Leaving the Zhentarim head office with the news the caravan has not arrived brings you back into the west market proper. The afternoon trading is light and seems to be mostly concentrated in the drow enclave. Moving away from the gate, you notice four drow females move across the market, cutting across your path. A wizard looking type in robes, a pair of elite warriors in armor, and a fourth, is wearing leather armor so fine it must be ceremonial. They seem to be angling towards a pavilion tent that was not setup earlier when the company passed. A second group of people, humans, led by Ghazrim, is angling towards the same pavilion coming from the Zhentarim offices.
The drow wizard stops at a spice vendor and makes several small purchases, the other three pausing and waiting. The Zhentarim reach the pavilion first, but before they enter the tent, a cry goes up from behind them. “MURDER!” A human voice yells out in undercommon, an armored merchant is waving his hands over his head, turning slowly looking for guards.
STAY WHERE YOU ARE
The words come in undercommon, then common, in the same voice and intonation from everywhere. Everyone freezes. Newcomers seeing everyone freeze, do likewise. A drow woman is standing next to the yelling human, shuts him up and makes him put down his arms. She bends and investigates the corpse. Suddenly there are armed figures moving out in a spiral asking questions; a drow, a duergar, a snirfneblin, a human, what looks like a black furred rabbitfolk. The woman in the center seems to be directing them by looking at them in turn. She does not speak, but the people snap into motion as her gaze leaves them.
Looking around the market, everyone is stopped in their tracks and looking around them. Several familiar faces can be seen in the crowd; the drow tracker with the scar last seen in Gracklstugh is lurking on the other side of Frecklin’s stall, looking at the entrance to the Zhentarim offices the group has just emerged from. She seems to be clocking the company now. The courier, Thelindra is on the drow side at a stall. The tabaxi, Ferriston Myerly is speaking with a Zhentarim merchant. The same mind flayer from two days prior is near the north bridge. The elven boyer, Merriwen, is nearly to her stall, quite close to the murder scene.
“What the fuck,” Baern asks of Frecklin? “Just stay still,” the man cautions. The investigators do not reach the company before returning to the corpse. The dead woman, a human is lifted and carried away. Her cloak falls open, and Tammuz sees a curious sigil, of a hard against a blue background. Although he is trying to watch the group, they pass behind some people and he loses sight of them, as does everyone else. They move over to Frecklin, and the drow with the scar moves away, disappearing into the crowd. “That was intense,” Crab says and Frecklin nods. “Yeah, my guess is whoever did it will be caught soon. The first thing they do is question the dead, and they are very good at it.”
Two new additions are in the tavern that afternoon; a scarred man is dressed in necromancer with an aristocratic flair complete with dragon head walking stick, and the book on the table next to him bears a skull on the cover. Some of the scrolls he is pouring over seem to be written in blood. He sits alone, and no one seems eager to change that.
The other fellow is a weathered ranger, his hair gone white, is sitting in the far-left corner of the tavern, eyes on the door, quietly smoking a long pipe, his eyes hidden by his hood. He seems a better choice for conversation, and the company wanders over. “Well met, would you mind a little company,” Baern asks? The man nods, “Please, help yourselves. Always interested in good conversation.” Introductions are made, “I’m Bender, and the best guide in the Underdark, if I do say so myself.” Baern smiles, “You must have seen some crazy stuff,” he says. “Oh sure,” Bender grins, “swap stories? What was the weirdest thing you’ve seen down here?” There are so many memories of their past few weeks, “Riding a giant centipede,” Crab grins. “All of you,” Bender asks, and she nods a reply. “I was camping once by a small pool of fresh water fed by a trickle from the rocks. Sweet water. In the night, I got the creeps. A rock by the edge of the water was staring at me with large eyes. It rose up on hundreds of little legs and began moving towards me. Halfway, the mouth opened, and it was as large at the rock, nearly three feet across, and all sharp teeth. Wasn’t fast, though. I just left.” The go back and forth, “The merrow were a real bitch,” Crab says remembering being harpooned and nearly dragged overboard. “Yeah, those harpoons and chains they reel you in with are a bitch,” Bender remarks sagely.
The door opens, and the mind flayer from the market place walks in, apparently staying here, and moves across the room to the stairs leading to the rooms. Tall, thin, with a face like an octopus, dressed in long, black robes, even in the underdark is causes every head to turn and follow. On a whim, Tammuz casts eyes of fate on the creature to see some important event in the near future.
The eyes of fate spell show Tammuz the illlithid feeding on a drow. Standing behind the dark elf, tentacles wrapping around the drow head, and sharp teeth slide through the skull as it begins to feed. Tammuz shudders and has to wait until they are back up in their suite to discuss what he has seen. They spend the entire afternoon talking to Bender, who seems a decent sort, and certainly knows quite a bit about things lurking down here.
All eyes in the tavern turn as the most extraordinarily beautiful young woman saunters through the door. She is striking, with white-blonde hair and very pale skin sheathed in a clingy, black silk dress. She pauses, scanning the room slowly before approaching the group with a warm smile. Her short bow is slow, graceful, and extremely sexy. She speaks with an accent that on anyone else might sound harsh, but it suits her, “Hello travelers and strangers to Mantol Derith. You may call me Visanya.” She smiles, “It is my pleasure to invite you to dine this evening at the home of my mistress, the Lady Shynrae of House Faen Tlabbar.” Visanya has no details of why they are invited, just that is a great honor. “Now,” Tammuz asks? Visanya nods, “Please excuse us while we change,” and the group heads upstairs for cleaner, if not better clothing. In a few minutes, they return and follow the gorgeous woman. All eyes seem to follow her as you leave. She leads you up the stairs.
It is a long climb up to the top of the stalagmite where the Lady Shynrae. A pair of elite drow guards stand outside a circular black door. As you approach, the guards, who appear to be twins, draw long, curved scimitars and move in front of the door which immediately swings open. The guards sheath their weapons and step back to either side of the open door. Visanya appears in the light and waves her slim arm in welcome. “Welcome guests, this way please,” she leads them inside, and it is a pleasure to follow her. She is beautiful, graceful, and even the faintly floral scent she leaves in her wake is delightful. The hallway ends in a T intersection and she turns left. There are windows and balconies here and there on the right-hand wall as she leads you past a dozen rooms and several side passages.
The hallway ends in a set of arched zurkhwood doors that seem blacker than a thing could possibly be. Visanya stops in front of the door. There is space of three heart beats where nothing happens, and then the doors swing inward.
She wants to know what their plans are once they reach the surface. A resourceful group such as them could do well in the Underdark. She asks them about their skills, what they do best, how they overcame their pursuers. “House Mizzrym, is below House Faen Tlabber,’ as we are the third house in Menzobarrenzan,” she explains. “Your continued freedom is a thorn in the side of Ilvara. I have no desire to see her succeed. Truly, my interest in you is conversational.” Crab believes her when she says this. “Did you see the drow scout with the scar on her face,” Lady Shynrae asks? There are several nods, “She will certainly pass along word of your presence in Mantol Derith to Ilvara.” She smiles a cruel smile, “How many of hers did you kill near Neverlight Grove?” She seems delighted to hear that four drow from house Mizzrym were killed. “You may wind up defeating a drow house simply by surviving.” This thought seems to please the lady.
The conversation ranges all over, and she seems especially curious about the myconid migration. “People with skills such as yours, able to escape drow pursuers for a month and survive the Darklake, could become quite wealthy here,” she says. “Is there work you have right now,” Baern asks almost at once? Lady Shynrae shakes her head, “No, I was not trying to hire you, but I repeat, you have skills and talents that people would pay well to use. Perhaps once you reach the surface, you will return?” The dinner is long, and slow, with lots of courses and there is plenty to drink. Lady Shynrae has varied tastes, and puts out a variety of surface world food, as well as underdark specialties. Most of the group is there for some time before they notice what Crab saw entering. Behind the lady, against the wall, dressed in armor the exact color of the wall, are two guards who stand completely motionless. Crab is sure they are alive and not statues.
back to inn, tabaxi, judas coin, horn player
Everyone enjoys surface world breakfast at the inn. By the end of the day, no caravan has arrived at the Zhentarim enclave. Waiting is hard, but waiting in what seems to be relative safety, even with a mind flayer in the same inn, is pretty good. News that the murder of the human was caught, and a drow head on rests on a spike at the murder scene. “It will be there a week or so,” Bender says.
“Maybe we should buy armor,” Tammuz says looking at his drow leather? They return to Frecklin, and begin browsing armor and shields. An hour later, five of the group has new armor, and three new shields. Later afternoon, if there had been noon, the Zhentarim caravan arrives.
Two more days pass, mostly spent in the inn, until Frecklin’s caravan. “Two day turn around,” he explains. The crew will want to wash the trail off, sleep in a safe spot, eat a few good meals, maybe get hammered.” He shrugs, “But they don’t get paid to drink and sleep, so they’ll be ready to go after a couple of days off. Since you are untested, but clearly survivors, I’ll pay you each 3 gp a day, with a 500gp bonus if all the cargo makes it.” Baern cocks his head, “I thought all the cargo NEVER makes it?” Frecklin nods, “Sliding scale. You get half the cargo there, your bonus is 250. Caravan master can give out bonuses.” They exchange 16,000 gp in gems for 4 sets of +1 studded leather armor, 1 +1 without studs, and 3 +1 shields. Vorkath and Obie don’t wear armor, and only Tammuz, Baern and Eldeth wanted shields.