Hurk'kagg grins at the prospect of violence, despite the peaceful intent of the first instance.
As the siblings begin to divide, he leans toward his Mistress whispering a concern;
"Mistressss. Hurk'kagg would show pretty soldiers how strong you are. Show them fear so they no see family halved is family weakened..."
The brute steps back, ears flattened in a sign of concern and submission. Such words could be met equally with a soft word or hard hand...
Certainly, dear! - says Lahrehn, following his sister almost immediately. His back is a little turned, but it's clear he isn't hurt; it's maybe just some sort of reflexive hunchback thing. In his mind, he's drunk, absorbed on the thoughts of playing with the flesh of gnomes.
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Hurk'kagg grins at the prospect of violence, despite the peaceful intent of the first instance.
As the siblings begin to divide, he leans toward his Mistress whispering a concern;
"Mistressss. Hurk'kagg would show pretty soldiers how strong you are. Show them fear so they no see family halved is family weakened..."
The brute steps back, ears flattened in a sign of concern and submission. Such words could be met equally with a soft word or hard hand...
"You will do as I tell you Hurk'kagg." Siobhan replies, voice absolutely flat. Her eyes however are hard and bore into her slave. "You are useful to me. You serve well - but DO NOT question my decisions. Do as you are told - if it comes to violence you will show these elves how strong you are. Until then you will do as I tell you."
As the rising anger of his Mistress' words the massive bugbear's ears flatten and he does not meet her baleful gaze.
Hurk'kagg drops to his knees before the drow, head bowed in submission;
"Yes Mistress. Hurk'kagg spoke when not wanted. Hurk'kagg not learned from before. Never question."
The brute shakes his head, drooping ears brushing the cavern floor as he mumbles his apologies;
"Mercy Mistress. Hurk'kagg learn. Never again."
Any place near the surface, the cavern that houses Fasturvalt would surely rank amongst the largest caverns in the world. The cavern ceiling rises more than a hundred yards high at its central apex and is adorned with countless natural hanging formations.
Fasturvalt’s natural floor is not flat. The whole cavern is a gentle slope, with the highest elevation at the northwest and the lowest at the southwest corner.
Near the northwestern corner the slope becomes more pronounced and the cave has two embankments that each rise about thirty feet. The first rise has a broad natural stairway that the gnomes have broadened and widened, while still preserving its natural beauty.
Originating from a tumultuous waterfall on the northwest wall, a black river slices through the town at a breakneck speed creating a low-roar that echoes through the Azathyr for miles. All of this moving water makes the cavern misty, cool, and damp. Condensation from the river and ground water from above combine to make an almost constant drizzle. This cool weather, combined with the noise of the river and a persistent rotten odor, make Fasturvalt seem like a truly miserable place to live.
Your party approaches from the north-east entrance, along a road that runs beside the marble quarry. Over a hundred feet deep, with no end of the stone in sight, this pit is worked by dozens of gnomes. A few look up and watch with suspicion as you pass.
You head further into the town, going over a carved stone bridge that cuts over the river. To the south are fields of mushrooms that grow as high as cornstalks, to the west is a still lake. Hundreds of clumps of bioluminescent algae float on the surface, giving the water a sickeningly pale green glow.
The town square is a large open area paved with what appear to be soft white mushroom caps. All of the buildings are carved from fine quality marble, the likes of which could only be afforded by nobility on the surface. This area is abuzz with activity, with svirfneblin hurrying from place to place, stopping to socialize, or buying toadstools or pale eyeless fish from street vendors. As the expedition moves through the center of town, a hush falls over the crowd. Large pale eyes follow the strange group as they continue north.
A pair of armored guards, led by a deep gnome with a shining mithral badge approach. "Mitä liiketoiminnan tehdä pimeässä tontut ovat täällä?"
Arcavic stops, a step behind and to the right of his sister, Siobhan, and crosses his arms, eyeing the svirfneblin guards. He assumes they are challenging them and asking their purpose, but as he cannot speak their inferior tongue, he says nothing.
When you near the area where the cache is located, an obstruction presents itself. A large, broken wagon wheel sits in the middle of the road. It appears to be made of a strange, fibrous white material almost as hard as wood and banded in crudely-worked iron.
T'unavor stops short as he sees the wheel. "A trap. Make ready.". He pulls a vial from a pocket and downs it, then draws his rapier. A quick motion slides the flat of the blade along his palm, coating it in a viscous, brownish fluid. Nodding to the others, he steps quickly to the side and behind a stalagmite, vanishing from sight.
Sh'assaria narrows her eyes at the sight of a single wheel, which she readily identifies as mushroom flesh. Her keen sight easily spots the rest of the wagon, which she points out to the others, quietly: "Over there, behind a large stalagmite."
She points at Yazzyr. "Sergeant, take some of your men and go and investigate the wagon. We'll wait here." After all, what's the point of travelling with minions if you're not going to use them?
Smiling, the witch lets her scorpion skitter up the back of her head where it perches, stinger raised expectantly. "I'll go with the minions," the girl says, airily, and makes her way towards the wagon, half-walking, half-dancing, her arms swaying lightly to and fro in the still air.
Lahrehn aligns himself with Sh'assaria, without much of a clue. He smiles as they mention a possible trap, though - things were getting more fun, and he was delighted thinking about one of the soldiers getting caught on the traps and suffering a slow and painful death.
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Although she can't speak the inferior gnomish tongue Siobhan has been through enough negotiations, and faced down enough angry guards to read both the tone and body language of the two gnomes, even if she doesn't understand precisely what they are saying. Drawing on all her natural hauteur she looks down at them and drawls slowly, but clearly, in undercommmon as she focuses her gaze on the lead gnome.
Behind her back, her fingers flicker rapidly in drow sign language. If they fight one dies. We need the other.
A natural staircase leads to the second rise, atop which sits a line of buildings set in front of a massive set of natural pillars that rise all the way to the ceiling of Fasturvalt. Stained by minerals seeping in from above, these columns are a rainbow of brilliant colors – red, ochre, vermillion, and blue. Into these columns, the svirfneblin have carved the faces of their deities: young and old, wise and petulant, man and woman.
Behind this holy site is the House of Geidne, the largest and most imposing structure in Fasturvalt.
Inside, a short atrium leads directly into a large columned hall with a great fire pit at the center and the almost comically oversized throne of the svirfneblin lord at the far end. The walls are adorned with richly made tapestries and banner woven of fungus fibers and even surface silk some of which are older than the town itself. The fire pit burns low, the flames fed by mushroom bark. It is well lit by Underdark standards, dry, and a little smokey.
The room is currently unoccupied. The guard motions to a couple racks towards the entrance before taking his leave. "Please hang your cloaks and arms here. No weapons are permitted in the presence of Lord Geirni. I will summon his lordship."
Despite her recent chastisement of the brute, Hur'kagg looms close to his Mistress; watching the guards interactions with her intently
He flashes a toothy grin to himself as he catches the scent of the gnome populace.
So tasty little gnomiz. Pluck them from their stone dens and feast on the soft meats inside...
The request to relinquish his weapons snaps him back to reality.
Ignoring the gnomes words Hurk'kagg looks to his Mistress and her fell siblings for his next move...
Sh'assaria looks with interest at the blood. "Barely dry. Whatever did this, it was recent. The webbing would suggest spiders."
She casts around for any trail, mindful to look up at the walls and ceiling of the cavern, as well as the floor.
Agreed, sister. - Lahrehn finally said, touching himself to grant Mage Armor.
He inspects the webbing, though, curious to see if it could have been... Something else that did the damage.
Sorala tags along behind her sister, looking at the woman work the tunnel, the witch's head tilted with rapt attention and curiousity. "Careful there, sister. Whatever did this may still be about."
Quickly, she runs a hand along the back of Sh'assaria's hair, touching the woman's hair lightly, as if it were a loved pet.
Raising an eyebrow at the Gnome's request, Arcavic looks to Siobhan to see if they should agree to the request, while slowly beginning to prepare to place his weapons on the rack.
Sorala tags along behind her sister, looking at the woman work the tunnel, the witch's head tilted with rapt attention and curiousity. "Careful there, sister. Whatever did this may still be about."
"Oh, I hope so, darling. Why bring soldiers out all this way if they don't get to do anything?"
She shakes her hair free of her sister's grasp. "Don't knot it up, darling; it takes ages to brush out. It's fine, you know."
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On the journey through Faustervault Siobhan make sure that her face does not show her true feelings. This is a capable people, creative and ingenious. They will make excellent slaves. Her best efforts can't stop a slight smile curling the corner of her lips however as the arrive at the House of Geidne.
"We are here for negotiation, not battle brother. We will not need our weapons here." She says in response to Arcavic's glance in clear undercommon. Just leave the obvious ones her fingers flicker in sign.
Waiting for the gnome king Siobhan pointedly sits, arranging her robes fastidiously and enjoying the warmth of the room. After three weeks of travel it is pleasant to be indoors and warm again.
As his Mistress and Arcavic converse in their strange finger talk, Hurk'kagg lurks and waits.
Wish Hurk'kagg knew finger talk. Only know finger chop!
He chuckles to himself for a second, then then the drow warrior begins to unload weaponry, the brute follows suit - reluctantly handing over his great flail and various blades.
The lummox scowls at the guard taking his weaponry, grunting in Undercommon;
"You best take care of them little gnomiz."
He then joins his Mistress, eyes vigilant for potential threats;
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As Ssarilla starts to undo the small belt holding her rapier's scabbard mother starts to curse at the back of her mind. "What do you think you are doing? No proper child of mine gives her weapons to such cretins! You should kill them for even asking!"
Ssarilla sighed as she handed the rapier to the guard, a smile on her lips which did not reach her eyes. "Shush mother. You know this is required. You also know that rapier isn't my greatest weapon. Calm down and let us handle this." The thoughts seemed to calm mother a little as she turned to muttering instead of shouting.
Shrugging, Arcavic unbelts the family sword and places it on a rack, as well as his flail, longbow, and dagger. He keeps his shield hung over his shoulder on his back before standing behind Siobhan, arms crossed, with a bored look on his face.
Moments later, a stout gnome with large, watery eyes walks in. Behind him follow two of his guards, and to you surprise, a dwarf.
The stout gnome takes a seat in the throne. A violet tunic and a brown fur shawl give him a a lordly appearance despite his stature and somewhat vacant gaze. A heavy golden pendant hangs from his neck.
The dwarf also has the bearing of a noble. He is young, but he wears shining plate armor, and he cradles a horned helm under one arm. A massive blonde beard cascades down the front of his armor, beads of steel, iron, and mithral woven into the hair.
One of the gnomes seems notable as well. Older than many of the others you've seen, but he holds himself with a confidence that suggests skill at arms. He wears a steel breastplate over a padded coat. A sword hangs from his belt.
The noble gazes down at the drow from his throne, a hint of confusion in his eyes. Both the dwarf and the gnome regard the assembled drow with unmasked suspicion.
"I am Lord Geirni Always-Speaks-the-Truth-but-Slowly and I bid you welcome, drowkind. What brings you to my hold?" As his name suggests, Geirni speaks slowly.
Lahrehn approaches Sh'assaria and waits. He couldn't find anything else, so he just holds his moment before advancing. On his core, the insane drow almost hopes they're in danger of something unknown.
Hurk'kagg eyes the gnomish host before them with narrowed eyes and a wry smile;
Ho-ho. A longbeard! They die hard... tough meat. Good eating.
Sh'assaria wrinkles her nose, delicately. "The cart was pulled by some beast of burden, and two... spiders, I think, dragged it that way." She flashes her insane brother a knowing smile. "Where they went, we could follow."
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Re-appearing at his sister's side, T'unavor clicks his tongue lightly. "Why? They're animals - they can't even scream properly. Leave the minions of our goddess to their deserved feast; their bounty is, in turn, ours." He turns to investigate the contents of the wreck.
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Siobhan approaches the throne and stops about ten feet away, she nods her head slightly, as she might to an equal or one of slightly lesser status. "Greetings Lord Geirni. I am Siobhan of House Vytharia. I come as an ambassador and to advise you of a great threat which stirs in the dark beneath us. Our scouts and mages recently divined the coming of a great tide of aberrations. Given the size and scaled of this 'blight' ambassadors have been dispatched to seek alliance with the other residents of the Darklands that we might fight this common enemy." Siobhan allows a hint of a sneer into her voice, aiming to convey the typical drow arrogance, thinly veiled. "We ask for your consideration of this matter. If you accept my commander," She gestures at Arcavic, "will need to speak with your military leaders, to advise them as to our strategies and how we will best work together."
Bowing her head momentarily at the end of her speech Siobhan allows her sight to blur slightly, giving her a better perception of the magic auras in the room.
Sh'assaria looks at T'unavor with curiosity. "That's a side of you I've not seen before, darling; I never thought you'd be one to turn down a good source of poisons. But I want to see what they took - the Azathyr is ours, and if anyone's going to ambush a wagon and steal its contents, it should be us."
She pouts. "That's some fun that I was deprived of, and somebody needs to pay. Even if it's just a bunch of mindless spiders."
Hurk'kagg shifts uneasily at the dwarves words.
He eyes his Mistress trying to discern if the bearded meal's words were insulting or not...
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"Do you truly think I would have journeyed this far to waste your time with some sort of tall tale?" Siobhan replies, contempt dripping from her voice. "I am not so enamored with life on the frontier that I would do such a thing. As to proof, you know as well as I that abberations are famously hard to target with magic. It took our greatest wizards some time to even deduce the dead zone within their scrying magics, let alone penetrate it! I am an ambassador, not a wizard - I was sent to deliver a message for the good of the entire Underdark! Not to bandy words with a lackey from a people that would rather cower in a fortress than deal with the true problems either above or below the ground! If my word and that of my commander is not sufficient then seek your own proof." Making a visible effort to 'recover herself', Siobhan returns her attention to Geirni.
"My apologies, Lord Geirni. I have delivered my message faithfully, as an ambassador is compelled to do. I await your response." As she waits for Geirni to respond she examines the auras more closely, hoping to divine their purposes.
Sh'assaria is right, brother. Let's press the way and find out more! - said Lahrehn to T'unavor.
Lahrehn was strange by himself, and his words seemed to hide dozens of different intentions. His insanity was dangerous and obvious, yet he was still useful on his weirdness.
He touched himself murmuring arcane words.
T'unavor sighs, but the corner of his mouth twitches up briefly. "Very well, lets go."
The disappearance of the trail dampens his spirits, though. "Any other ideas, siblings, or are we finished with this diversion?"
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Sh'assaria pouts as the trail runs out. "I don't like mysteries, darling; they breed. No, there's something here, but I can't see it."
She frowns in thought. "I need more eyes." Starting a chant in a gutteral, harsh language, full of gibbering and feral snarls, she stares into the darkness... and something stares back.
Deepening in hue, the Azathyr writhes and twists at her call, finally splitting open to unreality itself as the Abyss pours its chaos into the void Sh'assaria has created.
An eight legged horror crawls into temporary existence; it sniffs and chitters at the blood trail, before hungrily following it.
Geirni's name has truth to it; the svirfneblin speaks quite slowly. "The drow of Vothys were always friendly with my father. Why should I assume differently?" he asks. "Please continue, Siobhan Vytharia. What would you suggest?"
When the dwarf reacts angrily, Hurk'kagg looms closer, a rasping hiss emitting from betwixt his many needle fangs.
Longbeard beckons death. Hurk'kagg will take his beard and eat his heart.
Arcavic reaches out a gauntleted hand and places it on Hurk'kagg's shoulder, forcefully gripping as a warning not to interfere. Turning to Siobhan, he says, "We must hurry in this. The speed with which the threat moves means we cannot tarry long."
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"You are right Commander." Siobhan nods at her brother, choosing to ignore Hurk'kagg entirely. "Lord Geirni, I have spoken my part. The practical matters of the defense of this fair city I would leave to my commander. If you wish however I am willing to send messengers back to Vothys and offer the elves of my personal guard to aid the defense. If you think that is sensible commander?" Siobhan makes a show of turning to Arcavic and leaning towards him, deliberately blocking sight of his mouth to foil any lip readers. "If we can get our army inside this will be much easier."
"It seems your pet has found them. May as well send it in first." He draws his rapier and steps to the side.
Shassaria nods, beckoning at her summoned pet to open the portal.
The chamber above is blanketed with web. Woven into this bizarre decoration are Undercommon runes fashioned in discolored silk.
"Why deal with Cornelius," Geirni asks, slowly. "When we have allies before us, Gunther? Vothys has long depended on our stone. Perhaps we should solidify our alliance with these people." He gestures to Siobhan.
Gunther falls silent, but shoots a look to the dwarf. If the dwarf noticed, you do not know.
"Now," begins Geirni. "These two dozen drow. We must have some assurance of their good faith."
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"What assurance do you seek my lord?" Siobhan counters. "If it is your will I and my commander can remain here. I will send my second," she gestures at Ssarilla "with instructions to my guards and to deliver my message. If you could oblige me with ink and a pen then I will confirm my orders in writing - you will be welcome to read the letter of course. Beyond my personal presence and the mere fact that we came in the first place there is little more that I can offer you at this time. Surely our appearance here, in good faith, counts for something?"
Assuming ink and paper are delivered Siobhan takes a seat and writes instructions to the army in undercommon. Simply they read. At the request of Lord Geirni of Faustervault the ambassador remains to assist with the defence. Detach six elves to escort this messenger back to Vothys and bring the rest into the city to aid her. While she writes Siobhan mutters under her breath, as many people do when writing a letter - but what she says is something quite different. Once finished she presses a finger onto the paper and marks it with her personal brand as a sign of authenticity.
"Get this back to the army as soon as. Dispatch the two dozen with one of our siblings in command. Tunavor or Lahrehn would be best. Then one week from today we will ensure the gates are open during our patrons hour. Sh'assaria must strike then. We will secure the palace."
Sorala shrugs and hoists herself into the chamber, taking her time as she does so. "Careful. Sketh and Az are hungry."