and takes no shit as leader of the first team. Her second is Olgrin the dwarven sharpshooter. A quiet fellow with deadly eyes.
Edalyx is a half drow with unsettling eyes, vaguely elven ears and white hair. The wizard leads the second team is a capable fighter who prefers to use magic and his wits. His second is the luxodon monk, Motan. Imposing, enormous, strong and very wise. He does not forget.
The caravan is six pack lizards loaded with spices, gems, and small tightly packable treasures. Three teams of caravan guards, plus the caravan master and the beast master. The caravan guards run three shifts, each team is responsible for everything on their shift, meals, beast duties, or anything else the caravan master demands. As the new team, you get the first shift, but frankly, underground, it doesn’t really matter. The senior team rides out of Mantol Derith relaxing in hammocks slung from the cargo frames on the lizards, one on each side. The other two teams will trade off scouting or guarding every few hours when the caravan master feels the time is right.
A single luxury passenger is with the group, Bourgeon Graybeard a dwarven merchant from Gauntlgrym. He has a riding lizard mount, and despite being a rich stuffed shirt, Bourgeon is not a bad sort.
Taking your leave, you wander through the market doing some more last minute shopping;
“We should get more oil,” BaErn says. He buys 20 flasks of oil for a gold piece. At the drow weaponsmith he purchases a drow rapier +1 for 2,000 in gems. At a svirfneblin stall he buys continual light marbles, 9 of them in 6 colors for 750 in gems with leather pouches that seal the light completely; white x 2, purple, yellow, red x 2, blue x 2, and green. They buy two healers’ kits for 25 in gems, 2 grappling hooks for 5 gold each, 2 boxes of chalk and 2 boxes of wax crayons for a gold. A vial of ink for 10 gold in gems with 2 pens, and 10 sheets parchments another gold. 10 sturdy sacks for a gold, a bag of 1,000 ball bearings for 1 gold, a tube of universal solvent with ten applications (1 sq foot) for 500 in gems, a hammer and 12 irons spikes for a gold, a heavy crowbar for 2 gold, a potion of lesser restoration for 1,200 in gems, and potion of greater restoration for 2,500 in gems, and finally they stock up on fire and explosive bolts, 60 of each for 2,000 in gems.
The scent of too old fish wafts across the group, Tammuz finds himself wretching at the stench, but keeps his lunch down. A wizened crone of a Lizardfolk comes shuffling towards you. She wears an ancient, tattered cloak of no particular color over a one fine linen blouse with a long skirt also of no particular color. The hood puts her eyes in shadow, but her long mouth with plenty of curved teeth protrudes forward in a crocodilian grin. In her right hand she holds a lantern chest high in her scaley, clawed hand. The fish smell is coming from the lantern. She lifts a gnarled, hook-clawed finger which slowly extends to point at you and then speaks in a croaking voice,
It rushes towards you even now, yet so far it could years
Though you will not know how, you shall rush forward as it nears
When you first spy the evil one, you will only see the prison
Until the doom-dawned morning comes, when only it has risen
Leave this world then with the key, fling wide the prison door
Protected not when it is free, only then can be no more
“That is one crazy old crone,” quips Baern giving a roll of his eyes, “I mean, wow. What the hell was that?” Stopping by Frecklin’s, they ask about her. “Mishka? She’s nuts, and that fish oil REEKS,” the man replies and Baern nods, “Thought so.” Moving across the market towards the stairs up to the inn, Baern and Crab both spot the drow scout with the scarred face across the market watching the group. Tammuz winds his chronomancy magic around the drow and uses the eyes of fate to see a major event in her near future. He feels the spell take hold and he sees the drow scout lying face down over a large rock, unmoving, a small crossbow bolt or dart in her neck. He waits until the group is in the privacy of their suite before he tells the group what he saw. “So she won’t be watching us leave in two days,” Baern asks hopefully? Tammuz nods, “I don’t think she will ever do anything after tomorrow.”
“Second to last night,” Obie remarks as they head downstairs to the tavern to eat. The meal is good, and drinks are had, but no one wants to stay up drinking. The same crowd as last night is in the tavern, including the creepy necromancer sitting alone with creepy books. Everyone ignores him and he seems to not be getting the best service. Feeling more relief than fear, everyone sleeps well.
Their final day in Mantol Derith is spent redoing all the previous day’s tasks to get ready. No one goes anywhere except downstairs for meals and drinks. The group stays to itself and is not seeking out company in the tavern, and they are not bothered. If nothing else, they will start out with two good nights of sleep under their belts.
In the morning they meet at the stables and Reford goes over how to pack and unpack the beasts. The prime crew settles into hammocks they hang from the pack lizards, one on each side. The secondary crew walks along side the caravan and the third shift starts the journey on guard. After a few hours the tunnel opens into a large cavern. Tammuz hears something and brings the caravan to a halt.
A huge creature, pale with two tusks curling up out of the broad mouth, bearing huge stone axes is rumbling across the cavern from right to left and will cut across the group’s path. “Hide,” the caravan master says, and the lizards follow the druid, Conlinparkmin to the right, finding a crevice to hide them in. The cave giant thunders by without taking notice of the caravan hidden nearby. Redford waits a full ten minutes after the sound of the giant has faded before he moves the caravan out.
The way is wide, and this close to Mantol Derith, there are not too many horrible creatures it seems for there are no more interruptions. The caravan master seems pleased with the group’s performance. The prime group has the watch while the beasts and the rest sleep. The report in the night that a group of duergar slavers approached in the night and were all killed, “Used a bit of flame at the end, but nothing approached.” Redford accepts the report and after a quick meal, it is back on the trail. Every few hours Redford switches out the second and third teams.
Tammuz stops the caravan, hearing something. Eventually he sees a lone walking in an odd way, not looking around, walking sort of stiffly for a drow/ He crosses the path of the caravan from left to right. He gets to within ninety feet of Tammuz who notes the drow seems out of it, is walking weirdly, without the grace his people are known for. Redford lets him pass and then the caravan proceeds forward.
Tammuz, out in front on point, feels something cold touching his mind and then he finds himself no longer in control of his boxy. Something else has possessed him. He turns and levels the dart gun at Eldeth, but she manages to get her shielf up in time. “Grab him,” Baern shouts. “Vorkath grabs the chronomancer and holds him in place. Crab recalls the ghost that possessed Tammuz, and she draws Dawnbringer. The sword flares to life and something horrible emerges from inside Tammuz. It flees the sword’s light, and runs into a moonbeam cast by Baern. Tammuz, his head clearing, calls down the weight of a thousand years on the creature which melts into black goo that steams away quite quickly, leaving no trace of it behind.
Camp is made on a shelf overlooking the cavern. In the wee hours, more duergar slavers approach the caravan, but the prime crew fights them off easily. After that the camp remains the rest of the night.
Three hours into the following day’s travel, the company finds the cavern widening, and faerzress crystals, a few at first, then more and more fill the cavern. The cavern narrows to ninety feet across and curves off to the left. Tammuz, out in front, his sharp senses alert, holds up a fist and the caravan stops. His ears pick out the sound of a crossbow being loaded. He whispers what he heard to the group, and Crab says, “I’ll take a look,” and changes into a hand sized spider. She crawl off and returns after a few minutes and changes back to her normal form, “Eight drow are hiding behind large rocks with crossbows ready.”
The seven figures stealth to the corner and then unleash hell on the waiting drow. Baern casts faerie fire which clings to four of the drow, making them very visible. The magical flames actually seem to be burning the drow who quickly bat at the flames covering them. Vorkath and Obie rush forward with Edleth close behind. Buppido fires a poisoned bolt and paralyzes a drow. Tammuz fans his dart gun across them and paralyzes another, and then disappears from sight. By the time Vorkath starts slicing open drow, 4 of them are paralyzed. A moonbeam strikes the still moving drow. The rest are cut down quickly and efficiently. There is a popping sound as Tammuz reappears after having been banished to some demi-plane. “Some warning would be nice,” the caravan master growls as he approaches.
Dead drow: 8 sets of leather armor, 8 drow cloaks,14 drow scimitars, 8 hand crossbows, 146 bolts, 8 pots of sleep poison (7 doses each), 8 60′ coils of knotted rope, 8 hammers, 29 iron spikes, 8 waterskins, 43 rations, 3 pouches of caltrops, 9′ pole in three sections, set of lockpicks, 8 drow bedrolls. 185 gp in gems and coins.