Getting to the Underdark
That night after celebrating your success and preparing to
find the drow, the drow come to you. The raid is initially
silent save for the faint whoosh of wind on grass as they make
their way through the nearby forest and toward the town.
Screams come from other rooms but before you can move, half a
dozen drow and as many quaggoths are spilling into your room
and, without speaking, shooting at you with crossbows. As you
try to dodge them and get yourself out of bed, more drow come
in, shooting you with more, until there are bolts stuck deep
into your muscles, and you can feel the tang of poison start
to cloud your vision.
There’s a thump as one of your bodies hits the floor, and the
rest follow shortly after.
Your bodies are fitful as the drow carry you on simple
litters, small baskets made of woven spidersilk stretched
across long poles that allow the band to carry their prizes
back to their outpost.
When you wake up, your mouths have been coated in a horrible
substance that has dried and hardened, preventing you from
moving your jaw or breathing out of your mouth. All of your
items have been stripped from you, including the clothes on
your back. You have been fitted with metal collars and
manacles connected to metal belts, leaving you restrained, and
given tattered tunics. The cold, heavy weight of metal is
tight around your throat and wrists. Every so often, the
litter lightens and the sounds of half-mumbled shouts and torn
clothes end with gurgles of blood and snarling quaggoths
chewing and spitting out gristle and bone. The stench of
death, sweat, and poison lingers. Whenever anyone suspects
you’re too awake, they shoot you with another crossbow to lull
you back to sleep and rip out the bolt before you awaken.
By the time you arrive at Velkvynvelve, there is only the
three of you in the litter. It has been at least two days
since you’ve felt sunlight on your skin. You pass the southern
watch guard and are taken along the stairs on the cliff face
until you are dumped into the slave pen. You can still hear
the snarling of quaggoths nearby.
Velkynvelve
You are now in Velkynvelve, a drow outpost. In the muddled
time you made your way over to the slave pen, you passed by
caves that lead to barracks and a dining hall to the south
along the cliff face. You also passed a waterfall pouring into
the cave cavern that creates a constant background noise,
negating the cave’s tendency to amplify and carry sounds.
The outpost is located high in a cavern, built 100 feet above
the rocky floor. There are four “hanging towers”–hollowed out
stalactites connected by walkways, stairs, and rope bridges.
The towers are concealed by the thick webs of giant spiders
stretched below them, so that only the lowermost parts of the
stalactites are visible from the cavern floor.
With the small amount of dim light used in the outpost
shielded from the cavern floor below, one might walk the
entire length of the cleft without becoming aware of the
outpost overhead, hidden in the darkness above the range of
torches and lanterns.
There is no doubt that giant spiders guard the towers,
dropping down on their web strands to prey upon creatures that
find their way into the cavern.
Day 1
Once inside the slave pen, you hear a tiny sneeze-like sound.
A new drow approaches and wraps her hands around the bars to
drink you in. “Well, well, well… Shoor, you’ve outdone
yourself. These three will make for fabulous slaves, worth a
pretty penny. Did all go well?”
The woman standing on the other side of the slave pen door is
a drow woman with spikey, sleek plated adamantine armor with
purple spider silks to form a skirt and cape. At her hip in a
holster is a rod with three tentacles that undulate menacingly
in the air beside her. She stands tall and proud, long white
hair tied up and flowing down her back, and she looks at you
ravenously.
It’s the first time you’re able to understand the drow.
A beautiful drow man answers her, twirling a wand casually. He
is wearing similar armor, but no fancy silks and his hair is
cut short. He was the leader of your captors. “All went well,
Mistress Ilvara. Had to feed the quaggoths along the way, but
only civilians. Nothing of use on them. These three, however,
are proper adventurers. Tons of good stuff in their
belongings. I’ve distributed it among the soldiers.”
“Before I had a chance to look myself?” Ilvara snaps. “I
decide what is worthy of keeping and what is to be wasted on
the soldiers. Show me the spoils.”
Shoor and Ilvara leave you.