Underdark Antiquing - Igraine, Markas, Menace - 01.04.
Apr 18, 2020 9:29:08 GMT
Igrainne (RETIRED) and Merla, the Daughter of Summer like this
Post by Ian (Menace) on Apr 18, 2020 9:29:08 GMT
With thanks to Igrainne (RETIRED), Markas Virnala, and Guido 
Spring is in the air. The trees along the road to Port Ffirst have grown myriad green shoots and blooms, gently swaying in the breeze. Menace sneezes, and wipes the snot on the sleeve of his great-cloak.
“And they say the air is better on the surface…”, he humbles, as he trudges along next to his friends Igrainne and Markas. The expedition to the Underdark was successful - they all came back alive, and with valuable information no less - but he has not achieved his goal of venturing below the surface quite yet; only Sli'm Shad't'laz'tzan, also known in Port Ffirst as Slim Shady, can provide the contact in Xarribia that he needs. Mace smiles - at least, he has something to bargain with.
“You think Slim will mind that we killed the priestess of House T’sylan in her summoning chamber, rather than just bring back the evidence?” he asks Igrainne, who has skillfully led them through the treacherous tunnels of the Underdark.
“I think he’ll be happy. One less devil worshipper in the Underdark, and everyone’s the better for it,” replies the ranger with a shrug. “I, for one, am happy about it.”
“I’m not sure happy is the word I would use,” Markas says, finally speaking up, “But I’d guess he won’t be upset by the fact we stopped them.”
“I hope so. Not sure we needed to investigate the summoning chamber after we had already found those letters in the living quarters of that mansion.” Mace grimaces as he looks on the acid-burn scars on his hand - evidence dearly paid for. “But we got it black on white here, they were making deals with some kind of devil. Exactly what Slim asked for. I look forward to seeing what he has to say.”
Igrainne notices the tiefling’s furiously scratched hands and a small smirk, ever so faint, touches upon her lips. “Didn’t I tell you to assume that everything is trapped?” she says in a teasing tone. “By the way, you never told us who the letter was addressed to. Why was it written in Infernal?”
"I have no idea why they were written in Infernal. An additional security measure maybe? Either way, I suspect this would make it even more damning in the eyes of polite Drow society when it is revealed. And therefore all the more valuable to us." Mace smirks at that.
“Oooor...she was pen pals with a pit fiend.” Igrainne snickers at the thought.
“In anycase, this is the second time we have found Devils being summoned in the Underdark. The first was only a few months ago and was much closer to where we entered now. I think it’s better we stopped it rather than leave them to bring something through,” Markas adds.
They all grow quiet at the thought and continue the rest of the journey back in silence.
Back in Port Ffirst, the group makes its way to the Rose of the Wind, the cartographer’s office of Nappin Gyrowhistle, who serves as the middleman between Mace and Sli’m. It only takes a few minutes for a runner to return with Sli’m. The drow cuts an imposing figure despite his short stature: dressed in all black with twin scimitars strapped to his belt, his surviving red eye gazes intensely out at the three adventurers from underneath a hood. Following behind him, another dark elf steps into the room — an unfamiliar woman adorned in spider silk garments.
"Ah, greetings my dear friend Slim!" Mace exclaims upon the Drow entering the office, "we return with glad tidings! The journey to the T'sylan estate was successful, and we bring evidence of their infernal corruption."
Sli’m nods solemnly at Mace and extends a hand out at him. “Let us see it.”
Mace hands over the stack of letters, detailing the infernal contract the priestess of House T’sylan had made. Sli’m unfolds one of them and squints at its contents. The female drow peers over his shoulder. “This is written in Infernal. But what does it say?”
Mace offers a wolfish grin, then explains. "The correspondence references a contract made in exchange for a number of souls. The reward was to be great, but undefined, power. Surely something sinister was in the works there. But fear not, we put a stop to it. While we managed to get into the estate without raising the alarm, we knocked out the guards, inside we found dead bodies in the living quarters, and a summoning circle in the fighting pit, along with more drow victims. The priestess and house guard captain were standing over the bodies and in the process of enacting a vile ritual, but we managed to interrupt it and kill the priestess and her henchman. Please forgive the violence, it was quite necessary, I assure you, mistress…?" he raises a questioning eyebrow at the hooded drow.
The woman’s lips curl into a self-satisfied smile as Mace finishes telling the tale. “Nasra T’sylan.” She gives an elegant curtsy. “I am a distant relative…”
“...And the new owner of the T’sylan manor,” cuts in Sli’m. The renegade drow appears less jubilant and more surprised. He turns his head to Igrainne and Markas. “You killed the priestess?” he asks in Elvish.
“As the tiefling said, they were attempting to summon something, likely more devils,” answers the ranger. “They’d been killing and sacrificing members of their own house for...whoever or whatever they made a pact with. So, yes, I made the call to kill them. I hope you’re fine with that. If you investigate the manor now, you’ll also find that they had desecrated an altar to Lolth. That, and the letters, should be enough to satisfy the matriarchs.”
“In truth, we were about to leave until we heard one of them scream. We only involved ourselves to stop whatever it was coming through… with the previous portal opening, we thought it best to prevent the second rather than worry about closing it,” Markas adds.
Nasra glances over at Igrainne and lets out an appreciative hmm. “No doubt the Spider Queen is pleased that the heretics were punished,” she purrs. “Well done. You’re not bad...for a half-drow.”
Igrainne flashes her a smirk. Mace shrugs. Markas looks to Nasra but says nothing.
“As the new owner of T’sylan manor, I can only congratulate you to your good turn of fortune...” Mace says to Nasra in Elvish, pointedly establishing he is not to be left out, before fluidly continuing in Undercommon to really drive it home, “...and I am sure you appreciate the role we had to play in this...fortuitous turn of events. You will move into your new estate then? I am looking for a contact in Xarribia to conduct business with. Might we discuss this in a more… private setting? I have an offer that I think you will be most interested in.” He flashes her another toothy smile. Igrainne catches something that could almost be described as hungry.
“I am sure, you and I will come to be the very best of friends.”
Sli’m continues, “There is your contact in Xarribia, as promised. Her ladyship shares many of your...business interests.” He gestures at Nasra, who chuckles at Mace’s platitudes. The pit fighter then stuffs the stack of letters into his leather satchel, his expression even more inscrutable than usual. “Maybe the Houses will hear me now. We shall see.”
“I suppose I will have to deal with my kinswomen in Aeschira sooner or later. But, Lolth willing, the accusations should advise them to stay away, for now,” says Nasra. Sli’m nods again and bows.
“And now, I must leave.” Sli’m’s black cloak flutters as he whips around to face the door. Half-out of the doorway, he pauses. “...You did well,” the male drow mutters, eyeing each of Menace, Igrainne, and Markas for a brief second before dashing out of the office.
“Be well, Sli’m Shad't'laz'tzan!” Igrainne shouts in their native tongue after him. She glances over at the rest of the party. “Alright, that’s my cue to leave. I’ll see you all in the Shank. Your ladyship.” She gives Nasra a wink as she steps out of the door. Nasra winks back.
“I should probably be off too… the two of you likely have a lot to discuss,” Markas says, making for the door. “It was good to see you again Mace. And it was nice to meet you Lady Nasra.” With that, the Half-Elf makes his way outside, closing the door behind him.
“So...Mister Mace, was it?” The drow taps a long, slender finger to her chin, staring the tiefling up and down, as if taking in his full measure. “Now, we can talk business. Needless to say, I am very much looking forward to hearing about your offer.”
"And you will not be disappointed." Mace says with a smile. "I am a businessman, trading in specialty wares from all over the continent, connecting eager clients that otherwise may not have met. Exotic Drow wares are among the most coveted, but trade with your people is… difficult at times. However, I understand you may be interested in dwarven craft - from the finest weapon- and toolsmiths in the world. Unfortunately, the dwarves have a certain aversion to trading with your people… something about blood feuds, slavery and night raids, I understand?” he says with a sly smile that does the ugly topic no justice, before continuing, “None of that concerns me of course, I simply wish to give you what you want and receive what I need.”
“It is true that my people have no trade relationship with the dwarves. Those we gather from Vorsthold don't seem to last long in our Underdark workshops, and their products are subpar. We try to incentivise them, but it seems we have not found the right combination of sharp sticks and deep-mushrooms yet…” Nasra says with a petulant frown on her face, though her interest clearly piqued.
“The right incentives are sometimes hard to gauge…” Mace waves the concern away, “...but I have an established arrangement with the very best of dwarven smiths' here on the surface. He will never know who the ultimate beneficiary of his weapons is, I will act as middle man, and you will receive better weapons than anyone else in Xarribia, or even Aeschira, could ever dream of possessing.” he lets the implication sink in for a moment, leaving greed to do his work for him.
“So let me propose this to you: I have a showcase set of dwarven weapons and tools that I could trade you for your Drow wares immediately. Darkwood, poisons, narcotics... I can find an interested buyer for all of those. We can begin small, to build a rapport, shall we say? And if my products are to your liking, we can make it a permanent arrangement and discuss larger volumes.”
When Nasra speaks, it is emphatically measured, but to the practised eye it is obvious that greed has sunk its ugly fangs deep into the Drow noble. They say that the Underdark operates under its own rules, but in the end, all people share the same desires.
“This sounds acceptable, friend Mace. I am sure we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
They shake on the deal. “It is strange…” Lady Nasra says, red eyes piercing from under her hood, “...when I came to the surface, I did not expect to return as the head of House T’sylan in Xarribia, much less with a potentially profitable new trade arrangement with surfacers in the making. The Goddess truly works in mysterious ways.”
Spring is in the air. The trees along the road to Port Ffirst have grown myriad green shoots and blooms, gently swaying in the breeze. Menace sneezes, and wipes the snot on the sleeve of his great-cloak.
“And they say the air is better on the surface…”, he humbles, as he trudges along next to his friends Igrainne and Markas. The expedition to the Underdark was successful - they all came back alive, and with valuable information no less - but he has not achieved his goal of venturing below the surface quite yet; only Sli'm Shad't'laz'tzan, also known in Port Ffirst as Slim Shady, can provide the contact in Xarribia that he needs. Mace smiles - at least, he has something to bargain with.
“You think Slim will mind that we killed the priestess of House T’sylan in her summoning chamber, rather than just bring back the evidence?” he asks Igrainne, who has skillfully led them through the treacherous tunnels of the Underdark.
“I think he’ll be happy. One less devil worshipper in the Underdark, and everyone’s the better for it,” replies the ranger with a shrug. “I, for one, am happy about it.”
“I’m not sure happy is the word I would use,” Markas says, finally speaking up, “But I’d guess he won’t be upset by the fact we stopped them.”
“I hope so. Not sure we needed to investigate the summoning chamber after we had already found those letters in the living quarters of that mansion.” Mace grimaces as he looks on the acid-burn scars on his hand - evidence dearly paid for. “But we got it black on white here, they were making deals with some kind of devil. Exactly what Slim asked for. I look forward to seeing what he has to say.”
Igrainne notices the tiefling’s furiously scratched hands and a small smirk, ever so faint, touches upon her lips. “Didn’t I tell you to assume that everything is trapped?” she says in a teasing tone. “By the way, you never told us who the letter was addressed to. Why was it written in Infernal?”
"I have no idea why they were written in Infernal. An additional security measure maybe? Either way, I suspect this would make it even more damning in the eyes of polite Drow society when it is revealed. And therefore all the more valuable to us." Mace smirks at that.
“Oooor...she was pen pals with a pit fiend.” Igrainne snickers at the thought.
“In anycase, this is the second time we have found Devils being summoned in the Underdark. The first was only a few months ago and was much closer to where we entered now. I think it’s better we stopped it rather than leave them to bring something through,” Markas adds.
They all grow quiet at the thought and continue the rest of the journey back in silence.
Back in Port Ffirst, the group makes its way to the Rose of the Wind, the cartographer’s office of Nappin Gyrowhistle, who serves as the middleman between Mace and Sli’m. It only takes a few minutes for a runner to return with Sli’m. The drow cuts an imposing figure despite his short stature: dressed in all black with twin scimitars strapped to his belt, his surviving red eye gazes intensely out at the three adventurers from underneath a hood. Following behind him, another dark elf steps into the room — an unfamiliar woman adorned in spider silk garments.
"Ah, greetings my dear friend Slim!" Mace exclaims upon the Drow entering the office, "we return with glad tidings! The journey to the T'sylan estate was successful, and we bring evidence of their infernal corruption."
Sli’m nods solemnly at Mace and extends a hand out at him. “Let us see it.”
Mace hands over the stack of letters, detailing the infernal contract the priestess of House T’sylan had made. Sli’m unfolds one of them and squints at its contents. The female drow peers over his shoulder. “This is written in Infernal. But what does it say?”
Mace offers a wolfish grin, then explains. "The correspondence references a contract made in exchange for a number of souls. The reward was to be great, but undefined, power. Surely something sinister was in the works there. But fear not, we put a stop to it. While we managed to get into the estate without raising the alarm, we knocked out the guards, inside we found dead bodies in the living quarters, and a summoning circle in the fighting pit, along with more drow victims. The priestess and house guard captain were standing over the bodies and in the process of enacting a vile ritual, but we managed to interrupt it and kill the priestess and her henchman. Please forgive the violence, it was quite necessary, I assure you, mistress…?" he raises a questioning eyebrow at the hooded drow.
The woman’s lips curl into a self-satisfied smile as Mace finishes telling the tale. “Nasra T’sylan.” She gives an elegant curtsy. “I am a distant relative…”
“...And the new owner of the T’sylan manor,” cuts in Sli’m. The renegade drow appears less jubilant and more surprised. He turns his head to Igrainne and Markas. “You killed the priestess?” he asks in Elvish.
“As the tiefling said, they were attempting to summon something, likely more devils,” answers the ranger. “They’d been killing and sacrificing members of their own house for...whoever or whatever they made a pact with. So, yes, I made the call to kill them. I hope you’re fine with that. If you investigate the manor now, you’ll also find that they had desecrated an altar to Lolth. That, and the letters, should be enough to satisfy the matriarchs.”
“In truth, we were about to leave until we heard one of them scream. We only involved ourselves to stop whatever it was coming through… with the previous portal opening, we thought it best to prevent the second rather than worry about closing it,” Markas adds.
Nasra glances over at Igrainne and lets out an appreciative hmm. “No doubt the Spider Queen is pleased that the heretics were punished,” she purrs. “Well done. You’re not bad...for a half-drow.”
Igrainne flashes her a smirk. Mace shrugs. Markas looks to Nasra but says nothing.
“As the new owner of T’sylan manor, I can only congratulate you to your good turn of fortune...” Mace says to Nasra in Elvish, pointedly establishing he is not to be left out, before fluidly continuing in Undercommon to really drive it home, “...and I am sure you appreciate the role we had to play in this...fortuitous turn of events. You will move into your new estate then? I am looking for a contact in Xarribia to conduct business with. Might we discuss this in a more… private setting? I have an offer that I think you will be most interested in.” He flashes her another toothy smile. Igrainne catches something that could almost be described as hungry.
“I am sure, you and I will come to be the very best of friends.”
Sli’m continues, “There is your contact in Xarribia, as promised. Her ladyship shares many of your...business interests.” He gestures at Nasra, who chuckles at Mace’s platitudes. The pit fighter then stuffs the stack of letters into his leather satchel, his expression even more inscrutable than usual. “Maybe the Houses will hear me now. We shall see.”
“I suppose I will have to deal with my kinswomen in Aeschira sooner or later. But, Lolth willing, the accusations should advise them to stay away, for now,” says Nasra. Sli’m nods again and bows.
“And now, I must leave.” Sli’m’s black cloak flutters as he whips around to face the door. Half-out of the doorway, he pauses. “...You did well,” the male drow mutters, eyeing each of Menace, Igrainne, and Markas for a brief second before dashing out of the office.
“Be well, Sli’m Shad't'laz'tzan!” Igrainne shouts in their native tongue after him. She glances over at the rest of the party. “Alright, that’s my cue to leave. I’ll see you all in the Shank. Your ladyship.” She gives Nasra a wink as she steps out of the door. Nasra winks back.
“I should probably be off too… the two of you likely have a lot to discuss,” Markas says, making for the door. “It was good to see you again Mace. And it was nice to meet you Lady Nasra.” With that, the Half-Elf makes his way outside, closing the door behind him.
“So...Mister Mace, was it?” The drow taps a long, slender finger to her chin, staring the tiefling up and down, as if taking in his full measure. “Now, we can talk business. Needless to say, I am very much looking forward to hearing about your offer.”
"And you will not be disappointed." Mace says with a smile. "I am a businessman, trading in specialty wares from all over the continent, connecting eager clients that otherwise may not have met. Exotic Drow wares are among the most coveted, but trade with your people is… difficult at times. However, I understand you may be interested in dwarven craft - from the finest weapon- and toolsmiths in the world. Unfortunately, the dwarves have a certain aversion to trading with your people… something about blood feuds, slavery and night raids, I understand?” he says with a sly smile that does the ugly topic no justice, before continuing, “None of that concerns me of course, I simply wish to give you what you want and receive what I need.”
“It is true that my people have no trade relationship with the dwarves. Those we gather from Vorsthold don't seem to last long in our Underdark workshops, and their products are subpar. We try to incentivise them, but it seems we have not found the right combination of sharp sticks and deep-mushrooms yet…” Nasra says with a petulant frown on her face, though her interest clearly piqued.
“The right incentives are sometimes hard to gauge…” Mace waves the concern away, “...but I have an established arrangement with the very best of dwarven smiths' here on the surface. He will never know who the ultimate beneficiary of his weapons is, I will act as middle man, and you will receive better weapons than anyone else in Xarribia, or even Aeschira, could ever dream of possessing.” he lets the implication sink in for a moment, leaving greed to do his work for him.
“So let me propose this to you: I have a showcase set of dwarven weapons and tools that I could trade you for your Drow wares immediately. Darkwood, poisons, narcotics... I can find an interested buyer for all of those. We can begin small, to build a rapport, shall we say? And if my products are to your liking, we can make it a permanent arrangement and discuss larger volumes.”
When Nasra speaks, it is emphatically measured, but to the practised eye it is obvious that greed has sunk its ugly fangs deep into the Drow noble. They say that the Underdark operates under its own rules, but in the end, all people share the same desires.
“This sounds acceptable, friend Mace. I am sure we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
They shake on the deal. “It is strange…” Lady Nasra says, red eyes piercing from under her hood, “...when I came to the surface, I did not expect to return as the head of House T’sylan in Xarribia, much less with a potentially profitable new trade arrangement with surfacers in the making. The Goddess truly works in mysterious ways.”
