Realms of the Underdark a-4

by Mark Anthony

  "Or fins, for that matter," Volo replied under his breath.

  "What did you say?" the drow captor demanded.

  "I said, 'Unto the finish, you are the master,' " the quick-thinking gazetteer replied.

  "Well, let us be off," the bruised drow ordered. "We still have many days' journey ahead of us."

  "As you wish, Master" Volo replied. He helped Woodehous to his feet as they proceeded onward along the road to Menzoberranzan.

  The words day and night lost all meaning to Volo and Woodehous as their journey continued. Darkest night bled into darkest night as they traveled onward between infrequent stops for rest and nourishment. No matter where they chose to dine, the former maitre d'/cook/waiter always rose to the occasion, fixing the foursome a meal fit for a lord of Waterdeep. Subterranean moss salad, fermented fungus casserole, and even spiced filet of cloaker (courtesy of an extremely luck Courun, who happened to accidentally run one through with his spear before it had managed to attack the group) kept their bellies full and spirits incongruously high for a party of captors leading their captives to their doom.

  Volo quickly became aware that the drow were actually beginning to feel sorry for Woodehous and himself. What sorry dark elves these two had turned out to be.

  "You know," Courun confided, "if it were solely up to us, we would probably let you go, but you understand, of course… You are the only means we have of clearing our names and restoring our reputations to their rightful grandeur."

  "Of course," Volo replied, "a drow has to do what a drow has to do. I bet you're looking forward to going home again. Menzoberranzan is probably filled with pleasant memories for both of you."

  To himself, Courun recalled his childhood and adolescence, the sense of inadequacy, the beatings, the taunting by his sisters, and the third-class existence of a lowborn male in a maliciously matriarchal society, then said out loud, "Uh, sure. There's no place like home."

  Woodehous could not fail to notice the lack of conviction in his captor's voice, and quickly stole a look at Haukun, whose face exhibited a similar cast of remembered oppression.

  "During one of my travels, I met a drow in exile… a fellow by the name of Do'Urden," Volo offered.

  "The house name is familiar," Courun offered. "I believe it is one of the minor ones."

  "He was a very melancholy fellow, and probably also missed his home. How long have you been away?" Volo asked.

  "I've lost track," Courun replied absently. "Many years, maybe longer."

  "Well," Volo noted, "a lot of things can happen in that long a time. I'm sure things might have gotten better."

  "That's right," Haukun replied righteously, "and we are returning as heroes, and devoted champions of Lloth."

  "No, we mustn't forget that," Volo agreed. "We mustn't forget that, indeed."

  Hoping to break the melancholy mood, the master traveler of the Realms began to regale his companions with tales of his exploits, including the time he circumnavigated the globe. Unfortunately the two drow captors showed little interest. Their entire existence had been spent in the Underdark, and they had little inclination toward places outside their own spheres of influence.

  "We can sample the best you surface dwellers have to offer in Skullport," Haukun boasted. "Beyond that, I see little reason to expose myself to the damned sun and daylight."

  Volo tried a different tack to distract the captors.

  Drawing on his research for his famous suppressed work, Volo's Guide to All Things Magical-and fully aware that all drow were required to take part in some magic training-the gazetteer tried to regale them with stories of different enchantments, artifacts, and phenomena that he had come across.

  "Wait a minute," Courun interrupted, "do you mean that you are a wizard?"

  "Well, no," Volo answered carefully, cautiously, and deceitfully, "I've just done a lot of research on it. That's all."

  "It's hard stuff," Courun admitted. "I never was much good at those classes."

  "If it hadn't been for our cheating on tests," Haukun added, "Courun and I would have been drider bait, for sure."

  Not wishing to further tip his hand on his innate abilities, Volo once again changed the subject.

  "Well, I bet you two are plenty expert on other things," the gazetteer observed.

  "Like catching nosy writers," Courun said smugly.

  "Uh, yes," Volo agreed. "But I was thinking more specifically of the goings-on in the Underdark itself. I did a lot of research before my first trip down here, and I am telling you, nothing beats firsthand experience."

  "You can say that again," Woodehous agreed, trying to reenter the conversation. "It's like trying to learn how to cook without ever setting foot in a kitchen."

  The maitre d'/cook/waiter's simile was lost on the two drow captors, so Volo continued his train of conversation.

  "When I started studying the Underdark," Volo explained, "I had no idea there was so much going on. I had never even heard of a duergar, or a svirfneblin, or of thaalud, or of the great cities of Eryndlyn, Llurth Dreier, or Sshamath, and, of course, Menzoberranzan. I just knew I had to go there."

  "And you did," Woodehous inserted.

  "Uh, right," Volo continued with a quick glare at his fellow captive, signaling him to hold his tongue, "and that's why I felt I just had to do the Guide to the Underdark."

  "I thought you were going to call it Volo Does Memo," Courun interrupted.

  "Well, yes, and as I was…" Volo struggled to continue.

  "So which is it?" Haukun demanded.

  "And where is it?" Courun insisted.

  Quickly regaining his composure, Volo calmly explained. "I don't get to pick the title," he asserted, "the publisher does… and as to the manuscript, don't worry about it."

  "Well, give it to us," Haukun demanded.

  "I don't have it with me," Volo continued, "but don't you worry. It's well hidden. No one back in Skullport will ever find it."

  The two drow would-be warriors once again looked at each other and conversed in their native tongue. True, their entire retrieval of the interloping journalist would be for naught if the manuscript ever fell into another surface dweller's hands, thus undercutting the validity of their great deed and threatening their chances of vindication. The two talked for a few minutes, and finally nodded in agreement.

  "If anyone asks," Haukun instructed boldly, "Courun and I destroyed your only copy of the manuscript."

  "All right," Volo replied.

  "And if either of you contradicts us," Courun added, "it will go extremely bad for you."

  "We wouldn't think of it," Volo assured, "would we, Percy?"

  "Of course not," Percy choked out, though he was quite unsure how his own fate could be made any worse than it already was.

  "Fine," Courun said with a certain degree of finality. "Then let us proceed onward. I believe we're almost there."

  "But of course," Volo agreed, once again helping Woodehous to his feet.

  "Do you know any stories about drow maidens?" Haukun inquired as they set off down the tunnel.

  "I do believe that back in Skullport I heard something about a young girl named Liriel, but I'm afraid the details have escaped me for the moment. Perhaps you would care to hear about a little intrigue that took place around Undermountain not too long ago. It was a virtual comedy of errors, an escapade of adventure, and involved two fellows by the names of Mirt and Durnan, and…"

  Woodehous discreetly tried to ignore the latest tale being told by the gazetteer, who so loved the sound of his own voice. It was almost as if there were two Volos: the gregarious fool who didn't mind being captured by drow buffoons, and the savvy traveler whose exploits were legendary. Woodehous believed he had only observed this more capable fellow on the night their captors fought with the equally inept and juvenile fish-men, and he realized his only hope for escape lay with the assurances that he had been offered on that night. If they had any hope of escape, this more capable side would need to resurface… and r
eally soon.

  But, perhaps, it, too, was only some long-winded piece of fiction.

  At the City's Edge

  As Woodehous and Volo were roused from their sleep to begin another day's journey, the master traveler of all Faerun noticed a difference in their captors' demeanor.

  "We're close to the city, aren't we?" Volo observed.

  "I'm afraid so," Courun replied, a leather thong held in his outstretched hands. "I'm going to have to retie your hands now."

  "We understand," Volo assented, "but, please, not too tight."

  Dark slender fingers did their work, and the two captives were returned to their state of bound captivity in as painless a fashion as was possible.

  Volo looked at the maitre d'/cook/waiter, and said out loud, "Now, that's not too bad, considering the circumstances." Then, in a softer voice, he added, "Whatever happens, stick with me, even if the alternative presented to you seems more desirable."

  "What do you mean?" Woodehous whispered back.

  "If they ask you to choose between a life of slavery, and the chance of being tortured right alongside me, choose the torture."

  "Why?"

  "I can only assure you of your deliverance back to Skullport if you remain by my side. By any means necessary, you must remain at my side," the master traveler insisted, biting off his last word sharply as he heard one of their drow captors once again approaching.

  "You know, Pig, or Percy, or whatever you call yourself, I am really going to miss your cooking," Haukun admitted.

  "Well, I appreciate the compliment," Woodehous replied, trying to maintain some dignity despite his current situation.

  "You know," the drow continued, "once we turn Volo over to the matron mother, we might be able to put in a good word for you with one of the ruling households, and perhaps get you a kitchen position rather than farming duty or worse."

  "Why, thank you," the maitre d'/cook/waiter replied, quickly making eye contact with his fellow captive, "but if it's all the same to you, I think I'd rather stay with my friend Volo here. Companions to the end and all that rot, if you know what I mean."

  "No, not really," the drow replied, scratching his ebony forehead in puzzlement, then running his delicate digits back through his flowing white mane of hair. "But if that's what you really want, far be it from me to stand in your way. Just seems like a damned shame waste of a good cook."

  "I'm sure Menzoberranzan has plenty of good cooks," Volo offered.

  "Not that I recall," Haukun answered, "but it has been a long time."

  The party had no sooner resumed their journey to the city when they came into contact with other travelers, the only time since the encounter with the pair of kuo-toa. A detachment of drow warriors traveling in the opposite direction waved them on, and a drow merchant with a lizard bearing his goods passed by, hardly even noticing them, lost in a conversation with an illithid companion.

  "I wonder if he knows Malix," Woodehous said out loud.

  "Not likely," Volo answered. "Though mind flayers are fairly common around here, not many of them maintain contact with others who have decided to make their lives on the surface."

  "Oh," the former maitre d'/cook/waiter replied, wondering from which dull, boring text his fellow companion in captivity was quoting this time.

  "Keep your heads down as we enter the city," Courun instructed, "and try to look oppressed and sullen."

  "No problem," Woodehous replied in all sincerity.

  Glancing back at the mind flayer and the merchant, Volo noticed that they seemed to be pointing to the path from which the foursome had come.

  "I almost forgot," Volo said to himself. Then, out loud, he said, "Courun, I think Percy and I have to take our boots off before we get into the city."

  "Why?" the captor inquired.

  "Custom, I think," the gazetteer explained, making it up as he went along, "at least that's what I heard, and we wouldn't want to get things off on the wrong foot, I mean, just when you and Haukun are on the verge of returning to respectability."

  Courun turned to Haukun, and asked, "Do you remember anything about captives having to be brought into the city barefoot?"

  "No," Haukun answered, "but you and I have been away for a long time, and he does seem to know a lot about these types of things."

  The two drow helped their captives off with their boots while the puzzled Woodehous looked at his companion for assurance.

  "Believe me," the gazetteer asserted, "it's important."

  Woodehous realized this last comment was strictly for his own reassurance.

  Luckily for the two bound captives, the road ahead was smooth, posing little threat to the delicate soles of their feet. The former maitre d'/cook/waiter noticed that Volo took more than a passing interest in their surroundings, as if he were trying to memorize everything in a matter of seconds.

  The road opened out into a huge cavern, within which the city was situated.

  All four travelers were momentarily speechless in awe of its magnificence.

  "Araurikaurak," Volo mouthed, his eyes wide in wonder.

  "No," Courun corrected, "Menzoberranzan."

  "I was just using its dwarven name," Volo replied, adding absently, still in awe of its splendor, "It's just as I pictured it."

  "You mean, as you remembered it," Woodehous corrected, asking, "don't you?"

  "Whatever," the master traveler replied absently, "… and I am here now."

  Menzoberranzan

  The city itself filled the entire cavern. Volo had been slightly mistaken when he called the city Araurikaurak. In reality that was the name of the cavern, quite literally translated from dwarven as Great Pillar Cavern. Legend had it that the entire open area was formerly the lair of a gigantic spider, but given the proclivity of the drow for adoration of all things arachnoid, the validity of this legend was more than open to discussion.

  From their vantage point just outside and above the city, they were able to look down on the wonders of the entire subterranean complex.

  Woodehous noticed a lake at the lower end of the cavern, and whimsically asked, "I wonder how the fishing is?"

  "If you are lucky, you might find out," Courun replied. "That's Donigarten, where the slave pens are maintained. In the nearby dung fields, I am sure you would find ample fungi and mushrooms to season the nautical fare you'd fish."

  From this distance, the former maitre d'/cook/waiter could just make out some of the slaves paddling around the lake on rafts, some leading beasts of burden, others little better than beasts of burden themselves. This was not an existence to be envied.

  At the highest part of the city floor stood the Tier Breche, home of the Academy, where drow received their training. The prospects of life in the slave pens for Woodehous was every bit as abhorrent to him as the memories that flooded back to the two drow warriors upon once again seeing the place of their education.

  To the other side of the city floor was the Qu'ellarz'orl, a plateau separated from the lower city by a grove of giant mushrooms. This was where the noble houses were located, and where Courun and Haukun expected to regain their rightful places. Numerous flashes of faerie fire in the houses indicated that there were several parties going on, commemorating various celebrations of one sort and another.

  "Soon, they will be throwing parties for us," Courun replied with a haughtiness that was quite unbecoming.

  Looming above the entire city cavern was the pillar Narbondel, whose change in glow indicated the passing time of the day. Its smooth yet rough surface gave an appearance that could not have been fostered by means other than the pure refining forces of nature itself. This was the only structure in the entire city that had not been remade by the skillful digits and sure hands of drow artisans.

  Volo stood in awe of the exotic beauty of the place. Though he had traversed the entire world of Toril, he had never looked upon a city to compare with this one. True, he had never been to Netheril or Cormanthyr, whose beauty was the stuff of legends, b
ut both of those cities were long dead before he had been born. Menzoberranzan was still very much alive and in its glory, even if that glory was pervasively evil.

  The four travelers lost track of how long they had been standing on the ledge, and probably would have continued to stare off in awe had they not been interrupted by two representatives of the Dark Dominion, who prided themselves on knowing how to deal with unwanted interlopers.

  "What are you doing here?" the senior patrolman demanded in clipped Drowish, which Volo was barely able to understand. "What are you doing with these two surface dwellers?"

  "They are our prisoners," Courun and Haukun replied in proud unison. "And we have come to turn them over to the matron mother."

  Pointing at Volo, Courun continued his spiel. "This one here," he stated with pride, "is a blemish to the honor of our beloved Lloth. He has dared to violate her domain and would have made it the object of mockery for all the surface dwellers had we not stopped him."

  The two patrolmen looked at each other and exchanged signals in the silent language of the drow. Neither was amused, nor did they know what to do with the party at hand. Finally, the senior one returned his attention to Courun and Haukun.

  "Of what house do you belong?" the patrolman demanded.

  "House Salato," the two proud drow warriors replied, once again in unison.

  The guards laughed, and Woodehous distinctly heard Volo murmur, "Uh, oh," under his breath.

  "That house hasn't been around in over a century," the senior patrolman advised. "It was wiped out after an unsuccessful bid for power. You'd better come along with us."

  A look of panic raced across the two drow warriors' faces.

  "Salato… gone?" they cried. In unison, they screamed, and then took off in opposite directions.

  Woodehous felt Volo's suddenly unbound hand grasp his tightly.

  "We'll let the jade spiders track them down," the older patrolman decided. "Let's bring in these two surface dweller prisoners and take any credit that is due for their capture for ourselves."