NPCs, Take 2: Rosie Cusswell

Ah, Rosie. Rosie is almost unworthy of a mention when it comes to character mods, as she hardly required any. The only information we are given about her in the AP is that she has a short temper, a foul mouth, loves food and drink, and is obsessed with her violin. She is a fighter, and gets violent if anyone tries to relieve her of her axes. Clearly she did not come from high society.

Fortunately, being a halfling in 5e Forgotten Realms makes it easy to see how a halfling could be mean-tempered. After all: their homeland was just flooded, and many of them left homeless beggars in human slums. If she grew up on the streets, this explains why she's a rough-and-tumble fighter, and a dual wielder--a feature we associate with roguish personalities. I very nearly swapped her class to rogue, in fact, but ultimately decided I wanted the heartier flavour of a Champion fighter.

The only bit that still stood out was the violin. Even on her PF stat block, there is no mechanical representation of why she is so attached to the instrument, nor if she can even play. There is likewise no mention of an explanation in her introductory paragraph. I knew my players would be inclined to return Rosie's violin if it meant earning her friendship, and knew they wouldn't accept 'just because' as a reason for why the halfling possessed it in the first place. However, while I wanted an explanation for Rosie's musical ambitions, I also did not want to add an element to her character that did not do something to further the story. Thus, ultimately, I looked to the Factions of the Forgotten Realms setting.

The Inspiration

Gandalf! OK, not really Gandalf, but rather I decided to invoke an old story-telling trope involving a wise mentor, who usually dies early on in the adventurer's career. If Rosie's character was a rough-and-tumble street kid, and her music was the only hint of a softer side, then I decided it must come from someone who was dear to her, and who was taken from her prematurely. Perhaps someone who tried to get her off the streets and show her a better way of life. With the item in question being a string instrument, I couldn't resist using a Harper. 

The Final Form

Ultimately, this is the background I gave Rosie on her character sheet: 

"Short & fierce, Rosie was born in Luskan, where she learned the harsh realities of street life. She was a thug & a bully, & saw no need to ever aspire to be anything else. Then one night, she got in over her head. About to be pummelled, she was saved by the surprise intervention of a middle-aged gentleman who took out her assailants wielding only his reinforced bow string. The man was a bard named Gilian, a sailor who travelled the seas fighting & entertaining. He became a mentor to her, like the father she'd never had. It was Gilian who taught Rosie to love music, & that there could be more to life than fighting for survival. He told her stories that softened her heart, & made her realize a romantic side of herself. Rosie had planned to go with him on his next adventure & studying as a bard, as soon as he returned to port from a brief trip at sea. He didn't return, however, & Rosie later learned his ship was lost. Disheartened, she went on a wild spree of drinking & wasting away, which eventually landed her on the Wormwood."

I also gave her a Harper Pin as her only token of her mentor, which she wears as a necklace. I felt that this gave her a direction to grow in, should the PCs recruit her, and possible plot hooks there. I also purposefully avoided making the violin a possession of some lost love, as I wanted to use that background on another character. I also suspected that, if the PCs latched onto her for no other reason, the hint of Harpers might alone be enough to make them curious about the halfling. 

I statted her as a Stout Halfling, and a Champion Fighter. I very nearly gave her the Urchin background, but ultimately settled on Entertainer, figuring her ability to play would probably be the prevailing plot hook if she stuck around long enough for the ship to make shore. 

I gave her the personality traits of speaking her mind (loudly), and secretly being a hopeless romantic, both of which are implied in her PF description. For her ideal, I gave her a 'follow your dreams' to go with her newly-acquired back-story. For bonds, I gave her her violin, and for a flaw, I stuck with her big mouth. 

NPCs, Take 1: Sandara

On a basic level, Sandara's character was quite simple. She was born and raised in a port town by her father, who was a sailor. Here she was exposed to sailing, and learned some tools of the trade at a young age to help her father make ends meet. One day, her father went off to sea and didn't come home. Everyone said his ship was lost. So she prayed to Besmara, the evil goddess of pirates and the sea, and begged her to be merciful. To send Sandara's father back to her. The next day, her father arrived home--wounded, half-drowned, but alive. Thus, Sandara took it as a sign, and became a fervent follower of the wicked Besmara. She helped to spread the faith locally, and became a cleric. But her life took another turn recently, with the death of her beloved follower. Still in mourning, uncertain how to move forward, Sandara wasn't so terribly upset when she woke up press-ganged onto the Wormwood. 

That's all well and good, and would be easy enough to mod to Forgotten realms. 

But where does it go wrong? Well, I did say that was on a basic level. 

The biggest issue with Sandara is that, frankly... she doesn't make sense! She is statted as Neutral, and if she behaved as such, there would be no issue with the above back-story. A Neutral character can be cleric to an evil goddess, especially if they tend to be a low-hanging Neutral. One and done. 

The problem with Sandara is that she doesn't behave that way. Her first introduction to the PCs is that she sees them captured, and all their gear stolen. She therefore risks her own neck, and scares the Quartermaster into giving her some of the PCs gear, the same as she had done a few weeks back to return her own gear. She's already pulled this trick on the Quartermaster once, and this time it is obviously not even her own stuff. This is a needless risk she is taking for the PCs. 

And that would be fine for a Neutral character if she had some reason for it. Perhaps she plans to bribe the PCs, perhaps she intends to return their gear in exchange for loyalty or favours. Nope. She walks right up to one of them and gives them their stuff back--no strings attached. And she does this because she hopes to make friends. This is just one example, of course, but Sandara's biggest problem is that she continued to behave in a way that, frankly, feels Neutral Good. She is pleased when the PCs are not jerks like their captors, believes in loyalty, appreciates if the PCs rescue and befriend other crew members. She even blatantly offers her services as a healer. Which, more to the point, means she has cure rather than inflict spells in PF. Now, while a Neutral cleric can technically pick, it certainly feels like one is riding the 'higher end' of Neutral alignment if one makes that choice. The AP even addresses these inconsistancies, acknowledging that Sandara seems too nice for Besmara. How do they justify it, then? Sandara claims Besmara isn't evil, just misunderstood. 

(You may bang your head on a wall now. Heaven knows I did.)

Altogether, when my team played, we felt that these discrepancies made Sandara feel like a naive and confused individual. It made many of us not want to associate with her. Instead, I wanted to portray her differently--making these apparent contradictions in her character a plot point instead of a confusion. 

The Inspiration

Altogether, when I started thinking about this Sandara problem in a FR context, I kept coming back to this lovely lady, Viconia DeVir. She's a recruit-able party member in the Baldur's Gate series, and is a Neutral Evil cleric of Shar. Why Shar? Well, because the Night Singer's worship allowed her to escape the Underdark, and thus she turned to her worship in thanks. Viconia is a staple party member if you're going the 'evil route' through the BG series, but interestingly can be a valuable party member even if you're playing a good-aligned hero. There are even whole threads here on the interwebs dedicated to keeping her, she's so popular. 

If you recruit Viconia as a good-aligned hero, and you romance her, she eventually asks you if she should try to be a better person, and you get the opportunity to turn her alignment to Neutral. If you encourage her to do so, she retains all her powers, even though she should not by RAW, because this takes her more than 1 step away from Shar's own Lawful Evil alignment. While this could just be an oversight in the game, it has led to a lot of speculation that Viconia's powers were never coming from Shar in the first place, but from a Neutral or Good aligned power all along. This makes sense in some ways, as Viconia had never acted much like a Sharan--Sharan clergy, per lore, are sombre, show no emotion, keep secrets, do not make friends, do not associate with those outside the church. They certainly do not love. 

While it may just be a fan theory (and one seriously doubts BioWare would ever confirm anything outright in that regard), it made an interesting foundation from which to look at Sandara. 

The Final Form

First of all, I decided to make Sandara younger. How young? 20. At first, I had considered going as young as 18, but changed my mind when PC descriptions started to come in, and I realized I wanted someone else to be the 'baby' of the crew. But the point of making her younger was to make it seem a bit more obvious that she is likely in over her head. If she's barely 20 years old now, and she's got 3 cleric levels, we can imagine she would have been only 16 or 17 when she began her worship of the evil sea goddess. So, yes, we're talking about Little Mermaid levels of maturity here. Suddenly that bright-red hair makes sense.

This also did a good job of eliminating the AP's suggestion that she be forced onto a PC as an unwanted love interest. That felt cheap to me, and to no one's surprise, my player's didn't bite on that line at all. Making her younger makes her more sympathetic, instead of trying to awkwardly give her sex appeal, and works just as well to keep the players interested in her.

I otherwise kept her back-story the same, just modified the location to match the new setting. She appears pretty pale, so she could have some Illuskani blood. And that makes Luskan the perfect pirate city for her to have grown up in. Umberlee makes a perfect substitute to Besmara, and is just about as vain and uncaring, so that works nicely. I also decided to blatantly play Sandara as Neutral Good, but retained her proud faith in Umberlee. I had no qualms about portraying her as naive, nor about implying her claim of bravado and expertise was more likely covering up insecurities and un-wept tears. The players lapped it up. I gave her the Tempest domain and the Sailor background, and otherwise left her character mechanically similar to its PF incarnate.

For personality traits, I gave her 'Nothing can shake my optimistic attitude!' from the Acolyte background, and 'I'll look out for those who look out for me.' as a modification of her PF description. I gave her Teamwork as an ideal, and the the open sea as her bond. For flaws, I kept with the burgeoning alcoholism implied in her PF description.

Where are her powers coming from? Who knows. Maybe it is Umberlee. But is she likely to remain happy there much longer? Not likely. Without the threat of death, those Neutral Good inclanations are likely to catch up with her. In a religiously-charged setting like the Forgotten Realms, it's a great looming plot hook, as all of the PCs will likely have their own suggestions about how Sandara should get on with her life, and possibly who she should seek for guidance on that path. I look forward to watching the conflict unfold.

These are your NPCs

(But only Sandara is Important)

The first real issue I faced when modding the Pathfinder AP Skulls and Shackles was not actually the PF-5e conversion. That bit was surprisingly easy--just match a monster here, tweak an xp reward there, sub a skill, drop a DC. The real issue was changing the setting. Pathfinder's Golarion setting is, in many ways, pointedly opposite of that of other fantasy RPGs. In Pathfinder, most of the gods are distant, bickering jerks--and some only attained god-hood by touching a rock! In FR, meanwhile, we have the gods literally walking among us, such that atheism is nearly unheard of. Obviously some changes had to be made. 

The place I decided to start was the key NPCs. After all, the Wormwood crew is supposed to be an important part of the party's lives even after the first book of the AP. At first they're potential friends or enemies, and later they can become crew-mates or recurring villains. 

I was surprised, therefore, when I found next to no information on the crew. Most of the key NPCs have a small blurb, but it leaves a lot to be desired. Shortstone is a gambler. OK, but why is he a gambler? Why is he OK with being pressed ganged onto a ship? Altogether, the backgrounds for NPCs seemed a bit lacking. And that is odd, as the AP expects PCs to spend the first book making friends. Even the villains, I found, had rather scant explanations for their personalities and motives. Scourge is a jerk. Why? Who knows. He hit on Sandara, but he wears a wedding ring. Is he married? Maybe. Plugg is evil and ambitious, and keeps a pet human. He is perpetually angry, but feels no emotion. Is there any sense to any of this? 

Probably not. 

The only NPC fleshed out at all is Sandara, and her story makes relatively little sense. In fact, it almost feels as if she was some author's dream girl, and this is the sole reason she was given any backstory. The very fact that the AP seems to expect the PCs to blindly trust her, and the blatant suggestion she could be a love interest disturbingly seem to support this assertion. 

But Sandara aside, the problem was largely this: 

I had expected to read each character's backstory, and figure out how to move it from one setting to another. But instead, what I found was that there was little backstory to go on at all. That obviously had to change. I know my party, and knew Paizo's scant answers would not satisfy them. The villain can never be evil because the AP says so. He must have a reason for his evil ambition. Likewise, characters must have origins, reasons for being as they are presented. They are not caricatures. 

Why? 

Because players will ask. Players are the most clever things in the world, and they will not let you get away with a hand-wave. Thus, I decided the place to start my mod was to take each core NPC, gather what little characterization they were given, and flesh them out into full characters for the Forgotten Realms setting. From there, all else could be built. 

Playing Paizo in Faerun

It's a Brand New Day

Or year as the case may be. Actually, it's now nearly been 2 since the last time I decided to make use of my D&D blog. The reasons were simple: while I continued to keep close record of my party's adventures, demands of school and work eventually eliminated any free time which I had once used to convert those adventures to prose. 

The group I had meant to document is still together, having finished our adventures in the Underdark. In fact, our actions at the end of OotA ended up launching our own personal version of the Forgotten Realms setting, which we have been playing all our games in ever since. 

Why then have I returned? Certainly it's not to dominate the ranks of Blogger. 

I have returned now because I have become the second DM of the group I play with--and have been so for some time, in fact. But the niche I have fallen into, in that role, is unique at best. And, after a particularly intensive week of preparing for my weekly session, it has occurred to me that this might once again be an affair worth documenting. 

My group still plays in 5th edition D&D and, as previously stated, in the Forgotten Realms setting. That being said, as wonderful as the arrival of 5e has been for my group, the rate at which APs are produced... leaves a bit to be desired. With all the official 5e adventures going to my comrade, our primary DM, I found myself searching for other places to locate material suitable for adventuring. Eventually, I settled on Pathfinder. 

Though set in the far-off world of Golarion, and designed for a wildly different d20 system, the Pathfinder APs provided a source of unique material that I knew no other players in my D&D group would touch. This made them ideal for campaign crafting without having to worry about spoilers or repetition for my players. Having played Pathfinder in my (unfortunate) younger years of tabletop gaming, I was familiar with the system and its setting, and felt confident I could manage the APs--most of which I had played at least in part. But the problem of course was obvious: wrong setting, wrong RPG, and using rules, gold, and DCs more suited to D&D 3.5 than 5e. 

The problems would be two-fold: I would have to mod both the AP's mechanics from PF to D&D 5e, and the setting from Golarion to 'modern-day' Faerun. While this wasn't too much of a bother, it did create interesting changes in the Pathfinder APs which--coupled with my group's unique play-style--resulted in campaign decisions that I have seen detailed nowhere else. Thus, it occurred to me that maybe I should throw my group's play experiences out there, as well as my musings on PF-5e and setting mods in general. And thus, our adventures begin with the first... 

Skulls & Shackles

Though one of Paizo's more-recent (ie in the last 5 years) modules, the Skulls and Shackles adventure path was one of the first I decided to mod. The decision was made by my team, who selected it from a list of potential campaigns I had offered them. It was convenient, however, as I had actually played much of this one, and had been sad when my own S&S group fell apart. 

------Spoilers to Follow------

In its original Pathfinder incarnation, the AP is set in the wild world of the Shackles--a coastal and island region of Golarion where Free Captains rule, and there is little other law of the land. The PCs find themselves dragged into this world--literally in some cases--as they are press-ganged one drunken evening onto the crew of a pirate ship. Here, the PCs are faced with a harsh and unfamiliar world, and must eventually mutiny or die when the opportunity at last presents itself. Now, finding themselves the unexpected owners of a small pirate ship, its rag-tag crew, and trapped in hostile territory, the PCs must become pirates themselves if they ever hope to see home again. 

The AP is littered with hints of its overarching plot--a wicked attempt by the Infernal nation, Cheliax, to take over the Shackles and end its union of Free Captains once and for all. But this plot is not immediately apparent to the PCs, who are usually busier with surviving and building their pirate empire. 

------End of Spoilers------

The AP doesn't specify any particular alignment, and in fact any can be played. Evil characters obviously have a reason to remain pirates once on their own, though evil PCs tend to prevent their own problems. Particularly in 5e, where most evil PCs are banned in organized play, and the various books all declare sermons against evil characters, evil isn't really an option. And it certainly never is one at our table. So, evil aside, what's left? 

The AP seems to expect the PCs to be neutral. They are not initially pirates--or at least not the majority of them--when they are press ganged. This suggests that the characters' initial intent is probably not to become the next great pirate lords. After the PCs escape, however, the AP makes it clear that they cannot just return to their old lives. They are trapped in the Shackles, and would have to sail through hostile pirate territory to make it home again. And, without a reputation and enough power to make them feared, any attempts to return home would probably result in another press-ganging. Thus, the PCs must become pirates--and the AP initially suggests they do so by raiding merchant vessels and small villages for plunder. Perhaps they'll even sell some prisoners from the mutiny as slaves! 

The fact that the PCs did not start out pirates, but are expected to leap so whole-heartedly into the pirate's life suggests to me that the AP expects neutral characters. And, indeed, most of the blogs detailing S&S games on the internet seem to feature these sort of parties. But there is a third option: good alignment. While it may seem like an odd choice in a pirate game, in 2 out of 2 S&S games I have participated in, this was the general net alignment of the parties. When I was a player, my good-aligned group had intended to become privateers--to pirate other pirates, and the likes of the Chelish navy, while seeking answers on behalf of the Free Captains' council. 

My players, without consulting each other, rolled up 4 Chaotic Good, 1 Neutral Good, and 1 Chaotic Neutral character. Thus I found myself in an interesting situation. Not only would I have to mod the setting, characters, and game mechanics, but also some key parts of the AP to better suit a good-aligned party. Thus, I decided it would be an experience worth sharing, and will be detailing the highlights here whenever I have the time. 

Out of the Abyss, Session 3.1

He's a Rebel, a Vigilante!

Cast

Zern: A rogue duergar cleric of Asmodeus. He's following the party mostly so he's less likely to get captured again... also murder. Many chances at murder.

Nosey: A dragon-raised half-high-elf paladin of Ao. She means well, but her curiosity and naivety really do get the best of her sometimes.

Kian: A green dragonborn barbarian. Kian just wants to get home to the surface—preferably with all of his new friends still alive!

Angel: A drow 'cleric' of Vhaeraun. He's been travelling the Underdark a while and is leading the party to the surface; no one has asked why.

NPC Cast

Topsy and Turvy: A pair of deep gnome twins who escaped with the others from Velkynvelve. They're secretly wererats, though the party has sworn to protect them anyway.

Stool: A myconid sprout from the Neverlight Grove. Stool keeps the party telepathically linked and also serves as a sort of mascot. Bringing him home has been the party's first order of business.

Sarith: A drow captive from Velkynvelve who is obviously dead....

Missing Link on the Brink of Destruction...

The refugees were slow to rise that morning, following Frec's departure. When the children awoke, they were briefly informed of the night's happenings (conveniently the bits about nearly murdering each other were left out) and told to prepare for departure. Not ones to argue, Topsy and Turvy nodded and followed Nosey at once, while Stool fondly hopped to his place atop Zern's head. All the same, the party gathered camp rather slowly that day, taking every opportunity to stall. Kian, in particular, kept glancing back over his shoulder, as if hoping a Halfling would appear on the dark horizon...

Unfortunately, one did not.

After roasting themselves a handful of mushrooms and gathering up their gear, the group took one last glance about the area and prepared to be off. In one last attempt at delay, Nosey suggested that perhaps the party should move at a slower pace today. After all, half of them were sleep deprived, and Angel was still injured. Zern, however, declared that he had no need for sleep! Sleep was for the weak! And Angel, meanwhile, simply replied that getting strangled into unconsciousness wasn't anything new—that was an average Saturday night back in Menzoberranzan! Not wanting to know any more, Nosey fell silent thereafter, and the party continued on their quest for Gracklstugh. 

But, if the team thought that day two would be more peaceful than day one, they had another thing coming. 

The first few hours of the refugees' journey was quiet and relatively peaceful (frightening noises aside). Walking at the rear, Kian used the opportunity to gaze sadly into the darkness behind them, thinking of their lost Halfling. Nosey led the way across the webs alone, Frec's space now empty. But if she was sparing a thought for her lost teammate, it didn't show; her face was an unmoving mask of cold determination. The casters and children walked in the centre, as they had always done. Zern hummed a happy marching tune while Angel absent-mindedly rubbed at his neck. They might have been thinking of their doomed monk, but if so, sympathy was in short supply.  

For a long time, the team walked in silence, fresh spider webs surrounding them on all sides. But there were no spiders, and there were no monsters—not living ones, at least. The only creatures here at all were the grinning corpses that dangled from the walls above. And thus all the travellers were left to their respective thinking, brooding, mourning, plotting. As they trudged onward, the refugees also continued to encounter pods within the webs. But this time, they were clever enough to stay far away. The team didn't want to see what was inside that webbing any more. Thankfully, most of the pods were small, and they were free to ignore them. There were none that wiggled or writhed. None that looked suspiciously like Halflings... 

But, as the group continued onward, the cocoons grew bigger. Some were old, shrivelled. Others were already split open, their dark, liquefied contents providing an uncomfortable dripping noise to complement their steady march. But all the while, Gracklstugh also drew nearer, and this was what bid the escapees ever onward. Soon—soon they would be free of the Silk Roads and all its bad memories. They only had to press on a little further... 

So, of course, that was when everything suddenly went to hell. 

Near the end of their intended journey, the refugees encountered a fork in the road. The narrow caverns they had been traversing suddenly opened up into an elaborate network of spider silk, spanning every direction into the darkness. This area, the party soon realized, was even fresher than those they had encountered the previous day. Here the webs were very new, and some of the paths looked mere hours old. Amidst the sticky labyrinth, the team also found much more recent-looking pods. These spanned in size—some as tiny as they had seen that morning, others as large as giant lizards. Some of the pods wiggled as the party shuffled past—including one particularly large one overhead, which they viewed with a suspicious eye. 

"Not sure we want to meet the spiders that could take down something like that," Zern whispered as he ducked under the massive, twitching corpse. "Beasties must be massive!" 

There was a general murmur of agreement from his teammates, and a whimper of fear from the twins' direction. Likely, they remembered all too well the spiders that had found their rat forms a tasty snack. Just as the back row was ducking beneath the monster, however, they suddenly found their path cut off. Nosey, presently leading the charge, had suddenly stopped short. Standing there like a deer in the cross-hairs, she was blocking any further progress down the roads. 

"Move your arse, you stupid elf!" Zern grumbled from the rear. "Didn't you hear that we don't want to be meeting the monstrosities that crafted this mess?"

But Nosey didn't appear to be listening. In fact, Nosey didn't appear to be noticing the world around her at all. She was standing, rooted to spot, her bright green eyes fixated on something just ahead. Leaning around her, the party soon discovered what had captivated their paladin so. A few metres away, there was another pod stuck within the webs. But this one was not like the others. This one was smaller—medium sized, one could say. The creature inside it must have been little over 5 feet tall, and remarkably slender. And yet, its size was not what made this pod unusual. No, what was strange was that, while larger, more ferocious-looking prey lined the walls on all sides... this modest cocoon stood alone. It stood abandoned... as if the spiders themselves had wished to avoid it. 

That wasn't normal. 

Immediately on guard, Zern reached for his crossbow and ordered Nosey back. Following suit, Angel strode past the half-elf and took point. There, he began chanting the words to Chill Touch, and prepared to fire. If that thing inside could scare giant spiders, then it was not something their party wanted to face today. Better to eliminate the creature now, while it was still bound and helpless—!

"No!" Nosey screamed, tackling the drow in an attempt to throw off his aim. "Don't! It could be sentient!" 

"Or it could be a monster," Angel offered in reply. His concentration apparently unbroken, a skeletal hand appeared at the sorcerer's command and prepared to zoom towards the pod. 

"We should at least check!" Nosey wailed, shaking her comrade with little effect. Then, seeing that her pleas were getting nowhere, the paladin made a desperate decision. Shoving Angel away, she flung herself between the caster and the pod, arms raised as if in the thing's defence. The sorcerer's spell, meanwhile, continued to zoom onward, its deathly fingers now making a beeline for his own teammate. Seeing this, Angel hesitated for a split second and his spell froze in the air. Deathly fingers hung threateningly, inches from Nosey's face. 

Everyone in the party fell silent, watching the stalemate. Well... almost everyone. From somewhere in the rear, Zern's voice echoed in an urgent sort of whisper. "Do it!" he hissed in Angel's ear. "Attack her. Maim her. Kill her. What do we need a paladin for anyway?" 

But Angel didn't appear to be listening. Instead the elf was standing there, breathing heavily, his raised hands shaking with frustration. Pupil-less red and sparkling green eyes met in a momentary stand-off. 

Then, with a sigh, he dismissed his spell. "Fine," he hissed, to Nosey's relief, "Check your little pod. But at least make sure the contents are solid first before you go slicing things open." 

Nosey winced at the implication—memories of Zern’s… encounter were still disturbingly fresh in her mind. Then she swiftly nodded and, wasting no time, turned and faced the pod. If Angel was struck by an uncharacteristic moment of mercy, she wasn't going to waste it. For the briefest of moments, the half-elf wondered if this might be a trap—if she might be opening her unprotected back to fire. Thankfully Nosey’s worry was apparently unwarranted, for no icy touch befell her. Thus, paranoia dismissed, the paladin drew up to the cocoon and gave it a cautious prod with her sword. She was aware at once that the creature inside was still… er… solid. At the very least, if gave flesh-like resistance and elicited no nauseating squishing sounds. Encouraged by this, Nosey continued her investigation and poked her quarry with curious fingers. Whatever was contained inside, it was definitely humanoid, though she couldn't decide if it was still among the living. It certainly didn't wiggle, as Fargas did, beneath her touch...

Well, there was only one way to find out!

Throwing caution to the winds, Nosey took a step back and prepared to slice away the webbing. There was a yelp of concern behind her, and the distinct sounds of people grabbing weapons. The whisper of chanting informed the paladin that Angel was once more preparing a spell. Then, with a single slice, the cocoon flew open...

But this time, what toppled out was not a Halfling.

Black skin made stark contrast with the spider silk as a limp body collapsed into its midst. It landed with a ‘plop’ at Nosey’s feet, eliciting a blink of surprise from the half-elf. A... drow!? Well, she hadn't been expecting that! But, whatever his race, the captive in the pod was humanoid. And Nosey would stand by her principles. She'd begged for this opportunity, after all!  Dropping to her knees, the paladin wriggled one hand out of her gauntlet; slipping it beneath the man’s tangle of white hair, she prodded his neck in search of a pulse.  

“Oh my god, he’s alive!” she called over her shoulder.

It really was a shock. The unconscious elf looked convincingly corpse-like: skin was worn and thin, pulled taught over an emaciated frame; Nosey was certain she could have counted his ribs as he gave a hacking cough and began to gasp at the air…

“Nosey, get back!” Angel’s voice suddenly called across their telepathic link. Startled, the paladin whirled around at once. The 'cleric's face was darkened with concentration, and his hands were aloft in some somatic component. Scarlet eyes were fixed unwaveringly upon the reviving man atop the webs.

Horrified, Nosey leapt between the pair again, telepathically shouting: “No! Don’t kill him!”

“It’s a drow!” Zern chimed in. His crossbow, Nosey noted, was raised as well, the stranger locked between its crosshairs.

“Angel’s a drow!” the half-elf retorted. “Should we just shoot him too?”

But, before Zern could answer (surely in his comrade’s defence… surely…), the elf in question cut them both off. “It’s not just a drow!” Angel hissed. “It’s—!”

But, before he could finish, the man on the floor chose that moment to sit up straight. Bright vermilion eyes wavered drunkenly over the party; they were several shades lighter than Angel’s, and played off the ghastly rash that was spreading across their owner's face. The older drow was indeed thin—so thin he looked starved, in fact—and his gaze was glazed over with fever. The stranger's most disturbing feature, however, was a partially-healed stab wound upon his left breast, very near to his heart. Altogether, it was a familiar combination, even to the surface-dwellers…

“It’s Sarith.” Angel finished, looking livid. Upon hearing this, everyone in the group gave a little start—Nosey included! They remembered that name all too well. Sarith had been the other drow that had been captured with them in Velkenvelve—the one with deadly spores in his brain! The one they had seen carried off by the giant spiders...

“You!” Nosey shouted aloud, taking a step back from the reviving drow. “You’re that guy I stabbed!”

It took Sarith a moment before the words registered. Then he squinted up at the half-elf… And immediately leapt back, hands flying to his stab wound.  “You!” he echoed, glaring at Nosey. “You’re that bitch who tried to kill me!”

A brief argument ensued about who tried to kill whom. Angel, meanwhile, took advantage of the distraction to whisper a quick plan to the party. He didn't know how Sarith was alive, but surely it had something to do with Zygmatory’s dark magic. In any case, their first order of business was clear: Sarith was on his last leg. He would be completely consumed by his illness soon, and once he died, his head would explode with infectious spores. The same would happen if they killed him themselves; and likewise, the spores would kill him prematurely if Sarith was told about his condition. If the party wasn't careful, they could find themselves fighting a Spore Servant—or worse! They could end up becoming infected themselves! Their only chance was to get Nosey away, and to kill the drow safely… from a distance…

“No!” Nosey screamed aloud, suddenly breaking the group’s concentration. “We can’t just kill him! There has to be a way to save him!”  

The party cringed in unison and glanced fearfully towards Sarith. Thankfully, the drow was still blinking in confusion from his place on the floor. At the mention of his impending murder, however, the man’s eyes darkened. “Planning to kill me?” He asked, casting the party an accusatory glance.

When no one replied, Angel strode forward and made the final motion of his spell. A skeletal hand appeared at once, fingers inches from Sarith’s chest. “And why not?” he asked coldly, glaring down at the man. “We’re running from the Velkynvelve guards. And you’re one of them. We know it.”

At this, the drow sighed. He closed his eyes for a moment and rubbed his temples. Then, opening them once more, he fixed his gaze upon Angel’s holy symbol. “Malla’g’elend,” he whimpered, and the Chill Touch halted. “We have more in common than you know. At least let me explain why I was captured.”

What followed was a brief but heartfelt revelation. Sarith confessed that he had once been a guard under the command of family Mizzrym. But all of that had changed a few months ago, when the warrior suddenly realized he was sick with something—though not as literally as his present illness. In his company, there had been a single female soldier, a low-ranking nobleman’s daughter whom Sarith had known most of his life. They had long been comrades in arms, and Sarith had thought little of the matter. He had been guilty of feeling affection for this woman and had even dared to call her ‘friend’. But, about a season ago, the fighter had realized friendship was not all he felt for his companion. No, he had done something even more foolish: he had fallen in love with her.

At first, he thought he had successfully hidden his shameful infatuation from the rest of the company. However, days before his arrival in Velkynvelve, he had been found wandering into camp, bloodied. The severed head of his beloved had been carried under his arm, and several witnesses claimed they had seen Sarith murder her. Lamenting, Sarith claimed he could have done no such thing, but had obviously been drugged by the murderer and framed for the crime. Undoubtedly someone had set the lovers up—either in rage at Sarith’s dishonourable feelings, or to rise in power once they were both dead. Knowing the drow, the truth was likely a little of each… In any case, Sarith had been left with no defence and, as a lowly drow male, he had been immediately found guilty. Declared insane, he had been swiftly imprisoned in Velkynvelve with the other hostages destined for Menzoberranzan. Once there, he was to be offered as a sacrifice to Lolth—the same fate as Angel, incidentally.

At mention of his name, Angel scoffed, glaring at his fellow drow. His Chill Touch was long-since dismissed but, raising his rapier, he poked Sarith threateningly in the chest. “Please. Don't compare yourself to me, fool,” he murmured, voice shaking with malice. “If you were stupid enough to love someone, then it sounds like you got what you deserved!”

But if Sarith was intimidated by his kinsman's cold-heartedness, it didn't show. In fact, he laughed instead, tossing back his long mane of hair. He then shot Angel some comment in Drow that made the ‘cleric’ grow visibly pale and nearly drop his sword. 

But, before the caster could even consider a reply, he was abruptly cut off by Nosey. Wedging herself between the drow men, she declared that it sounded like they were all on the same side here! Accepting Sarith's story, she formally introduced herself and apologized for nearly murdering him back at the camp. Thereafter, there was little argument about inviting Sarith to rejoin the group. The drow was remarkably amicable—even more-so than the charismatic Angel! It was... odd. As odd as was the man's story. But then again, the refugees were hardly ones to look a gift fighter in the mouth. Out of concern for his condition, however, they did agree to a few precautions. Chief among these was barring Sarith from their telepathic connection, so they could safely continue discussing what to do with him. Then the refugees headed off again, and gave no more comment to the matter of Sarith—not his crazy tale, not his miraculous survival... not the reason the spiders had left him here instead of killing him...

But, if the team thought the day's surprises were through, they had another thing coming. 

As the group walked, Angel kept a personally close watch on Sarith (and ignored the strangely persistent words of Zern in his ear, a constant litany of "Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him." Honestly, that duergar was still not acting normally. They would have to address that at some point...). He had refused to tell the group what Sarith had said to him, but was now eyeing the drow from the back row with considerable suspicion. There were many things about the man that were abnormal—and not just his stupid, spore-induced story about falling in love! Though clearly sickened, the fighter seemed to be bouncing with energy the further they walked. His very hands were shaking with it as the fork to Neverlight grew nearer! And, likewise, the farther they travelled, the more frequently he winced, holding his head as if in pain. 

And Sarith wasn't the only one. 

As the group neared the junction between the Grove and Gracklstugh, Stool also seemed to grow anxious. The myconid sat straighter atop Zern's head. He hobbled about, as if filled with nervous energy. And, as the duergar city fast approached, he suddenly burst out with an exclamation that no one had been expecting: "Let's just go to Neverlight!"

As the words echoed across their minds, the entire party stopped dead. "Whatever do you mean, Sir Stool?" Zern asked at once, glancing up at his little friend. "I thought you had agreed to come with us to Gracklstugh and restock supplies?"

To this, the little mushroom simply shuffled about, looking conflicted. "Need to get home..." he muttered, voice echoing strangely in everyone's minds. "Going to be late!"

Highly confused, Zern began to ask: "Late for what?" But he found himself cut off by an unexpected source.

"That's right—the wedding!" Whispered a hypnotic voice from the back row. A moment later, the party was stunned as Sarith stepped forward, his eyes looking even more glassy than when they had found him. "We do need to hurry," he agreed, reaching out for the myconid, "It'll be starting soon! But I... I think I know a short-cut!"

Upon hearing the drow's words, Stool perked up immediately. And for the first time any of the escapees could remember, he did something most unexpected. With a jump for joy, the sprout voluntarily leapt off Zern's head and, with a plop, landed smoothly atop Sarith's. The duo them gave their friends an ultimatum of sorts. The party was more than welcome to continue to Gracklstugh. But if they did so, they'd be going alone: Stool and Sarith were making their way to Nightlight—before it was too late!

Briefly, the travellers convened and discussed their options. Sarith and Stool were not acting normally, and no one was inclined to let then travel alone. On the other hand, they needed supplies desperately. They were still carrying stolen drow goods after all and, while Angel kept them fed, they were desperately short on other necessities—bedrolls, spell components, medicines, decent weapons and clothing... In the end, however, the team decided they could put of their shopping trip a little longer and elected to follow Stool. Something told them to do otherwise would mean certain death for the myconid and his new drow mount. The duo in question, on the other hand, didn't seem any the wiser to their friends' suspicions. Gleefully the pair accepted the return of their travelling companions, and Sarith wasted no time in revealing a carefully-hidden passageway between the webs. If the party took the path, they could easily reach the Neverlight Grove by tomorrow morning. Thus unnerved, but decided, the refugees took off into the darkness.

They finally stopped to rest several hours later, when Sarith was at last too exhausted to continue any further. Succumbing to his symptoms, the drow collapsed to his knees, shaking with fever and panting from exertion. Futilely, he mumbled to himself about the need to carry on. They were going to be late! It was of the utmost importance...! Before he could rant further, however, a blanket was suddenly wrapped around Sarith's shoulders. With a desperate shiver, the drow accepted the offering and glanced up to thank his helper. He was surprised, therefore, when his vermilion eyes met crimson.

"You need to sleep, Sarith," Angel commented lightly, sweeping past the sickly elf. "We'll be at the Grove by morning. And besides, what use would you be at a wedding if you're too tired to even stand?"

His words seemed to make a sort of sense to the crazed Sarith, for he nodded emphatically, murmuring something about: "Yes, must be lively for our queen...!" Then, without another word, his eyelids grew heavy and surrendered at last to his exhaustion. As he collapsed on the ground, Angel swept over to his fellow drow while the Unseen Servants began to set up camp.

(And, in the distance.... everyone was suddenly unsure where Zern had gone...)

"Is he OK?" Nosey asked, coming up behind the pair. Her face appeared to be one of genuine concern.

"He's asleep," Angel replied simply, and proceeded to examine the slumbering warrior.

Nosey, however, seemed almost more concerned at his response. "But... I thought you said drow don't sleep?" she asked timidly, eyeing her fallen comrade.

"Only under great duress..." Angel answered, pressing a hand to the man's forehead. Damn. No wonder the man had collapsed. He was hot enough to grow fire lichen. And there were more worrisome signs. For one thing, Sarith's rash had now crept south from his hairline and was cascading down his neck. His pulse was racing beneath the glistening blisters, and his entire body was trembling even beneath his blanket. "Shit. He isn't going to last much longer..." Angel murmured to himself.

Unfortunately, it seemed Nosey was still listening. "What are we going to do?" she asked, likewise leaning over the sickened drow. "Can it be cured?"

"Only with high divine magic," Angel replied. "The curse afflicting him would have to be dispelled before his symptoms progress much farther. But Zern hasn't got the power. I know he hasn't."  A moment of silence fell between the pair, punctuated only by the rasping sounds of Sarith's breathing. The obvious question—'what about you?'—remained unasked. "We shouldn't let him go to Neverlight Grove." Angel said at last, starting the half-elf with the sudden change of topic.

"Why?" She asked, blinking at the drow in surprise. Sighing, Angel settled himself more firmly into the webs and began to explain his concerns.

Stool and Sarith were not acting normally all of a sudden. He couldn't say why, but he had a suspicion. The only connection between the two was fungi—Zygmattory's influence. And, what with Sarith's mention of a 'queen' and her 'wedding'... Well, needless to say, the chances that the demon lord was somehow affecting the Grove were looking rather high. If that was the case, something told Angel they should prevent the spore servant from returning to his mistress at any cost. It would likely mean his death. "Not that I have any love for Sarith," the 'cleric' commented pointedly, "But if you're so damned determined to save him, then we should knock him out while he's sleeping and helpless. Tie him up; leave him here. If we set Zern to learning Remove Curse, he might have mastered it by the time we can return for him."

Nosey, however, looked revolted. "But he could die if we leave him here alone!" she retorted.

"He could die if you take him with you," the drow replied. "But in any case, the choice is yours, paladin. I hardly have the might to stop you..."

Then, without another word, Angel rose to his feet and strode off into the shadows. Nosey watched him retreat, confused and conflicted, until the 'cleric' was beyond the range of her darkvision. Then, sighing, she settled down for the night herself, determined to protect Sarith... no matter the risk.

~*~

This chapter is labelled as 'session 3', but that is mostly to keep us on-par with other groups running the campaign. In reality, it was only our second time meeting and the group wasn't yet accustomed to each other. When we ran into Sarith, the real argument among the players was whether or not to bring him with us. Zern's player and I were both fairly certain it would mean the man's certain death at Zygmatory's hands, while the other two ladies (Kian and Nosey) were somehow convinced Neverlight Grove might have a cure. In reality, however, the only reason they dragged the NPC along was because the DM hinted there was more XP available in Neverlight if they brought him. In no certain terms: that pissed me off. And the team had a major fight with it following the Neverlight chapter. It did, however, open up the team to better communication. So, I suppose poor Sarith didn't quite die in vain..... 

We might owe that kid a Resurrection spell when we return to the Underdark, though... Now I just have to determine how to feel that way in-character. :/

Out of the Abyss, Farewell to Frec

Your Betrayal

Cast:

Zern- a duergar cleric of Asmodeus. He really likes killing things. He REALLY likes killing things.

Nosey- a dragon-raised, half-elf paladin of Ao. Since ‘adopting’ a pair of deep gnomes, she’s become a rather motherly figure to the party.

Kian- a green dragon-born barbarian and party wild card. He’s a reasonable man… when he’s not raging. He just wants all of his new friends to get out of the Underdark alive.

Angel- a drow ‘cleric’ of Vhaeraun. He's turning into a baelnorn thanks to his brother, Lazarus, but the party has no idea.

Frec- A halfling monk...

NPC cast:

Topsy and Turvy- a pair of deep-gnome twins with very sticky fingers. They’re secretly wererats and are soon to turn again.

Stool- a myconid sprout that the party is escorting home on their way to the surface. He keeps the party connected via his telepathic spores.

Pay the price...

While Zern was busy losing his mind, the rest of the party made short work assessing their situation. Kian, who was apparently not bothered by the spewing entrails, did the dirty work of picking through the remains. Sifting through copious amounts of goo, he was able to tell the party rather certainly that the muck in the pod had once been a Halfling. For one thing, he had found the same pair of goggles buried within the layers of web. He had also found 3 copper, and was astoundingly pleased with himself for that.

Mildly disgusted, Nosey commended Kian on his dark discovery—though she wasted no time in covering the children’s ears. Frec, meanwhile, was utterly dismayed at the dragonborn’s findings. He cleaned off the goggles with his peasant shirt, and gazed sadly into their lenses. He wondered aloud what would happen to Fargas. Presumably the Halfling was still out there looking for his missing comrade… and could he even really survive the Underdark on his own? What if the spiders attacked again?

But before they could debate the matter any further, Angel slinked out of the darkness, a curious expression upon his face. “Pardon me everyone,” he murmured, purposefully keeping his voice low, “but I think we have a more immediate problem.”
Seeing the concern on the drow’s face, the other refugees immediately halted their discussion and asked what was wrong. Here, Angel hesitated, biting his lip and casting a furtive glance back over his shoulder. “Um… I think our good friend Zern might be… Hmm... not OK right now?” The others blinked at him, highly confused, but Angel seemed utterly unable to elaborate further. After an uncomfortably long pause, Nosey finally sighed and asked:

“Ugh, what did he do exactly?”

Once again, Angel bit his lip, and cast a glance back towards the darkness beyond. “He, er… Well, you could say he threatened to strangle me.”

This was hardly the answer Nosey had been expecting, and she found herself momentarily at a loss for words. After all, Zern had some questionable motives (in her opinion), but he had always been a rather quiet and passive fellow. At the very least, he had a considerable amount of self-control. And, moreover, if he’d been close to anyone in the party, it was Angel… Shaking off the feeling of strangeness, Nosey turned back to the drow and asked: “Where is Zern now?”

“Ha! Funny story about that…” Angel replied, twiddling his thumbs. “Let’s just say he’s taking a little nap right now…”

At first, Nosey was disgusted at the implication, and began berating the drow about beating up his own comrade. Angel, however, merely raised one pale eyebrow and explained that he’d cast Sleep. So Zern was literally taking a nap over in the corner. The guy had been acting crazy and talking about killing people; it seemed a good precaution. Upon hearing this, Nosey blinked a few times, then relaxed her shoulders into a slump. Smirking, Angel asked the half-elf what she’d been thinking. Sinister thoughts perhaps? About hurting comrades with dark magic? Perish the thought! Trying to hide the flush creeping across her face, Nosey charged past the drow, demanding to be led to Zern. Overly pleased with himself, Angel followed, the rest of the party in tow.

They found the duergar in question slumped against a wall of webs, hugging his sword like a teddy bear. Though fast asleep, he mumbled to himself—words that sounded disturbingly like 'kill...', 'murder...', 'Halfling...', 'strangle...'

"See, this was what I was talking about," Angel remarked as he brought up the rear. After considering their options, the party unanimously agreed that it was perhaps better if they set up camp for the night. If this bit of madness was like those they'd encountered this far, then it should pass by morning...

Frec was the only holdout among the group. He was still worried about his fellow Halfling and wanted to chase after Fargas. Surely the little adventurer couldn't have gotten far... But before he could argue any further, he found himself cut off by Angel. The 'cleric' wasted no time in pointing out that doubling back—even for half a day—brought the refugees closer to their drow pursuers. Moreover, there was no telling where the Halfling had gone, and there was no way to move Zern without waking him. That left their options at splitting the party in dangerous territory, or abandoning Zern for spider meat.
Neither option sounded terribly appealing to the other travellers—particularly since Zern had thus far acted as team healer. And thus, with some sadness, everyone was inclined to agree that Fargas would have to fend for himself. Sullen, Frec finally conceded to the will of his teammates, and everyone settled down for the evening. However the monk said nothing the rest of the night. Brooding, he kept to himself, and poured over the goggles of Fargas' dead partner. This unnerved the rest of the refugees slightly, but no one felt bold enough to approach the Halfling.

The night wore on as the company cleric continued to slumber. The children's eyelids began to grow heavy, and the escapees realized they would have to start negotiating their sleeping shifts. Without Zern, they would be forced to rearrange their night watch. Angel volunteered to keep the first 4 hours so he could Sleep a violent Zern again if necessary. If the duergar made it that long without incident, they would probably be fine. Kian and Nosey, meanwhile, agreed to split what remained of the night. And thus decided, the team parted ways and prepared for bed.

...

Angel's shift was rather uneventful...at least at first. One hour passed peacefully. Zern appeared to sleep soundly, and the spiders consented to remain mere noises in the distance. As a second hour passed, the drow even started to think well of this detour. Perhaps it had not been such a suicidal choice after all, to take the Silk Roads. But, as the third hour dawned, Angel realized he'd made a horrible miscalculation:

One that came in the form of an unwelcome rope necklace!

Caught by surprise, the 'cleric' tried to scream, but found the sound strangled out of him. Suddenly, there was a pair of strong hands at his back, and a bit of spider silk cutting off his access to air. Internally, Angel swore. An attacker!? But... how? Zern... he had been—! But before the drow could analyse the situation, the cord around his throat was tugged even tighter, sending the 'cleric' reeling. Sparkles erupted in the caster's vision and flickered like a thousand Dancing Lights. Shit. That wasn't good. Somewhere to at his rear, a soft voice was urging the drow to stop struggling—but like hell Angel was listening to that advice! Defiantly, he tore at his bindings, but soon found his efforts futile. Whoever had him captured, they were surprisingly strong: a weakling like Angel couldn't hope to overpower them. And, unable to breathe, he couldn't even try chanting a spell...

Shit. He might actually die here!

As the conflict passed the minute mark, Angel began to grow genuinely afraid. For the first time in recent memory, he felt his lethargic heart pick up the pace, if only slightly. A few pathetic throbs beat against his noose, apparently catching the attention of the attacker. Of course. He too must be aware this was taking too long. A mortal man should have collapsed long ago... The voice that had commanded Angel earlier now returned, filled with exasperation: "What...What are  you?" it whispered, and Angel flinched at the sound. The comment was quite rude of course, but that wasn't what made the necromancer's blood suddenly run cold(er). Something else had just dawned on him: That voice... it was familiar! It was—!

For a split second, the drow knew precisely what was going on! He new precisely who was killing him! And why! ...Unfortunately, it was too littl7e too late. Before he could so much as think the word 'traitor', Angel felt his consciousness finally begin to fail. His darkvision flickered, sparkles fading into shadows. His body went limp, and the sounds of the night became like white noise in his ears. Angel felt his sluggish heart gave one final throb...

 Then he was consumed by darkness.

...

Kian awakened some hours later, feeling more rested than he could recall since first coming to the Underdark! Blinking away the sleepiness in his eyes, the Dragonborn glanced around the camp. At first, nothing seemed to be amiss. There was Nosey beside him, curled up with her twin deep gnomes. Cute. Normal. Like every other night. And towards the far wall was the pile of blankets that must have been Frec. Also normal, if a little withdrawn. Zern wasn't in his usual place, of course, but that was to be expected after last night's events. Nothing to worry about. And yet, something seemed... strange this morning. Something was definitely off, though the barbarian couldn't quite put his finger on it. A few more tense seconds ticked by...
Then, realization dawned:

He shouldn't be feeling rested.

Kian felt his heart stop as he glanced about camp—fully awake now! Oh, something was wrong all right! Something was very wrong indeed! For one thing, he wasn't supposed to be waking up at his own leisure. He was supposed to be standing watch tonight! Angel should have woken him—!

(Angel...)

At the mention of the drow, a new dread flooded over Kian. Zern...Angel had said the duergar had threatened to kill him. None of them had taken the threat seriously, but—! Leaping to his feet, the barbarian grabbed his axe and made his way through the murky darkness. Everything was probably fine, the urchin chanted to himself. He was probably overreacting. Any second now, he'd round a bend and find his teammate still keeping watch...  But, as he neared the edge of camp, Kian noticed several disturbing things all at once.

The first of these was the lack of a shadowy guard in the distance: Their party was going unprotected. The next of these involved the far wall, where the team had left Zern: The duergar was missing. And, as for the dragonborn's third discovery...

"Angel!"

The missing 'cleric' was sprawled upon the ground, some 10ft from where he'd last been keeping watch. There was a nasty friction burn across his neck and a bloodied bit of rope lying discarded at his side. Shit... No—Zern, no! His heart pounding, the barbarian rushed to Angel's side, praying to all his ancestors that his friend was still alive. He wasted no time in scooping the wounded caster into his arms... but he was already fearing the worst. The wounded drow was mercifully still warm, but was otherwise utterly lifeless. Shit, Kian swore to himself. This was bad. This was really bad! Zern was missing, possibly a traitor! Angel was hurt—maybe dying! (Hopefully not already...) Ugh! And he didn't know the first thing about elves!

Altogether, it was suddenly looking to be a pretty bad morning.
So, naturally, the dragonborn took the only reasonable course of action he could imagine:

"NOSEY!!"

....

Nosey, meanwhile, had been enjoying a wonderful dream. It involved frolicking through the flowers, and fields filled with shiny things... 

And it was quite rudely interrupted when she was suddenly startled awake by the sound of a dragonborn bellowing her name. The paladin snapped to attention at once, hand flying reflexively for her sword. Shit. Something had to be seriously wrong for Kian to scream like that! But whatever it was, she'd be ready for—!

But then Nosey's gaze fell upon the sorry sight before her, 

and her sword hit the ground with a 'clang'.

Kian was standing a few feet away, eyes hazy with tears; in his massive, green arms, he cradled a limp-looking drow boy. “Please tell me he’s not dead…” the barbarian whimpered, lowering his comrade to the ground for Nosey to examine. Forgetting her sword, the half-elf closed the gap between them in a matter of seconds, a sickening sensation already settling in her stomach. She knelt over her teammate at once, searching for any signs of life. ...There weren't many. His flesh still retained some of its warmth, but he was utterly unresponsive; she couldn't even tell if he was breathing. Pressing an ear to Angel's chest, it took her a full 30 seconds to make out his heartbeat—and it was laboriously slow! She couldn't imagine how it was keeping him alive...

“He's not dead…” Nosey muttered, to Kian's relief. Not wanting to frighten the dragonborn, the paladin kept the rest of her observations to herself. The drow wasn't dead—but this wasn't freaking normal either! Sitting up, she pulled Angel into her arms, and regarded the wounded man with considerable confusion. “What on Toril happened to him?” she asked, perturbed. 

Kian merely shrugged and told the half-elf what little he had discovered. Nosey’s brow became ever more furrowed the longer he talked. Strangulation alone could explain the rope-burn, but not the rest of this nonsense! Though, if Zern really was the culprit... well, needless to say Nosey had witnessed enough evidence of the cleric's dark powers. Then again, she couldn't understand why Zern wouldn't simply finish off his victim. 

"Can you fix him?" Kian asked from somewhere at Nosey's side. His deep voice derailed the paladin's dreary contemplations at once, allowing her to return to the task at hand. Right. That was a good question. If it was a curse killing her friend, she'd have a harder time breaking it. But... maybe... just maybe...! With a sigh, the paladin let her shoulders relax and snapped at once into a meditative state. Reaching out across the cosmos, she whispered a small prayer to Ao—wherever he might be. She would need her god's strength to get through this... When Nosey opened her eyes again, her hands had begun to glow with a holy light. 

"Please let this work..." Nosey muttered beneath her breath. Then she rested her glowing hands on Angel's chest, and bid the divine energies to work their wonders. The drow's breath hitched as the magic touched him. His listless heart suddenly began to race, and his entire body convulsed, as if in pain. Nosey nearly broke off her prayer, afraid she had somehow hurt her own comrade. But, to the paladin's surprise, the spell ended a moment later, and Angel began to relax beneath her healing touch.

After several tense seconds, the ritual was done, and Angel collapsed in Nosey's arms, utterly exhausted. Unsure what to do, the half-elf awkwardly stroked his hair. She whispered the drow's name, hoping to rouse him...

"...Lazarus...?" came the weak reply.

Nosey blinked. That wasn't at all what she'd been expecting. She'd never even heard that name before in her life. But Angel seemed utterly unaware of her confusion—in fact, he seemed utterly unaware of just about everything. Still curled in her embrace, the 'cleric' murmured something in Drow, which Nosey at a loss to translate. Vaguely, she thought she made out the words "nightmare" and "dead"... Then, without another peep, Angel cuddled himself against the paladin's breast, and fell into an easy slumber.

Nosey immediately flushed a bright vermilion at the contact—She... she couldn't quite say why! For several minutes the half-elf sat in a stunned silence, trying to wrap her head around this whole situation. She realized Angel was still semi-conscious at best. It was very unlikely he knew what was going on. Hell, he probably thought it was someone else holding him! Still, it was... an unexpected show of affection in any case. In the month they'd known each other, Nosey hadn't seen a single indicator that this smirking 'cleric' was even capable of affection...

And—and who the heck was 'Lazarus'!?

But, before the paladin could even address that point, something else in the vicinity drew her attention. Off in the distance, growing steadily nearer, was an all-too-familiar clanking. It was the sound of armour plates rubbing together, echoing down the wide stone corridors. Scale-mail to be exact. And Nosey was incredibly certain of that fact: she'd been hearing it every day and night for the past week or so. Ever since her party had fought the orogs....

Careful not to disturb her slumbering drow, the paladin disentangled herself and leapt to her feet, sword in hand. Angel made only a slight whine at her absence, but the half-elf didn't have time to worry about that right now. In all probability, his attacker was returning to finish the job. Kian had stood up too, axe in hand, and was pushing to the front of the party. "Protect the others," he whispered in Nosey's direction. "I'll handle Zern..."

As if on cue, a familiar head of red spikes rounded the bend, white eyes shining in the darkness. Heavy boots clanked upon the ground as the duergar marched, dragging something heavy behind him. His armour was splattered horribly with blood, which fanned out behind the cleric in a great stain. He was humming a happy tune, and seemed downright pleased with himself!

"Not another step!" Kian shouted as Zern drew near. He brandished his axe wildly, as if to emphasize his threat.

The duergar halted in his humming and froze on spot. He raised an eyebrow at his comrades, clearly caught off-guard. "You're both up remarkably early," he commented lightly. "I hadn't been expecting anyone to be awake.... for hours..."

"Cut the crap, Zern!" Nosey exclaimed at once, leaping out from behind the cover of the dragonborn. "We know what you've done!"

"Oh...You do, do you? " Zern murmured, shifting in his clanking boots. Something in the cleric's face suddenly grew much darker, and he slowly advanced upon the duo, looking every bit like a stalking predator. "You know, I was very surprised actually," the dwarf continued, drawing nearer, "It had seemed so much simpler in my head... But he was so much harder to take down in practice. Took considerably longer than I had thought too... I hadn't thought such a slender creature could put up such a fight! But in the end, well... you know..."

"Shut up!" Kian roared, arms shaking with fury. Bile was burning in the back of the barbarian's throat, and he knew he couldn't hold his Rage in much longer. That a man could talk that way about his own comrade! "You're sick, Zern... Sick I say! How could you? You—you traitor!"

But if Zern was bothered by this accusation, he didn't show it. Instead, the cleric merely laughed. "Oh? Traitor, am I? After all I've done for this party? Why, even today I've gone out of my way for you all! Look! I've vanquished a filthy monster from your midst."

It was then that Nosey snapped.

The words to her Searing Smite danced upon the half-elf's lips, and she brandished her sword with a screeching battle cry. Nosey had put up with a lot of crap since she'd come to the Underdark: cruelty, sarcasm, senseless murder... But not this. She would not tolerate betrayal like this any longer! "Repent, demon!" the paladin hissed, "Or prepare to atone for your crimes."

Beside her, Kian wasted no time in following suit. His barely-contained anger flared up at once in a roar of fury. Drawing on his barbarian training, the dragonborn called upon the power of his spirit guide. He would rip his enemies apart with his 'bear' hands—he'd said so all along! ...And today? Today he'd be starting with this foul turncoat!

As the duo prepared to charge, Zern dropped whatever he was carrying and grasped his own weapon. Fine. If these two wanted to fight, so be it. He'd fought his own family—his own friends before! To the death if necessary! That was the duergar way. Besides, he'd made a promise to himself earlier: someone was dying TONIGHT!

"STOP!"

All three combatants halted at once, blades inches from each other's faces. A hoarse voice echoed throughout the chamber, bouncing around the trio's heads long after its owner had stopped screaming. Nosey, Kian, and Zern all glanced over their respective shoulders and met a pair of tired-looking scarlet eyes. His message received, Angel fell back onto the webs with a 'plop', and rubbed at his throat with a pained expression.

"I know what you're thinking," he panted, glancing from sword to axe and back again. "But it wasn't him. Zern isn't the one who attacked me."

The words hit Noset and Kian like a ton of bricks. They were still standing at the ready, weapons inches from Zern's face. Blinking, they exchanged a glance filled with mutual confusion. Zern, meanwhile, was thinking clearly for the first time since the Halfling incident. Dropping his own sword at once, he sidestepped his comrades' blades and rushed to catch Angel before the drow collapsed entirely. "Egads, man!" the duergar exclaimed, fussing immediately over his fellow 'cleric's condition. "I'd thought you were sleeping when I left! But you're hurt!"

"...I don't sleep you idiot!" Angel hissed in reply, though consenting Zern's examination.

"Well how am I supposed to know that!?" the duergar retorted at once, "Really, Angel, you expect me to understand your physiology?" There was some special emphasis to that last utterance, but it was completely lost on the confused Nosey and Kian. In fact, there were a lot of things lost on Nosey and Kian at the moment. Like what the hell was going on for starters!

"Kian is confused!" the barbarian eventually wailed, losing his Rage and curling up on the ground.

"As am I..." Nosey replied, rounding on the pair of casters. "Angel, Zern didn't attack you?"

She expected a sarcastic reply—that was, after all, Angel's usual MO. The paladin was surprised therefore, when the drow instead closed his eyes with a sigh. "No," he answered simply. "It was Frec..."

The Halfling's name was said in but a whisper; and yet, in the silence of the caverns, it might as well have been sung by an entire choir. The surface dwellers were utterly beside themselves, seemingly incapable of believing their own ears. Frec? The quiet little monk? He was the one who had attacked Angel? Nosey let her guard drop, sword slumping at her side. This morning had been way too stressful. She simply didn't know what to make of anything any more. "OK," the half-elf declared, plopping down beside the clerics, "Tell us what happened."

The explanation that followed was swift and to the point. Angel explained that Frec had sneaked up on him in the darkness near the end of his shift. Having caught him unaware, the monk had then strangled Angel into unconsciousness, using the length of rope he'd stolen at the camp. He must have run off after that—presumably to go find Fargas. It all made sense in retrospect, though the party was still loath to believe Frec capable of such a thing. The Halfling had proven himself quite adept at stealth: he had helped them 'acquire' the boxes of gear at Velkenvelve. And he was remarkably strong, despite his size. Ironically, Angel reflected, he'd even suggested Frec use that rope to take out one of the drow guards, back when they were still captives. In a round-about way, he supposed the monk had finally taken his advice. Indeed, that did seem to be the final nail in the coffin.

Together, the group wandered back into camp and searched Frec's blankets. For a split second, Nosey's heart leapt, and she dared to hope that perhaps they would still find a slumbering Halfling amid the pile. That he would smile up at them, and have some reasonable explanation! Unfortunately, when they pulled the sheets back, all the refuges found was a pile of carefully-stacked spider silk. A note, in poorly-rendered Common, was lying amid the webs—what it was written with, the party didn't particularly want to know. It simply read: "I'm sorry." Sighing (for what felt like the millionth time that morning), Kian and Nosey accepted Angel's tale and apologized to Zern for suspecting him.

"But where did you go, anyway?" Nosey asked the duergar, glancing up and down his bloodied armour.

"Why, I went to get breakfast, of course!" the cleric answered, indicating the large package he'd been carrying when the pair had first encountered him. The cargo, it turned out, was the corpse of a giant lizard, which Zern had apparently slain on his excursion—that was the 'filthy monster' he had mentioned earlier. When he had awoken from his magic-induced sleep, the cleric had found himself still itching to kill something... But, not wanting to endanger his meat shields—er! Comrades!—he had donned his armour and gone off on his own. After about an hour or so of hunting, he came across a giant lizard and wasted little time in slaying the beast. He had then spent the rest of the morning dragging the corpse back to camp to be properly butchered. He reflected that he had not seen Frec all morning, and had assumed the Halfling was still sleeping soundly. Likewise, he had assumed Angel was just an incompetent guard and had fallen asleep on the job. It was a ridiculous story—utterly ridiculous in every aspect! And yet, it appeared the tale was true. Little Frec really had betrayed them all. And Zern, meanwhile, had proven himself both innocent and surprisingly helpful!

"But there's still one thing I don't understand," Nosey exclaimed when explanations were through. "Angel," she began, turning towards the startled drow, "Kian and I thought you were dead when we found you. You barely even had a pulse!"

Rather than answering right away, Angel diverted his eyes. "That's normal," he remarked at last. "Don't worry about it."

"But—!"

"Don't. Worry. About it." the 'cleric' repeated, his voice ringing with finality.

Then, without another word, he drew to his feet and swept away into camp. Shrugging, Zern followed in the drow's wake, though their was a strange glint in his eye. For the first time since they had all escaped Velkenvelve together, Nosey began to wonder if there was something going on—some secret between the pair of clerics to which she was not privy. But Nosey's wise, draconic mother had always warned her about sticking her snout in where it didn't belong. And, just this once, she was going to listen to that sage advice.

The party never would see Frec again. Presumably he perished somewhere in the depths of the Underdark. When the party eventually reached the surface—and they would, eventually, reach the surface—they would realize they didn't even know the monk's full name. Or his order. Or any other identifiers that might have helped them make a proper memorial.

Frec had once told the party that, back home, he was a hero of sorts. Well, if so, then he was probably: somebody's darling, somebody's pride. But there was no one left to tell his mother where her boy died.

~*~

When I started this project, I did so with the intention of sticking to short, succinct episodes about what happened at the table. There were all kinds of roleplay and other little side notes going on at every session, but for the sake of getting the plot on paper, I'd been forcing myself to stay away from any sort of embellishing on these notes. That being said, we all felt like we needed a little 'slice of life' episode to say goodbye to Frec, whose player dropped the campaign a few weeks ago. 

The original plan was to embellish the DM's version of what happened: Frec decided to leave us all for Fargas, and disappeared into the night. Then he eventually got eaten by spiders. But this led to a handful of questions: if Frec escaped at night, how did he make it past the night guard? Were they just incompetent? Then, after remembering an amusing conversation about strangling someone in Velkenvelve, we decided to have him choke out the weakest guard instead. It was a very simple plan, and I had it all written up and ready to post. Then Unearthed Arcana came out for November, and our DM decided to have Angel roll for one of the Shadow Sorcerer Quirks. Well, one '4' later, we were re-writing large chunks of this to address all sorts of new issues involving party dynamics, and how to tell whether or not your necromancer has died. 

But it was fun, in any case. And it was nice to get the chance to incorporate some of the sidelines roleplay: Zern's fun with his new madness, Kian's un-bear-able bear jokes, Nosey's weird habit of hugging Angel that she developed a few sessions after this... 

Next episode should finally cover session 3 actual gameplay—the Neverlight Grove.