penultimacy – council of spiders, session seven
After the reception with the leaders of the allied houses, Imogen felt restless with her thoughts, and needed some time to process them. So she walked, taking a long, indirect route back to the slave quarters. She felt secure walking the streets of Menzoberranzan alone: although she was a valuable piece of property, traffickers would think twice about abducting her, for fear of drawing the wrath of the priestesses of Lolth. And if they didn’t, she was confident in her ability to subdue a few common street thugs.
The political climate of Menzoberranzan was definitely charged; the wizards and priestesses were on the verge of civil war, and there was a third faction of outsider assassins all too eager to help things along. She’d engaged in her own efforts to set the various sides against one another with subtle pressure during the reception she’d just left. She’d started seeing opportunity in the coming conflict – the drow leaders might be too wrapped up in their preparations for war to notice a single slave slipping away into the shadows of the Underdark.
Her path through the winding streets of the city brought her to the fringes of The Bazaar, the city’s chaotic, never ending, but always changing marketplace. Although she is a slave, her recent adventures had left her with a full purse, as her drow masters were too preoccupied to notice her secreting away gold and silver from the pockets of slain adversaries. If her plans for escape were to be effective, she needed equipment and supplies, and in The Bazaar, no one asked many questions.
Examining the wares at a clothier’s stall operated by a crone of a drow, Imogen is drawn to a plain, yet surprisingly well-constructed tunic of pale grey wool, stitched with a brilliant crimson thread. Her attunement for the arcane quickly identifies it as enchanted to provide additional protection against both physical and magickal threats. It stands out to her amongst the rest of the mundane and shabby inventory, though her intuition is that the merchant doesn’t know it’s true nature. It’s exactly the sort item that could mean the difference between freedom and slavery. She quickly negotiates a price, barely needing to use her abilities to bend the crone to her advantage. The price is still high, though worth it, given the potential stakes.
After returning to the house compound and resting for a few scant hours in her small cell, she’s awakened by Trash, a fellow slave who is also the tallest and most hairless dwarf she’s ever seen (rumors say he had a human mother), who informs her that the house leaders have summoned them.
She finds herself once again in the presence of the priestess Ash’ala of Melarn, Hosthtar Xorlariin, and the leader of the mercenaries of Bregan D’aerthe. Those summoned include Imogen, three other slaves, Trash, and a a pair of goblin fighters, calling themselves Frik and Frak; and three drow, Fyre, a paladin of Melarn, Xune, the warlock mercenary, and Tluthdar, a wizard of Xorlariin. The leaders set before the assembled party a task: representatives of the group of assassins sowing chaos have been located in the city’s slums. The mission is simple – go forth and kill them.
The party ventures into the slums, and quickly finds the hidden entrance to the assassin’s lair, which appears to be a basement under one of the crumbling buildings in the slum district. Upon entry, they are surprised to find a meeting in progress between Feryn, a high ranking priestess of Melarn (along with her entourage) and several black-armored drow warriors, clearly the advance guard of a high-ranking assassin. Feryn notices the party, muttering about how she “cannot be seen” as her guards move to sheild her from view. The assassins stand motionless, appearing to guard the entrance to a distant hallway.
Fyre calls out the priestess on her presence. Feryn offers first excuses, then threats, as the possibility of her exposure is presented: “Who would the leaders believe? You, barely a slave, or I who is closer to Lolth than all save Ash’ala herself?”, she calls, haughtily, before signalling her entourage to attack.
The assassins continue to remain still and impassive as the chaos mounts before them.
The battle rages, though it’s clear that the party has the advantage. Trash, the goblins, and Fyre charge forward and quickly lock Feryn into tight melee, while Imogen uses her powers to corral the junior priestesses and guards into advantageous positions for Xune and and Tluthdar to strike at en masse. Unfortunately, Tluthdar finds his abilities flagging, unable to connect with most of his powerful elemental attacks. Xune, with his mighty arcane flail, is more effective. Trash, the powerful “dwarf” is struck down, but is quickly returned to the fight thanks to a quickly administered healing potion.
Soon, only Feryn remains standing amongst the adversaries; as the party’s warriors move in for the finish, the assassins join the fray, apparently fearing for the safety of whomever or whatever they’re guarding. They charge forward from their positions in a wedge formation, striking at Xune, who shrugs of the blows, fading in and out of view, seemingly insubstantial, striking from the shadows. Imogen continues to push magickally at the foes, causing the assassins to turn on each other and maintain a comfortable distance away from her.
Suddenly, Feryn reaches toward the assassins, calling out “Your Strength to me!” Her significant wounds quickly begin healing, as the assassins find theirs worsening. Feryn presses the attack on the warriors surrounding her, while Tluthdar sends a mighty blast of fire into weakened assasins, finally connecting with one of his attacks.
Despite her magickal rejuvination, Feyrin is quickly subdued, and the assassins are vanquished. Beyond their sentry positions, a staircase descends further underground, clearly pointing the direction to the goal. The party pauses to staunch wounds and collect the spoils of battle. All the victors find their purses heavier, and the drow, already well-equipped, quarrel over several pieces of enchanted equipment: a sword, a suit of chainmail armor, and an amulet. Tluthdar, resentful of being outshined magickally by a mere human slave, tosses Imogen the amulet (which she’s identified as being enchanted to provide protection to the wearer), claiming that it’s scrap, since he’s already got a much better one.
While the party squabbles, Imogen hears the sound of footfalls descending from street level. She braces for further conflict, momentarily unsure of whether she should warn her companions of the approaching threat…
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