Mind Over Matter
3 Tarsakh 1492, Waterdeep
Companions:
- Casindra “Casi” Naïlo, a half-elf warlock
- Devotion, a tiefling cleric
- Lekslufer Biswell, a half-elf rogue
- Popdaka “Pop” Veinfinder, a dwarven paladin
- Thokk, a half-orc monk
The barricaded door became the subject of much discussion among my companions, as they pondered what the hasty fortification might portend. Some wondered if perhaps the duergar and his tattooed ally had trapped something or someone inside the room beyond and were preventing its escape—we hadn’t yet found Floon, after all—while others argued that the door might lead deeper into the sewers and was preventing something else from getting in. Clearly still star-struck by the astonishingly stout halfling, Pop lamented Patty’s abrupt departure from our company, as she’d proven herself more than a match for another stubborn door this night.
A sound caught my attention, then, and I turned to find the strangely-intense spellcaster Casi entering the barracks room from the stairwell, her odd eyes flaring with surprise, recognition, and perhaps relief as her gaze met mine.
“I followed the yellow signs in the sewers,” she blurted by way of explanation, and her use of the singular pronoun told me that the others who had split from our group earlier had not entered the sewers with her. I mentally vowed then to wait for a more opportune time to ask her about what had transpired during her absence, but for that moment I was likewise glad to see another familiar face.
I waved Casi into the second barracks room, where I discovered a number of things had transpired during my moments of distraction: apparently distressed by the casual looting of our fallen enemies, Thokk had retreated to the far right corner of the room, while Devo had doffed his leather cuirass, stripped the dead duergar of his largely undamaged armor—Renaer’s weapons had slid through natural gaps in the armor and Pop’s hammer had crushed flesh and bone, not metal—and was in the process of cinching the mail into place, where its darkened scales contrasted sharply against the young tiefling’s bright orange skin.
It also seemed a consensus had finally been reached, and we would leave the blocked door alone for the time being. Someone mentioned that they could hear a “gurgling” or “slurping” noise coming from the other side of the door—the latter descriptor put in my mind the image of a dragon savoring a juicy meal—and it was decided we could come back to the door later if needed. Upon learning that no one else had listened in at the other door in the room, Casi did the honors, and a few odd expressions crossed her face before she declared there was a pair of distant voices on the other side.
Lek boldly took the lead, Pop hustled to join him, and Dev and Thokk took up behind them. Casi shrugged at me and Renaer, then followed after, and the nobleman and I brought up the rear.
A Dangerous Observer
The first chamber was small, well-lit by a torch, and had another door. Lek boldly threw that open—his casual recklessness was doing well to convince me of the privileged upbringing he’d claimed—and led us into a tunnel with a low ceiling and rising stairs at the end. Now we could all hear the two voices: a deeper speaker teasing, “Need I ask you again?” followed by a faint whimper and protest to the negative.
Perhaps collectively sensing we’d found our quarry, we raced up the steps and burst into a long chamber illuminated by torches along the walls and a large brazier near the end of the room. A broad figure—a half-orc—sneered up at us from where he loomed over a half-naked man strapped down to a table. The ball of fire wreathing the half-orc’s fist and the threadbare silk robes which clung far too tightly to his muscular frame both suggested we were dealing with a spellcaster, though how gifted in the Art he might be we could not know, nor do I think most of us in that moment cared: whatever threat he posed paled in comparison to the being which sat upon a throne atop a dais at the far end of the chamber.
An illithid.
It occurs to me now that while I do admire Thokk’s father for having raised a son who seemingly lacks any prejudices toward the other intelligent beings of Toril, he may in fact have done the young man a great disservice, for it once again seemed that among us all, only Thokk seemed to not appreciate the danger of the purple skinned being seated at the far end of the chamber, idly stroking the brain which rested in its lap. Known commonly as mind flayers for the deadly mental powers they command, the illithid are an enigmatic people who typically share a collective consciousness and a lack of regard for the lives and independence of beings they consider their lessers. I’ve heard it said that most illithid—and there are exceptions, of course!—regard humans, elves, and the like with less empathy than might a farmer raising chickens for his dinner table, for indeed the tentacle-faced creatures use those horrifying appendages to burrow into and eat brains.
And yes, Thokk would likely argue that not all illithid must be that way, and in this hypothetical argument, I would be forced to agree with him: I had indeed heard tale of renegade mind flayers who rejected the collective in favor of individuality, and eschewed their kind’s typical gruesome diet in favor of nutrient-rich fish and the brains of livestock.
No doubt assuming correctly that we were paying him less heed than the otherworldly figure seated behind him, the half-orc mage caused the flame engulfing his hand to flare brightly before it vanished entirely. “I certainly hope you killed the fools who failed to stop you from getting this far,” he intoned, turning away from his victim and toward us, “but now you’ve met your betters.”
Pop’s answer to that was to whip out his shortbow and cut a line across the taunting spellcaster’s hip. The dwarf was then hoisted into the air and casually set aside as Thokk suddenly raced forward, grabbing the other half-orc’s wrists and yanking them around behind his back.
“Stop being mean!” Thokk shouted at the shorter man, looking angrier than I’d seen him even at the kenku ambushers back at the warehouse.
Devo entered the room fully as well, but held his crossbow at the ready, perhaps fearing his bolt would hit the wrong half-orc if he shot at them now. Renaer was fast on the tiefling’s heels, but he nearly tripped over himself when he suddenly recognized the target of the spellcaster’s torture. “Floon!” he called out, and a chorus of surprised and relieved echoes arose from the rest of our party.
If you’ve read this far into our tale, then it should be little surprise to you that not a one of them pronounced the poor man’s name correctly. (I rather think it intentional at this point.)
The spellcaster struggled against Thokk’s secure grip, but he wasn’t able to dislodge the younger man. “Unhand me, you fool!” he snarled just as ineffectively, but then the mind flayer put its “pet” on the floor—it had four legs beneath its brain-like body—and rose. I was surely not alone in bracing for something from the nightmarish being, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw only the spellcaster flinch as though struck.
Lek drew out one of his daggers and laid the blade against the mage’s throat, but the half-orc ignored the threat. “Nihiloor!” the captured spellcaster yelled as the mind flayer pushed open one of the double doors at the right side of the room and glided through it. “Nihiloor, come back!”
Casi crested the stairs and squeezed into the crowded room, her crossbow loaded and ready to fire as soon as a good target presented itself. I followed quickly behind, but when a quiet plea for help hit my ears, I veered off and made my way to Floon’s side to begin work on the manacles which held him to the table. They weren’t locked, but the latches were rusted and caked with substances I knew better than to think too closely about, and I set to work trying to free him.
In my peripheral vision, I noticed several things happening nearly at once: the quadrupedal brain lunged at Lek, distracting the half-elf from his menacing of the spellcaster, and Pop brandished his warhammer and chased after the mind flayer. Thokk adjusted his grip on his prisoner, who took that moment to attempt to break free, but the younger and more agile half-orc kicked the back of his opponent’s knee and sent him sprawling. Devo stepped up to my side and began working at the latches securing the manacles at Floon’s feet, and Renaer shot forward with his rapier, skewering the fallen torturer with what seemed to be fatal precision.
There was a solid thunk as Pop’s warhammer collided with something—or someone—just beyond the door, followed by a reverberating whoomp that sent Pop flying backward, his hammer falling free of his hand as his supine form hit the floor. In our collective shock at seeing the sturdy dwarf so easily laid low, we almost didn’t notice the slow but deliberate movements of the spellcaster as he tried to crawl away, having somehow survived Renaer’s attack.
Lek drew the saber he’d acquired at the warehouse and slashed at what I finally recognized as an intellect devourer, scoring a vicious cut that drew a shriek of agony from the horrid creature. The double doors slammed shut as I got the last of Floon’s manacles open, and I was perhaps less-gentle than the situation called for in tugging the wounded man off the table, clearing an open path for Devo to race to Pop’s aid.
The newly-emptied table made an excellent path for another of our group, as Thokk leaped onto the wooden surface and cleared it in one more stride, coming down atop the crawling spellcaster and immediately attempting to tie the other half-orc’s hands. Devo reached Pop at nearly the same time, a burst of light coming from the cleric’s hands as he tended to the fallen paladin, and I was relieved to hear the dwarf groan as he began to awaken.
I heard a strange whooshing sound from beyond the closed double doors, but my attention was immediately drawn back to Renaer, his fair skin nearly matching the brightness of his red hair as he stalked forward, his rapier stabbing once as he passed the intellect devourer, and then again as he reached the flattened spellcaster. Neither target moved again.
Exercising Caution
Floon sagged into my hold and let out another soft whimper, though that time more of relief than pain.
“The ceilin’s spinnin’,” grumbled Pop from where he lay on the floor, and I noticed an odd look wash over Devo’s face as he awkwardly patted the dwarf’s shoulder and moved away to investigate the curtained-off alcoves on the opposite side of the room from the now-closed double doors. He met Thokk going the opposite direction, as the half-orc stepped over Pop’s supine form, stumbled up onto the dais, and leaned against the far wall to expel the remnants of the late night repast we’d shared at the warehouse hours earlier.
I could almost see Lek’s prickly side emerge at the sound of Thokk retching, the half-elf suddenly intent on attempting to provoke an argument from Thokk over the naïf’s tender heart. But then Lek seemed to soften a little, and instead turned his attention to the dead spellcaster, and shook his head in exasperation. “Why do the evil ones always look so good?” he sighed. Stepping over the intellect devourer’s corpse, the rogue began to search the mage for valuables.
Renaer jolted in surprise as Lek stepped in front of him. The human sheathed his weapons and turned around, the high color on his cheeks now more of embarrassment than anger. He hurried over to my side, taking out the healing potion he’d been given earlier and offering it to Floon, who drank the contents gratefully. Casi joined us as well, and at first I feared the intense young woman would be harsh in her questioning, but I was thankfully proven wrong.
“Do you know what they wanted?” she asked Floon softly.
“They… they thought I was… him,” the battered man answered weakly, nodding his head toward Renaer. “They kept asking me… where my father… hid the gold. I think the orc… Grum’shar—” his gaze flickered toward the dead mage “—knew I wasn’t Renaer… but he was putting on a show… for his boss.”
Casi nodded in satisfaction, as Floon’s answer confirmed what I’m sure we had all come to expect had happened: a tragic case of mistaken identity for poor Floon, and an incompetent lackey who’d been abandoned by his powerful boss. I could see regret churning in Renaer’s eyes as he realized he probably should have left Grum’shar alive to face questioning at the hands of the City Watch.
I could hardly blame him for taking revenge on his friend’s behalf, however.
“I found something!” Devo called from beyond the curtained alcove he had entered.
“Go,” Renaer urged me, taking Floon’s weight for himself and surely wracked with guilt for both his friend’s suffering and his rage-induced killing of the spellcaster.
I hesitated a moment, listening again for the sounds I had heard beyond the closed double doors, but hearing nothing. Crossing the room, I entered the last of the three curtained-off chambers Devo had entered, this one seemingly a small storage and meal break area rather than a prison cell as the other two had been. The tiefling stood before the open door of a secret passageway, and when I entered the room with Casi at my heels, he indicated the torch sconce had been the trigger which opened the hidden door. The slab of stone had swung open into a small alcove, and a low, narrow passage extended beyond it, its far end enshrouded in darkness. The small space smelled of mold.
The three of us looked at one another, then stepped back out to check in with the rest of the group.
Lek had moved on from Grum’shar’s corpse and was crouched beside the throne, apparently having found a small chest behind it whose contents he was now cataloging. Thokk had moved toward Lek and the two were chatting amiably—no hurtful comments from Lek this time, it seemed—and Pop was sitting up and swigging the potion of healing he had been given from the warehouse stash.
“Devo found a secret tunnel—” I began.
Lek perked up. “Secret tunnel!” he sang out, and I grinned recognizing the tune of a bizarre folk song that had spread like wildfire across the land for a time before fading back into obscurity. I couldn’t resist joining him on the next repetition of the phrase from the chorus of the song.
“Where’s it go?” Pop asked when we had finished our impromptu duet.
“It might be another way to get to behind where the barricaded door was,” Casi guessed, then glanced back at the stairs we’d climbed to enter this room. “Or at least above where that was.”
“I’ll go with ye!” Pop declared, clambering to this feet and swaying only a little as he stood, but he eyed the still-closed double doors dubiously.
“Let’s use the table to block the door,” I suggested, then realized that wouldn’t be very effective. “Well, it wouldn’t really block it since the door opens the other way—”
“But at least slow down anything trying to come in,” Pop agreed.
“Good idea,” agreed Casi, and the three of us tipped over the table Floon had been imprisoned upon and dragged it in front of the twin doors.
After determining who was going to check out the secret passageway and who was remaining to keep the larger room secure, Devo led the way into his discovered corridor, followed by Pop and then me, with Casi lingering at the entrance to serve as a relay to the others. We soon found ourselves at a dead end wall, but obvious seams and hinges suggested that on the other side of the wall was a room for which this was a hidden door. Devo was able to locate a switch for triggering the door to open from this side, but then he hesitated and admitted we should probably turn back, rather than separating the party.
Back out the tunnel we went, closing the secret door behind us for now. As we re-entered the throne room, we were just in time to catch the tail end of the latest edition of what I was mentally beginning to refer to as “The Thokk and Lek Show”, as though the two were a pair of comedy puppets performing from a carnival wagon’s stage.
“—just spit-balling here,” Lek was finishing, tossing a jingling bag of coins in the air and catching it again.
Thokk pulled a disgusted face. “Why would you be spit-balling? That sounds gross.”
Lek pointed at him. “As opposed to throwing up on a throne?”
Thokk’s only response to that was to make another exaggerated face and a mocking “nyeeeah!”
Perhaps realizing as I did that the pair could and would keep up their quasi-antagonistic banter for hours if we let them, Devo cleared his throat, then repeated his rationale for our return. As soon as the tiefling had completed his explanation, a stubborn look overcame Lek’s face, and I suspected the mercurial half-elf was about to insist we all check out the tunnel now.
Instead, he gestured toward the double doors. “I’m going in there.”
Strange Signs
Devo protested, pointing to Pop as he reminded the stubborn rogue about the deadly mind flayer, but that seemed only to further encourage the dark-haired man. Lek pushed open one of the doors, peered in, then squeezed between the table and the door to enter the room beyond. The cleric made a noise of exasperation, but followed right on Lek’s heels.
“Where you go, I go!” Devo declared.
The rest of us exchanged glances, realizing this wasn’t a new argument between the pair. Pop and Thokk shoved the overturned table out of the way, clearing the way to open the door further, now wide enough for the bulky dwarf and half-orc to be able to enter.
Lek was examining a strange column in the center of the room, nestled between a pair of short stairs leading to a higher level in the room, not dissimilar from the dais and throne in the previous chamber. The column was covered in crude paintings, most of them stick figure creatures triumphing over other stick figures, save for where a spiky circle—a beholder, presumably—was the victor over all others.
About midway up the column was a more life-like carving of a beholder, but where it’s central eye should be was an indentation like an inverted dome. Lek pushed the indentation—nothing happened—then muttered something about puzzles and finding the matching item. He spun away from the column and went up the stairs toward the open door on the right up there, and Devo followed close after.
Again, I caught only pieces of the argument the pair was having, and I winced at how vicious it was getting.
“My father told me I need to go and do my own thing,” Lek was explaining.
Devo scoffed. “Your father sounds like a jerk.”
This caused Lek to round on Devo and snarl, “You don’t have a father!”
I could see from the way the tiefling went suddenly rigid that the half-elf had, once again, struck a very low blow, and I winced in empathy. If we were to have a chance of remaining together as a party, we were going to have to find a way past the insults and deliberate antagonism, and since the worst of it was coming from Lek, I worried someone needed to have a conversation with him about his prickliness.
I worried, also, that that someone was going to have to be me.
“Another secret door and tunnel!” Lek called out a few moments later, having disappeared into the central of the three doors at the top of the stairs. “Wait… no, this is the area where we came in. Hey, the other room I was just in must be where my little goblin friend was!”
“Probably the one that took a shot at me,” Pop agreed.
“I killed that one earlier,” I pointed out.
“No, the one that tried to shoot me just before I hit the mind flayer with me hammer,” Pop corrected, and I blinked in surprise, having not noticed that particular attack, though I suppose I had been pre-occupied with freeing Floon at the time.
“Another empty prison cell,” Lek called out from the far left room at the top of the stairs.
I wheeled about and opened the door near me, annoyed at how once again I had involved myself in the heroes’ activities and had missed something that could have been critical to their story. “Another empty cell here,” I reported, leaving the door open should anyone else care to check.
Lek, Devo, Pop, and I rejoined the other half of our party in the throne room. “Should we check out that secret passage now?” Lek asked.
“If you don’t mind,” Renaer began, standing and helping Floon to his feet, “I think we should get out of here.”
The Heroes’ Return
No one had any objections to that suggestion. Taking advantage of the convenient secret door that had been opened back into the main tunnels—and hoping we weren’t stumbling toward a waiting illithid—we began to retrace our steps through the sewers until we reached a ladder leading up to a storm drain cover. A plaque on the wall next to the ladder declared “Fishgut”, and I proudly announced that it meant that the street above us was Fishgut Alley in the Dock Ward.
“Far be it from me to dispute the knowledge of someone who knows so much about the sewers,” Lek joked, and I blushed a little at his teasing.
Thokk led the way up the ladder so he could shove the manhole cover out of the way at the top, and he was followed quickly after by Pop, then more-slowly by Floon and Renaer. “After you, ladies,” Lek offered, practically bowing to me and Casi while completely ignoring the sullen Devo. A pattern of his behavior was beginning to form in my mind, but I wasn’t quite sure of all the variables: that we were female was not the sole reason for his sudden gallantry, I knew, but there was definitely more than met the eye where the dashing rogue was concerned. Further, given how I’d already made several mistakes this night by getting directly involved when perhaps I need not have done so, I wondered also if it was even my place to try to resolve this particular conflict.
Casi and I ascended the ladder, Lek followed behind us, and as I had already heard once that night, where Lek went, Devo went.
The Blagmaar family lived in the Trades Ward and Renaer’s manor was in even further away in the Sea Ward, so it was agreed we’d all make our way to the Yawning Portal Tavern where Volo awaited word of our success. I still had my room there, and though it wasn’t large enough for us all, the double bed would be sufficient for Casi and I—if she didn’t object to sharing—while we could surely find other rooms for the males. Though my funds are far from limitless, I had coin enough to cover a single night’s rent for us all if Volo’s reward turned out to be an undeliverable promise, as I had previously suspected it might.
The blue hue of the first rays of dawn were lighting the eastern sky when we at last reached the Yawning Portal, and to my genuine surprise, Volo was waiting for us at one of the chairs in front of the fireplace. Seemingly lost in nervous thought, he didn’t notice our entrance at first, but the auburn-haired waitress Bonnie was behind the bar and waved when she recognized us. Lek brightened at her warm greeting, and I could see him preparing to turn the full force of his charm on the comely barmaid.
Volo followed the direction of Bonnie’s greeting and then leapt up in surprise, sloshing the contents of his tankard before he gathered himself and set the drink down on the bar.
“Floon! Dear merciful Mystra, it’s you!” Volo stretched his arms out toward Floon, but stopped short of actually embracing. “Oh, you look dreadful, dear boy… if only Priestess Uday hadn’t gone to her room already for the night,” he lamented, referring to the Waukeenar cleric from Chult staying at the Yawning Portal. He then urged Floon to take his seat by the fireside, before rounding on Bonnie to call for drinks for us all.
Bonnie rested a hand on her hip and gave Volo a look that spoke of mixed incredulity and exasperation, then a moment later, she spun about and left via the swinging door behind the bar.
Volo seemed not to notice her departure, still trying to plump the sad-looking cushion on the chair opposite the one he had been sitting in when we arrived. Apparently realizing he wasn’t going to make the chair any more comfortable, he turned around again, throwing his arms wide as though to embrace the whole group. “My dear wonderful you’ve done it! I don’t know how you did it, but you did! And—oh, my heavens, you must be Saer Neverember! Charmed, my good sir, charmed.“
The door behind the bar swung open again, and Durnan emerged with his habitual scowl firmly in place, stopping behind the counter to stand with his arms crossed over his chest. “I think you’ve put enough on your tab for one night, Volo,” he admonished.
Volo flushed at that and began to nervously smooth his cravat. “Ah, yes, Durnan, quite right you are…”
“Speaking as such,” began Renaer, “I fear Saer Blagmaar and I find ourselves quite out of pocket at the moment and too weary to go much further for this night. Might I prevail upon you for credit for a room, Master Durnan? I’m—”
“I know who you are,” Durnan interrupted, “and be assured that if your old man was still in town, I’d send the bill to him.” He snorted and shook his head. “The room across from Miss Silverwillow’s isn’t fancy, but it has two beds that are yours for the night.” The innkeeper then looked over the rest of us.
“Casi can stay with me, if that’s acceptable to her,” I explained, and the other half-elf nodded, “but if there’s a room or two we could rent for the men—”
Durnan cut me off. “There’s bigger rooms the other end of the second floor with four beds each; Bonnie’ll show you to one of ’em, and you’ll have it for the night as thanks for your efforts with that damned troll.”
“And speaking of rewards…” Pop began leadingly.
Volo gave a nervous chuckle. “I confess that I have but few coins to spare, but never let it be said that Volo reneges on a promise! Allow me to present something far more valuable.” He doffed his hat, reached into it, and then pulled out a scroll tube which couldn’t possibly have fit in the hat without having distorted its floppy shape: a very clever location for extradimensional storage! Volo settled his hat back into place, then held out the scroll tube which I took in hand. “The deed to a remarkable property here in Waterdeep! We’ll need a magistrate to witness the transfer of ownership, of course, and I can arrange a meeting with one another after you’ve inspected the estate and deemed it satisfactory.”
I opened the tube’s cap and dumped out the piece of parchment, tucking the tube under my arms as I unrolled the document on the bar. As I read over the document, I noted aloud to my companions that it described a three-story taphouse and hostel located in Waterdeep’s North Ward, and it seemed to bear all of the necessary signatures and stamps which made it an official and legal document. The date of the previous title transfer was less than a year ago, indicating Volo had not owned it very long.
“It’s a little rough, I’ll admit, and will need a good deal of fixing up to make it suitable to open to the public again,” Volo explained. “I bought the establishment because I’d heard it was haunted, but I spent many a night there with nary a sign of such, and I have no need nor desire to run such an establishment myself!”
Renaer glanced over the document as well. “All seems to be in order, and even if the property is suitable only for razing and building anew, the land it’s on is surely worth a considerable amount.”
“Certainly worth more than the one hundred dragons promised us each,” I agreed, rolling up the deed and returning it to its protective tube. “Very well, then Volo, we shall inspect the property in the morning.” I glanced over at my weary companions, and then amended, “but not too early in the morning.”