Out of the Abyss, Setting the Stage

The Cast:

Lady Orthokent Moxt-Ir "Nosey", a half-elf Hermit and Paladin of Ao (Oath of the Dragon)

Kian, a green dragon-born Urchin and Barbarian (Bear totem)

Frec, a halfling Monk and Folk Hero

Zern, a former duergar Acolyte and Cleric of Asmodeus (Darkness domain)

Angellon "Angel" Melarn, a drow Dread Necromancer (Litch transformation) and former Noble

And so it begins...

The glittering lights of Velkynvelve were actually an attractive sight,

at least in the wee hours of mid-morning.

A series of massive stalactites hung from a distant ceiling, each flickering with some colourful internal glow. They were hollow, of course, the stalactites. That was how the Hunters of Camp Velkenvelve managed to hide so expertly—and why they were able to afford the luxury of a few colourful decorations. Honestly, man could never understand the drow and their fondness for beautiful things. Complete darkness would have been considerably more practical—particularly since not all of the captives of this outpost were blessed with darkvision! But no, here they were: a glittering spectre on the horizon of the morning. To the caverns below, this hidden outpost looked like nothing more than some low-hanging spider webs. From above, it was illuminated just enough to make the eyes of looming spiders dance in the shadows.

Argh.

Fucking drow!

A pair of unwavering white eyes were staring out at the camp, observing its sleeping—sorry, trancing—inhabitants. Hmph, stupid elves and their Reverie! The eyes belonged to a fairly tall dwarven man (over 4 whole feet!) who was sitting, curled up on the floor of a hanging cage. His clothing was but tattered rags at this point, stained with blood and mud and Asmodeus-knows what else! Around his glowing white eyes was a face like hardened stone, flat and emotionless as he watched the stirring of the outpost around him. A single, calloused grey hand reached out to scratch his chin as a room in the distance flickered with life. It met a series of thin, porcupine-like spikes—red and grey in colour—that had grown just a bit too long… a bit too sharp…

Dammit. By Asmodeus’ non-existent beard! He had been in this place entirely too long!

The dwarf in question was a duergar man named Zern, Zern Musgardt. Until recently, he had been a proud citizen of the grey dwarf stronghold, Gracklstugh. It was a fine city, nearly ancient as the Underdark itself (well… the inhabited part anyway). Zern had lived there his entire life, a noble son of the duergar’s most prominent brewing family. He had enjoyed a simple life: a happy childhood, a standard tour with the army, a cushy career as a cleric of Laduguer, god of crafts. Yes, everything had been absolutely peachy in Zern’s life!

And now… here he was instead. Gracklstugh was but a distant memory, somewhere down on the ground below. Zern hadn’t even seen the ground in nearly a month, he’d been cooped up in this cage so long! Humble cleric, simple brewer, mighty warrior… prisoner of the drow. Oh, how Zern’s peachy life had turned so swiftly sour!

It sure wasn’t easy, being Chosen.

The year was 1491 on the wounded world of Toril. After over a century of torment, the tumulus years known as the Spellplague had finally come to a close. Mystra had been reborn; the Weave had been repaired; the sister world of Abir had been banished once more into its own dimension (though some remnants of its time on Toril still remained). Arcane magic was once more beginning to reign supreme—a feature that drow society was apparently thankful for, if their increase in activity was any indication.

These changes were all thanks to an event called ‘The Sundering’ and some damned overgod called ‘Ao’. Apparently the old chap was punching the heart of the world or some crap and splitting it apart again, until the proper order was reinstated. And apparently this also had to do with some magic stones called the ‘Tablets of Fate’, which were being re-written for the first time in centuries.

Whatever. Gods, tablets, cosmic whosey-whatsits. Zern really couldn’t care less. As a practitioner of divine magic, he hadn’t been affected by the shattering of the Weave in the slightest. So blue fire had reigned from heaven! So whole races, nations, occupations had been wiped from the map! So what if half the world’s magical technology had been lost, and arcane magicians had made a funny habit of blowing themselves up in fits of wild magic? That hadn’t been any of the duergar’s business…

But the Sundering, on the other hand. Why, that had changed Zern’s life indeed! And it was the reason he was hanging in this damned magic-proof cage right now!

Ever since the Sundering had begun, Zern had started having visions. A strange eye… a nine-pointed star… His dreams had become filled not with the god of crafts, but with a strange red-coloured man with massive horns and a terrifying smile. And the duergar’s dreams were not the only place he started witnessing these strange manifestations. They haunted his thoughts. They snuck into his prayers. He started seeing them in the patterns of sacrificial blood he splattered across his shield! And then, one day... he had realized what it all meant!

Somewhere at Zern’s side, a fellow prisoner moaned in their sleep, and the cleric was momentarily snapped out of his recollections. Whoever it was whined a few times more, murmured some kind of earnest plea in Undercommon, then went quietly back to sleep. Whatever. Zern didn’t care. He didn’t have time to be concerned about the daily lives of his fellow prisoners, not if he wanted to escape. Sighing, the duergar rose to his feet, and his symbol of Asmodeus caught the lights of the camp upon its polished surface.

This was the eye he had seen in his dreams—the eye of Asmodeus! And it was Lord Asmodeus who was the true god of the duergar! Ladugeuer was dead... In fact, Laduguer had been slain during the Spellplague, poor fellow. And, around the same time, Asmodeus had stolen the divinity of a lesser deity and become a god himself. Of course, few knew of this. Few besides Zern. For over a century, unsuspecting duergar clerics had really been worshipping Asmodeus in the guise of their fallen Lord! It was a brilliant plan—one truly worthy of the Lord of all law and all evil. Hells, Zern had found himself both perturbed… and oddly aroused when he’d learned the truth. But, when he’d sought to inform his colleagues of this news! ...well… needless to say the dwarf had ended up a captive somehow. His fellow clerics had promptly laughed in his face, called him a heretic, and chased him out of town. Well, fine! He’d been all right with that! He was a proud son of Musgardt, and if his colleagues wouldn’t listen to reason, he’d go out and prove it to them! He’d make his own way and grow his dark powers! And then he would return one day, to prove the truth of their faith to his misguided brethren—!

Or at least that was Zern's goal until he ran into the drow.

Swiftly overwhelmed by sleeping poison and rapiers to his face, the duergar had found himself in quite a pickle. Stripped of his gear, he was taken captive, chained, and placed in a hanging cage through which his magic could not penetrate. His drow captors wasted no time telling the duergar he would be put to work in their camp, Velkynvelve. Then, eventually he would be sold into slavery in the drow capital of Menzoberranzan. Eventually. But the drow needed more captives first. And that… well, that was how Zern got here. That was how he had fallen from a mighty warrior of Gracklstugh, to a captive, watching his captors by night.

Well… whatever. He’d just outsmart the damn drow too, then!

And, thus far Zern’s plan had been working like a charm. For a long time, he had laboured on his own: overworked, barely kept fed, and forbidden from praying to his god. He had taken careful note of his captors, who included a cruel cleric of Lolth, and two elite henchmen, who flanked her like bookends. There was also a snarling clerical apprentice and a handful of other guards. But Zern didn’t care about them. They weren’t important. The damned elves kept insisting they would capture more prisoners, that Zern’s number was soon to be up! …But, for what seemed like an eternity, no one came. Zern, meanwhile, started to concoct a plan. He began to play the good boy: he did his work without fail, he kept to himself on off-hours—he even patted the occasional distressed guard on the head. Cheer up, he told them. Prisoners would come soon! Everything would be fine! Zern became the model captive. By day, he was quiet and compliant; by night, he acted sad and morose, until the drow were convinced the duergar had lost all hope. He’d gone insane, clearly! Like those derro… that was obviously what was going on. And no wonder! No sane dwarf could ever claim to be a cleric of Asmodeus! Why, that was probably yet another manifestation of the man’s madness!

But of course, this had all been part of the plan.

Feigning desperation and insanity, Zern managed to hide the authenticity of his faith for weeks. And, eventually, he convinced a witless guard to return his holy symbol. (Continentally the same bloke he'd been cheering up all this time...) It was a major step forward in the cleric’s escape plan! And it was also the reason he was now watching the camp by nightfall, plotting… scheming… He also managed to steal a single crossbow bolt, coated in drow sleeping poison. He wasn’t sure what he would do with that yet, but he was certain it would come in handy. After all, anything that could put a drow to sleep… well… needless to say, the dwarf was glad to have that sort of power on his side!

But Zern was not to be alone forever. He was soon joined by a cast of colourful characters, each of whom interested the cleric only mildly. By about his second week of capture, Zern’s cage was beginning to get crowded, with seven other prisoners, each of whom had arrived at their own good time. Zern couldn’t remember what order they had all appeared, but he rather liked to keep the crowd memorized in alphabetical order. First, there was Buppido, a filthy derro! By listening to the man mumble in his sleep, the cleric had learned the loony fancied himself avatar of the god of murder. Ha! Of course he hadn’t told any of the others this. He’d been hoping for an amusing assassination, actually… but thus far Buppido had been behaving, playing the part of a gentleman. Hmph. Alas.

After Buppido came Derendil, a quaggoth man who was convinced he is really a high-ranking drow nobleman—polymorphed by a curse, of course! This one amused Zern as well. Ha! Even if polymorphing curses did exist among the ambitious elves, Derendil’s story was unlikely. As if the drow would capture one of their own! And a nobleman no less! Why, Zern would eat his foot if such a claim proved true! Next came Eldeth, a shield dwarf scout who got a little too close to her quarry. Zern didn’t care about Eldeth in the slightest. In fact, he was rather hoping her big mouth would get her thrown to the spiders soon… it would really make his day. The next two were Ront and Suushar, an angry orc and a stupidly pacifistic kuo-tua respectively. Zern disliked both of them immensely. And last was Topsy and Turvy, a pair of deep gnome twins who seemed quite troublesome. Fortunately, the duo kept mostly to themselves, chattering to each other in what Zern could only assume was their native tongue. The duergar eyed their sticky fingers suspiciously… but so long as the gnomes gave Zern no trouble, he didn’t intend to get into the young rogues’ way.

Though not the most talkative of fellows, Zern had enjoyed more than enough time to meet all of his fellow prisoners, and get to know the general story of their capture. It was important, after all. That was the only way he could determine their skills, and plan his own escape! It was information he would soon need, because weeks after his capture, Zern would get a few more ‘friends’. And, unlike the others, this lot might just change his luck for the better...

Day 12

...after Zern's capture, the camp had been strangely abuzz with commotion. The Hunters hadn’t even been dispatched that day and yet—and yet a new captive had been taken! What, had she wandered right into camp or something? Had she climbed all the way up here just to give Ilvara a fond ‘hello’? Zern didn’t know—and neither did he care. But it was the most interesting thing that had happened all week! And thus the duergar pressed his nose to the cage bars, along with all the others, and watched the fight take hold beneath them. The stranger, whoever they were, must have been an able fighter, for she held her own against the drow guards for some time. She was clad in heavy armour that had been polished to a ridiculous sheen, and her bright ginger hair flickered like fire amongst the monochromatic sea of drow. Unfortunately, the fight was short-lived, as had been all the others. The new prisoner was swiftly downed with several shots of sleeping poison, and was hauled off, out of sight of the cage. Undoubtedly, she was getting stripped of her gear and receiving the same dry speech all the prisoners had heard upon arrival. “You are captives of House Mizzrym of Menzoberranzan… you will get sold into slavery… learn obedience and you might survive…” Blah, blah, blah. At this point, Zern had heard Ilvara’s speech about the futility of their fates at least a dozen times—he practically had it memorized!

As expected, the guards arrived within the hour, and hurled the new prisoner into the cage at Zern’s feet. The woman, strangely enough, was from the Surface—the first since that stupid orc had arrived. Even more bizarrely, she appeared to be elven. Well! No wonder the drow were so happy. Zern was no expert on drow society, but he knew enough to suspect that a surface elf must fetch a pretty price in the Menzoberranzan market place. They were, after all, one of Lolth’s favourite sacrifices! And this one...  Zern was no expert on the slave markets, but he imagined she would fetch a pretty copper. She had hair the colour of fire, which was gathered neatly at the back of her head. If unwound, the duergar imagined it must be as long as the girl was tall. She boasted a pair of abnormally green eyes, and her frame was light, but obviously strong. And... well... (bitch had enormous bazoongas!) she had some, er, womanly curves worth noting as well. A nice healthy girl to say the least (recent poisoning aside): young, attractive.... Pretty slaves raked in the gold, and pretty sacrifices even more so. The drow were strange like that.

But, if Zern had any pity for this elven creature, it was short-lived.
When the woman finally revived a few hours later, she was abuzz with questions: Who were they? Where was this? Why was it dark? What was absolutely everyone’s life story? Gods! It was annoying as hell! She was so talkative, it made Zern want to rip his damned ears off! Of course, everyone answered the emphatic warrior woman. And how could they not? She was so bloody insistent, and it wasn’t like they had much else to do. Zern, meanwhile, simply kept to himself and silently took mental notes. He'd never been good with those 'charismatic' types...

Eventually, Zern would learn the woman's name was Nosey, and she she was actually only half-elven. Her mother, apparently, was a human of unknown origins, as was her High Elf father. It all made Zern very uncomfortable—after all, of his race’s own half-human offspring were monstrosities: the derro! And if Nosey was trying to convince anyone she was sane, she was doing a piss poor job of it. The girl fancied herself a paladin of Ao, for starters. This confused Zern, as he had heard the overgod did not take worshippers... And there were yet more signs that Nosey was insane. No, she was more than insane! Girl really was derro-worthy! She was a half-crazed hermit, she claimed to have been raised by a dragon, and she seemed to have absolutely no understanding of the world—as if she’d spent her whole life locked up in a classroom or something! Ay, the half-elf was an enigma—and a zealous enigma at that! Not wanting to bother with her, Zern gave the ‘paladin’ a wide berth, and planned to throw her to the spiders at the first opportunity. Nosey, meanwhile, didn't seem to mind her awkwardness, or the way it made everyone avoid her after a fashion. She even made a new friend in the Underdark! It was a fist-sized spider, whom she managed to coax into living in her pocket. But Zern hadn’t cared about that too much. OK, so she was good with spiders. It mattered not. He had more important things to worry about—like finding a way out of here. And thus, the duergar’s pale eyes continued to watch the camp, waiting for something else to happen… 

Day 17

...after Zern’s capture, two more prisoners at last arrived. The first of these was a massive green dragonborn, whose scales sparkled like gemstones in the camp’s strange illumination. He was tossed into the cage one morning by at least half a dozen guards (apparently what it took to carry the massive fellow), and was stuck full of more bolt-holes than a used pincushion. “Oi, ‘cleric’!” one of the guards shouted as the massive man landed with a ‘plop’. “This one’s broken! You’d better fix it with your devil magic!” The other guards laughed at the drow’s jeer, each chiming in their own little joke: “Show us your powers, mister Chosen!”, “Summon the Lord of the Ninth! He’ll help you, right?”, “Mistress will be angry if you let her new slave die!” Zern simply sat stony-faced, refusing to rise to any of the taunts. Then, with a laugh, the smirking guards disappeared into the camp beyond, leaving the refugees shaken and a massive dragonborn sprawled across the floor.

“Arseholes…” Zern mumbled to himself once he was sure the guards were out of earshot. One of the quaggoths in an adjacent cage growled, as if it had heard his comment. But there was nothing those damned beasts could do. They were captives almost surely as the slave stock! Thus, with a sigh, Zern lumbered across the floor, his chains clinking all the way. He settled himself down beside the newcomer as a half-dozen eyes watched him from the shadows. “Dammit,” the duergar mumbled to himself as he prodded at bleeding bolt-holes. “I’ve never seen one of these things before… And I’m no good at healing without magic! At least not on other races!” But, just as the cleric was setting himself to the task of patching up the bleeding and hoping for the best, a quiet voice piped up from his rear.

“I know about dragons,” it muttered in Undercomon—the same language Zern had been using, incidentally. The duergar glanced over his shoulder with a grumble—and blinked in surprise when he saw the face of the speaker. Without another word, Nosey glided across the floor and settled herself beside the duergar. She knelt over the dragonborn, taking quick stock of his wounds; then she pressed an ear to his massive chest and let out a soft sigh of relief. “Oh good,” the half-elf murmured, “He’s still breathing. But they’ve overdosed him on poison, the idiots!” Zern opened his mouth to say that was rather unfortunate if it was the case: after all, this cage was magic-proof. And thus, they could hardly cast the spells necessary to Remove Poison. The fat green oaf might just have to fend for himself… But before he could say any of this, Nosey had already taken up a regal position upon the floor. Her bright green eyes were softly closed, her hands folded in quiet prayer; she was muttering to herself in some language Zern didn’t understand and it intrigued the duergar. He’d just said they couldn’t cast magic in here. Even if the woman really did have divine powers (which he doubted), she shouldn’t be able to do anything…

But, no sooner had Zern thought this than Nosey snapped out of her trance. She laid both her hands on the dragonborn’s naked chest and they immediately flared with a blinding white light. Throwing his hands to his face, the duergar cried out in pain as the brilliance consumed him. The next moment, he heard the unconscious man gasp heartily for breath and give a stupendous cough as he began to revive. By the time the spots cleared in Zern’s vision, the massive green creature was already siting up and blinking in confusion at the refugees around him. “Asmodeus’ teeth…” Zern swore in hushed Infernal, “It really is a paladin!”

“I said so, didn’t I?” Nosey responded at once—surprisingly in the same language. Upon hearing this, Zern was even more taken-aback and nearly tripped over his chains in surprise. Hmm, perhaps there was something to this crazy half-elf after all… Thereafter, Nosey wasted no time in introducing herself to the new prisoner and showing him around the cage. The dragonborn, in kind, declared his name was Kian, and explained he was a barbarian warrior who had been living on the outskirts of his society. Apparently there had been a bit of a downpour today and, well, the entrance to the Underdark had looked so warm and cosy… The next thing he’d known, a dozen drow Hunters had descended upon him. Unfortunately, Kian lamented, he could remember little else… about his capture… about his identity. He could recall only his first name, that of his missing pet mouse, and the name of his heavenly lord—the Mighty Kord, apparently. Zern wasn’t entirely sure who that was, but he’d never really bothered learning the lesser Surface deities.

To the duergar, Kian seemed to be a level-headed fellow. He was certainly friendly—as friendly as one could find a filthy light-dweller, in any case. There was one oddity about the man, however, that seemed inconsistent with his otherwise imposing image. And that was the mouse, of course. Since he was thrown into the cell, it was all the barbarian could talk about. The creature was apparently dear to Kian, and had not been seen since his capture. No one knew anything, of course, but the guards all shared a good laugh at the mention of the thing... 

It did not bode well, for poor Kian.

But day 17 was not yet done with its surprises. Later in the day, when the prisoners were well into their demeaning work detail, a second wave of Hunters triumphantly made their way into the camp. This group bore with them a thoroughly bound and gagged Halfling, who looked scarcely more conscious than had Kian. Thankfully, he seemed to have far fewer bullet holes. The captives watched as the contingency marched towards Ilvara’s quarters, their prize in tow. Nosey, for a moment, looked like she might bolt after them, and was stopped only by the combined efforts of Zern and Kian. There was nothing they could do for the bloke. If Ilvara thought him worth selling, she’d heal his wounds herself. And if not, well… the duo dragged he half-elf forcibly away from the edge of the spider pits. It was probably best not to think about what would happen to that Halfling if Ilvara didn’t find him useful.

Fortunately, when the refugees returned to their cell that night, they discovered that their worry had been for naught. The Halfling from earlier was seated there against the far wall, chained and looking groggy. He was sporting a few nasty injuries, but there could be no doubt that the man was mercifully alive. The new arrival introduced himself as Frec, a humble monk from a small surface village. Frec, Zern would learn, was a man of few words. He was a tricky fellow, however, and had been lucky enough to snag a 5ft piece of silk rope during his processing in Ilvara’s chambers. It was perhaps enough to strangle an unsuspecting drow guard. Who knows? But it was certainly leagues more useful than the single gold piece Kian had managed to smuggle. And thus Zern made a mental note to keep this ‘Frec’ on his good side; like Nosey and Kian, he might be useful in planning an escape…

Day 18 and 19

Once the new faces started filtering in, they hadn’t stopped. Not long after Frec and Kian, another pair of prisoners joined the growing group. The first of these, to Zern's surprise, was one of Velkynvelve’s own Hunters—a fellow drow! The man’s name was Sarith, a warrior who had visited the camp infrequently in the past. He was thrown into the cage with extreme prejudice one night and had woken several of the other captives from their (un)pleasant dreams. Surprisingly, Ilvara had scarcely bothered to strip this particular prisoner—he was allowed to keep his own resplendent clothing, at least. Though that could have been because the cleric was loath to touch the man. Sarith was a mess when he first arrived in the pen. He looked very sickly with a nasty rash at his hairline, and a dazed look to his eyes. Zern had initially tried to examine the man, but had found himself rather rudely shoved aside. Well, to each his own, then. The stupid drow could rot and die for all Zern cared. The first night, the duergar swore he heard the man crying… but he wrote it off as a product of his imagination. Or fever. Likely both. Thereafter, Sarith only became worse—both physically and socially. But he didn't seem keen to talk, and neither was anyone too keen to meet him. And that was simply that. Whatever the undoubtedly dramatic story behind his capture, the group was unlikely to learn it.

The second new prisoner Zern liked considerably more. His name was Stool, and he was a young myconid—only a few days old when he arrived at the camp. Zern made fast friends with Stool—even more so than the others. He learned that the little fellow had been out with his father’s hunting party when the drow had apparently fallen in on the camp. He wished earnestly to get home to the Neverlight Grove, and Zern found himself moved with a strange sympathy at the creature’s plight. He promised thre little sprout that he would get them out of here—and that Grove of his would be the first priority once they did so! This brought Stool a great amount of joy, and he began taking to the duergar like a little lost duckling. Thereafter, Zern’s spiky red hair was rarely ever seen without a myconid atop it. And the myconid, meanwhile, had proven another convenience to the group at large: he had spread his telepathic spores among the refugees so that they might converse without attracting the guards. Moreover, it really saved the trouble of tedious translation between Common and Undercommon. It would have been the perfect way to conspire to escape... but alas, Zern found himself lacking the necessary charisma. He could plot with the best of them! But, when it came to leading the masses… And Nosey, while certainly amicable enough to get everyone talking, did not have his head for planning. It was a bit of an impasse, and the frustrated cleric was not quite sure what they were going to do…

The drow, meanwhile, were starting to grow impatient. In fact, as day 20 dawned, Zern began to wonder if his captors had planned on keeping prisoners this long in the first place. Something was clearly amiss... But the drow kept to their routine. They worked their prey to the bone—occasionally tortured them for fun—and kept repeating the same message: You will be taken to Menzoberranzan and sold into slavery... Become obedient and you might survive. Any day now, the new slavers would be arriving to drag them to the City. Any day now…

But despite the promises of their captors, days continued to pass for the refugees. No drow elite warriors arrived for them, and the staff of Velkynvelve grew ever more frustrated. They began to throw a few of the prisoners to the spiders, while their fellows watched in horror. The first of these was Suushar, not that anyone cared. He had been dragged away, kicking and screaming, the night that marked their 23rd in camp. Undoubtedly Ilvara had him squirreled away somewhere, planning to make a big show of his murder. Well, so be it. Zern was hardly sympathetic. The man was a damned pacifist in a society that didn’t allow for peaceful thinking. So if he was to die by drow spiders… there were worse possible ends.

And thus, it had come to this: Day 24

Nearly a month after his capture, Zern was still sitting in his hanging cage, looking out on the flickering lights of Velkynvelve. His white eyes were glowing in the darkness, and he was reflecting on the days gone by, as if retrospect might give him some new perspective. It wasn’t. Indeed, the duergar was little closer to an escape plan than he had been twenty-four days ago—and not for lack of trying! Dammit! Zern just couldn’t understand where he was going wrong! He was an evil genius, after all. He should have no trouble escaping from the clutches of a few weak-minded elves. Particularly now, when he had the potential aid of these powerful (though admittedly annoying) allies! If only he could figure out a way to get the captives to band together… But, it was almost as if… something—someone—was still missing. Zern couldn’t explain it. But he knew it was true. He knew it deep in his soul—in the same place that had told him Asmodeus was Lord, and Zern was His Chosen! Somehow, he knew that there was still one more teammate remaining to join this motley crew…

Then, as if on cue, something did happen!

Early in the morning of day 24, while Zern was still watching the camp flicker to life, a distant alarm suddenly sounded. It was unlike the various signals Zern had heard about camp in the past, and the blaring noise intrigued the dwarf. Perhaps this was the sign he had been waiting for! Perhaps this was the day he would at last be free of Velkynvelve! Pressing himself to the cage bars, the cleric listened intently to the sounds of fighting below camp. A Dancing Lights flared up between the webs as a drow guard screamed bloody murder. Bloodshed, Zern thought to himself, Red as devil’s skin. Red as a Ruby Staff. Shortly thereafter, the sounds of clinking crossbow bolts lit up the otherwise silent morning. Bursts of magic exploded on all sides, as if in response: One, two, in quick succession; then three, four, five... six and seven… Nine shots went off in total, by Zern’s counting. Nine explosive spells before the whole of Velkynvelve was shaken into wakefulness. Nine like the nine-pointed star; Nine like the Nine Hells. Bells went off all over camp after that, shaking awake the rest of the slumbering captives. Everyone snuck closer to the bars as they stirred, intrigued at whatever was going on below. But Zern had to time to worry about his fellow prisoners. He was counting—counting signs out of the hells themselves!

Thirteen guards were dispatched in total. Thirteen, like the thirteen Tieflings who had formed Asmodeus’ original pact. And, in their wake, Ilvara herself ran screaming in her nightdress, Tentacle Rod flaring at her side. “Capture him, you fools! Capture him now!”

Nine. Thirteen. One. And all of it dyed a scarlet red with drow blood. This was the sign Zern had been waiting for! This was the last member of their clandestine team! Zern, the banished Chosen of Asmodeus. Nosey, paladin of Ao, who had already proven herself a match for Ilvara’s wards. Kian, the mighty barbarian of Kord, who had taken more shots than most men could hope to survive. Frec, the curious monk. Their skills were many and far-reaching, but they needed one more member for their team to be complete. And thus, though he didn’t know it yet, Zern Musgardt was finally about to have his date with destiny. After twenty-four days in drow captivity, he and his unlikely ‘friends’ were about to make their escape… All of the signs were there. All of the signs of Asmodeus, Lord of Devils, who was about to send his servant one more helper.

And, ironically, it would come in the form of a self-proclaimed Angel.

~*~

I started this project some time ago as a way to compare sessions with another friend who is DMing the same campaign on the other side of the country. Once my party got wind of it, however, they asked me to flesh it out into a full narrative. Thus, I have revised many of the early sessions in an attempt to do so. We'll see where it goes! I've certainly never done anything like this before, but it might be a fun challenge. The game is Out of the Abyss, and the narrative 'chapters' do cover actual gameplay, even if it will be rather embellished. I should probably say, on that note, that I'm not the DM this time around. Rather, I'm a player--one who's having to figure out the plot, the other PCs, and the NPCs as I go. So that may play on the perspective and require more revisions as everyone's secrets come to light. I've also recently been informed by the DM that he's so pleased with his party's roleplaying and various sidequests, that we will be extending the game past the AP. 

This particular chunk really only covered an introduction that was hastily read to us by the DM after we rolled to determine how long we were captives in camp. Zern's player maximized his dice at 30. Meanwhile, Angel's player rolled a measly 6--a whole 24 days later! And, therefore, the DM was at a bit of a loss. Rather than roleplaying out so many days before he even had the party assembled, he instead elected to summarize and skip ahead to Angel's arrival. So I took the liberty of fleshing out the others' introductions a bit.

Another note might be that our entire party decided to play outside of our comfort zones for this AP. Everyone is playing races, alignments, and classes with which they were utterly unfamiliar. Kian's player has played many alignments, but has never tried barbarian until now. Nosey's player has only played below good alignment and is usually a dragonborn martial DPS. This time, she will be trying out a NG paladin, and playing her first elf (sort of...). Likewise, Zern's player has never played below neutral alignment, and has generally favoured high CHA tieflings. He will be playing a LE cleric, and his first dwarf.  Angel's player is our most experienced, and was given special challenge by the DM. She generally plays a LG paladin of half-elven decent, and volunteers for the unpopular control role. This time she's been asked to play drow, DPS magic, necromancer, and CN alignment. We're not sure how long any of us can keep it up, but we're going to try (to completely sabotage each other)!

I should probably also note that we're running with a bit of home-brew in this campaign. Angel's player will be playing a balanced-looking 5e mod of the old Dread Necromancer class, expertly created by Falco1029 of the Giant in the Playground forums. Nosey’s player is also using a bit of home-brew and playing an Oath called Oath of the Dragon, and Zern is playing a Domain of Darkness, which seems to draw a bit from the Light and War domains.