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Velkyvelve

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It had all happened so fast. One minute, you and your closest friend, Kilvar Trueblood, had begun to venture deep below the earth in search of the fabled "Underdark"; a place so treacherous that few ever spoke of it, and even fewer knew how to find it. You weren't even sure if you had found what you were looking for yet, before the sharp pain of a poisoned bolt shot lances through your body, and you found yourself unable to stay conscious under its deleriating effects.

The choke of your bindings brought you out of your reverie, bringing the present sharply into focus. A set of iron manacles kept your hands at a much limited range of movement, and they were connected by chains to an iron belt which was similarly held to your waist. The dark elves had stripped you of everything but your underclothes the moment they had captured you, leaving you and your fellow prisoners rather immodest at the moment.

Of course, the thought of freeing yourself from your restraints was always coupled with the memory of what the drow had done to dissuade such ideas; they had take one of the prisoners, a small, lanky, disheveled little madman, and thrown him into their pit of giant spiders to serve as a warning.

You could still hear his screams: not of pain and anguish, but of sheer lunatic laughter. "Oh, you will see me again! You have the word of a god - a god, I say!". He had continued to laugh, even as the dog-sized arachnids injected him with paralyzing toxins that turned his veins black and wrapped him up in webbing to take him away.

Returning once again to the cell in which you were imprisoned, you considered for what must have been the thousandth time what spells you might be able to use here. While your hands were technically free, allowing for gestures to be made, and you were able to speak, you were also without spell components for material-based spells.

No doubt, as well, the guards would be more than eager to "discipline" an uppity spellcaster trying to escape. In fact, they were eager to do that to just about anyone. Who knows, maybe the Mistress herself would come out of her chambers to do it herself.

Ten days. You had been here for ten days, and so were able to create a rough mental blueprint of the outpost at large.

The interiors were all dimly lit by lanterns containing phosphorescent fungi, allowing creatures with darkvision to see there as if it were in normal lighting - lucky for you, as a dwarf accustomed to the dark. The rest was cast in total darkness.

The outpost itself was located high up in a large cavern, built 100 feet above the rocky floor. It consisted of a series of small caves in the cavern walls and four "hanging towers" - hollowed-out stalactites connected by walkways, stairs, and rope bridges. The towers were concealed by the thick webs of giant spiders stretched below them, so that only the lowermost parts of the stalactites were visible from the cavern floor.

With the small amount of light used in the outpost shielded from the cavern floor below, one might walk the entire length of the cleft without ever becoming aware of the outpost overhead.

The cell in which you found yourself was closed with a heavy iron gate bolted into the stone. Prisoners such as yourself were provided with clay chamber pots, but there were no other comforts in this slave pen. You've been forced to either sit or lie on the stone floor, and have been fed only once a day - a thin mushroom broth served in small clay bowls passed through the gaps in the bars of the gate.

A cough and a few shuffles brought your attention to your fellow prisoners. There were quite a few of them packed into this approximately 20-foot by 15-foot space, and you took the time to review what you knew about them.

The most obvious, imposing, and you might even say unique figure in the room was a pale beast with a humanoid shape to it's body. It stood well over a foot taller than an average human - meaning it was positively enormous to you - but it's albino white fur was surprisingly kempt from it's regular preening. It stood straight and tall most of the time, acting like some kind of noble creature, and would occasionally attempt to speak in a hushed, unintelligible whisper.

Next, Mormir's eyes fell upon a more familiar and welcoming sight; a fellow dwarf, but not Kilvar, who rested nearby. She had long gotten over not being able to wear much clothing under the current circumstances, and instead focused on how you could work together to get each other out of this horrible place. She had introduced herself as Eldeth Feldrun, a shield dwarf scout all the way from Gauntlgrym.

The pleasant timbre of a coin falling onto the ground and ringing as it settled filled the chamber, and a few sets of eyes moved to the unusual sound during a time like this. A bald gnome with dark gray skin chuckled nervously as he looked around and snatched the money back up. The "deep gnome", as he had called himself, had been rather gregarious so far, and had called himself Jimjar.

A frustrated huff left the lips of another prisoner, and Mormir turned to look at this one. Standing at six and a half feet was a green slab of muscle called Ront, an orc who had made it a point to either ignore or push around Mormir and the other dwarves - it's not like he could be blamed, their kind were kind of at war, at least up on the surface.

The most antisocial one of all here was a drow - yes, the dark elves had imprisoned one of their own, for whatever reason. While it was obvious why he might be curled up in the corner with his head hanging and totally oblivious to everyone else, it was still a curiosity why exactly he was meant to be sold into slavery just like them.

Pretty much topping the large beast-man in the odd looks department was what appeared to be a fish-man; he was so much more fish than human that his eyes were located on the sides of his head, but he had been the most calm and relaxed of the prisoners overall. Strange for what seemed at first to be a monstrous creature to exude such an aura of enlightened balance.

Adding one more touch of the weird and unknown to this deep, unwelcoming place, the Underdark, was a mushroom. A large mushroom, the size of a stout barrel, with a pair of stubby little legs for locomotion. It had been shivering almost the entire time that Mormir had seen it, moving slowly before the drow prodded it into motivation, and then falling into a fear-induced slump again.

Finally, there were the twins. More deep gnomes, just like Jimjar, but they were far less friendly than he had been. From the way they looked, they seemed to be twins - brother and sister. They were scraggly and hairy, possibly even furry they were so coated in dark mats. They were constantly whispering to each other, looking around, and glancing occasionally at guards or even other prisoners.

"By Moradin!"

The shout startled a few prisoners more than Jimjar's coin drop had, earning the newly awoken Kilvar a few mean looks and snorts. Mormir's friend ignored it, sweat slowly falling down his ruddy skin as he tried to slow down his breathing.

Kilvar glanced over at you, and you both shared a knowing look. He had had another dream, like you both had been having ever since you had come here. He shifted to lie against the prison wall, sighing softly under his breath.

Looking back out over the shrouded expanse of the Velkyvelve outpost, you wondered if you would be able to escape your fate as a drow slave. Even if you were somehow able to manage it, where would you go and how would you survive?

Mormir inspects his manacles, looking for any kind of flaw or defect in the metal.

Mormir waited until Kilvar stirred again, and motioned for him to come near.

He whispered “Keep watch for the guards, I’m going to try something”

Mormir didn't wait for Kilvar's response and immediately set to work, testing his bonds and trying to squeeze his hands out.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:28, Tue 07 Dec 2021.

Kilvar groaned as he got up, but stood nonetheless, more than accustomed to living under harsh conditions. He approached at Mormir's behest, and nodded in acknowledgement.

"Come up with a plan, have you?" He said in his gruff dwarvish accent. "I hope it's a good one; Moradin knows that witch's lash is not a welcoming sight."

He shifted surreptitiously up to the gate, looking left and right down the rocky pathway as he whistled a half-remembered tune.

The manacles weren't finely made - in fact, one could even consider them somewhat crude - but there was no denying that they did their job, and they did it well. Despite this, you began to manipulate your hands, scrunching your digits up and getting them as small as possible so that you could pull them through the tight, almost circulation-cutting restraints.

Kilvar's whistle broke for a moment, and his cough brought your attention back to the gate; a thin figure was illuminated by the dim light of the cell, revealing a guard who looked on a little suspiciously.

Everything the drow wore was made of a sinister black material, with accents of silver and themes of spiderwebs and such. This one was no different, with a short tabard covering simple black chainmail; his leggings had multiple slits down the thighs, revealing dusky dark gray skin, and his face had a hint of softness or femininity to it that was very strange to see on a male. His hair was long, straight, and moon-white.

The guard sneered as he looked over the assembled prisoners, before continuing on his patrol. His retreating steps were a relief, so much so that it took a moment before you realized that you could feel your wrists again!

Kilvar came back up to you, looking back and shifting his body to block the view of your now-free hands.

"So," he asked, "what's the next step? I assume you've got a way out of this cell, too, if you're confident enough to have left yourself in such a compromising state as this - if a dark elf sees you now, it'll be high alert, and I don't think you can easily fake still being 'cuffed."
This message was last edited by the player at 16:25, Tue 07 Dec 2021.

Mormir stood still for a moment, a bit shocked that he was actually able to slip out of the manacles.   He looked up at Kilvar with a wide sheepish grin.

"I can't believe that actually worked!   I must be losing weight from eating the swill they're serving us." he said softly.

Mormir glanced around at the other prisoners, and tried to determine who noticed.   He quickly attempted to size up the group, to identify who would be the most helpful to his current plight.  He motioned to Jimjar, Eldeth, and the mushroom to approach him and Kilvar.

He whispered to the group as soon as they approached, "Friends....I seem to have been a bit rash, and have gotten myself into a bit of a situation.  I know we haven't spoken much but you seem to be good folk.  I can try to help you out of your bindings, but I'm not sure a full scale prison break is the best approach...any ideas?"

Eldeth noticed your gesture and immediately went to your side, eager to know what was going on. Jimjar looked left and right, then pointed at himself with a quirked eyebrow, unsure if you had pointed at him; regardless, he too slunk forth to get the lowdown. For a moment, you were unsure if the mushroom had seen you, but sure enough, it wobbled up onto it's stubby little legs and slowly waddled closer.

Now that you had a closer look, you could see each of your chosen allies in detail.

Eldeth had fair skin and fiery ginger hair, both dirtied significantly by her time here; her eyes were an unassuming chocolate brown, and her face was usually set with an expression of determination and maybe even a little bit of hope. She bore herself like a soldier, arms crossed and ready to take action.

Jimjar, on the other hand, seemed to be very easygoing; his smile was always plain to see, even in these worst of circumstances. His stone-gray skin dimpled at the cheeks, and his wide, flattish nose took the centerpiece of his face. A bald head, pointed ears, bright and beady dark-colored irises, and a conspicuous pair of brass earrings hanging from only the right earlobe were curious in that they hadn't been confiscated.

Finally, the mushroom creature sat nearby; surprisingly, it actually had eyes, which would have been unnerving seeing as they were big, shiny pools of black, but there was something… innocent about them, something almost… cute, that made them seem only mildly unsettling at worst. It peeked up at you from under it's pale gray mushroom cap - it's thick "stalk" doubling as both torso and head/face - and the color of it's skin(?) continued in that monotone shade of pale slate.

"Friends, I seem to have been a bit rash…"

"Well that's putin' it lightly." Eldeth stated, eyeing your now-free hands. "The best idea I've got, is that we try and hide it until we can get you to a tool or even a rock or something, then we bust the rest of us out of our restraints."

"And where do you suppose we'll find something good enough to help?" Jimjar had a honey-smooth voice that reminded you of an iron bell, and his accent caused him to not pronounce his Rs, as well as to extend some of his vowels into a lilt almost as if the words were hopping over a hill. "Don't get me wrong, I wanna be out of here just as much as you do, but this place has been safety-proofed more than an orcish nursery - and I have seen an orcish nursery. What we need is our gear; then we can really start cooking with oil."

Eldeth seemed to seriously consider it for a moment before countering his argument.

"Our equipment, which is locked up in one of those towers over there? You know, the ones with all the guards, and the strange dark elf ritual rooms - and also, not to mention, the Mistress's quarters herself? I'd rather not play roulette tryin'a find stuff we can reimburse elsewhere."

Jimjar shrugged. "I don't know, what if it turns out that we won't even get the opportunity to rearm ourselves without any equipment? I don't know about you, but I'm not quite that confident in myself."

"Whatever we choose," Kilvar interjected with his deep voice, "we'll need rations; the kitchen's ought to have plenty, but it's a similar challenge - though noticeably less difficult - to go about raiding as we make our escape."

As you listened, a strange sensation washed over you. Turning in the direction of the feeling, you noticed the mushroom once again, but this time there was something curious about it - about the air around it, in fact; barely noticeable even in the low light of the cell, you noticed a miniscule smattering of golden-colored… particulate, floating through the air. Looking around, you saw a few more all around you - and then you heard a voice.

"H-Hello." It was weak and stuttery, echoing just a little bit as it reverberated in your head. "You're going to get out of here? C-Can I come with you?"

Jimjar looked unfazed, nodding to the mushroom as if this were everyday conversation, but Eldeth just looked back at you with wide eyes and mouthed an incredulous dwarven cuss as she questioned what was happening. Kilvar just nodded, acknowledging it whether he believed it or not. You, however, remembered this feeling: the same form of communication was used by a group of myconid you met once long ago. They called it "Rapport Spores" and told you it was harmless, which it turned out to be.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:39, Mon 13 Dec 2021.

Mormir listens intently to the ideas proposed by his fellow prisoners, and the rough outline of a plan starts to form in his mind.   As the mushroom starts to project its thoughts into his mind he recalls the experience years ago where he met the myconids that helped him, and a wave of relief falls over him.   For the first time since being captured he feels a spark of hope, in what had been an otherwise hopeless situation.

Looking down at the mushroom, he replies with a thought and also verbally "Yes, absolutely.  You're all welcome to join me in trying to escape.  I won't make that decision for you, and no hard feelings if you'd prefer to stick around here and wait for your fate.   But together I believe we can do it, and it may take a little luck...but it's our freedom we're talking about here."

He pauses and looks each of them in turn.

"Eldeth, I like your idea about getting a tool or rock for me to help others break out.  In the meantime, perhaps we can use some of the grease from our food to act as a lubricant and I can try to pull the manacles off each of you.  Could you see if there is anything in the cell that could help?"

"Jimjar, you are clearly resourceful enough to hide a coin from our captors...could you go among the other prisoners and see if anyone else seems sympathetic to our cause?   Stay away from the Orc, he probably won't like us dwarves.   And I'll have a talk with our sullen drow in the corner"

"Kilvar, could you keep a lookout for the guards and if possible also keep an eye on Jimjar's back?   I'd like us to know if we have any trouble from inside the cell or out."

"Mushroom...I mean,um...what should we call you?   Perhaps you can help me hide the fact that my hands are free if I hold you in my arms, with the loose manacles against my chest and my wrists not showing outwardly."

Mormir waits in anticipation as his new friends mull over what he has said.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:12, Thu 16 Dec 2021.

The gathered crew of strange and unlikely allies shared a look amongst each other; it filled them all with a sense of determination, and the others all nodded in agreement before breaking the huddle and getting straight to work.

Kilvar took up his position next to the gate once again, keeping an eye and an ear out for any approaching guards. He softly whistled a different dwarvish song to help muffle out any background noise.

Jimjar slipped from clique to clique within the cell, even as cramped as it seemed with so many people in it at once. A hushed conversation here, a little bit of banter there, and soon he was making his way through the crowd on his recruitment spree.

"S-Stool." You heard in your head. "My name is Stool. If you want to keep quiet, then you don't need me nearby to maintain the mind-link; I've already… 'infected' everyone in here, so as long as you're within a stone's throw of them, you can communicate like this. Oh, and only for the next hour!"

With that, Stool got into position in front of you, using it's body to block anyone's view of your hands. You got the sense that your wardens would likely not notice this charade for a little while, but there was no telling when exactly they might catch on…

"So, grease..." Eldeth said as she came back, empty-handed, "Frankly, there's only one thing to be found in this cell which could work, but I don't reckon you'll want your freedom at the cost of shit-stain rashes unless it's your last resort. What I propose instead, is that we have the next one of us assigned to meal-prep today collect what they can from the kitchen."

Just then, the dwarven melody that had been floating through the room changed abruptly into a faux-birdcall disguised as some sort of change in the chorus of the song. Not long after, the sound of boots echoed up to the cell - surprisingly, it was only one pair of feet that approached.

Standing before you now and regarding the assembled prisoners with a dispassionate eye was what appeared to be one of the superior officers, judging by his spiderweb-themed half-cape which swept over one shoulder. He was completely bald, the reason for which becoming very obvious as your eyes were drawn to the enormous burn scar that covered more than half of his head and swept all the way down to his sword arm.

The once-pointed elf ear on the scarred side was now decimated and shriveled, and you could see that he was missing two fingers on the corresponding hand as well. It was a little difficult to notice at first, but you could tell that his hand shook ever so slightly - a degenerative effect of his wound, perhaps?

Despite his apparent station, however, he held in front of him a tray of small clay bowls - everyone's meals, for the entire day. Trying to retain as much dignity as possible, the dark elf set the tray down on the floor and moved to one knee; he deftly grabbed bowl after bowl, slotting them through the gaps in the cell bars side by side, before taking the last one and holding it himself.

As several prisoners came up sporadically to grab what nutrition they could, the drow just looked straight at you with his one good eye, the amethyst iris seeming to pierce into your very soul. He ignored the shoving and bullying of the orc looking to get more food than it was allotted, letting the other prisoners figure out who would get fed today as he nodded his head in such a way as to beckon you to him.

Mormir nods at Stool, and thinks to him "Greetings, Stool.  I appreciate your help and willingness to cover up my rash decision.   I may need you to improvise a bit with me if we get questioned, and perhaps appear limp so that I have a reason to carry you."

Mormir turns to Eldeth and smiles and says out loud, "No, thank you...I think we can wait for what we can scrounge up from the kitchen."       He then thinks to her, "Don't be afraid, Stool has enabled us to speak telepathically using only our thoughts.   It will last for the next hour."  He then winks at her and his next thought is interrupted by Kilvar's warning tune.

Mormir observes the drow as he passes the food through to the prisoners, and immediately realizes that their escape plans may be escalating quicker than he hoped.   As the drow gazes at him and beckons him, Mormir smiles and nods an acknowledgement.   At the same time he thinks to Stool, "Stool - I need you to pretend to be ill, go limp and unresponsive."


Mormir says to the drow with deference and respect, "Thank you, but I will give up my ration to my small friend here.  He appears weak and in need of sustenance."   He looks at Kilvar, "Kilvar, would you be so kind as to bring me the soup?"

Mormir also thinks to Eleth, "I may need a distraction, if our guard gets insistent...perhaps you could feign an argument with Jimjar.   If not, when Kilvar brings the soup you can kneel in front of Stool to block the guard's view...at least of my hands."

Kilvar stepped up to the drow and reached for the tiny offering, but their captor kept a tight grip on it so that he could whisper harshly to him; the drow's accent had the same sinister drawl and resting angry-face snappiness to it, if a little coarse, and he glanced furtively around as he spoke with your friend.

After a moment, Kilvar was given the bowl, and the drow stood before walking away with that same manner of saving dignity.

"He asked if I wanted my friends and I to escape; I made an executive decision and said 'yes'." Kilvar was projecting his thoughts to you as he looked back at the retreating dark elf. "During the next changing of the guard - that'll be essentially midday, as we know it down here - he'll leave this cell unlocked and distract the guards for a few minutes so we can attempt to loot the armory right over…"

Kilvar pointed across the way to the guard post that was positioned to be watching the cell, but higher up to what you could only assume was the upper floor of that upside-down tower.

"...there. After that, we can hop onto the spiderweb just below and slog over the edge into the pool at the bottom of this cavern."

Remembering the pool, you suddenly realized that you had drowned out the sound of the relatively gentle waterfall which poured out of the side of the rock somewhere in the fort; it had already been long enough here for you to block out the background noise.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:26, Sat 08 Jan 2022.

Eldeth's voice echoed back in your skull.

"We're not going to believe him, right? We all know that if it sounds too good to be true, it usually is. What does he get out of it?"

Kilvar nodded and shrugged, agreeing pragmatically with the fellow soldier, but also seeming to convey "what other choice do we have?".

"So, what, we're just gonna pass up on an offer like that?" This time, it was Jimjar who replied, followed by a few other prisoners. "Say he does even one of those things, right? Even if it is a trap, there's quite a few of us here, and we're all smart, aren't we? I believe in us: I believe we all wanna get out of here."

Eldeth sighed and shook her head, not willing to make the call on a decision like this.

Looking at the new recruits, you saw that Jimjar had brought in most of the rest of the prisoners: the fish-man, the beast-man, and the deep gnome twins. They each gave you a knowing look, signalling that they were in on this potential breakout.

Just then, more footsteps approached the cell, and your gathered troupe did their best to look inconspicuous by dispersing and looking elsewhere. A trio of standard guards stood in front of the cell door, and one of them produced an iron key to turn with a metallic creak into the lock as another looked at a small piece of paper he had written on.

"First shift will begin, and we are reorganizing groups today. The first group includes the Kuo-Toa, the dwarf next to the mushroom-"
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:29, Sat 08 Jan 2022.

"Actually-" the guard shot him a piercing look at the interruption, "-sir. Actually, sir: he can't do that."

"Oh, is that so?" The guard asked with sinister amusement, just waiting for Kilvar to slip up. "Tell me: why is that?"

Kilvar opened his mouth, and then shut it. He glanced at you.

Mormir did his best to look concerned for Sprout's health and replied, "Because my friend here is sick, and I'm the only one he trusts to help him.   I will take a double shift the next time I'm up, if you'll let someone else go in my stead."

While awaiting the guards reaction, Mormir warns his friends telepathically that if doesn’t work they should be ready to improvise and perhaps cause a commotion.

The guard squinted his eyes, trying to tell what was really going on here. He looked down at Stool, who was giving the best version of puppy-dog eyes an anthropomorphic mushroom kid could possibly muster; Stool shook for a moment, and a shower of yellow spores fell from beneath it's mushroom cap brim.

The guard's eyes widened, and he grimaced.

"Fine." He spat. "Double shift it is next time, then. And you'll skip a meal as well, why not?"

The other guard chuckled sadistically, indifferent to his colleague's attempt to maintain dominance over the situation but pleased by the prospect of your future suffering.

After a little bit of striking out ad rewriting on his small piece of paper, the guard called for the fish-man, Kilvar, and the deep gnome twins. As they were all taken away to their various tasks for the day, Kilvar gave you a wink and a nod.

An awkward cough filled the now-silent prison cell, as the anticipation for the coming escape attempt put everyone on edge. You definitely had time to talk, if that's what you wanted to do, or you could simply wait until it was time for action.
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:33, Thu 20 Jan 2022.

Mormir sighed with relief that his bluff actually worked, and looked down at Stool.   "Thank you, you did excellent..and releasing the spores was a nice touch!" he says to the small mushroom.

Mormir addressed Jimjar and Eldeth, "Jimjar, I agree with your thoughts on our chance to escape.   And Eldeth, I don't trust him either but I think it's our best option at this point.
  What are everyone's thoughts on where to head first?   Personally, I think our first priority should be to try to find weapons in case we run into resistance.   Ideally if we could find our confiscated equipment that would be best, but at this point I'd settle for anything that worked and would give us a fighting chance."


He also looked around the cell at the other remaining prisoners, and tried to gauge their reaction or whether they might try to cause trouble.   He was particularly concerned about the drow prisoner and Ront.

If a mushroom could look pleased, then Stool definitely did; it positively beamed at your praise, if that was even possible.

Jimjar and Eldeth nodded at your assessment of their situation, and both chipped in on your query. Jimjar spoke first.

"Weapons are definitely a go-to, first thing out of the gate." He said in his strange gnomish accent, Eldeth nodding along. "Our highest priority after that will be food, which won't be easier either. Now, if I were a betting man-"

He looked back and forth conspiratorially, a cheeky grin spread across his face.

"-I'd wager that a... 'lightfooted individual' such as myself, would be able to go on an ambitious little jaunt into one of those other towers while you're on your meal run: pop on over to that little shrine they've got erected over yonder and pluck a shiny or two that I may have laid my eyes on once or twice as we passed by?"

"By Moradin's beard, what are you thinking?" Eldeth said, exasperated. "I was with you up until that last part - considered volunteering for the larder heist myself - but stealing from a dark elf shrine? Are you mad?"

"Look at it this way: I mean, we're already stealing from them, aren't we?" Jimjar replied.

"Stealing necessities, yes, but have you heard of their goddess?"

"Yeah, yeah." The amiable deep gnome was nonchalant about it. "Lolth, the Queen of Spiders, sexy and malevolent, so cruel she even turns her own followers into monsters if they aren't up to snuff. What's she gonna do, though, right? Curse me for snatching a rock? I think I'll take my chances."

Eldeth almost looked like she wanted to strangle Jimjar by the neck, but she ultimately reigned it in. She sighed, and shrugged in your direction.

"Where to head first..."

The sound of Stool's thoughts interrupted your two allies' minor conflict.

"If I could be anywhere I wanted right now, I'd be back home. I'd be back at Neverlight, being held and sung to by Yrberop, or resting beside the other spore children under the phosphorescent lights of the Grove."

Eldeth's expression softened, and she sat next to Stool.

"I'd be back in the golden halls of Gauntlgrym." She said warmly, putting an arm around the mushroom. "I can almost feel the warmth of the Great Forge, or hear the chanting as it echoes down the many layers of the Iron Tabernacle... I hope my family's alright, without me; they must be worried sick."

A short silence fell over the group.

"The High Forest."

An eloquent, masculine voice responded using Stool's Rapport Spores. In synchronous with these words, the gray-white beast man who had remained silent up until this point sat down himself, releasing a long breath to reduce his tension.

"It's been so long," the juxtaposition between his soft, noble voice and almost elven accent to his physical form was slightly jarring, "but I can still remember the golden leaves as they fell trhoughout the seasons, and the whitestone pathways and gazebos. I'd give anything to be back in Nelrindenvane, supping on ambrosia or listening to the babbling brooks and other sounds of nature."

Eldeth nodded along, totally in the moment and not even questioning the logic of the creatures story. She looked up at Jimjar.

"And what about you?" She asked.

"Huh?" Jimjar was distracted, seemingly deep in thought before he was interrupted. "What do you mean? What about me?"

"Where would you be right now, if you could be anywhere in the world? Anywhere at all?"

The jovial deep gnome seemed to somber for a moment; something about thinking of home shook him momentarily from his happy mood and turned his mouth into a line.

He quickly smoothed his expression back into his usual grin, as if nothing had happened.

"My home is the road, love. I'd probably just recoup back in Blingdenstone, then set out once more for daring and adventure - this time with a little less shinies and a little more stabbies, if you know what I mean."

As everyone had been talking about where they would go, you took the time to give a good look-over at the two wild cards positioned relatively close to each other but definitely in separate positions near the back of the cell.

Ront - the mean orc who had either ignored or pushed you around just like the other little folk - was actually trying his best to listen in to the spoken parts of your conversation. You noticed him now, tilting his head every so often to get a better angle even as he faced the other way; occasionally, he would glance furtively back as well, and you saw the telltale signs of anger and frustration on his face when he did.

The drow, however, was actually staring right back at you when you looked at him. For a moment, you couldn't help being paralyzed by his dead-eyed gaze, but as you did, he did something unusual. He turned his head to look up at Ront, drawing your attention back to the orc without letting him know, before turning back at you; somehow, you understood perfectly the message in his eyes: the dark elf had seen you noticing Ront, and seemed ready to do... something, about it, when the time came.

The drow hung his head once more, resting yet again as he had tended to do for his entire stay here.
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:52, Wed 02 Feb 2022.

Mormir was pleased to hear that Eldeth and Jimjar agreed with his initial assessment, and took note of Jimjar's idea to head off by himself in search of "shinies".   He didn't immediately react upon hearing the news, but started considering the best way to convince the gnome that it wasn't the best approach.   He sighed to himself, and listened intently as Stool and the others spoke of home and better times.

Mormir was certainly surprised that the quiet and reclusive drow acknowledged him, and made a mental note that although he seemed disinterested the drow was taking it all in.  After that brief interaction he brought his attention back to his new friends reminiscing of home.

"I was going to say the temple of Moradin of my childhood," Mormir began, "and surely it would be better than here, but I cannot truly rest until I find out what happened to my father."

"Jimjar, don't you think those other towers will be guarded?   You're certainly capable, but perhaps we should stick together and get out of here in one piece?   If you get recaptured, we won't be coming back for you.   I'll grant you this...if we're able to locate weapons and food undetected first, we'll come to watch your back as you look for whatever treasure you have had your eye on.  But going off by yourself seems like a fools errand in this place, and I'd hate to lose a new friend so soon." Mormir finished with a genuine smile, and hoped the gnome would be open to his idea.

He then looks to the beast man and with a warm look he asks, "So, tell me more about the High Forest...and how should we refer to you?"

Jimjar seemed to mull over your words in his head, before shrugging.

"I guess I'll think about it." He said, smiling back.

The beast man shuffled, turning to you and looking at you with a sad expression.

"I wasn't always like this, you know." He lifted an arm, watching the albino shag drape down from it. "My name is Prince Derendil, and I was - I am - an elf of Nelrindenvale, a hidden city deep in the High Forest."

"You may have noticed from my title, as well, but I was in fact destined to take my father's place on the throne - it would have been soon, in fact, since he was getting on in the centuries and was considering going on his final journey to the Lake of the Full Moon."

"Oh yes, I would have been king, ready to accept my new role and guide my people into the next age of prosperity... until Terestor happened."

"The Wizard Terestor: a distant relation of my family's bloodline, he had always considered himself the rightful ruler of Nelrindenvale. So obsessed was he with this singular goal, that he began to dabble in the dark arts, and then to practice, and then to outright master the magic of necromancy and shadows. For millenia, he has engaged in guerilla warfare, working on this scheme or corrupting that individual to his side for the ultimate betrayal, and we only ever saw the full picture after his plan had sprung into action."

Behind the Prince's crimson orbs for eyes, you could almost see the memories of devastation and loss. Was it a coup? A political loophole after his father's death? Something else?

He shook himself out of his reverie, looking back at you.

"I apologize, I must have spoken your ear off." His small smile may have seemed predatory to the untrained eye, but now that you had met him, you understood what he was trying to convey. "It is... difficult, to look back on those events, especially in such desperate conditions. Perhaps if you'd like to know more, I can tell you later, after we've escaped - if we've escaped."
This message was last edited by the GM at 09:05, Fri 04 Mar 2022.