In an Underground Cavern, a thousand miles away

Scene: An underground cavern, claustrophobic in its nature with a ceiling that would make the average Elf need to hunch his shoulders to fit into it. A liquid substance trickles down the walls, which you would assume is water, where it not for the foul stench in the cavern. Two hooded figures sit upon a stone bench, talking quietly.

"It will be as it once was, Ghaerloth has assured us"
"And you trust him?"
"Of course, do you not?"
"I don't know him as well as you - you will recall I am new here"
"Yes, yes ... "
"His fame has not spread as wide as he would have you believe"
"Nevertheless, he is the leader here and you would do well to respect him"
"The Mind Flayers of Waterdeep do not recognise him as such"
"Then that is to their detriment. When the Illithids rise again, and we begin to resurface ... then all the Mind Flayers will obey Ghaerloth"
"And I take it he has chosen the date that this will come to pass?"
"Ghaerloth keeps the details to himself"
"Perhaps he is not as wise as you make out, Rinidth"
"Do not speak of him in those terms, Angnor, or you will rouse his anger"
"I assure you we are quite safe from his honour guard here"
"Well be that as it may, the Illithids used to say these caverns have ears"
"That was in the time of our great Empire. Much has changed since then"
"And much more will change soon I assure you. The rumour is Ghaerloth has chosen the city where we shall ascend once again"
"Oh? And what city is that?"
"The rumours do not say"
"How convenient .... "

Midnight Musings around the Campfire

Tlar had just enough time to shout over to the dwarves clustered around the fire, when all hell broke loose in the camp. A figure clothed in dark raiment, with a hooded garmet about his head came charging into the campsite, and tripped straight over Tlar, who was rising to talk to the dwarves.
The figure hit the ground, as the Gully Dwarves rushed to muster whatever weaponry they could find at their disposal, and began to challenge the newcomer. Tlar looked the figure up and down, firelight dancing of his black clothes creating shadows and the illusion that he was there and not there at the same time. Making a mental note to tread carefully around him, Tlar began listening in on the conversation.

It became clear that the man (at least Tlar assumed it was a man), though short in stature, was one able to handle himself, as he calmly accepted a seat around the fire and began speaking with the Gully Dwarves. “I was merely hunting”, the figure said, “when the Trolls that had been tracking me for days finally caught up with me”. The man said his name was Niaka, a student from a famed Martial Arts school somewhere high up in the mountains of the Spine of the World.

After a little time, the Gully Dwarves agreed to let Niaka tag along to West Brindin with them. Tlar feigned sleep as Boisin and Foibur once again resumed their one-sided game of dice.

“So what do yer think now then, Boisy”, asked Foibur“I thinks you best roll them dices Foibs, and say no more ‘bout it”, came the reply
“This is bad fer business yer know … no dwarf in his right mind is gonna buy our stuff wi’ them two hangin’ around the stall”“Worry yerself not, Foibs me half-brother, I’m sure once we gets to West Brindin they’ll be off on their merry way”
“Yeah, s’pose so …by Nerrull, you clot-headed sunnova dragon’s egg … I swears you loaded these damn dice!”

Tlar left them to the game and further pondered how he might use the situation to his advantage. The trading party obviously didn’t really like having him or the newcomer around, but Gully Dwarves, despite their shoddy appearance, lack of manners and intelligence, are generally speaking a hospitable bunch, and felt it only friendly to let Tlar and the stranger tag along.

Observing them, Tlar began to wonder if they were any use at all, except to keep him warm at night round their fire. They didn’t handle their weapons well, they brawled often, they ate what can only be described as slop, and cheated each other at dice. Certainly, Niaka looked at them with disdain.

The Second Guest

All was quiet, in spite of the sounds of the forest that ceaselessly murmured around him. His prey was somewhere near. It had been 2 days since he last ate, and hunger was beginning to take its toll on his strength. A twig snapped. There. Niaka moved as silently as his training had taught him as he approached the wild boar, as if on feet made of feathers.

It took all the self control within him not to strike the boar immediately, and risk having it run to safety. No, Niaka thought, this would have to be a clean and precise kill. He had to eat. Niaka flanked the boar to its right, silently, as the animal took a drink from the nearby river. The hunter thanked his luck. The sound of the running water in the ears of the animal would further mask his already hushed movements.

At the last moment, Niaka readied his strike. As he raised his arm to throw the projectile star at the animal, there was a sudden crashing sound in the woods to his left. The startled boar looked suddenly at the direction from which the noise had come, and bolted for the safety of the trees. Niaka cursed under his breath and turned to see what had made the noise.

A party of four hungry looking Trolls came into view, wielding an array of crude, primitive weapons. Niaka rolled his eyes. They had been tracking him for days, yet in his tenacity in tracking the boar for the kill, he had neglected to cover his tracks and they had evidently caught up with him. Now, one troll would be ok, possibly two, but to take on all four would be something akin to suicide.

Niaka quickly made up his mind, and as the largest Troll began to bark orders in the harsh, guttural, language of their race, he sprinted away to his right. Angry curses went up behind him as he ran, picking his way through the trees in the dark, and the Troll hunting party began their pursuit. Curse their ability to see in the dark, Niaka muttered, as he ducked to avoid a low branch at the last second.

Soon the sounds of the pursuing Trolls began to recede into the woods, and Niaka slowed down a little. He almost didn’t see the campfire before he ran straight into it, and certainly did not see the sleeping form that tripped him up and landed him square on his face. There were sounds of shouting coming from around the fire, and small figures rushed to pick up weapons as they barked warnings and orders at each other.

“Foibur!! Grab yer axe!! Boisin, get yer sword!! We’re under attack!”
“Jump on it! Grab it”“Dimli!! Get yer fat arse off me sword, you great lump”
“It wasn’t me yer sunnova wood elf … get yer own sword!!”

Niaka almost laughed as he raised himself up and began to dust himself off. A trading party of Gully Dwarves … no threat to a warrior with even the most modest of fighting skill. He raised his hands in the universal gesture of peace, indicating he meant no harm, and it was then that he noticed the sleeping body he had tripped over. It struck him as odd, a half-drow elf travelling with Gully Dwarves? Niaka pushed the thought aside, and moved towards the fire, Dwarves eyeing him with suspicion.

“Just wot we need, eh Boisy. Another stranger in the wagon train”, said the one who had been identified as Foibur. “Yeah, Foibs, jus’ wot we need …”. The dwarf identified as Dimli motioned at Niaka to come nearer the fire, still brandishing his axe in as menacing a way as a 3 ft Gully Dwarf could muster. “Comes a little nearer, stranger, sits yerself down … we’ll not harm yer”. Niaka brushed off the irony of his words, and took a seat by the fire.

“These is dangerous parts fer the likes of a fella like you, travellings alone as ye are”, Boisin said to Niaka. Niaka grunted, but made no real reply.

“We’re headed ter West Brindin, stranger, for a little coin we’ll take care of yer – but after that yer’s on yer own .. what say ye?”

Niaka mulled over the offer, as he gazed at the fire …

The First Guest

Boisin laughed at Foibur’s pained expression as the dice came up in his favour yet again. Foibur had spent many hours examining the dice, but could not fathom why he lost to his half-brother so often. This was a source of great amusement to Boisin, who knew the trick was in the wrist, not the dice … and who it must be said got great satisfaction from taking Foibur’s copper pieces.

“Pay up, yer worthless maggot, ye lose again!”
“By the gods, Boisin, I swears that one day I’ll find ye out”

Foibur parted with the coin reluctantly and stood up quickly, “I’ll go check our guest”. Boisin grunted his reply as he counted out the copper from one hand to the other. Twenty-seven pieces in tonights game … a nice haul. His weatherworn features were all smiles in the light of the camp fire, and he chuckled to himself. This was turning into a fairly profitable trip.

Several other dwarves were engaged in conversation around the fire, but Foibur ignored them all as he made his way to where the stranger slept. It occurred to him that he should hate this stranger, with his half-elven features, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Foibur recognised in the drow the spirit of a warrior, and had noticed the odd battle scar on his body as they had been travelling, which had led him to a vague grudging respect for the drow … one soldier to another, like.

The drow was sleeping now, and the dwarf tiptoed around his feet to where his pack lay. Grudging respect or not, a dwarf had to make a living, right? Foibur quietly opened the pack, then felt the knife against his throat. “S’alright, stranger, I was just checking yer were ok an’ all … comfortable, like”. The stranger lowered the knife, his point made, and settled back down.

Foibur quietly cursed his ungainly feet and wandered back to the campfire where Boisin was still counting out coin, probably for the tenth time. “Quit rubbin’ it in would yer, Boisy”. Boisin laughed, then his expression grew a little more serious. “Whatcha think we should do wiv ‘im, Foibs?”, he asked his half-brother. “Don’t ask me, Boisy, yer leadin’ this merry trip”.
“Remind me not to ask yer advice again, yer empty headed sunnova wood-elf”
“Well, if yer askin’ me, I says we kill him, grab his stuff, and dump the body”, suggested Foibur. “We’re traders, Foibs, not killers … don’t be stupid”, came the irritated response.
“Listen, Boisy, the lad wants takin’ as far as the next town .. le’s just take ‘im there and let ‘im be on ‘is merry way. He’s quick wi’ that knife of ‘is … What say ye?”
“Aye, we’ll let him be then … tho’ the sooner we gets rid of him the better … no good for a dwarf in the pots business to be seen consortin’ wiv the likes of an elf … an a drow at that.”, Boisin recalled an incident where a gnome that travelled with them for a while instilled a mistrust into his regular customers – they all claimed Boisin had had the gnome tamper with the goods. No, having strangers around your market stall was not good for business.

“’right Foibs … when we hit West Brindin we’ll drop ‘im off … be no good tryin’ to sell the stuff in Brindinford wiv ‘im hangin’ around the stall”.

And with that, they both went back to drinking ale. Boisin got his dice out, and rattled them in Foibur’s direction with a sly grin on his face. Foibur took the dice, sighed deeply, and rolled them onto the floor …