In the aftermath of a terrible battle deep within the Upperdark, the highest level of the Underdark, the air hung heavy with the lingering scent of burnt stone and the faint trace of magic. The once lively cavern now stood silent, a stark contrast to the violence that had unfolded here. Bodies of Drow, half-drow, and humans lay scattered across the cavern floor, roughly a dozen in total. The opposing sides remained a mystery, their identities lost amidst the chaos of death.
The dark walls seemed to close in, amplifying the dank quiet of the underground domain. The only sounds were the distant echoes of unseen creatures and the occasional drip of water. The eeriness was palpable, warning of the treacherous nature of the Underdark.
The bodies of fallen warriors painted a grim tableau of misery and loss. The cold stone floor was stained with the dark fluids of life extinguished too soon. The stillness was haunting, as if the very earth itself mourned the fallen.
Amidst the somber scene, a lone Mind Flayer sat on the rocky ground, lightly injured and fatigued. Its peculiar and unsettling appearance contrasted sharply with the grim surroundings. Tentacles writhed jerkily from its face.
The Mind Flayer appeared to be in a daze, its thoughts lost in the aftermath of the battle. Was it a survivor of the conflict, or had it orchestrated this violence from the shadows?
The eerie stillness enveloped the lone Mind Flayer, its presence a chilling reminder of the enigmatic dangers that lurked within the shadows of the Underdark. The creatures that called this subterranean realm home were as unpredictable as the dark caverns they inhabited, and they were not to be trifled with.
In the dim glow of the cavern, the Mind Flayer's keen eyes caught a glimpse of movement – a silhouette shifting amidst the shadows. Intrigued, it reached out with its psionic power, seeking to control the newcomer like a puppet on strings. Yet, to its surprise and frustration, its powers met an impenetrable wall, unable to sway the mind of this unyielding figure.
As the Duergar fighter named Darbakh stepped out of the darkness, the Mind Flayer's eyes widened with awe. Before it stood a grey dwarven warrior, formidable and unyielding. Clad in chain armor that glimmered in the dim light, he carried a massive maul with ease, each step resonating with power and purpose. He was like a boulder in the dark, an unmovable force that exuded raw strength.
The Mind Flayer attempted to gauge the dwarf's intentions, but its probing thoughts were met with an unyielding resistance, as if Darbakh's mind was shielded by an impenetrable fortress.
Wordlessly, Darbakh advanced, his eyes locked onto the Mind Flayer with an unwavering gaze. The creature, feeling a sudden urgency, tried desperately to psionically raise one of the lifeless bodies scattered around, hoping to gain an ally or a distraction. Yet, its efforts were in vain, the bodies remained lifeless, and the dark powers it commanded could not rekindle what was lost.
With a sense of impending doom, the Mind Flayer realized that it could not halt Darbakh's relentless approach. The dwarf's determination and resilience were beyond its comprehension, and its attempts to control or deceive him were futile.
As Darbakh drew closer, his maul held firmly in his grasp, the Mind Flayer was left with a chilling realization – it was now the one facing an unstoppable force. The tables had turned, and the creature found itself at the mercy of a warrior whose mind could not be manipulated.
The silence hung heavy in the air as the confrontation reached a critical juncture. The Mind Flayer, once a fearsome predator of the Underdark, now faced a foe whose strength and willpower surpassed its own. In a flash of desperation, the Mind Flayer pulled out a sword, hoping to fend off the unyielding dwarf. But Darbakh's reflexes were swift, and with a resounding clang, he knocked the weapon aside with his maul. The dwarf's determination burned brighter, his eyes narrowed with unwavering focus.
Undeterred, the Mind Flayer attempted to levitate, hoping to gain an advantage in the aerial realm. However, before it could rise, Darbakh grabbed hold of the creature's ankle with an iron grip, yanking it back to the ground with a thunderous thud.
With a powerful swing, Darbakh delivered a brutal punch to the Mind Flayer's stomach, the force of the blow causing the creature to gasp for breath. The dwarf's fists were like hammers, unrelenting and unwavering, as he rained down blow after blow upon the Mind Flayer's writhing form.
Once more, the Mind Flayer attempted to control Darbakh's mind with its psionic powers, but the fortress of the dwarf's will remained impenetrable. The creature's pleas for mercy echoed in the cavern, but they fell upon deaf ears. The atrocities committed by the Illithids were not easily forgiven, and Darbakh's rage surged with each attempted manipulation.
The sound of fists colliding with flesh reverberated through the chamber, and the Mind Flayer's telepathic pleas for mercy grew more desperate. Its once formidable power was rendered useless against this indomitable force, and it found itself at the mercy of the very being it had sought to control.
As Darbakh stood over the Mind Flayer, the creature remained conscious but utterly incapacitated, unable to move from the agony inflicted upon it. Its fractured limbs trembled with pain, and its telepathic voice was now a pitiful whimper.
As the dust settled from the intense confrontation, the deep gnome Brynni stepped out of the shadows, her wide-rimmed hat casting a faint silhouette on her face. She wore dirty overalls, practical attire for her role as a hireling. Lirak the Drow dredge followed, his tattered rags, shaven head, and mismatched shoes betraying the hardships he had endured. Resentment simmered beneath his surface as he joined the group, a silent participant in their quest.
After a moment of silence, Darbakh turned his gaze towards Lirak, his eyes expectant. "We came here to scavenge," he said firmly, his voice carrying an underlying command. "So scavenge."
Lirak complied without a word, his movements reflecting his discontent. His hands sifted through the belongings of the fallen, an act he begrudgingly undertook.
As Darbakh and Brynni moved away, leaving the corpses to Lirak's scavenging, Brynni engaged the duergar warrior in small talk. "What do you think happened here?" she speculated, her eyes surveying the scene. "Two sides clashed, but it's hard to tell who they were."
Darbakh's brow furrowed as he considered the question. "A skirmish, perhaps," he mused. "Or a feud between rival factions."
As they continued to explore the area, the mystery of the battle lingered in the air. The Upperdark held its secrets close, and the aftermath of this clash only deepened the enigma.
As Darbakh and Brynni continued their exploration amidst the aftermath of the battle, a faint glimmer caught the corner of the dwarf's eye. He turned towards the source of the light, and there it lay – a lightly shining toy. It sat amidst the spilled belongings of a fallen wizard, its intricate carvings adorned with glowing arcane runes.
Curiosity piqued, Darbakh picked up the item, a puzzle box, his calloused fingers tracing the intricate patterns etched into the wood. There was something undeniably alluring about the toy, a magnetic pull that drew him in. He inspected it closely, captivated by its craftsmanship.
As he marveled at the puzzle box, Brynni's voice brought him back to the present. "Darbakh, look," she said, pointing towards the retreating figure of the Mind Flayer, crawling away in a desperate attempt to escape.
Without hesitation, Darbakh swiftly stowed the puzzle box in his pocket, his mind now focused on the immediate threat. He grabbed a nearby rock and, with a precise throw, sent it hurtling towards the Mind Flayer. The creature fell motionless, its escape foiled by the grey dwarf's accurate aim.
Brynni chuckled beside him, a sense of camaraderie and shared triumph passing between them. "Nice shot,," she remarked, admiration lacing her words.
As the pair continued to laugh about their victory over the incapacitated Mind Flayer, they unknowingly left behind the pamphlet that had belonged to the fallen wizard. Unnoticed and unseen, the warning written on it remained hidden from perception, uncovered by investigation. With the puzzle box now safely tucked away and the Mind Flayer dealt with, they returned to their task of scavenging the remains of the battle. Loot gathered, they prepared to leave the scene, unknowingly taking the mystery of the puzzle box with them.
The trio departed, their minds focused on their next steps, the warning still concealed among the discarded belongings.
Just a bit of backstory for my character which I started writing while in a queue. I hope other people find it as fun to read as I found to write it. This prologue takes place in the year 1479DR.
Inside the cramped flat in Brampton, located in the bustling Lower City of Baldur's Gate, the atmosphere was a chaotic blend of coziness and disarray. The wooden walls enclosed the space, and dusty floors bore the marks of countless footsteps. Most of the furniture, intended for comfort and relaxation, was now cluttered with packages, unopened bags, and an assortment of knick-knacks, creating a disorganized maze.
Amidst the clutter, Brynni stood, a picture of professionalism amidst the chaos. Her attire, suited to her role as a retainer, seemed somewhat out of place in the humble surroundings of Brampton. As she sorted through the mail in the cramped anteroom, surrounded by everyone's spare shoes, she brought a semblance of order to the jumble of their lives. In passing, Lirak made his way to the kitchen, wearing a stained chef's apron.
As the heavy wooden door creaked open, Darbakh entered the flat, wearing a blacksmith's apron smeared with ash. He looked preoccupied but determined, the day's toil etched on his face. Brynni greeted him with a warm smile, setting aside the mail to help him with his boots.
"Long day at the forge?" she asked, knowing the answer already but engaging in the routine banter that held their bond.
"Aye, the city guards needed more weapons," Darbakh replied, his tone reflecting both mental weariness and pride in his craftsmanship. "They're always looking for something sturdy, but not too sturdy, if you catch my drift."
Brynni chuckled knowingly, her eyes conveying a silent understanding. "Ah, the delicate balance of weapon-making," she said playfully. "Well, I have something for you too." She motioned towards the side table, where an unmarked package lay inconspicuously.
Darbakh's expression softened as he unwrapped the package, revealing a forged import license and a small pouch of coins. "You're a lifesaver," he said gratefully, knowing the arrangement between them.
When he walked towards the den, his movements were a blend of boredom and unease. As they chatted briefly about incoming payments and outgoing goods, the flat buzzed with an undercurrent of clandestine transactions. But amidst the mundane talk, a sudden noise interrupted their exchange. Darbakh accidentally knocked over one of the unopened crates and bags that littered the furniture, and as it toppled, the puzzle box tumbled out, landing with a soft thud on the dusty floor.
His eyes fixed on the enigmatic object before him, Darbakh felt a strange unease wash over him. There was something familiar yet foreign about the puzzle box, as if its presence had stirred a long-buried memory. He hesitated, his fingers hovering over the intricate carvings, before slowly picking it up. The warmth of the wood against his skin sent shivers down his spine, and he found himself lost in the depths of the glowing arcane runes.
Brynni's voice calling his name seemed distant, muffled by the thoughts racing through his mind. The puzzle box, seemingly innocent and innocuous, held secrets that seemed just beyond his grasp.
As he stared at the box, time seemed to stand still, the weight of its mysteries heavy upon him. With a deep breath, he closed his fingers around the puzzle box.
Darbakh's thick fingers traced the delicate runes etched into the puzzle box, marveling at how they faintly glowed in response to his touch. The subtle luminescence seemed to dance beneath his calloused skin, an ethereal dance that captured his attention. Brynni glanced at the box curiously and asked, "Where do you think this came from?"
Darbakh paused, his brow furrowing slightly as he considered the question. "I suppose we might have found it while scavenging in the Underdark," he replied thoughtfully. Memories of their early adventures in the dark depths stirred within him, but the details eluded him.
A wistful expression crossed Brynni's face as she reminisced about their time in the Underdark. "I miss it sometimes," she mused, her eyes momentarily distant.
Darbakh's gaze softened as he understood the nostalgia that gripped his companion. However, he gently reminded her, "Our return passage caved in near Neverwinter. The past is best left where it belongs."
Brynni nodded in acknowledgment, a tinge of sadness mingling with her memories. "Come on, let's go eat," she said, breaking the contemplative moment. With a nod, Darbakh set the puzzle box down unceremoniously on the floor, the glow of its runes fading as it lost his touch.
Unbeknownst to them, a magical surge pulsed through the artifact, like an automated beacon which had laid dormant for the past decade.
Thank you for reading it! Pandora is, indeed, setting up her unboxing playlist.
The first light of dawn filtered through the small window, casting a soft glow in the cramped flat. As the world outside stirred awake, Darbakh roused from his slumber, woken by Brynni’s voice in the hallway outside his bedroom door.
"Darbakh, there's someone at the door. I don't know them."
Ever territorial, he was quick to respond, despite his reluctance to rise early. He sat up, his warrior's instincts taking over, and got dressed. "I'll check it out," he murmured as he walked out, down the hall, and then downstairs.
In the dimly lit space, the creaking of the floorboards announced Lirak's presence. He opened a door hidden beneath the stairs, revealing his sleeping quarters in the small closet-like space. Although still groggy from sleep, he peered out curiously.
With Brynni and Darbakh both on alert, they made their way to the door. The morning air held a sense of mystery as they approached, the stranger's identity hidden behind the wooden barrier. Brynni's hesitation was evident, the uncertainty written on her face.
As Darbakh cautiously peered through the peephole, he beheld a sight unlike any he had seen in Brampton. A fire Genasi stood at the door, dressed in vibrant, exotic attire that seemed to come from distant and unknown lands. The colorful fabrics and intricate jewelry adorning the stranger jingled and jangled with every movement, giving him an animated air.
With a flamboyant flourish, the Genasi introduced himself. “Greetings, fair occupants; you’re now graced by a visit from Spark Emberflare, a traveling merchant from lands far beyond your city's borders. I come with great business deals!” His presence exuded an aura of otherworldliness, leaving no doubt that he was indeed foreign and out-of-place.
Darbakh remained silent, observing Spark with an intensity that matched the stranger's animated demeanor. The fire Genasi continued to knock on the door persistently, his voice rising in excitement as he called out for the occupants of the flat.
"Hello, hello! Anyone home?" Spark exclaimed, his words carrying a lilt of enthusiasm that was hard to ignore. "I have an offer you simply can't refuse! The most wondrous treasures and rare artifacts from the corners of the realms await you!"
The sound of the jingling and jangling trinkets seemed to echo through the flat, mingling with the tension in the air. Darbakh's hand hovered near the doorknob, yet he hesitated, torn between curiosity and caution. The morning sun cast a golden glow on Spark's animated features, highlighting the mesmerizing fire-like hues that danced within his eyes. He seemed to embody a tale spun from a realm of enchantment, and his presence bore a promise of adventure and mystery.
As the relentless knocking echoed through the narrow alleyway, Spark's animated voice rang out once more, his words carrying a sense of urgency. "I know you have it! The puzzle box! I've been searching for it, and I must have it!"
Darbakh's patience reached its limit, and with a surge of anger, he swung open the door. In one swift motion, he seized Spark by the collar, yanking the fire Genasi inside their anteroom and slamming him against the wall. The wooden door of their flat closed with a resounding thud. Lirak quickly closed the door to his hiding place beneath the stairs, vanishing from sight.
"Who sent you?" Darbakh demanded, his voice taut with anger and suspicion. He glared at Spark, his grip unyielding, as the fire Genasi struggled to catch his breath.
Brynni stepped forward, her voice gentle yet firm, attempting to defuse the tension. "Darbakh, let him go. We don’t need the guards in here asking about any incidents."
Spark gasped for air, his eyes wide with surprise. "I-I mean you no harm," he stammered, trying to compose himself. "I was sent here to find the puzzle box, an artifact of great power and ancient magic. It holds secrets that few can comprehend."
Darbakh's grip on Spark's collar loosened slightly, though the fire Genasi still felt trapped against the wall. "Secrets? What do you know about us? And who sent you?" he pressed.
Spark hesitated, weighing his words carefully. "The puzzle box is more than just an artifact; it's a rare item with many wealthy bidders," he explained. "Only I can be your middleman to those bidders."
As the gravity of Spark's words settled in, Darbakh's expression softened, though he kept a watchful eye on the fire Genasi. The puzzle box, once an innocent curiosity, now seemed to carry a weight of significance that he hadn't fully grasped before.
Brynni's voice held a note of concern as she probed further. "And who sent you on this mission, Spark? Who is after the puzzle box?"
Spark glanced between Darbakh and Brynni, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features. "I-I can't reveal their names. It's a dangerous game, and those who covet the box will stop at nothing to possess it. Wealthy bidders are in conflict over it."
As Spark attempted to compose himself, Darbakh's stern gaze bore into him, demanding answers. "Tell me who sent you," Darbakh urged, his voice firm and unyielding.
Spark took a deep breath, visibly anxious, and began to explain, "I am a finder of lost artifacts, a merchant of the rare and mystical. The puzzle box holds a magical beacon, one that alerted my caravan to its presence. My business is standard and common; I merely seek out valuable relics and offer deals to those willing to part with them."
Darbakh's expression softened slightly, but suspicion lingered in his eyes. "So, you claim the puzzle box called to you?" he inquired, his tone measured.
"Yes, yes! Exactly," Spark replied, nodding fervently. "Its enchantment was unmistakable to those who are attuned to such things. I only seek to make an honest trade, nothing more."
Brynni stepped forward, her voice calm and inquisitive. "But why the urgency? Why did you need to find the puzzle box so quickly?"
Spark hesitated for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "The puzzle box holds great significance to certain nobles in the realm. Collectors. My clientele desires it, and they don't take kindly to delays or missed opportunities. I had to act swiftly to secure the artifact before any of my own competitors did."
Darbakh remained silent, listening intently. Spark's explanation held an air of sincerity, but the fear in the fire Genasi's eyes betrayed his anxiety about the dwarf possibly doubting him.
"You must understand," Spark continued, his voice wavering slightly, "I have a reputation to uphold as a reputable merchant. Missing out on a find like this could tarnish my standing and jeopardize future ventures."
Darbakh nodded thoughtfully, absorbing the information. As he remained silent, Spark continued to speak, attempting to justify his role in this unfolding drama.
"I assure you, my intentions are honest," Spark insisted, his voice pleading. "I can offer you a fair deal, a generous sum for the puzzle box, one that will ensure you’re well-compensated without any requirement for labor on your part."
Darbakh said little in response, his expression unreadable. The fire Genasi's words spilled forth, a mix of fear and desperation, as he tried to convince the trio of his sincerity.
As Darbakh shifted slightly, Spark flinched instinctively, his fear of physical retribution apparent in his quick reaction. The fire Genasi's eyes darted nervously, but Darbakh hadn't intended to harm him; he had been lost in thought, contemplating the situation at hand.
Brynni leaned in, whispering words of persuasion to Darbakh. "Let him go, Darbakh," she urged, her voice barely audible. "Hear him out. If his offer is as good as he claims, we could use the money."
Darbakh hesitated, torn between his natural wariness and the allure of the potential riches that Spark seemed eager to promise. Finally, he released his grip on the fire Genasi's collar, allowing him to step away from the wall.
"Talk then," Darbakh said gruffly, giving Spark a wary look. "But be quick about it. We've got no time for games."
Spark, still apprehensive but sensing an opportunity, followed Brynni into the den and took a seat. The tension in the room seemed to lessen slightly as he settled in. Once seated, Spark's demeanor underwent a subtle transformation. Gone was the anxious fidgeting, replaced by a newfound confidence as he launched into his sales pitch.
"My friends," he began, his voice more composed, "the puzzle box is no ordinary trinket. It’s unique, crafted by an artificer who’s since passed away; curators and collectors across the Sword Coast seek it. With the right connections and resources, I can find the most esteemed buyers for it, those who are willing to pay handsomely for its enchanting allure."
Brynni listened intently, her professional instincts guiding her assessment of Spark's words. Darbakh, too, remained attentive, although his suspicion had not entirely dissipated.
"You see," Spark continued, "if we strike the right deal, the rewards will be beyond your wildest dreams. I can assure you that the riches I can bring your way will far surpass anything you've ever encountered."
As Spark's words painted a picture of boundless wealth, the room seemed to fill with the allure of endless possibilities. The puzzle box, once a curious trinket, now held the potential to transform their lives in ways they had never imagined. Darbakh's skepticism wavered, replaced by a glimmer of intrigue. Brynni's eyes sparkled with excitement, her mind racing with thoughts of what their future might hold.
The fire Genasi continued, his voice persuasive and filled with conviction, "All I ask is that you trust me, give me a chance to find the right buyer, and in return, I promise you a fortune beyond your wildest dreams. Your days of scraping by in the Lower City will be a distant memory, replaced by a life of luxury and opulence. 5,000 gold pieces, bank notes proving your ownership, and access to finances from the Upper City; that is my offer," Spark repeated with a glimmer in his eyes. "You will want for nothing! Just hand over the puzzle box, and it will be yours!"
Brynni's eyes widened at the tempting offer, her imagination already running wild with visions of grandeur and prosperity. Darbakh, however, remained steadfast and resolute.
"You are mistaken if you think I’ll part with the puzzle box so easily," Darbakh said firmly, his voice unwavering.
"But the wealth, the treasures!" Brynni whispered, her voice filled with longing.
With a determined look, Darbakh took a step forward and reached out to grab Spark by the collar. He swiftly guided the fire Genasi towards the door and physically threw him out onto the cold streets of Brampton.
"You've overstepped your bounds," Darbakh said sternly as he slammed the door shut after Spark.
Outside in the narrow alleyway, Spark's desperate pleas continued, but Darbakh paid them no heed. He knew that some offers were too good to be true.
"Brynni," Darbakh said, turning to face his loyal companion, "fast-talking merchants like Spark don't hand out such large sums of money to people like us. He was a charlatan, trying to deceive us with false promises."
She managed a weak smile, appreciating his understanding. "I know we should be cautious, but part of me dared to hope for a better life."
Darbakh and Brynni peered through the peephole, watching as one of their half-elf neighbors' children chased Spark away with a broom. The fire Genasi scampered down the narrow alleyway, leaving behind a trail of hasty retreat.
"He got what he deserved," Darbakh muttered, folding his arms across his chest.
Brynni nodded in agreement. "Seems like he was up to no good, trying to muscle in on someone else's territory."
"It's a dangerous game he was playing," Darbakh replied, his gaze following Spark's hurried departure. "Smugglers don't take kindly to intruders."
Brynni sighed, finally putting the event behind her. "Well, at least we know to be even more cautious in the future."
With a nod, Darbakh turned away from the peephole and looked at the puzzle box in his hand. "Speaking of caution, we should be careful with this. If our customers have competitors for shifting goods past the city wall, then we can’t afford any extra attention."
Brynni nodded solemnly, understanding the significance of the enigmatic artifact. Without another word, she took the puzzle box from Darbakh and dropped it in a nearby trash can.
"There, it can sit with the other discarded junk," she said, a hint of relief in her voice.
It will come as no surprise that, once again, they didn’t notice the runes flash like a beacon signal when it hit the bottom of the can.
Not gonna lie, feeling a bit bad for a mind flayer there, and the rest of the story was equally cool, felt like we were sitting in the room watching it happen
Not gonna lie, feeling a bit bad for a mind flayer there, and the rest of the story was equally cool, felt like we were sitting in the room watching it happen
Thank you! I’m doing my best to think of the readers first.
Now you have me thinking about the mind flayer again. Look at how fickle I am…
As the dirty smithy in Brampton hummed with activity, Darbakh stood by one of the roaring forges, his blacksmith's apron smeared with soot and sweat glistening on his furrowed brow. With each precise strike of his hammer, a red-hot blade took shape, the clang of metal on metal echoing through the cramped space.
The aging human owner supervised the proceedings, his watchful eyes darting between the workers. Darbakh and the owner exchanged subtle glances, an unspoken understanding passing between them. With a knowing look, they confirmed that this batch of weapons would be intentionally flawed, ensuring they would require repairs soon after they were sold.
As the hammering continued, Darbakh leaned closer to the owner, their voices barely audible over the clatter. "We'll add just a hint of imperfection," Darbakh said in a low voice, "enough to guarantee they'll need us back."
The owner nodded in agreement. "Aye, but not so much that they suspect foul play. It's an art, Darbakh, to keep them coming back without arousing suspicion."
"We've mastered it," Darbakh replied, a hint of pride in his voice. "Our craftsmanship is renowned, and they'll keep returning for the repairs as much as for the weapons."
The owner smiled, the lines on his weathered face softening. "Aye, that they will. A steady flow of customers means a steady flow of coin."
In the background, the rhythmic clanging of metal on metal masked their hushed conversation. The blades took shape under Darbakh's skilled hands, concealing the subtle flaws that would reveal themselves only in time. It was a delicate dance of craftsmanship and cunning, ensuring the longevity of their business and the loyalty of their patrons.
As the rhythmic clanging of metal filled the air, one of the owner's sons called out from the front office, his voice carrying through the workshop. "Hey, Pa! We got a lady out here asking for Darbakh!"
The owner glanced in the direction of his son's voice, his weathered face contorting with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. "Tell her she'll have to wait like everyone else," he grumbled, not bothering to hide his frustration.
"But Pa," the son protested, "she seems important. She's asking for Darbakh specifically!"
Darbakh raised an eyebrow, momentarily distracted from his work at the unexpected mention of his name. "Who could it be?" he wondered aloud, pausing in his hammering.
The owner sighed and shook his head. "Take a break, Darbakh," he said, wiping his hands on his apron. "You've been at it for six hours straight. Go see what this lady wants."
Darbakh shrugged, a faint grin on his face as he removed his apron and hung it on a nearby rack. "Six hours ain't that long," he mumbled, though he appreciated the break all the same.
He made his way to the front office, the sounds of the bustling workshop fading behind him. The air outside was refreshing, and he breathed in deeply as he approached the counter where the owner's son stood.
"So, who's this important lady asking for me?" Darbakh inquired, trying to suppress his curiosity.
The owner's son pointed to a woman waiting by the entrance. It wasn't anyone he knew; instead, standing there was a red-skinned tiefling dressed in noble attire, her presence standing out amidst the industrial surroundings.
Curiosity mingled with caution as Darbakh approached her, his eyes carefully studying her socially mismatched clothing. "Can I help you, miss?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
She smiled, a glint of confidence in her eyes. "I believe you can," she replied in a voice filled with an almost naïve sound of hope. "My name is Lady Laelia Emberflare," she said, her tone refined and composed. "I've heard of your reputation, Mr. Darbakh, and I believe I may require your services."
Darbakh couldn't help but feel a mix of curiosity and wariness at the noblewoman's approach. "Well, Lady Laelia, the owner handles all orders," he replied, trying to maintain a friendly but cautious demeanor.
She toyed with the edge of her hand fan. "You see, Mr. Darbakh, I'm in need of something... specialized," she said cryptically, her words hanging in the air with an air of mystery.
He furrowed his brow, not one to beat around the bush. "Like I said, the owner handles orders. How abut I go bring him over?" Darbakh inquired, trying to get to the heart of the matter. She shook her head at him, though. “What do you want to talk to me for?”
Laelia seemed to enjoy the game of words, her smile widening slightly. "Oh, nothing illegal, of course," she said with a soft chuckle. "Just something that might have found its way into this city through less conventional means, if you catch my meaning. Something I’m willing to pay for."
Darbakh raised an eyebrow, catching the allusion to smuggled goods. He decided to play the ignorant card, feigning innocence. "I'm afraid I don't quite follow, Lady Laelia. My business here is in the crafting of fine weapons, nothing more," he said, hoping to steer the conversation away from any dubious dealings.
She nodded knowingly, her composure unwavering. "Of course, Mr. Darbakh. Forgive my assumption," she said politely. "But I've heard whispers that you might know someone who deals with such... unconventional items."
Darbakh remained steadfast in his feigned ignorance. "I'm sorry, Lady Laelia, but I'm just a simple blacksmith," he insisted, avoiding any direct involvement in her hints.
Laelia hesitated for a moment before asking, "Mr. Darbakh, would you be willing to listen to my appeal?"
Darbakh furrowed his brow, still wary of her vague hints and evasive demeanor. "Alright, I'll listen," he replied hesitantly, crossing his arms. "But be direct with me this time. No more beating around the bush."
She nodded, her expression serious. "Thank you, Mr. Darbakh. I apologize for being indirect earlier. It's just... difficult to discuss," she said, her voice tinged with sadness.
Darbakh's curiosity was piqued, but he kept his guard up. "Go on," he urged, trying not to let his impatience show.
Laelia took a deep breath and continued, "My grandfather...well, we lost him. The years have been hard for me, and I believe you might be able to help a bereaved granddaughter."
Darbakh struggled to feign understanding, though he still remained impatient. "I'm sorry for your loss," he said. "I'll listen to what you have to say."
Laelia nodded, gratitude evident in her eyes. "Thank you, Mr. Darbakh. That's all I ask for," she said, her voice a mix of hope and apprehension.
Laelia settled into a chair, her eyes searching Darbakh's face as she began her explanation. "You see, I... lost my grandfather not too long ago. He left behind an heirloom of great sentimental and monetary value. But, it was stolen from my family when he passed away, decades ago."
Darbakh's eyebrows furrowed as he listened, sensing there was more to her story than she was revealing. "Stolen, you say?" he asked, trying to grasp the significance of her words.
"Yes," she replied. "I've been searching for it for a long time, and I believe I've finally tracked it down. My magical beacon led me to you, Mr. Darbakh."
As soon as she mentioned the ‘magical beacon,’ Darbakh's heart sank. He knew exactly what she was talking about - the puzzle box. He tried to hide his shock and discomfort, but it was evident in his expression. He had a sinking feeling that his life was about to become much more complicated.
Darbakh tried to hide his irritation, nodding politely as he said, "I understand, but I need to get back to work."
Laelia sensed his discomfort and quickly apologized with her impeccable manners. "I'm sorry for intruding, Mr. Darbakh, but I truly believe you can help me. You see, I can get that man, Spark, out of your life if you help me with the heirloom. He's a notorious swindler who will go to any lengths to rob my family of what rightfully belongs to us."
Darbakh's curiosity got the better of him. "Who do you think Spark is?" he asked, carefully holding back what he knew about the fire Genasi.
Laelia looked earnestly into his eyes. "He's a cunning trickster, skilled in deception and manipulation. He's been hounding me for information about the heirloom ever since he got wind of it. If you help me, I promise you won't have to deal with him anymore."
The grey dwarf remained cautious, contemplating her words and the potential danger Spark might pose. He didn't fully trust Laelia yet, but he couldn't deny that he wanted to be rid of the troublesome fire Genasi.
Darbakh nodded, trying to hide the conflicting thoughts swirling in his mind. "I'll sleep on it," he said, not revealing that he was leaning towards getting rid of the puzzle box and its troublesome beacon altogether.
Laelia's eyes lit up with joy, and she thanked Darbakh profusely, over and over again. He awkwardly tried to usher her towards the door, but her gratitude seemed endless. "Thank you so much, Mr. Darbakh. You have no idea what this means to me," she repeated, her words pouring out like a waterfall.
As she finally made her way to the door, Laelia handed him a small business card with the name of an inn in the Lower City. "Please, contact me there when you've made your decision. I'll be eagerly waiting to hear from you, and I promise to compensate you for your trouble if you bring the puzzle box to me."
Darbakh forced a smile and nodded. "I'll follow up, don't worry," he replied vaguely, knowing that he had to be careful with his words. As he saw Laelia out the door, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was getting himself entangled in something far beyond his usual troubles. The puzzle box seemed to be more than just a curious trinket, and now he had a tiefling noblewoman looking to recover a lost heirloom. Darbakh knew he needed to tread carefully, but he couldn't deny the intrigue and the potential for reward. With Laelia gone, he closed the door and leaned against it, letting out a heavy sigh as he contemplated the decision he was about to make.
As Darbakh approached his flat in the narrow alley, he couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment. The day at the smithy had been productive, and the vegetables he had bought from the market weighed pleasantly in his hands. However, as he went to unlock the door, his ears caught the sound of raised voices inside.
Curiosity piqued, Darbakh hesitated for a moment, trying to make out the words from the muffled argument within. He couldn't decipher the exact content of their dispute yet, but it was clear that both Brynni and Lirak were upset about something. With a sigh, Darbakh turned the knob and slowly pushed the door open. As Darbakh stepped inside the flat, he immediately noticed the puzzle box lying on the floor. It seemed odd, as he distinctly remembered Brynni tossing it in the trash can earlier that day. Before he could question its presence, his attention was drawn to Brynni and Lirak, who were frantically talking to each other.
"It's been moving, I'm telling you! I saw it!" Brynni exclaimed, her eyes wide with fear.
Lirak nodded vigorously in agreement, adding, "Yeah, and I saw it too! It's like it's alive or something!"
Darbakh furrowed his brow, trying to make sense of their words. The flat was in a state of disarray, with scattered papers and misplaced objects strewn about. He could feel the tension in the air, but it was unclear what had caused their anxiety.
"What do you mean it's been moving?" Darbakh interrupted, his curiosity mixed with concern.
Brynni and Lirak exchanged nervous glances, hesitating to answer. It was evident that they were both afraid, but Darbakh couldn't quite grasp the reason behind their fear. He listened intently as Brynni recounted the strange events involving the puzzle box.
"So, you're saying it just...moved on its own?" Darbakh asked, raising an eyebrow.
Brynni nodded, her hands trembling slightly. "Yes, that's exactly what happened. Lirak and I both saw it."
Darbakh pondered for a moment, offering possible explanations, "Well, maybe the floor is uneven, and it just rolled to the door. Or maybe someone is playing a prank on us."
Brynni shook her head, frustration evident in her voice. "No, I thought of that too. But the floor is even, and the puzzle box was placed firmly against the door. There's no way it could have moved on its own, and I highly doubt anyone would be pulling a prank like this."
Darbakh tried again, "Could it be some kind of draft that pushed it around?"
"I don't think so," Brynni replied, exasperated. "The door was closed, and there was no breeze in here."
Darbakh fell silent for a moment, contemplating the situation. He could see the genuine fear in Brynni's eyes. However, his logical suggestions seemed to fall short in light of the inexplicable events.
Finally, Brynni let out a sigh and looked at him, her voice tinged with frustration. "Darbakh, I know it sounds crazy, but I'm telling you, the puzzle box is moving on its own. I don't know how or why, but I'm scared."
Darbakh was about to say something else when Brynni's urgent gesture caught his attention again. He followed her pointed finger to the floor and saw the puzzle box resting on top of his foot. His eyes widened in surprise, and he blinked in disbelief.
"I didn't feel it move there," Darbakh said, his voice tinged with unease. “Now this Laelia lady is asking about it…maybe her visit triggered this thing.”
Darbakh hesitated for a moment before replying, "She's the one who came to the smithy today. The lady with the heirloom story."
Brynni's brow furrowed as she asked, "What heirloom story? You just got home, you didn’t tell us any heirloom story."
Darbakh sighed, "Some noble named Laelia claims it belonged to her grandfather, and she's willing to pay us for it. She even said she could get Spark off our backs."
Brynni's eyes widened in surprise, "Really? But how does she know about the puzzle box? Or that Spark was here?"
Darbakh shook his head, "I don't know. She said something about a magical beacon and tracking it down. But honestly, I don't believe her either. Just like Spark, it all seems too good to be true."
"I agree," Brynni said with a measure of reluctance. "Both of them offering money and promises... it's all suspicious."
Darbakh crossed his arms, his skepticism evident. "Exactly. I don't trust either of them. We should be careful."
As the puzzle box's magical beacon flared again, the dimly lit flat was filled with an eerie glow, and both Darbakh and Brynni paused in their tracks. Darbakh's eyes narrowed as he picked up the box, his mind filled with conflicting thoughts and emotions. Without a word, he walked towards the door, his footsteps firm and determined.
"Darbakh, where are you going?" Brynni called after him, concern lacing her voice.
He closed the door behind him, leaving Brynni and Lirak inside the flat, and stepped out into the narrow winding alleys of Brampton. The evening had draped a quiet stillness over the area, and the empty streets added to the sense of solitude. Darbakh's steps were measured, his eyes focused ahead, unwavering in his silent determination. In the dim light of the evening, the neighborhood’s cluttered buildings loomed over him like silent sentinels, casting long shadows that stretched across the cobblestone streets. The sense of isolation grew as he ventured deeper into the heart of Brampton, away from the bustling main thoroughfares. Eventually, he reached an inner-city canal which ran from the harbor and back out again.
The canal's murky waters glistened with reflections of dim streetlights, casting an eerie glow over the wooden pier. Darbakh's hands trembled with a mix of frustration and regret as he stood at the water's edge, staring down at the puzzle box clutched tightly in his grasp. With a brief second thought, he mustered all his strength and hurled the box into the canal. A muffled splash echoed through the empty alleyway as the puzzle box disappeared beneath the polluted water. Darbakh's heart raced, hoping that he had finally rid himself of the mysterious artifact and its strange beacon.
Breathing heavily, he turned around, only to find the puzzle box lying right in front of him, as if it had never been thrown into the canal. Confusion washed over him, and he couldn't comprehend what was happening. It was as if the puzzle box defied the laws of reality, refusing to be discarded. The canal's putrid stench seemed to grow stronger, mingling with the scent of damp wood and decaying garbage. The littered pier creaked under Darbakh's weight as he stood frozen in disbelief.
He gazed down at the puzzle box, its intricate runes seemingly mocking him. Every fiber of his being urged him to toss it into the canal again, to be free of its haunting presence. The quiet of the night was broken only by the distant sound of water lapping against the stone canal walls. No other soul dared venture near the deserted pier, leaving Darbakh to face this inexplicable dilemma alone.
Darbakh's frustration mounted with each failed attempt to rid himself of the puzzle box. He threw it into the canal once again, watching it disappear beneath the murky waters. Yet, as he turned around, the box was there, mocking him from the edge of his vision.
Grim determination filled his eyes as he tried again, and again, and again. Each time, the result was the same: the puzzle box reappeared, teasingly dancing in his peripheral vision. It seemed to defy his very will, always returning in a direction where he wasn't looking directly.
"Enough of this nonsense!" Darbakh growled, his patience wearing thin. He glared at the box, feeling as if it taunted him with its mere existence. He was tired of the endless cycle, tired of the puzzle box's relentless pursuit.
Frustrated, he knelt down and picked up the box, holding it up to his face. "What do you want from me?" he muttered, half-expecting a response. Of course, the box remained silent, offering no answers to his desperate plea.
In his heart, Darbakh knew the puzzle box was just an object, a thing with no consciousness or intent. Yet, its inexplicable behavior seemed to defy all logic and reason. It was as if some otherworldly force was toying with him, ensnaring him in its grip. He realized that he couldn't simply throw it away or ignore it any longer. Defeated, he stuffed the box in his pocket and turned away from the canal.
Darbakh's footsteps echoed softly through the empty alley as he walked, lost in thought. His hands remained deep in his pockets, the puzzle box resting there, seemingly mocking his every attempt to be rid of it. As he ambled down the narrow path, the dim light of nearby lanterns cast long shadows on the walls around him. The neighborhood was quiet, and the night air was filled with a sense of tranquility that contrasted with the turmoil in his mind.
Finally, a sense of resignation settled over him. He couldn't escape the puzzle box's hold, and perhaps it was time to face whatever awaited him on the other side of this strange encounter. Laelia's words echoed in his ears, her alluring promise of money still lingering in his thoughts. Tomorrow, he would seek her out and hand it over to her.
Darbakh pushed open the heavy wooden door, the creak echoing softly through the inn's lobby. The Blade and Star greeted him with a cozy warmth, the hearth crackling with a gentle flame. The scent of spiced ale and hearty stews filled the air, mingling with the soft murmurs of conversation from the scattered groups of guests.
He stepped inside, his dark brown cloak clinging to his sturdy frame. His weathered boots padded quietly across the wooden floor, eyes scanning the room. There were travelers, adventurers, and locals, all gathered under the inn's roof for various reasons. Darbakh didn't make eye contact, nor did he exchange pleasantries; he was a man on a mission.
He made his way to the second floor, passing other guests who nodded in polite acknowledgment. He climbed the wooden steps to the third floor, scanning the faces of those he passed without a word.
Finally, on the fourth floor, he glanced down the hallway, finding a solitary figure approaching. It was Laelia, wearing her regal attire with an air of grace. The hallway of the Blade and Star Inn was dimly lit, its wooden floors creaking.
Laelia expressed her gratitude, "Darbakh, thank you so much for coming. I truly appreciate your help with the puzzle box."
He nodded politely, but impatience lingered in his eyes as he responded, "You're welcome, but I hope it won't take too long."
Laelia extended a courteous invitation, gesturing toward her inn room where a combination of gold coins and bank notes were neatly arranged on a table. "Please, come in, Darbakh. It's more suitable to discuss matters inside."
Darbakh hesitated, glancing at the room before returning his gaze to her. "I'm not sure it's necessary to go in. We can handle the details here."
She smiled warmly. "I assure you, it's merely for privacy and safety. I don't want prying eyes or ears interfering with our dealings."
He considered her words for a moment, weighing the pros and cons. Before he could answer, though, a familiar voice called out to them from down the hallway. Both he and Laelia turned in surprise to see Spark approaching them.
"How in the blazes did you find us?" Darbakh demanded, suspicion creeping into his tone.
Laelia's previously composed demeanor shifted drastically as Spark drew near. Her posh manners evaporated, and she snapped at the Genasi, "What are you doing here? My bloodline will be restored, do you think you can stop me?"
Ignoring her aggression, Spark pleaded with Darbakh, his voice tinged with desperation, "Please, don't sell my grandfather to her!"
Darbakh's confusion deepened, and he interrupted the exchange, holding up his hands. "Whoa, whoa! Hold on a moment! I don't know what either of you are talking about. I'm not selling anybody's grandpa to anyone!"
As Spark fell to his knees, he clutched at Darbakh's cloak, pitiful pain etched across his face. "Please, you have to listen to me! My grandfather is trapped inside that cursed puzzle box," he pleaded, his voice filled with anguish.
Darbakh's eyes widened in surprise, unsure of whether to believe Spark's dramatic proclamation. "What are you talking about? That's impossible!" he retorted.
Laelia's brown furrowed angrily, and she scowled at Spark. "Oh, for the love of the gods, stop with your theatrics! Just shut up and make your peace with failure!" she snapped, her posh facade completely gone.
But Spark seemed undeterred by her scolding, continuing his plea. "It's true! I know it sounds absurd, but the puzzle box has been moving on its own. I saw it with the same device I used to track the beacon," he insisted, his voice trembling with emotion.
In a burst of frustration and anger, Darbakh forcefully shoved Spark away, causing the flamboyant merchant to stumble and fall to the ground. "Enough of this nonsense!" he growled, his patience wearing thin.
But before Darbakh could demand an explanation from Laelia, she stepped forward, her voice trembling with urgency. "Wait, Darbakh, it's true. My grandfather is trapped inside the puzzle box," she admitted, her eyes welling up with tears.
Darbakh's accusation hung heavy in the air, and he looked at Laelia with a mix of confusion and disbelief. "You lied to me? You told me your grandfather died!" he exclaimed, feeling betrayed.
But Laelia shook her head frantically. "No, I never said that. I only said he was lost," she protested, desperation evident in her voice. "Please, you have to believe me. The puzzle box is the only way to free him."
Darbakh's anger wavered as he saw the genuine fear and concern in Laelia's eyes. He glanced at the puzzle box, still clutched tightly in his hand, and then back at Laelia and Spark. Without another word, he turned away from them both, walked down the hall, and through the lobby.
As Darbakh stormed out of the inn, Laelia and Spark rushed after him, their voices overlapping as they desperately tried to persuade him to hand over the puzzle box. They offered him more gold coins than he had ever seen in his life, promising him vast fortunes beyond imagination.
"Darbakh, please, just think of the riches you could have!" Laelia pleaded, her eyes wide with desperation.
"No, wait! I'll give you a fortune in precious gemstones!" Spark chimed in, trying to outdo Laelia's offer.
He pushed his way through the crowded streets of Baldur's Gate, determined to put distance between himself and the relentless pair. Laelia and Spark followed close behind, their voices still ringing in his ears as they tried to convince him of their grandiose offers. Darbakh marched through the streets with a determined stride, and Laelia and Spark followed closely, their desperate pleas and promises echoing in his ears. He knew where he was going, and there was a sense of purpose in his every step. The two of them kept up their relentless pursuit, not giving him a moment's peace.
As they turned into a secluded back alley, the tension between Laelia and Spark seemed to reach its boiling point. They began hurling insults at each other, each trying to one-up the other with cutting remarks about their respective grandfathers.
"You always were an arrogant fool, just like your grandpa!" Laelia spat.
"And you were always a spineless sycophant, just like yours!" Spark retorted, his voice dripping with disdain.
The insults grew louder as they continued to follow Darbakh through the winding alleyways, their voices reverberating off the walls. It was a bizarre sight, with Darbakh leading the way in stoic silence while Laelia and Spark exchanged heated words behind him.
Spark sneered, "Your grandfather was a spineless fool who couldn't protect his own kin, let alone anything else!"
Laelia retorted, "And yours was a selfish, power-hungry wretch who cared more about his own desires than his family!"
The insults continued to fly back and forth like arrows, each word aimed at hitting the other's sore spots. Only when Darbakh pulled a spare hammer from his belt did the two of them cease their bickering.
Darbakh raised the hammer high, ready to bring it down on the puzzle box. Laelia and Spark immediately fell silent, their attention drawn to the fighter’s determined action. They hadn't noticed that while they were engulfed in their heated argument, he had prepared his own drastic solution. The puzzle box sat atop a single brick, its colorful engravings illuminated by the dim light of the alley. His hand tightened around the hammer's grip, his frustration and uncertainty fueling his resolve.
Laelia's eyes widened in terror, and she cried out, "No, wait! Please, you can't destroy it!"
Spark joined her in pleading, his voice shaky, "Please, I’ll do anything you ask!"
But Darbakh remained unmoved, his gaze fixed on the puzzle box. As his hammer collided with the puzzle box, the alleyway erupted in a blinding flash of arcane light. The impact didn't shatter the box as he had intended; instead, it caused the two sides of the puzzle box to flip open with a jamming click, revealing a hidden mechanism within.
Laelia and Spark fell to their knees, shielding their eyes from the brilliance of the magical display. Darbakh took a cautious step back, his defensive posture betraying his apprehension. Arcane energy surged out from both sides of the open box, swirling in tiny whirlwinds of light, creating an ethereal dance of colors and crackling sounds.
A gust of wind rushed through the narrow alleyway, carrying with it an unsettling sense of foreboding. The magical display seemed to imply that something terrible had been unlocked by the hammer's impact.
And then, as the lights continued to dance, the unimaginable occurred. From within the depths of the puzzle box emerged two entities, their forms taking shape amidst the brilliance of the arcane display. One was an Efreet, his fiery presence burning with intense heat and power. The other was a horned devil, a creature of immense malevolence, exuding an aura of darkness and infernal might.
Both Laelia and Spark were in a daze, barely able to comprehend the grandfathers they had unwittingly released. The Efreet and the horned devil stumbled, disoriented from their sudden freedom, and surveyed their surroundings with confusion. The alleyway seemed to grow smaller as the towering forms of the supernatural beings now occupied the space.
In the sweltering heat of the cramped and polluted alleyways of Brampton, the air grew thick with a palpable tension. The towering brick buildings, leaning precariously against each other, cast long shadows that seemed to reach out with claw-like fingers. The stench of decay and filth hung heavily in the air, mingling with the charged atmosphere of arcane energy.
As the dust settled from the dazzling display of magic, the two beings that had emerged from the puzzle box regained their senses. The efreet, wreathed in flames that danced and flickered across his form, slowly rose to his feet. His eyes blazed with an intense fiery light, and his presence radiated a searing heat that seemed to distort the air around him.
Opposite him, the horned devil stood upright, his crimson skin contrasting starkly against the dark alleyway. His horned head tilted slightly, and his eyes glowed with a malevolent intensity. Dark, smoky tendrils snaked around his form, hinting at the infernal power that pulsed within him.
Both beings exuded an aura of resolute evil, a force that seemed to bend the very fabric of reality around them. Despite the mortal world that surrounded them, their presence was far from mundane, commanding awe and fear in equal measure.
The tension between the efreet and the horned devil crackled in the air like a storm gathering its fury. A silent exchange passed between them, a wordless challenge that needed no spoken words to convey its intent. The world around them seemed to shrink, narrowing down to the space between their formidable forms.
In the face of such immense power, the mortal realm felt small and insignificant. The mortals who had unknowingly released these beings—Darbakh, Laelia, and Spark—stood on the sidelines, their hearts pounding with a mixture of dread and fascination. The air was charged with anticipation, the moment pregnant with the impending clash of forces beyond human comprehension. Their dark eyes locked onto each other, and a tense silence hung in the air, heavy with their mutual animosity.
The fiend spoke first, rolling his shoulders. “Karzoth…I still can’t shake you off,” the horned devil said with a venomous familiarity dripping from its lips.
The genie spoke second after popping the bones in his neck. “We both knew it would come to this, Malgog,” the efreet replied in a harsh tone seething with the weight of a long-standing rivalry.
The simmering hatred between them was palpable, like a storm about to break.
Darbakh stood rooted to the spot, caught in the crossfire of their intense gaze. He felt the tension like a physical force, the weight of their ancient conflict casting a shadow over the alley. Despite being surrounded by the otherworldly power of these beings, fear wasn't his first reaction. Instead, he was struck dumb by the sheer otherness of the situation, unsure of what to do or say as they faced off.
The efreet's molten gaze flickered with flames as he assessed the horned devil, his features contorting in a mixture of rage and scorn. The horned devil's eyes, glowing with malevolent intelligence, bore into the efreet, a mixture of contempt and disdain emanating from him. The atmosphere was electric with their mutual enmity, the air thick with the potential for violence.
The tension in the alleyway exploded into chaotic motion as the two outsiders charged at each other with earth-shattering force. The ground quaked beneath the impact of their pounding feet, and the air vibrated with the sheer intensity of their collision. The world seemed to hold its breath as the two powerful beings clashed, their hatred manifesting in physical violence.
Malgog swung his pitchfork with a fierce bellow, aiming for Karzoth's head, while Karzoth's two-handed scimitar arced through the air in a deadly sweep. The impact of their weapons clashing sent shockwaves reverberating through the narrow space, the sheer power of their blows causing sparks to fly and the ground to crack beneath them.
However, their first strikes missed their mark as they both dodged and tangled with each other, locked in a brutal embrace. Their combined weight smashed into the wall of a nearby building, the impact shaking the very foundations of the surrounding structures. The force of their collision was so immense that a dirty window shattered into a thousand pieces, raining glass down onto the cobblestones below.
As the window shattered, Laelia and Spark both instinctively threw themselves to the ground to avoid being caught in the crossfire of their respective grandfathers. Their terrified faces were etched with shock and fear as they watched the ferocity of the fight unfolding before them, the clash of titanic forces that threatened to consume them all. The scene was a maelstrom of violence, raw power, and unleashed fury, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake.
Frozen in place and stunned by the cataclysmic clash between the efreet and horned devil, Darbakh's thoughts spun in chaotic circles. He dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding a flying piece of debris that was kicked up by the force of the ongoing battle. His heart raced as he glanced from Malgog to Karzoth and back, uncertainty gnawing at his insides.
"What should I do?" he muttered aloud, his voice almost lost in the tumultuous sounds of combat. His fists clenched at his sides, his gaze darting around the alley as he searched for any semblance of a plan. The weight of his own rashness bore down on him; he had let these two creatures out of the puzzle box, and now the consequences were spiraling out of control.
Intermittently, his attention was drawn to the furious clash between Malgog and Karzoth. The efreet's flaming sword sliced through the air, only to be deftly parried by Malgog’s pitchfork, which gleamed with an otherworldly radiance. The horned devil retaliated with a swift swipe with his tail, but Karzoth twisted away, his molten form dancing around the attack. Neither opponent seemed to have the upper hand, their movements a ballet of destruction and chaos.
Amidst the battle's tumult, a voice cut through the chaos from behind him. “Now I have to fix your mess,” gurgled a warped, inhuman voice in Undercommon.
Darbakh's heart skipped a beat as he turned, his gaze fixing on the figure that had appeared in the alleyway. The sight was familiar, and yet shrouded in haze—a mind flayer, right in the middle of an urban street in a surface city. Darbakh struggled to place where he had encountered this twisted, hunched creature before, his memories clouded by the passage of time.
"How do you know me?" Darbakh's voice emerged steady but wary, his eyes never leaving the mind flayer's unsettling visage.
“Do you not recall what led you to this gross error? The battlefield which you picked through like a mangy jackal all those years ago?” The crippled mind flayer's response was a bitter hiss, its voice dripping with resentment. "You ruined me, forge-slave. I have watched, waited, and plotted all these years for a chance to repay the pain you inflicted upon me."
A chill crept down Darbakh's spine as he struggled to recall any memory of the limping Illithid before him. But then, in a sudden torrent of realization, the creature's words pierced his understanding.
"You... You were surrounded in that pile of corpses," Darbakh stammered, his eyes widening with shock. "I thought I... I thought I killed you!"
The mind flayer's chittering laughter rang out, mocking and chilling. "Oh, you impaired my mobility, but death was not your gift to give. You may have crushed my form, but you could not extinguish me."
Darbakh's incredulity mingled with his growing dread. The alleyway seemed to close in around him, a claustrophobic enclosure of threats and bitter memories. The tension thickened once more as Darbakh's gaze locked onto the mind flayer before him. The air seemed to crackle with the promise of conflict, but this time, their exchange was more rapid, the words flowing as naturally as a river of bitterness.
"What do you even want?" Darbakh's voice carried a mix of confusion and defiance, his eyes narrowing as he confronted the mind flayer.
The mind flayer's response was swift and unyielding. "What is mine by right. The puzzle box, the prison of these two outsiders, was stolen from me. A wizard, one of those my thralls had slain, may have invented the artifact, but it rightfully belongs to me."
Darbakh's mind raced, his thoughts drawn back to the beginnings of his involvement with the puzzle box. Very briefly, he thought of a sheet of paper which had hung from the dead wizard’s pocket, a paper he’d ignored and left behind. The mind flayer momentarily broke through the Duergar’s mental fortress and read his thoughts.
"You’re thinking of this?" The mind flayer held up a worn pamphlet, its contents faded but still decipherable. "The wizard who possessed the box warned of its dangers. And yet you bludgeoned it like an impatient child." The mind flayer's cold laughter sliced through the air. "The puzzle box is rightfully mine, and so is my revenge. You will give me both, willingly or not."
Darbakh's resolve remained unshaken even in the face of the mind flayer's taunts. He retorted, "You look too weak to be a threat."
The tentacles hanging from the aberration’s face curled and twisted in an ecstatic manner, almost like a cephalopod smiling. "My body may be broken, but my mind remains formidable."
With that declaration, the mind flayer extended its psychic grasp toward Laelia. Her eyes glazed over, her movements becoming mechanical as she raised her arms to attack Darbakh. Her fists flailed toward him with all the force of a summer breeze. He stood motionless, his demeanor unwavering even as her attacks landed with a curious lack of impact. He found himself unsurprisingly immune to her noodle-like strikes, his body unfazed by her useless spamming of thaumaturgy. He locked eyes with the mind flayer, a mix of curiosity and exasperation in his gaze. The mind flayer's attempt at controlling the tiefling was proving ineffective, and its confidence seemed to waver as its control over Laelia faltered.
Darbakh's expression remained one of bemused disbelief. The absurdity of the situation threatened to break his usual stoicism, but he resisted the urge to let out a chuckle. Instead, he stood there, his patience and resolve unbroken, facing down a mind flayer that had underestimated him in more ways than one. As the mind flayer's control over Laelia waned, a look of sheer terror overcame her. With a shake of her head, she blinked, her expression one of bewilderment mixed with a newfound dread. The realization of her own vulnerability seemed to wash over her, leaving her momentarily paralyzed with fear.
Across the chaotic alleyway, Malgog's fiery gaze turned from his opponent to his granddaughter. Seeing the fear in her eyes seemed to ignite a fire within him. His voice thundered with a mix of authority and concern, "Blood of my blood, take cover!"
Laelia didn't need a second warning. With her heart pounding in her chest, she darted behind a nearby trash can, seeking refuge from the escalating conflict that surrounded her.
Meanwhile, the struggle between Malgog and Karzoth raged on. Both beings of immense power grappled with one another, locked in a fierce struggle that sent shockwaves through the alleyway. Neither of the pair could fully overpower the other, their strength and fury nearly matched in a battle that seemed destined to continue indefinitely.
As the mind flayer unleashed its mind control, Spark's eyes widened in terror. The display of power shook him to his core, and he called out in desperation to Karzoth, his voice a mixture of fear and pleading, "Grandpa, save me!"
Amidst his own tumultuous struggle with Malgog, Karzoth's reaction was far less sympathetic. His grip tightened on his two-handed scimitar as he shot a cold glance in Spark's direction. His voice was sharp and laced with impatience as he barked, "Save yourself, boy! Prove that you're worthy of carrying my family name."
As the mind flayer's mind blast rippled through the alleyway, a wave of psionic energy washed over Spark. He was thrown backward by the force of the blast, crashing into a pile of discarded crates. The impact left him dazed and disoriented, struggling to regain his bearings in the midst of the chaotic conflict.
Darbakh, too, felt the weight of the mind blast, his mind momentarily clouded as he dropped to one knee. The power of the mind flayer's attack was a stark reminder of the otherworldly forces at play in this confrontation.
Amidst the turmoil, Karzoth's growl of disapproval cut through the air. His focus remained on his ongoing struggle with Malgog, the fierce clash of their weapons creating sparks that illuminated the alleyway. In the midst of this battle, there was little room for sentiment or compassion, and Karzoth's callous dismissal of Spark's plea underscored the harshness of his nature. The devil stabbed him in the thigh with the pitchfork, garnering a sharp growl until he cast his gaseous form. Washing over Malgog in the form of flowing smoke, Karzoth reformed directly behind his fiendish opponent, already in position for a rear naked choke. The genie then flew up into the air, dragging the choking devil along with him, and then slammed them both into the ground from a height of three stories.
Despite the pounding migraine that pulsed through Darbakh’s head and the painful cramp that knotted his neck muscles, the dark dwarf’s willpower refused to yield. Gritting his teeth against the throbbing ache, he forced his body to respond, pushing himself up from his kneeling position. The haze that had clouded his mind began to dissipate, replaced by a surge of determination that cut through the pain.
The mind flayer, standing a few paces away, was equally astonished by Darbakh's resilience. It had expected its mind blast to incapacitate him, to render him helpless before its power. Its widened eyes betrayed its disbelief as Darbakh stood up, his posture shaky yet resolute.
As the mind flayer stepped back nervously, its confusion gave way to a flicker of fear. It hadn't anticipated this level of resistance from a mere mortal. Its mental calculations were thrown into disarray, and it quickly drew a knife from its belt, clutching it with a trembling hand. The knife was a pitiful defense against the force that Darbakh represented, but it was all the mind flayer had at that moment.
Darbakh's fingers clenched tightly around the worn handle of his blacksmithing hammer. The pain in his head and neck still throbbed, but his determination burned brighter. He took a deep breath, his focus laser-sharp, and with a burst of raw courage, he charged forward. The world around him seemed to narrow to a single point—the mind flayer before him—and he barrelled toward it, hammer raised. His charge was relentless, like an avalanche hurtling down a mountainside. The mind flayer's attempts to fend him off with the knife were feeble against the force of his advance. With a swift, powerful motion, Darbakh swung his hammer, shattering the mind flayer's hand and sending the knife clattering to the ground.
The mind flayer's cry of pain echoed through the alleyway, a testament to the brutal efficiency of Darbakh's attack. Its pain-filled eyes darted around in desperation, and in a desperate attempt to defend itself, it reached out with its face tentacles, aiming to ensnare the hammer. But Darbakh had other plans.
As the mind flayer's tentacles neared the weapon, Darbakh released his grip on the hammer, allowing it to fall to the ground with a resounding thud. Instead, his hands shot forward, seizing the mind flayer's sensitive, writhing tentacles. He squeezed with a fierce strength like an ape, exerting unrelenting pressure. The mind flayer's agonized howl filled the air as it dropped to its knees, its once menacing posture reduced to one of vulnerable suffering. Its struggles were futile against his sheer force, and its pain-filled cries were met with cold resolve as Darbakh maintained his hold.
Darbakh's eyes blazed with anger as he loomed over the mind flayer, a vessel of ancestral memory and the pent-up rage of his people's subjugation. With a swift and decisive motion, he pulled the creature to the ground and stepped onto its back, a visual representation of his defiance against the malevolence which the Illithid’s visage reminded him of.
“I can give you a deal which these outsiders can’t!” the mind flayer said more urgently.
The mind flayer's cries were a mixture of pain and hysteria, its attempts to plead and manipulate evident in its desperate struggles. It fought against the unyielding pressure of Darbakh's foot, its body writhing as it tried to free itself. The creature's tentacles lashed out in a last-ditch effort to regain control, its mind control abilities taking hold with a powerful surge.
“Y-you don’t want to do this,” the mind flayer said in wavering, panicked Undercommon.
For a moment, Darbakh's mind wavered as the mind flayer's influence wormed its way into his thoughts. His resolve flickered, threatened by the invasive psychic assault. But then, like a surge of strength born from his ancestral connection, he shook off the insidious hold. His determination remained unbroken, and he roared his defiance into the alley.
"Wait! Just wait, Darbakh! Don’t!"
Amid the chaos of the ongoing fight between the outsiders, the mind flayer's whines and pleas were drowned out by the clash of powers and the sound of Darbakh's unwavering voice. The creature's attempts to manipulate and negotiate fell on deaf ears as Darbakh's grip on its reigns remained firm. With a voice that carried the weight of generations, he bellowed his refusal to submit to the creature's entreaties.
“No! Noooooo! Stop!”
With a surge of raw fury, Darbakh's grip tightened on the mind flayer's tentacle, and with a swift motion, he tore it from its socket. The sound that followed was a strangled scream, an agonized cry that pierced the air and resonated with the mind flayer's torment. The creature's anguish was palpable, its writhing and shrieks a testament to the searing pain it was experiencing.
In a mixture of anger and repulsion, Darbakh threw the severed tentacle to the ground, the wet sound of impact a stark reminder of the brutality of the moment. The mind flayer's screams and howls were a haunting symphony, its agony reverberating through the alley.
As his eyes darted around the alley, Darbakh's gaze landed on Laelia’s stunned face, jaw dropped open, her expression a mixture of shock, horror, and disbelief. Even the efreet and the horned devil, locked in their own battle, seemed momentarily taken aback by the sheer brutality of Darbakh's actions.
“Holy s***, dude,” Karzoth murmured.
The mind flayer's cries had turned into a desperate, broken wail, its pain a testament to the symbolic vengeance that Darbakh had wrought.
In the midst of this scene of turmoil and brutality, it was Malgog's voice that cut through the chaos. The horned devil's words were laced with a mixture of incredulity and approval as he looked upon Darbakh. "You may want to consider seeking some counseling," Malgog said in a voice which carried a note of mockery, a stark contrast to the grim scene that had unfolded.
The mind flayer lay on the ground, a broken and defeated creature, its cries of agony replaced by ragged breaths. With a final, desperate exertion of power, it triggered its plane shift ability and vanished from the scene, leaving behind only the echo of its torment. As the eerie silence settled over the alley, the written warning that had floated in the air drifted back down to the ground, landing like a feather.
Darbakh's hand shot out, grabbing the parchment, and his eyes scanned the words upon it with a rapid intensity. The instructions were finally laid bare before him, revealing the warnings and dangers that he had failed to uncover before. As his gaze raced across the page, his thoughts churned with a mixture of realization and determination.
Meanwhile, the battle between Malgog and Karzoth raged on. The two outsiders clashed with a ferocity that shook the very foundations of the alley. Their blows were powerful and thunderous, each strike reverberating through the air like the clash of titans. The brick walls that lined the alley were no match for their strength, and as the fight continued, they tore through the masonry with a relentless force.
A section of the brick wall crumbled beneath their might, revealing a hidden world beyond. Behind the broken wall stood a warehouse, rows of colorful stained glass windows lining its interior. The windows cast fractured patterns of light and color across the scene, illuminating the fierce struggle between the two outsiders. Yet, in contrast to the violence that unfolded, the warehouse itself was empty, devoid of human presence.
Laelia's trembling form emerged cautiously from her hiding spot behind the trash can. Her wide eyes took in the scene of devastation before her—the shattered alley, the battered figures, the fractured stained glass windows casting colorful hues upon the grim tableau. Her heart pounded in her chest as she took a hesitant step forward, but her resolve crumbled as she saw her grandfather, Malgog, collapse onto the ground beside her.
A cry of despair escaped her lips, and she scrambled back behind the trash can, a veil of tears clouding her vision. Malgog's once-mighty form lay broken, his body bearing the marks of a fierce battle. Unholy blood oozed from wounds that crisscrossed his skin, and his limbs twitched weakly as he fought to rise, his strength ebbing away.
As he struggled to push himself up, his efforts were met with a cruel barrier. Karzoth, also injured but less so, stood over him, scimitar pointed menacingly at the devil’s throat. The genie’s eyes bore a triumphant glint, his twisted lips curling into a malevolent smile. "Finally," Karzoth hissed, his voice dripping with venom. "I've won."
Karzoth's scimitar wavered, its tip hovering just above Malgog's neck. Blood dripped from its blade, mingling with the grime of the alley floor. Malgog's labored breaths echoed the dire situation, his tendons and limbs lacerated beyond repair. His muscles refused to obey his commands, and he lay there, trapped in a helpless predicament.
A cruel grin tugged at Karzoth's lips as he taunted Malgog with a twisted promise. "You'll be locked in that puzzle box for eternity, while I watch your lineage crumble to dust." His words were laced with malevolence, each syllable a dagger thrust into the hearts of both grandfather and granddaughter.
Laelia's sobs pierced the air, her face buried in her hands as she crumbled under the weight of her grandfather's defeat. Tears streamed down her cheeks, mingling with the dirt and grime that clung to her skin. In that moment, she was no longer the wicked heretic who had manipulated others to her will; she was a broken young woman, devastated by the cruel fate that had befallen her family.
"Put a sock in it, all of you," Darbakh's voice rang out, cutting through the tension-soaked air like a blade. His fingers deftly manipulated the puzzle box's intricate mechanisms, following the instructions laid out on the warning.
The scene was bathed in a blinding flare of arcane light, so intense that even Laelia's sobs and the genie’s cry of protest were momentarily drowned out. The box itself seemed to hum with newfound power, its ancient enchantments reawakening.
As the light intensified, the figures of Karzoth and Malgog were suddenly enveloped in its brilliance. Panic flashed across their alien features as they realized what was happening. In a whirlwind of desperation, they twisted and writhed, their forms contorting as if caught in the event horizon of some invisible vortex.
Their towering figures shrank with every passing second, becoming distorted and unreal as they were drawn inexorably toward the open puzzle box. The very essence of their malevolence was stripped away, replaced by a shimmering cascade of magical dust which was sucked into the box like a vacuum. The dust swirled and danced, almost mocking the once-powerful beings it now represented.
And then, with a final, resounding snap, the box shut tight once more. The intricate runes that adorned its sides ceased their glow, leaving the puzzle box as seemingly innocuous as it had appeared before. The alleyway, once a battlefield of epic proportions, was now eerily quiet, the echoes of the conflict fading into the background.
Spark's eyes fluttered open, his head throbbing like a drumbeat. As he stumbled to his feet, his gaze landed on the scene around him. Darbakh stood off to the side, a mixture of exhaustion and relief etched across his features. Laelia, her makeup running down her cheeks and eyes swollen, hissed furiously at the Genasi. “You ruined everything! None of this would have happened if you hadn’t interrupted!”
"What did you expect, huh?" Spark's voice trembled with frustration, his words slurred as he tried to find his footing. "Grandpa was about to win! You should've stayed out of it!"
"What!" Laelia shot back, her voice thick with angry tears. "You’re the one who interrupted me, are you having cognitive dissonance or something!"
"You have no idea what you're talking about," Spark retorted, his words clipped and harsh. "Those aren’t even real words."
As the two exchanged heated words, Darbakh's presence seemed to fade into the background. He turned away from the bickering pair, his steps leading him away from the alleyway. Without a word, he continued walking, his footsteps carrying him away from the chaos that had unfolded.
It was then that the sound of approaching footsteps reached the ears of both planetouched persons. A group of city guards from the Flaming Fist emerged around a corner, their armor gleaming in the dim light. They paused as they took in the scene—the demolished brick wall, the shattered windows, and the two figures engaged in a heated argument.
"Oi, what's all this then?" one of the guards barked, his voice carrying authority.
Laelia and Spark turned to face the guards, their argument momentarily forgotten in the face of authority. The two of them exchanged glances, the anger in their eyes giving way to a mix of confusion and trepidation. The guards' questions hung in the air, a stark reminder of the fact that the chaos they had caused had not gone unnoticed.
This is the longest chapter by far. Warning label for violence (yeah, this is DnD, but I still figure that some younger readers might appreciate the warning).
In the heart of Brampton, a bustling street came alive with the chatter of local commoners. The road, not grand or wide, hummed with the presence of Lower City regulars all clad in simple attire that mirrored their modest lives. The air buzzed with anticipation as the crowd pressed close, forming a circle around a horse-drawn prison coach.
The coach stood in stark contrast to the everyday scene, a dark symbol of authority amidst the lively surroundings. Its wooden frame was sturdy and weathered, and the metal bars on its windows gleamed ominously in the sunlight. Gossipy whispers flowed like a current through the crowd, each spectator eager to glean morsels of the unfolding drama.
As the tension in the air grew thicker, the sound of approaching footsteps signaled the arrival of the city guards. Their uniforms bore the emblem of the Flaming Fist, a symbol of order and control. With practiced authority, the guards began to lead the two detainees toward the awaiting prison coach. The murmurs of the crowd swelled with curiosity and judgment, a cacophony that painted the scene with an air of uncertainty and intrigue.
Laelia's voice rang out above the hubbub, filled with desperation and frustration. "Please, you have to believe me! It wasn't me who caused all that destruction! It was a genie, and he was fighting my grandpa!"
Her words hung in the air, the context lost on the guards as they continued their unyielding march. The locals, however, took in her plea with a mixture of incredulity and amusement. Laughter rippled through the onlookers, the idea of a genie battling someone's grandfather seeming too absurd to be true.
As the laughter echoed, Laelia's face flushed with a combination of anger and humiliation, her protests lost in the sea of jeers and mirthful chuckles. The crowd's reaction underscored the vast gulf between her desperate explanations and the skeptical audience before her.
With Laelia's pleas falling on deaf ears, the guards proceeded to load her into one of the compartments in the prison coach, sealing her fate within its dark confines. On the other side, the situation took a more dramatic turn as they attempted to load Spark into the opposing cage. His resistance was immediate and fervent, his voice rising above the clamor as he began to yell:
"Devils! Mind flayers! You have no idea what you're dealing with here! This city is crawling with creatures from other planes, and they're all connected by a web of magical conspiracies!"
Children recoiled, clutching their parents' hands tightly, while a general unease spread through the gathered commoners. In the midst of Spark's frantic outbursts, one of the guards raised an enchanted wand, by pressing it directly against the man’s body, produced the effects of a mild lightning spell. The shock coursed through him, causing his body to convulse involuntarily before he crumpled to the ground, subdued by the magical device.
“Alright people, move along,” said an older guard with a more ornate insignia than the other Flaming Fist members. “This is an open-and-shut case of property damage via aggravated cantrips, nothing more.”
Despite the spectacle, the crowd began to disperse under the stern watch of the guards, their mutterings of curiosity and fear lingering in the air as the scene quieted, leaving behind only the fading echoes of Spark's protests.
With Spark's unconscious form safely secured within the prison coach, the guards wasted no time in prompting the horses to move. The wheels rolled over the cobblestone road, the vehicle's presence commanding the attention of all bystanders as it began to move away. The street echoed with a chorus of laughter and jeers from local youths, who found amusement in pelting the caged duo with overripe tomatoes.
As the prison coach turned the corner and disappeared from sight, the scene shifted to the roof of a nearby building. Its expanse was devoid of any occupants, yet it provided an unobstructed vantage point over the bustling street below. The sun cast long shadows, and the building's height allowed for a perfect view of the proceedings.
In the midst of this quiet observation, footsteps echoed softly on the rooftop's dusty surface. An unseen figure moved deliberately, leaving faint tracks in the grit and grime as they approached the edge of the roof, eyes focused on the direction the prison coach had vanished.
The figure on the rooftop, hidden from sight by the power of invisibility, gradually revealed themselves to be none other than Darbakh. With a simple gesture, he disengaged from the ability common to his people and reappeared, his presence now visible to the world below.
As the tumultuous scene below slowly settled, Darbakh's gaze swept over the dispersing crowd. His dark cloak billowed in the wind. He stood on the rooftop, a lone observer above the chaotic streets, absorbing the aftermath of the commotion he had both witnessed and been a part of.
A long moment passed as he remained rooted in place, lost in thought and contemplation. The din of the crowd's chatter faded into the distance, leaving him alone with his reflections and the weight of the events that had unfolded.
Darbakh's gaze shifted from the street below to the puzzle box in his hand, its enigmatic surface reflecting the weight of his thoughts. Anger and weariness mingled on his face, a testament to the toll that recent events had taken on his patience. His fingers tightened around the box, its presence a constant reminder of the chaos it had wrought.
The determination in his eyes was juxtaposed with an unmistakable weariness, a sense of exhaustion that came from battling not just the outsiders but the turmoil within himself. As his fingers traced the edges of the box, his resolve solidified. With a heavy sigh, he murmured to himself, "I've got to skip town."
Shoulders slumped and steps heavy, Darbakh turned away from the rooftop's edge, leaving behind the chaos of the street below.
Under the dim glow of distant streetlamps, the Outer City of Baldur's Gate lay still in the late hours of the night. Most of its inhabitants had retreated to the shelter of their homes, leaving the cobblestone streets mostly deserted. A chill wind whispered through the alleys, carrying the distant sounds of hushed conversations and the occasional clopping of horses' hooves.
Amidst the quietude, a lone stable remained awake, its lantern light casting long shadows on the ground. Caravan workers bustled about, their movements slowed by fatigue, and the weary neighs of horses punctuated the night air. A few figures, bundled in cloaks and scarves, moved with a sense of purpose under the starlit sky. They were the night watchmen, keeping a vigilant eye on the surroundings, their lanterns casting a soft, flickering glow that painted intricate patterns on the walls.
As the night wore on, the activity of the stable gradually subsided, and the sleepy animals huddled together for warmth. The travelers who had sought refuge for their mounts were now tucked away in their lodgings, seeking rest before the dawn would call them to continue their journey. The last remnants of the night's activities clung to the air, as the city's heartbeat seemed to synchronize with the steady rhythm of the horses' breathing.
Under the cover of that night, Darbakh, Lirak, and Brynni moved through the quiet streets like shadows. Their dark cloaks shrouded them from prying eyes, and they walked with a purposeful determination. In contrast to his work attire, Darbakh now wore a dark cloak that billowed behind him as he walked, his features hidden by its deep hood. Lirak, similarly cloaked, moved with his own quiet grace, his eyes darting about in caution. Brynni stood out from the pair, her attire markedly different as she walked with an air of composed authority, dressed like a proper school headmistress.
As they reached the side of the stable, the trio set down their luggage with care, the soft clinks and shuffles of their belongings echoing in the stillness of the night. They worked with practiced efficiency, arranging their gear in a precise manner that spoke of years of experience. Each item had its place, and every detail was attended to.
With their task completed, they paused for a moment, their gaze turning toward the outer walls of Baldur's Gate. The distant glow of the city's lights cast an eerie radiance against the night sky, lending an almost magical quality to the scene. Silently, they absorbed the sight, each lost in their own thoughts, the weight of their shared journey palpable in the air.
With careful precision, Darbakh placed two small wooden chests on the ground. The night air held a sense of anticipation as he unlatched each chest, revealing a trove of glittering coins, intricate bank notes, and assorted trinkets that gleamed in the faint light. The contents of the chests were a testament to their shared endeavors, a culmination of their hard-earned gains.
Brynni and Lirak leaned in to inspect the treasures, their expressions reflecting a mixture of assessment and approval. As their eyes roved over the coins and the gleam of precious gems, they exchanged a brief, knowing glance before nodding in agreement.
Satisfied with their assessment, Darbakh carefully closed the chests, the soft clinks of the latches resonating in the night. He straightened and met their gazes, a sense of resolve in his eyes. "Your severance is all within these chests," he said, his tone steady. "And whatever extra I couldn’t carry in my own bags."
"How much is left?" Brynni's voice carried a note of practical concern, her eyes fixed on Darbakh as if searching for answers within his words.
Darbakh's brow furrowed slightly, his gaze steady as he met her inquiry. "Little," he admitted, a touch of weariness in his voice. "I spent a fortune to contain the puzzle box—a bag that blocks its magical beacon from prying eyes. And I bribed the magician who crafted the enchantment into silence."
The dark cloak that cloaked Brynni's form seemed to mirror the shadow that had fallen over their shared endeavors. As Darbakh's words hung in the air, Brynni's composed exterior wavered, a fleeting expression of disappointment crossing her features before she regained her composure.
"So that's it then," she responded, her voice steady and resolute. The veneer of her emotions was contained within her words, her face a mask of determination that did little to hide the complex currents beneath the surface.
"Yes," Darbakh's response was measured, his tone carrying the weight of their situation. “Even if the beacon is blocked, we still don’t know who else might have traced our location to that flat. We can’t stay here.”
"Finally," Lirak interjected, a hint of exasperation in his voice as he gathered his belongings and cast a curt glance in Darbakh's direction. With a huff, he turned away and began striding purposefully toward a nearby caravan, where merchants from various corners of Faerûn were settling in for the night.
"Stay out of trouble," Darbakh's words followed Lirak's departing figure, a note of caution woven into the simple directive.
“That isn’t your business anymore, is it?” Lirak said acrimoniously and without bidding farewell.
For a brief moment, Darbakh frowned in annoyance, but it passed. “Be careful what you wish for…there are much worse masters than me. Particularly if you ever encounter other drow.”
Lirak paused, his steps slowing as he turned to face Darbakh once more. Resentment flickered in his gaze, a mix of irritation and lingering loyalty that colored his next words. "I lived in a closet under the stairs in your flat, Darbakh. Nothing could possibly be worse."
And with those words hanging in the air, Lirak continued on his path, walking away from the stable and out of their lives.
Brynni and Darbakh faced each other, a silent understanding passing between them. Yet, Darbakh's pragmatism didn't allow the moment to linger. "Are you sure your ride is here?" he asked, his gaze turning toward the cluster of deep gnomes lurking around the corner of a nearby stable.
Brynni nodded, her eyes flicking to the group of her kin before returning to Darbakh. "They're waiting on me; I owe them my ring for passage north and a job when I get there. Night shift at an orphanage in Neverwinter," she replied, a hint of weariness in her voice. The surface world was a different realm of opportunities and challenges, and it seemed even for a scholar like her, work was never in short supply.
A trace of sadness barely breached her composed facade as she added, "Who would've thought the surface world has so much work to go around?"
"It's been fun," Darbakh said, the slightest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. It was the first and last time he smiled at anyone who worked for him.
Brynni's gaze softened as she responded, "And it's been an honor to serve you."
Darbakh didn't linger. He nodded to her, his gaze steady, before pulling the hood of his cloak over his head and striding purposefully toward a waiting horse-drawn wagon stationed near an eastbound dirt road. Brynni's gaze lingered for just a moment, her eyes tracking his retreating figure. She watched, as if waiting for him to turn around. But he didn't. And so, with a determined breath, she turned and joined the group of deep gnomes who had been watching from a distance, and the night swallowed her form.
Darbakh efficiently loaded his luggage into a waiting wagon, placing each item with a practiced ease. With the last bag in place, he climbed into the back, settling himself amidst a collection of barrels and a sturdy wooden crate.
Sitting across from him was the wagon's driver, a snazzily dressed human with a curly mustache overshadowed only by his plumed hat. He leaned forward slightly, directing a curious look at the Duergar passenger.
"Excuse me, Darbakh," the human began, his voice tinged with a touch of nervousness. "May I ask if you're armed?"
Darbakh met the human's gaze squarely, his expression remaining calm. "Don't worry," he replied, his tone steady. "I'll handle anything that scares you too much."
The human driver's mustache twitched as he offered a faint smile. "That's reassuring to hear," he responded. "I've never set off on a journey this late before, you see."
He adjusted his hat and regarded Darbakh curiously. "So, what's got you in such a rush to leave? Seems like an odd time to be hitting the road."
Darbakh's gaze remained steady, his expression inscrutable. "Half your pay is for the discrete ride," he reminded the driver evenly. "The other half is not to ask questions."
The human nodded, his smile faltering just a bit. "Right, right," he mumbled, his curiosity momentarily checked. With a final nod, he turned his attention back to his horses, guiding the wagon onto the road.
The horses' hooves clattered against the dirt road as the wagon began to roll forward, the darkness of the night enveloping them. Dawn was still a few hours away, but it raced towards them, heralding the beginning of a new day.
As they traveled, Darbakh turned his attention to the human driver. "You're sure the next town is secure?" he inquired.
The human nodded confidently. "Absolutely. I've traveled this route countless times. It's a peaceful town, no worries about bandits or anything."
Darbakh's gaze narrowed slightly. "I meant secure from… supernatural threats."
The human's brows furrowed in thought, then realization dawned on him. "Oh, you mean like interplanar invasions? Don't worry about that. Elturel is the most secure city in these parts. It's got wards and defenses that keep anything otherworldly out. No need to fret about that."
Darbakh's expression remained stoic as he considered the human's words. Satisfied, he settled back against the barrels in the wagon, his thoughts as inscrutable as the night around them.
A few minutes passed in silence as the wagon continued its journey along the dark road. The rhythmic sound of the horses' hooves created a steady backdrop against the night.
After a while, the human driver cleared his throat, breaking the quiet. "You know," he began, "I’ve been trying my hand at poetry lately. I could recite one of my latest works if you'd like."
Without taking his eyes off the road ahead, Darbakh's voice was firm. "Just keep quiet and drive, Volo."
The end…
This epilogue takes place in 1489 DR; it’s just a day or two after the previous chapter. That’s a little context for those following recent events.
Thank you so much to those who read. I hope you remember this.
Under the dim glow of distant streetlamps, the Outer City of Baldur's Gate lay still in the late hours of the night. Most of its inhabitants had retreated to the shelter of their homes, leaving the cobblestone streets mostly deserted. A chill wind whispered through the alleys, carrying the distant sounds of hushed conversations and the occasional clopping of horses' hooves.
Amidst the quietude, a lone stable remained awake, its lantern light casting long shadows on the ground. Caravan workers bustled about, their movements slowed by fatigue, and the weary neighs of horses punctuated the night air. A few figures, bundled in cloaks and scarves, moved with a sense of purpose under the starlit sky. They were the night watchmen, keeping a vigilant eye on the surroundings, their lanterns casting a soft, flickering glow that painted intricate patterns on the walls.
As the night wore on, the activity of the stable gradually subsided, and the sleepy animals huddled together for warmth. The travelers who had sought refuge for their mounts were now tucked away in their lodgings, seeking rest before the dawn would call them to continue their journey. The last remnants of the night's activities clung to the air, as the city's heartbeat seemed to synchronize with the steady rhythm of the horses' breathing.
Under the cover of that night, Darbakh, Lirak, and Brynni moved through the quiet streets like shadows. Their dark cloaks shrouded them from prying eyes, and they walked with a purposeful determination. In contrast to his work attire, Darbakh now wore a dark cloak that billowed behind him as he walked, his features hidden by its deep hood. Lirak, similarly cloaked, moved with his own quiet grace, his eyes darting about in caution. Brynni stood out from the pair, her attire markedly different as she walked with an air of composed authority, dressed like a proper school headmistress.
As they reached the side of the stable, the trio set down their luggage with care, the soft clinks and shuffles of their belongings echoing in the stillness of the night. They worked with practiced efficiency, arranging their gear in a precise manner that spoke of years of experience. Each item had its place, and every detail was attended to.
With their task completed, they paused for a moment, their gaze turning toward the outer walls of Baldur's Gate. The distant glow of the city's lights cast an eerie radiance against the night sky, lending an almost magical quality to the scene. Silently, they absorbed the sight, each lost in their own thoughts, the weight of their shared journey palpable in the air.
With careful precision, Darbakh placed two small wooden chests on the ground. The night air held a sense of anticipation as he unlatched each chest, revealing a trove of glittering coins, intricate bank notes, and assorted trinkets that gleamed in the faint light. The contents of the chests were a testament to their shared endeavors, a culmination of their hard-earned gains.
Brynni and Lirak leaned in to inspect the treasures, their expressions reflecting a mixture of assessment and approval. As their eyes roved over the coins and the gleam of precious gems, they exchanged a brief, knowing glance before nodding in agreement.
Satisfied with their assessment, Darbakh carefully closed the chests, the soft clinks of the latches resonating in the night. He straightened and met their gazes, a sense of resolve in his eyes. "Your severance is all within these chests," he said, his tone steady. "And whatever extra I couldn’t carry in my own bags."
"How much is left?" Brynni's voice carried a note of practical concern, her eyes fixed on Darbakh as if searching for answers within his words.
Darbakh's brow furrowed slightly, his gaze steady as he met her inquiry. "Little," he admitted, a touch of weariness in his voice. "I spent a fortune to contain the puzzle box—a bag that blocks its magical beacon from prying eyes. And I bribed the magician who crafted the enchantment into silence."
The dark cloak that cloaked Brynni's form seemed to mirror the shadow that had fallen over their shared endeavors. As Darbakh's words hung in the air, Brynni's composed exterior wavered, a fleeting expression of disappointment crossing her features before she regained her composure.
"So that's it then," she responded, her voice steady and resolute. The veneer of her emotions was contained within her words, her face a mask of determination that did little to hide the complex currents beneath the surface.
"Yes," Darbakh's response was measured, his tone carrying the weight of their situation. “Even if the beacon is blocked, we still don’t know who else might have traced our location to that flat. We can’t stay here.”
"Finally," Lirak interjected, a hint of exasperation in his voice as he gathered his belongings and cast a curt glance in Darbakh's direction. With a huff, he turned away and began striding purposefully toward a nearby caravan, where merchants from various corners of Faerûn were settling in for the night.
"Stay out of trouble," Darbakh's words followed Lirak's departing figure, a note of caution woven into the simple directive.
“That isn’t your business anymore, is it?” Lirak said acrimoniously and without bidding farewell.
For a brief moment, Darbakh frowned in annoyance, but it passed. “Be careful what you wish for…there are much worse masters than me. Particularly if you ever encounter other drow.”
Lirak paused, his steps slowing as he turned to face Darbakh once more. Resentment flickered in his gaze, a mix of irritation and lingering loyalty that colored his next words. "I lived in a closet under the stairs in your flat, Darbakh. Nothing could possibly be worse."
And with those words hanging in the air, Lirak continued on his path, walking away from the stable and out of their lives.
Brynni and Darbakh faced each other, a silent understanding passing between them. Yet, Darbakh's pragmatism didn't allow the moment to linger. "Are you sure your ride is here?" he asked, his gaze turning toward the cluster of deep gnomes lurking around the corner of a nearby stable.
Brynni nodded, her eyes flicking to the group of her kin before returning to Darbakh. "They're waiting on me; I owe them my ring for passage north and a job when I get there. Night shift at an orphanage in Neverwinter," she replied, a hint of weariness in her voice. The surface world was a different realm of opportunities and challenges, and it seemed even for a scholar like her, work was never in short supply.
A trace of sadness barely breached her composed facade as she added, "Who would've thought the surface world has so much work to go around?"
"It's been fun," Darbakh said, the slightest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. It was the first and last time he smiled at anyone who worked for him.
Brynni's gaze softened as she responded, "And it's been an honor to serve you."
Darbakh didn't linger. He nodded to her, his gaze steady, before pulling the hood of his cloak over his head and striding purposefully toward a waiting horse-drawn wagon stationed near an eastbound dirt road. Brynni's gaze lingered for just a moment, her eyes tracking his retreating figure. She watched, as if waiting for him to turn around. But he didn't. And so, with a determined breath, she turned and joined the group of deep gnomes who had been watching from a distance, and the night swallowed her form.
Darbakh efficiently loaded his luggage into a waiting wagon, placing each item with a practiced ease. With the last bag in place, he climbed into the back, settling himself amidst a collection of barrels and a sturdy wooden crate.
Sitting across from him was the wagon's driver, a snazzily dressed human with a curly mustache overshadowed only by his plumed hat. He leaned forward slightly, directing a curious look at the Duergar passenger.
"Excuse me, Darbakh," the human began, his voice tinged with a touch of nervousness. "May I ask if you're armed?"
Darbakh met the human's gaze squarely, his expression remaining calm. "Don't worry," he replied, his tone steady. "I'll handle anything that scares you too much."
The human driver's mustache twitched as he offered a faint smile. "That's reassuring to hear," he responded. "I've never set off on a journey this late before, you see."
He adjusted his hat and regarded Darbakh curiously. "So, what's got you in such a rush to leave? Seems like an odd time to be hitting the road."
Darbakh's gaze remained steady, his expression inscrutable. "Half your pay is for the discrete ride," he reminded the driver evenly. "The other half is not to ask questions."
The human nodded, his smile faltering just a bit. "Right, right," he mumbled, his curiosity momentarily checked. With a final nod, he turned his attention back to his horses, guiding the wagon onto the road.
The horses' hooves clattered against the dirt road as the wagon began to roll forward, the darkness of the night enveloping them. Dawn was still a few hours away, but it raced towards them, heralding the beginning of a new day.
As they traveled, Darbakh turned his attention to the human driver. "You're sure the next town is secure?" he inquired.
The human nodded confidently. "Absolutely. I've traveled this route countless times. It's a peaceful town, no worries about bandits or anything."
Darbakh's gaze narrowed slightly. "I meant secure from… supernatural threats."
The human's brows furrowed in thought, then realization dawned on him. "Oh, you mean like interplanar invasions? Don't worry about that. Elturel is the most secure city in these parts. It's got wards and defenses that keep anything otherworldly out. No need to fret about that."
Darbakh's expression remained stoic as he considered the human's words. Satisfied, he settled back against the barrels in the wagon, his thoughts as inscrutable as the night around them.
A few minutes passed in silence as the wagon continued its journey along the dark road. The rhythmic sound of the horses' hooves created a steady backdrop against the night.
After a while, the human driver cleared his throat, breaking the quiet. "You know," he began, "I’ve been trying my hand at poetry lately. I could recite one of my latest works if you'd like."
Without taking his eyes off the road ahead, Darbakh's voice was firm. "Just keep quiet and drive, Volo."
The end…
This epilogue takes place in 1489 DR; it’s just a day or two after the previous chapter. That’s a little context for those following recent events.
Thank you so much to those who read. I hope you remember this.
Thanks. It was fun)
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In the aftermath of a terrible battle deep within the Upperdark, the highest level of the Underdark, the air hung heavy with the lingering scent of burnt stone and the faint trace of magic. The once lively cavern now stood silent, a stark contrast to the violence that had unfolded here. Bodies of Drow, half-drow, and humans lay scattered across the cavern floor, roughly a dozen in total. The opposing sides remained a mystery, their identities lost amidst the chaos of death.
The dark walls seemed to close in, amplifying the dank quiet of the underground domain. The only sounds were the distant echoes of unseen creatures and the occasional drip of water. The eeriness was palpable, warning of the treacherous nature of the Underdark.
The bodies of fallen warriors painted a grim tableau of misery and loss. The cold stone floor was stained with the dark fluids of life extinguished too soon. The stillness was haunting, as if the very earth itself mourned the fallen.
Amidst the somber scene, a lone Mind Flayer sat on the rocky ground, lightly injured and fatigued. Its peculiar and unsettling appearance contrasted sharply with the grim surroundings. Tentacles writhed jerkily from its face.
The Mind Flayer appeared to be in a daze, its thoughts lost in the aftermath of the battle. Was it a survivor of the conflict, or had it orchestrated this violence from the shadows?
The eerie stillness enveloped the lone Mind Flayer, its presence a chilling reminder of the enigmatic dangers that lurked within the shadows of the Underdark. The creatures that called this subterranean realm home were as unpredictable as the dark caverns they inhabited, and they were not to be trifled with.
In the dim glow of the cavern, the Mind Flayer's keen eyes caught a glimpse of movement – a silhouette shifting amidst the shadows. Intrigued, it reached out with its psionic power, seeking to control the newcomer like a puppet on strings. Yet, to its surprise and frustration, its powers met an impenetrable wall, unable to sway the mind of this unyielding figure.
As the Duergar fighter named Darbakh stepped out of the darkness, the Mind Flayer's eyes widened with awe. Before it stood a grey dwarven warrior, formidable and unyielding. Clad in chain armor that glimmered in the dim light, he carried a massive maul with ease, each step resonating with power and purpose. He was like a boulder in the dark, an unmovable force that exuded raw strength.
The Mind Flayer attempted to gauge the dwarf's intentions, but its probing thoughts were met with an unyielding resistance, as if Darbakh's mind was shielded by an impenetrable fortress.
Wordlessly, Darbakh advanced, his eyes locked onto the Mind Flayer with an unwavering gaze. The creature, feeling a sudden urgency, tried desperately to psionically raise one of the lifeless bodies scattered around, hoping to gain an ally or a distraction. Yet, its efforts were in vain, the bodies remained lifeless, and the dark powers it commanded could not rekindle what was lost.
With a sense of impending doom, the Mind Flayer realized that it could not halt Darbakh's relentless approach. The dwarf's determination and resilience were beyond its comprehension, and its attempts to control or deceive him were futile.
As Darbakh drew closer, his maul held firmly in his grasp, the Mind Flayer was left with a chilling realization – it was now the one facing an unstoppable force. The tables had turned, and the creature found itself at the mercy of a warrior whose mind could not be manipulated.
The silence hung heavy in the air as the confrontation reached a critical juncture. The Mind Flayer, once a fearsome predator of the Underdark, now faced a foe whose strength and willpower surpassed its own. In a flash of desperation, the Mind Flayer pulled out a sword, hoping to fend off the unyielding dwarf. But Darbakh's reflexes were swift, and with a resounding clang, he knocked the weapon aside with his maul. The dwarf's determination burned brighter, his eyes narrowed with unwavering focus.
Undeterred, the Mind Flayer attempted to levitate, hoping to gain an advantage in the aerial realm. However, before it could rise, Darbakh grabbed hold of the creature's ankle with an iron grip, yanking it back to the ground with a thunderous thud.
With a powerful swing, Darbakh delivered a brutal punch to the Mind Flayer's stomach, the force of the blow causing the creature to gasp for breath. The dwarf's fists were like hammers, unrelenting and unwavering, as he rained down blow after blow upon the Mind Flayer's writhing form.
Once more, the Mind Flayer attempted to control Darbakh's mind with its psionic powers, but the fortress of the dwarf's will remained impenetrable. The creature's pleas for mercy echoed in the cavern, but they fell upon deaf ears. The atrocities committed by the Illithids were not easily forgiven, and Darbakh's rage surged with each attempted manipulation.
The sound of fists colliding with flesh reverberated through the chamber, and the Mind Flayer's telepathic pleas for mercy grew more desperate. Its once formidable power was rendered useless against this indomitable force, and it found itself at the mercy of the very being it had sought to control.
As Darbakh stood over the Mind Flayer, the creature remained conscious but utterly incapacitated, unable to move from the agony inflicted upon it. Its fractured limbs trembled with pain, and its telepathic voice was now a pitiful whimper.
As the dust settled from the intense confrontation, the deep gnome Brynni stepped out of the shadows, her wide-rimmed hat casting a faint silhouette on her face. She wore dirty overalls, practical attire for her role as a hireling. Lirak the Drow dredge followed, his tattered rags, shaven head, and mismatched shoes betraying the hardships he had endured. Resentment simmered beneath his surface as he joined the group, a silent participant in their quest.
After a moment of silence, Darbakh turned his gaze towards Lirak, his eyes expectant. "We came here to scavenge," he said firmly, his voice carrying an underlying command. "So scavenge."
Lirak complied without a word, his movements reflecting his discontent. His hands sifted through the belongings of the fallen, an act he begrudgingly undertook.
As Darbakh and Brynni moved away, leaving the corpses to Lirak's scavenging, Brynni engaged the duergar warrior in small talk. "What do you think happened here?" she speculated, her eyes surveying the scene. "Two sides clashed, but it's hard to tell who they were."
Darbakh's brow furrowed as he considered the question. "A skirmish, perhaps," he mused. "Or a feud between rival factions."
As they continued to explore the area, the mystery of the battle lingered in the air. The Upperdark held its secrets close, and the aftermath of this clash only deepened the enigma.
As Darbakh and Brynni continued their exploration amidst the aftermath of the battle, a faint glimmer caught the corner of the dwarf's eye. He turned towards the source of the light, and there it lay – a lightly shining toy. It sat amidst the spilled belongings of a fallen wizard, its intricate carvings adorned with glowing arcane runes.
Curiosity piqued, Darbakh picked up the item, a puzzle box, his calloused fingers tracing the intricate patterns etched into the wood. There was something undeniably alluring about the toy, a magnetic pull that drew him in. He inspected it closely, captivated by its craftsmanship.
As he marveled at the puzzle box, Brynni's voice brought him back to the present. "Darbakh, look," she said, pointing towards the retreating figure of the Mind Flayer, crawling away in a desperate attempt to escape.
Without hesitation, Darbakh swiftly stowed the puzzle box in his pocket, his mind now focused on the immediate threat. He grabbed a nearby rock and, with a precise throw, sent it hurtling towards the Mind Flayer. The creature fell motionless, its escape foiled by the grey dwarf's accurate aim.
Brynni chuckled beside him, a sense of camaraderie and shared triumph passing between them. "Nice shot,," she remarked, admiration lacing her words.
As the pair continued to laugh about their victory over the incapacitated Mind Flayer, they unknowingly left behind the pamphlet that had belonged to the fallen wizard. Unnoticed and unseen, the warning written on it remained hidden from perception, uncovered by investigation. With the puzzle box now safely tucked away and the Mind Flayer dealt with, they returned to their task of scavenging the remains of the battle. Loot gathered, they prepared to leave the scene, unknowingly taking the mystery of the puzzle box with them.
The trio departed, their minds focused on their next steps, the warning still concealed among the discarded belongings.
Just a bit of backstory for my character which I started writing while in a queue. I hope other people find it as fun to read as I found to write it. This prologue takes place in the year 1479DR.
Darbakh - Duergar troublemaker [Pic 1] [Pic 2] [Story 1] [Story 2]
Quorian - half-elf watcher
PM me the word ‘tomato’
"Welcome to my unboxing video, my name is Pandora."
Well written! Thx for sharing your work.
Ten years later
Inside the cramped flat in Brampton, located in the bustling Lower City of Baldur's Gate, the atmosphere was a chaotic blend of coziness and disarray. The wooden walls enclosed the space, and dusty floors bore the marks of countless footsteps. Most of the furniture, intended for comfort and relaxation, was now cluttered with packages, unopened bags, and an assortment of knick-knacks, creating a disorganized maze.
Amidst the clutter, Brynni stood, a picture of professionalism amidst the chaos. Her attire, suited to her role as a retainer, seemed somewhat out of place in the humble surroundings of Brampton. As she sorted through the mail in the cramped anteroom, surrounded by everyone's spare shoes, she brought a semblance of order to the jumble of their lives. In passing, Lirak made his way to the kitchen, wearing a stained chef's apron.
As the heavy wooden door creaked open, Darbakh entered the flat, wearing a blacksmith's apron smeared with ash. He looked preoccupied but determined, the day's toil etched on his face. Brynni greeted him with a warm smile, setting aside the mail to help him with his boots.
"Long day at the forge?" she asked, knowing the answer already but engaging in the routine banter that held their bond.
"Aye, the city guards needed more weapons," Darbakh replied, his tone reflecting both mental weariness and pride in his craftsmanship. "They're always looking for something sturdy, but not too sturdy, if you catch my drift."
Brynni chuckled knowingly, her eyes conveying a silent understanding. "Ah, the delicate balance of weapon-making," she said playfully. "Well, I have something for you too." She motioned towards the side table, where an unmarked package lay inconspicuously.
Darbakh's expression softened as he unwrapped the package, revealing a forged import license and a small pouch of coins. "You're a lifesaver," he said gratefully, knowing the arrangement between them.
When he walked towards the den, his movements were a blend of boredom and unease. As they chatted briefly about incoming payments and outgoing goods, the flat buzzed with an undercurrent of clandestine transactions. But amidst the mundane talk, a sudden noise interrupted their exchange. Darbakh accidentally knocked over one of the unopened crates and bags that littered the furniture, and as it toppled, the puzzle box tumbled out, landing with a soft thud on the dusty floor.
His eyes fixed on the enigmatic object before him, Darbakh felt a strange unease wash over him. There was something familiar yet foreign about the puzzle box, as if its presence had stirred a long-buried memory. He hesitated, his fingers hovering over the intricate carvings, before slowly picking it up. The warmth of the wood against his skin sent shivers down his spine, and he found himself lost in the depths of the glowing arcane runes.
Brynni's voice calling his name seemed distant, muffled by the thoughts racing through his mind. The puzzle box, seemingly innocent and innocuous, held secrets that seemed just beyond his grasp.
As he stared at the box, time seemed to stand still, the weight of its mysteries heavy upon him. With a deep breath, he closed his fingers around the puzzle box.
Darbakh's thick fingers traced the delicate runes etched into the puzzle box, marveling at how they faintly glowed in response to his touch. The subtle luminescence seemed to dance beneath his calloused skin, an ethereal dance that captured his attention. Brynni glanced at the box curiously and asked, "Where do you think this came from?"
Darbakh paused, his brow furrowing slightly as he considered the question. "I suppose we might have found it while scavenging in the Underdark," he replied thoughtfully. Memories of their early adventures in the dark depths stirred within him, but the details eluded him.
A wistful expression crossed Brynni's face as she reminisced about their time in the Underdark. "I miss it sometimes," she mused, her eyes momentarily distant.
Darbakh's gaze softened as he understood the nostalgia that gripped his companion. However, he gently reminded her, "Our return passage caved in near Neverwinter. The past is best left where it belongs."
Brynni nodded in acknowledgment, a tinge of sadness mingling with her memories. "Come on, let's go eat," she said, breaking the contemplative moment. With a nod, Darbakh set the puzzle box down unceremoniously on the floor, the glow of its runes fading as it lost his touch.
Unbeknownst to them, a magical surge pulsed through the artifact, like an automated beacon which had laid dormant for the past decade.
Thank you for reading it! Pandora is, indeed, setting up her unboxing playlist.
Darbakh - Duergar troublemaker [Pic 1] [Pic 2] [Story 1] [Story 2]
Quorian - half-elf watcher
PM me the word ‘tomato’
The first light of dawn filtered through the small window, casting a soft glow in the cramped flat. As the world outside stirred awake, Darbakh roused from his slumber, woken by Brynni’s voice in the hallway outside his bedroom door.
"Darbakh, there's someone at the door. I don't know them."
Ever territorial, he was quick to respond, despite his reluctance to rise early. He sat up, his warrior's instincts taking over, and got dressed. "I'll check it out," he murmured as he walked out, down the hall, and then downstairs.
In the dimly lit space, the creaking of the floorboards announced Lirak's presence. He opened a door hidden beneath the stairs, revealing his sleeping quarters in the small closet-like space. Although still groggy from sleep, he peered out curiously.
With Brynni and Darbakh both on alert, they made their way to the door. The morning air held a sense of mystery as they approached, the stranger's identity hidden behind the wooden barrier. Brynni's hesitation was evident, the uncertainty written on her face.
As Darbakh cautiously peered through the peephole, he beheld a sight unlike any he had seen in Brampton. A fire Genasi stood at the door, dressed in vibrant, exotic attire that seemed to come from distant and unknown lands. The colorful fabrics and intricate jewelry adorning the stranger jingled and jangled with every movement, giving him an animated air.
With a flamboyant flourish, the Genasi introduced himself. “Greetings, fair occupants; you’re now graced by a visit from Spark Emberflare, a traveling merchant from lands far beyond your city's borders. I come with great business deals!” His presence exuded an aura of otherworldliness, leaving no doubt that he was indeed foreign and out-of-place.
Darbakh remained silent, observing Spark with an intensity that matched the stranger's animated demeanor. The fire Genasi continued to knock on the door persistently, his voice rising in excitement as he called out for the occupants of the flat.
"Hello, hello! Anyone home?" Spark exclaimed, his words carrying a lilt of enthusiasm that was hard to ignore. "I have an offer you simply can't refuse! The most wondrous treasures and rare artifacts from the corners of the realms await you!"
The sound of the jingling and jangling trinkets seemed to echo through the flat, mingling with the tension in the air. Darbakh's hand hovered near the doorknob, yet he hesitated, torn between curiosity and caution. The morning sun cast a golden glow on Spark's animated features, highlighting the mesmerizing fire-like hues that danced within his eyes. He seemed to embody a tale spun from a realm of enchantment, and his presence bore a promise of adventure and mystery.
As the relentless knocking echoed through the narrow alleyway, Spark's animated voice rang out once more, his words carrying a sense of urgency. "I know you have it! The puzzle box! I've been searching for it, and I must have it!"
Darbakh's patience reached its limit, and with a surge of anger, he swung open the door. In one swift motion, he seized Spark by the collar, yanking the fire Genasi inside their anteroom and slamming him against the wall. The wooden door of their flat closed with a resounding thud. Lirak quickly closed the door to his hiding place beneath the stairs, vanishing from sight.
"Who sent you?" Darbakh demanded, his voice taut with anger and suspicion. He glared at Spark, his grip unyielding, as the fire Genasi struggled to catch his breath.
Brynni stepped forward, her voice gentle yet firm, attempting to defuse the tension. "Darbakh, let him go. We don’t need the guards in here asking about any incidents."
Spark gasped for air, his eyes wide with surprise. "I-I mean you no harm," he stammered, trying to compose himself. "I was sent here to find the puzzle box, an artifact of great power and ancient magic. It holds secrets that few can comprehend."
Darbakh's grip on Spark's collar loosened slightly, though the fire Genasi still felt trapped against the wall. "Secrets? What do you know about us? And who sent you?" he pressed.
Spark hesitated, weighing his words carefully. "The puzzle box is more than just an artifact; it's a rare item with many wealthy bidders," he explained. "Only I can be your middleman to those bidders."
As the gravity of Spark's words settled in, Darbakh's expression softened, though he kept a watchful eye on the fire Genasi. The puzzle box, once an innocent curiosity, now seemed to carry a weight of significance that he hadn't fully grasped before.
Brynni's voice held a note of concern as she probed further. "And who sent you on this mission, Spark? Who is after the puzzle box?"
Spark glanced between Darbakh and Brynni, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features. "I-I can't reveal their names. It's a dangerous game, and those who covet the box will stop at nothing to possess it. Wealthy bidders are in conflict over it."
As Spark attempted to compose himself, Darbakh's stern gaze bore into him, demanding answers. "Tell me who sent you," Darbakh urged, his voice firm and unyielding.
Spark took a deep breath, visibly anxious, and began to explain, "I am a finder of lost artifacts, a merchant of the rare and mystical. The puzzle box holds a magical beacon, one that alerted my caravan to its presence. My business is standard and common; I merely seek out valuable relics and offer deals to those willing to part with them."
Darbakh's expression softened slightly, but suspicion lingered in his eyes. "So, you claim the puzzle box called to you?" he inquired, his tone measured.
"Yes, yes! Exactly," Spark replied, nodding fervently. "Its enchantment was unmistakable to those who are attuned to such things. I only seek to make an honest trade, nothing more."
Brynni stepped forward, her voice calm and inquisitive. "But why the urgency? Why did you need to find the puzzle box so quickly?"
Spark hesitated for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "The puzzle box holds great significance to certain nobles in the realm. Collectors. My clientele desires it, and they don't take kindly to delays or missed opportunities. I had to act swiftly to secure the artifact before any of my own competitors did."
Darbakh remained silent, listening intently. Spark's explanation held an air of sincerity, but the fear in the fire Genasi's eyes betrayed his anxiety about the dwarf possibly doubting him.
"You must understand," Spark continued, his voice wavering slightly, "I have a reputation to uphold as a reputable merchant. Missing out on a find like this could tarnish my standing and jeopardize future ventures."
Darbakh nodded thoughtfully, absorbing the information. As he remained silent, Spark continued to speak, attempting to justify his role in this unfolding drama.
"I assure you, my intentions are honest," Spark insisted, his voice pleading. "I can offer you a fair deal, a generous sum for the puzzle box, one that will ensure you’re well-compensated without any requirement for labor on your part."
Darbakh said little in response, his expression unreadable. The fire Genasi's words spilled forth, a mix of fear and desperation, as he tried to convince the trio of his sincerity.
As Darbakh shifted slightly, Spark flinched instinctively, his fear of physical retribution apparent in his quick reaction. The fire Genasi's eyes darted nervously, but Darbakh hadn't intended to harm him; he had been lost in thought, contemplating the situation at hand.
Brynni leaned in, whispering words of persuasion to Darbakh. "Let him go, Darbakh," she urged, her voice barely audible. "Hear him out. If his offer is as good as he claims, we could use the money."
Darbakh hesitated, torn between his natural wariness and the allure of the potential riches that Spark seemed eager to promise. Finally, he released his grip on the fire Genasi's collar, allowing him to step away from the wall.
"Talk then," Darbakh said gruffly, giving Spark a wary look. "But be quick about it. We've got no time for games."
Spark, still apprehensive but sensing an opportunity, followed Brynni into the den and took a seat. The tension in the room seemed to lessen slightly as he settled in. Once seated, Spark's demeanor underwent a subtle transformation. Gone was the anxious fidgeting, replaced by a newfound confidence as he launched into his sales pitch.
"My friends," he began, his voice more composed, "the puzzle box is no ordinary trinket. It’s unique, crafted by an artificer who’s since passed away; curators and collectors across the Sword Coast seek it. With the right connections and resources, I can find the most esteemed buyers for it, those who are willing to pay handsomely for its enchanting allure."
Brynni listened intently, her professional instincts guiding her assessment of Spark's words. Darbakh, too, remained attentive, although his suspicion had not entirely dissipated.
"You see," Spark continued, "if we strike the right deal, the rewards will be beyond your wildest dreams. I can assure you that the riches I can bring your way will far surpass anything you've ever encountered."
As Spark's words painted a picture of boundless wealth, the room seemed to fill with the allure of endless possibilities. The puzzle box, once a curious trinket, now held the potential to transform their lives in ways they had never imagined. Darbakh's skepticism wavered, replaced by a glimmer of intrigue. Brynni's eyes sparkled with excitement, her mind racing with thoughts of what their future might hold.
The fire Genasi continued, his voice persuasive and filled with conviction, "All I ask is that you trust me, give me a chance to find the right buyer, and in return, I promise you a fortune beyond your wildest dreams. Your days of scraping by in the Lower City will be a distant memory, replaced by a life of luxury and opulence. 5,000 gold pieces, bank notes proving your ownership, and access to finances from the Upper City; that is my offer," Spark repeated with a glimmer in his eyes. "You will want for nothing! Just hand over the puzzle box, and it will be yours!"
Brynni's eyes widened at the tempting offer, her imagination already running wild with visions of grandeur and prosperity. Darbakh, however, remained steadfast and resolute.
"You are mistaken if you think I’ll part with the puzzle box so easily," Darbakh said firmly, his voice unwavering.
"But the wealth, the treasures!" Brynni whispered, her voice filled with longing.
With a determined look, Darbakh took a step forward and reached out to grab Spark by the collar. He swiftly guided the fire Genasi towards the door and physically threw him out onto the cold streets of Brampton.
"You've overstepped your bounds," Darbakh said sternly as he slammed the door shut after Spark.
Outside in the narrow alleyway, Spark's desperate pleas continued, but Darbakh paid them no heed. He knew that some offers were too good to be true.
"Brynni," Darbakh said, turning to face his loyal companion, "fast-talking merchants like Spark don't hand out such large sums of money to people like us. He was a charlatan, trying to deceive us with false promises."
She managed a weak smile, appreciating his understanding. "I know we should be cautious, but part of me dared to hope for a better life."
Darbakh and Brynni peered through the peephole, watching as one of their half-elf neighbors' children chased Spark away with a broom. The fire Genasi scampered down the narrow alleyway, leaving behind a trail of hasty retreat.
"He got what he deserved," Darbakh muttered, folding his arms across his chest.
Brynni nodded in agreement. "Seems like he was up to no good, trying to muscle in on someone else's territory."
"It's a dangerous game he was playing," Darbakh replied, his gaze following Spark's hurried departure. "Smugglers don't take kindly to intruders."
Brynni sighed, finally putting the event behind her. "Well, at least we know to be even more cautious in the future."
With a nod, Darbakh turned away from the peephole and looked at the puzzle box in his hand. "Speaking of caution, we should be careful with this. If our customers have competitors for shifting goods past the city wall, then we can’t afford any extra attention."
Brynni nodded solemnly, understanding the significance of the enigmatic artifact. Without another word, she took the puzzle box from Darbakh and dropped it in a nearby trash can.
"There, it can sit with the other discarded junk," she said, a hint of relief in her voice.
It will come as no surprise that, once again, they didn’t notice the runes flash like a beacon signal when it hit the bottom of the can.
.
And the third chapter is ready.
Darbakh - Duergar troublemaker [Pic 1] [Pic 2] [Story 1] [Story 2]
Quorian - half-elf watcher
PM me the word ‘tomato’
Not gonna lie, feeling a bit bad for a mind flayer there, and the rest of the story was equally cool, felt like we were sitting in the room watching it happen
Thank you! I’m doing my best to think of the readers first.
Now you have me thinking about the mind flayer again. Look at how fickle I am…
As the dirty smithy in Brampton hummed with activity, Darbakh stood by one of the roaring forges, his blacksmith's apron smeared with soot and sweat glistening on his furrowed brow. With each precise strike of his hammer, a red-hot blade took shape, the clang of metal on metal echoing through the cramped space.
The aging human owner supervised the proceedings, his watchful eyes darting between the workers. Darbakh and the owner exchanged subtle glances, an unspoken understanding passing between them. With a knowing look, they confirmed that this batch of weapons would be intentionally flawed, ensuring they would require repairs soon after they were sold.
As the hammering continued, Darbakh leaned closer to the owner, their voices barely audible over the clatter. "We'll add just a hint of imperfection," Darbakh said in a low voice, "enough to guarantee they'll need us back."
The owner nodded in agreement. "Aye, but not so much that they suspect foul play. It's an art, Darbakh, to keep them coming back without arousing suspicion."
"We've mastered it," Darbakh replied, a hint of pride in his voice. "Our craftsmanship is renowned, and they'll keep returning for the repairs as much as for the weapons."
The owner smiled, the lines on his weathered face softening. "Aye, that they will. A steady flow of customers means a steady flow of coin."
In the background, the rhythmic clanging of metal on metal masked their hushed conversation. The blades took shape under Darbakh's skilled hands, concealing the subtle flaws that would reveal themselves only in time. It was a delicate dance of craftsmanship and cunning, ensuring the longevity of their business and the loyalty of their patrons.
As the rhythmic clanging of metal filled the air, one of the owner's sons called out from the front office, his voice carrying through the workshop. "Hey, Pa! We got a lady out here asking for Darbakh!"
The owner glanced in the direction of his son's voice, his weathered face contorting with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. "Tell her she'll have to wait like everyone else," he grumbled, not bothering to hide his frustration.
"But Pa," the son protested, "she seems important. She's asking for Darbakh specifically!"
Darbakh raised an eyebrow, momentarily distracted from his work at the unexpected mention of his name. "Who could it be?" he wondered aloud, pausing in his hammering.
The owner sighed and shook his head. "Take a break, Darbakh," he said, wiping his hands on his apron. "You've been at it for six hours straight. Go see what this lady wants."
Darbakh shrugged, a faint grin on his face as he removed his apron and hung it on a nearby rack. "Six hours ain't that long," he mumbled, though he appreciated the break all the same.
He made his way to the front office, the sounds of the bustling workshop fading behind him. The air outside was refreshing, and he breathed in deeply as he approached the counter where the owner's son stood.
"So, who's this important lady asking for me?" Darbakh inquired, trying to suppress his curiosity.
The owner's son pointed to a woman waiting by the entrance. It wasn't anyone he knew; instead, standing there was a red-skinned tiefling dressed in noble attire, her presence standing out amidst the industrial surroundings.
Curiosity mingled with caution as Darbakh approached her, his eyes carefully studying her socially mismatched clothing. "Can I help you, miss?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
She smiled, a glint of confidence in her eyes. "I believe you can," she replied in a voice filled with an almost naïve sound of hope. "My name is Lady Laelia Emberflare," she said, her tone refined and composed. "I've heard of your reputation, Mr. Darbakh, and I believe I may require your services."
Darbakh couldn't help but feel a mix of curiosity and wariness at the noblewoman's approach. "Well, Lady Laelia, the owner handles all orders," he replied, trying to maintain a friendly but cautious demeanor.
She toyed with the edge of her hand fan. "You see, Mr. Darbakh, I'm in need of something... specialized," she said cryptically, her words hanging in the air with an air of mystery.
He furrowed his brow, not one to beat around the bush. "Like I said, the owner handles orders. How abut I go bring him over?" Darbakh inquired, trying to get to the heart of the matter. She shook her head at him, though. “What do you want to talk to me for?”
Laelia seemed to enjoy the game of words, her smile widening slightly. "Oh, nothing illegal, of course," she said with a soft chuckle. "Just something that might have found its way into this city through less conventional means, if you catch my meaning. Something I’m willing to pay for."
Darbakh raised an eyebrow, catching the allusion to smuggled goods. He decided to play the ignorant card, feigning innocence. "I'm afraid I don't quite follow, Lady Laelia. My business here is in the crafting of fine weapons, nothing more," he said, hoping to steer the conversation away from any dubious dealings.
She nodded knowingly, her composure unwavering. "Of course, Mr. Darbakh. Forgive my assumption," she said politely. "But I've heard whispers that you might know someone who deals with such... unconventional items."
Darbakh remained steadfast in his feigned ignorance. "I'm sorry, Lady Laelia, but I'm just a simple blacksmith," he insisted, avoiding any direct involvement in her hints.
Laelia hesitated for a moment before asking, "Mr. Darbakh, would you be willing to listen to my appeal?"
Darbakh furrowed his brow, still wary of her vague hints and evasive demeanor. "Alright, I'll listen," he replied hesitantly, crossing his arms. "But be direct with me this time. No more beating around the bush."
She nodded, her expression serious. "Thank you, Mr. Darbakh. I apologize for being indirect earlier. It's just... difficult to discuss," she said, her voice tinged with sadness.
Darbakh's curiosity was piqued, but he kept his guard up. "Go on," he urged, trying not to let his impatience show.
Laelia took a deep breath and continued, "My grandfather...well, we lost him. The years have been hard for me, and I believe you might be able to help a bereaved granddaughter."
Darbakh struggled to feign understanding, though he still remained impatient. "I'm sorry for your loss," he said. "I'll listen to what you have to say."
Laelia nodded, gratitude evident in her eyes. "Thank you, Mr. Darbakh. That's all I ask for," she said, her voice a mix of hope and apprehension.
Laelia settled into a chair, her eyes searching Darbakh's face as she began her explanation. "You see, I... lost my grandfather not too long ago. He left behind an heirloom of great sentimental and monetary value. But, it was stolen from my family when he passed away, decades ago."
Darbakh's eyebrows furrowed as he listened, sensing there was more to her story than she was revealing. "Stolen, you say?" he asked, trying to grasp the significance of her words.
"Yes," she replied. "I've been searching for it for a long time, and I believe I've finally tracked it down. My magical beacon led me to you, Mr. Darbakh."
As soon as she mentioned the ‘magical beacon,’ Darbakh's heart sank. He knew exactly what she was talking about - the puzzle box. He tried to hide his shock and discomfort, but it was evident in his expression. He had a sinking feeling that his life was about to become much more complicated.
Darbakh tried to hide his irritation, nodding politely as he said, "I understand, but I need to get back to work."
Laelia sensed his discomfort and quickly apologized with her impeccable manners. "I'm sorry for intruding, Mr. Darbakh, but I truly believe you can help me. You see, I can get that man, Spark, out of your life if you help me with the heirloom. He's a notorious swindler who will go to any lengths to rob my family of what rightfully belongs to us."
Darbakh's curiosity got the better of him. "Who do you think Spark is?" he asked, carefully holding back what he knew about the fire Genasi.
Laelia looked earnestly into his eyes. "He's a cunning trickster, skilled in deception and manipulation. He's been hounding me for information about the heirloom ever since he got wind of it. If you help me, I promise you won't have to deal with him anymore."
The grey dwarf remained cautious, contemplating her words and the potential danger Spark might pose. He didn't fully trust Laelia yet, but he couldn't deny that he wanted to be rid of the troublesome fire Genasi.
Darbakh nodded, trying to hide the conflicting thoughts swirling in his mind. "I'll sleep on it," he said, not revealing that he was leaning towards getting rid of the puzzle box and its troublesome beacon altogether.
Laelia's eyes lit up with joy, and she thanked Darbakh profusely, over and over again. He awkwardly tried to usher her towards the door, but her gratitude seemed endless. "Thank you so much, Mr. Darbakh. You have no idea what this means to me," she repeated, her words pouring out like a waterfall.
As she finally made her way to the door, Laelia handed him a small business card with the name of an inn in the Lower City. "Please, contact me there when you've made your decision. I'll be eagerly waiting to hear from you, and I promise to compensate you for your trouble if you bring the puzzle box to me."
Darbakh forced a smile and nodded. "I'll follow up, don't worry," he replied vaguely, knowing that he had to be careful with his words. As he saw Laelia out the door, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was getting himself entangled in something far beyond his usual troubles. The puzzle box seemed to be more than just a curious trinket, and now he had a tiefling noblewoman looking to recover a lost heirloom. Darbakh knew he needed to tread carefully, but he couldn't deny the intrigue and the potential for reward. With Laelia gone, he closed the door and leaned against it, letting out a heavy sigh as he contemplated the decision he was about to make.
.
Darbakh - Duergar troublemaker [Pic 1] [Pic 2] [Story 1] [Story 2]
Quorian - half-elf watcher
PM me the word ‘tomato’
As Darbakh approached his flat in the narrow alley, he couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment. The day at the smithy had been productive, and the vegetables he had bought from the market weighed pleasantly in his hands. However, as he went to unlock the door, his ears caught the sound of raised voices inside.
Curiosity piqued, Darbakh hesitated for a moment, trying to make out the words from the muffled argument within. He couldn't decipher the exact content of their dispute yet, but it was clear that both Brynni and Lirak were upset about something. With a sigh, Darbakh turned the knob and slowly pushed the door open. As Darbakh stepped inside the flat, he immediately noticed the puzzle box lying on the floor. It seemed odd, as he distinctly remembered Brynni tossing it in the trash can earlier that day. Before he could question its presence, his attention was drawn to Brynni and Lirak, who were frantically talking to each other.
"It's been moving, I'm telling you! I saw it!" Brynni exclaimed, her eyes wide with fear.
Lirak nodded vigorously in agreement, adding, "Yeah, and I saw it too! It's like it's alive or something!"
Darbakh furrowed his brow, trying to make sense of their words. The flat was in a state of disarray, with scattered papers and misplaced objects strewn about. He could feel the tension in the air, but it was unclear what had caused their anxiety.
"What do you mean it's been moving?" Darbakh interrupted, his curiosity mixed with concern.
Brynni and Lirak exchanged nervous glances, hesitating to answer. It was evident that they were both afraid, but Darbakh couldn't quite grasp the reason behind their fear. He listened intently as Brynni recounted the strange events involving the puzzle box.
"So, you're saying it just...moved on its own?" Darbakh asked, raising an eyebrow.
Brynni nodded, her hands trembling slightly. "Yes, that's exactly what happened. Lirak and I both saw it."
Darbakh pondered for a moment, offering possible explanations, "Well, maybe the floor is uneven, and it just rolled to the door. Or maybe someone is playing a prank on us."
Brynni shook her head, frustration evident in her voice. "No, I thought of that too. But the floor is even, and the puzzle box was placed firmly against the door. There's no way it could have moved on its own, and I highly doubt anyone would be pulling a prank like this."
Darbakh tried again, "Could it be some kind of draft that pushed it around?"
"I don't think so," Brynni replied, exasperated. "The door was closed, and there was no breeze in here."
Darbakh fell silent for a moment, contemplating the situation. He could see the genuine fear in Brynni's eyes. However, his logical suggestions seemed to fall short in light of the inexplicable events.
Finally, Brynni let out a sigh and looked at him, her voice tinged with frustration. "Darbakh, I know it sounds crazy, but I'm telling you, the puzzle box is moving on its own. I don't know how or why, but I'm scared."
Darbakh was about to say something else when Brynni's urgent gesture caught his attention again. He followed her pointed finger to the floor and saw the puzzle box resting on top of his foot. His eyes widened in surprise, and he blinked in disbelief.
"I didn't feel it move there," Darbakh said, his voice tinged with unease. “Now this Laelia lady is asking about it…maybe her visit triggered this thing.”
Brynni's confusion deepened. "Laelia? Who's Laelia?"
Darbakh hesitated for a moment before replying, "She's the one who came to the smithy today. The lady with the heirloom story."
Brynni's brow furrowed as she asked, "What heirloom story? You just got home, you didn’t tell us any heirloom story."
Darbakh sighed, "Some noble named Laelia claims it belonged to her grandfather, and she's willing to pay us for it. She even said she could get Spark off our backs."
Brynni's eyes widened in surprise, "Really? But how does she know about the puzzle box? Or that Spark was here?"
Darbakh shook his head, "I don't know. She said something about a magical beacon and tracking it down. But honestly, I don't believe her either. Just like Spark, it all seems too good to be true."
"I agree," Brynni said with a measure of reluctance. "Both of them offering money and promises... it's all suspicious."
Darbakh crossed his arms, his skepticism evident. "Exactly. I don't trust either of them. We should be careful."
As the puzzle box's magical beacon flared again, the dimly lit flat was filled with an eerie glow, and both Darbakh and Brynni paused in their tracks. Darbakh's eyes narrowed as he picked up the box, his mind filled with conflicting thoughts and emotions. Without a word, he walked towards the door, his footsteps firm and determined.
"Darbakh, where are you going?" Brynni called after him, concern lacing her voice.
He closed the door behind him, leaving Brynni and Lirak inside the flat, and stepped out into the narrow winding alleys of Brampton. The evening had draped a quiet stillness over the area, and the empty streets added to the sense of solitude. Darbakh's steps were measured, his eyes focused ahead, unwavering in his silent determination. In the dim light of the evening, the neighborhood’s cluttered buildings loomed over him like silent sentinels, casting long shadows that stretched across the cobblestone streets. The sense of isolation grew as he ventured deeper into the heart of Brampton, away from the bustling main thoroughfares. Eventually, he reached an inner-city canal which ran from the harbor and back out again.
The canal's murky waters glistened with reflections of dim streetlights, casting an eerie glow over the wooden pier. Darbakh's hands trembled with a mix of frustration and regret as he stood at the water's edge, staring down at the puzzle box clutched tightly in his grasp. With a brief second thought, he mustered all his strength and hurled the box into the canal. A muffled splash echoed through the empty alleyway as the puzzle box disappeared beneath the polluted water. Darbakh's heart raced, hoping that he had finally rid himself of the mysterious artifact and its strange beacon.
Breathing heavily, he turned around, only to find the puzzle box lying right in front of him, as if it had never been thrown into the canal. Confusion washed over him, and he couldn't comprehend what was happening. It was as if the puzzle box defied the laws of reality, refusing to be discarded. The canal's putrid stench seemed to grow stronger, mingling with the scent of damp wood and decaying garbage. The littered pier creaked under Darbakh's weight as he stood frozen in disbelief.
He gazed down at the puzzle box, its intricate runes seemingly mocking him. Every fiber of his being urged him to toss it into the canal again, to be free of its haunting presence. The quiet of the night was broken only by the distant sound of water lapping against the stone canal walls. No other soul dared venture near the deserted pier, leaving Darbakh to face this inexplicable dilemma alone.
Darbakh's frustration mounted with each failed attempt to rid himself of the puzzle box. He threw it into the canal once again, watching it disappear beneath the murky waters. Yet, as he turned around, the box was there, mocking him from the edge of his vision.
Grim determination filled his eyes as he tried again, and again, and again. Each time, the result was the same: the puzzle box reappeared, teasingly dancing in his peripheral vision. It seemed to defy his very will, always returning in a direction where he wasn't looking directly.
"Enough of this nonsense!" Darbakh growled, his patience wearing thin. He glared at the box, feeling as if it taunted him with its mere existence. He was tired of the endless cycle, tired of the puzzle box's relentless pursuit.
Frustrated, he knelt down and picked up the box, holding it up to his face. "What do you want from me?" he muttered, half-expecting a response. Of course, the box remained silent, offering no answers to his desperate plea.
In his heart, Darbakh knew the puzzle box was just an object, a thing with no consciousness or intent. Yet, its inexplicable behavior seemed to defy all logic and reason. It was as if some otherworldly force was toying with him, ensnaring him in its grip. He realized that he couldn't simply throw it away or ignore it any longer. Defeated, he stuffed the box in his pocket and turned away from the canal.
Darbakh's footsteps echoed softly through the empty alley as he walked, lost in thought. His hands remained deep in his pockets, the puzzle box resting there, seemingly mocking his every attempt to be rid of it. As he ambled down the narrow path, the dim light of nearby lanterns cast long shadows on the walls around him. The neighborhood was quiet, and the night air was filled with a sense of tranquility that contrasted with the turmoil in his mind.
Finally, a sense of resignation settled over him. He couldn't escape the puzzle box's hold, and perhaps it was time to face whatever awaited him on the other side of this strange encounter. Laelia's words echoed in his ears, her alluring promise of money still lingering in his thoughts. Tomorrow, he would seek her out and hand it over to her.
.
I’m on fire!
Darbakh - Duergar troublemaker [Pic 1] [Pic 2] [Story 1] [Story 2]
Quorian - half-elf watcher
PM me the word ‘tomato’
Darbakh pushed open the heavy wooden door, the creak echoing softly through the inn's lobby. The Blade and Star greeted him with a cozy warmth, the hearth crackling with a gentle flame. The scent of spiced ale and hearty stews filled the air, mingling with the soft murmurs of conversation from the scattered groups of guests.
He stepped inside, his dark brown cloak clinging to his sturdy frame. His weathered boots padded quietly across the wooden floor, eyes scanning the room. There were travelers, adventurers, and locals, all gathered under the inn's roof for various reasons. Darbakh didn't make eye contact, nor did he exchange pleasantries; he was a man on a mission.
He made his way to the second floor, passing other guests who nodded in polite acknowledgment. He climbed the wooden steps to the third floor, scanning the faces of those he passed without a word.
Finally, on the fourth floor, he glanced down the hallway, finding a solitary figure approaching. It was Laelia, wearing her regal attire with an air of grace. The hallway of the Blade and Star Inn was dimly lit, its wooden floors creaking.
Laelia expressed her gratitude, "Darbakh, thank you so much for coming. I truly appreciate your help with the puzzle box."
He nodded politely, but impatience lingered in his eyes as he responded, "You're welcome, but I hope it won't take too long."
Laelia extended a courteous invitation, gesturing toward her inn room where a combination of gold coins and bank notes were neatly arranged on a table. "Please, come in, Darbakh. It's more suitable to discuss matters inside."
Darbakh hesitated, glancing at the room before returning his gaze to her. "I'm not sure it's necessary to go in. We can handle the details here."
She smiled warmly. "I assure you, it's merely for privacy and safety. I don't want prying eyes or ears interfering with our dealings."
He considered her words for a moment, weighing the pros and cons. Before he could answer, though, a familiar voice called out to them from down the hallway. Both he and Laelia turned in surprise to see Spark approaching them.
"How in the blazes did you find us?" Darbakh demanded, suspicion creeping into his tone.
Laelia's previously composed demeanor shifted drastically as Spark drew near. Her posh manners evaporated, and she snapped at the Genasi, "What are you doing here? My bloodline will be restored, do you think you can stop me?"
Ignoring her aggression, Spark pleaded with Darbakh, his voice tinged with desperation, "Please, don't sell my grandfather to her!"
Darbakh's confusion deepened, and he interrupted the exchange, holding up his hands. "Whoa, whoa! Hold on a moment! I don't know what either of you are talking about. I'm not selling anybody's grandpa to anyone!"
As Spark fell to his knees, he clutched at Darbakh's cloak, pitiful pain etched across his face. "Please, you have to listen to me! My grandfather is trapped inside that cursed puzzle box," he pleaded, his voice filled with anguish.
Darbakh's eyes widened in surprise, unsure of whether to believe Spark's dramatic proclamation. "What are you talking about? That's impossible!" he retorted.
Laelia's brown furrowed angrily, and she scowled at Spark. "Oh, for the love of the gods, stop with your theatrics! Just shut up and make your peace with failure!" she snapped, her posh facade completely gone.
But Spark seemed undeterred by her scolding, continuing his plea. "It's true! I know it sounds absurd, but the puzzle box has been moving on its own. I saw it with the same device I used to track the beacon," he insisted, his voice trembling with emotion.
In a burst of frustration and anger, Darbakh forcefully shoved Spark away, causing the flamboyant merchant to stumble and fall to the ground. "Enough of this nonsense!" he growled, his patience wearing thin.
But before Darbakh could demand an explanation from Laelia, she stepped forward, her voice trembling with urgency. "Wait, Darbakh, it's true. My grandfather is trapped inside the puzzle box," she admitted, her eyes welling up with tears.
Darbakh's accusation hung heavy in the air, and he looked at Laelia with a mix of confusion and disbelief. "You lied to me? You told me your grandfather died!" he exclaimed, feeling betrayed.
But Laelia shook her head frantically. "No, I never said that. I only said he was lost," she protested, desperation evident in her voice. "Please, you have to believe me. The puzzle box is the only way to free him."
Darbakh's anger wavered as he saw the genuine fear and concern in Laelia's eyes. He glanced at the puzzle box, still clutched tightly in his hand, and then back at Laelia and Spark. Without another word, he turned away from them both, walked down the hall, and through the lobby.
As Darbakh stormed out of the inn, Laelia and Spark rushed after him, their voices overlapping as they desperately tried to persuade him to hand over the puzzle box. They offered him more gold coins than he had ever seen in his life, promising him vast fortunes beyond imagination.
"Darbakh, please, just think of the riches you could have!" Laelia pleaded, her eyes wide with desperation.
"No, wait! I'll give you a fortune in precious gemstones!" Spark chimed in, trying to outdo Laelia's offer.
He pushed his way through the crowded streets of Baldur's Gate, determined to put distance between himself and the relentless pair. Laelia and Spark followed close behind, their voices still ringing in his ears as they tried to convince him of their grandiose offers. Darbakh marched through the streets with a determined stride, and Laelia and Spark followed closely, their desperate pleas and promises echoing in his ears. He knew where he was going, and there was a sense of purpose in his every step. The two of them kept up their relentless pursuit, not giving him a moment's peace.
As they turned into a secluded back alley, the tension between Laelia and Spark seemed to reach its boiling point. They began hurling insults at each other, each trying to one-up the other with cutting remarks about their respective grandfathers.
"You always were an arrogant fool, just like your grandpa!" Laelia spat.
"And you were always a spineless sycophant, just like yours!" Spark retorted, his voice dripping with disdain.
The insults grew louder as they continued to follow Darbakh through the winding alleyways, their voices reverberating off the walls. It was a bizarre sight, with Darbakh leading the way in stoic silence while Laelia and Spark exchanged heated words behind him.
Spark sneered, "Your grandfather was a spineless fool who couldn't protect his own kin, let alone anything else!"
Laelia retorted, "And yours was a selfish, power-hungry wretch who cared more about his own desires than his family!"
The insults continued to fly back and forth like arrows, each word aimed at hitting the other's sore spots. Only when Darbakh pulled a spare hammer from his belt did the two of them cease their bickering.
Darbakh raised the hammer high, ready to bring it down on the puzzle box. Laelia and Spark immediately fell silent, their attention drawn to the fighter’s determined action. They hadn't noticed that while they were engulfed in their heated argument, he had prepared his own drastic solution. The puzzle box sat atop a single brick, its colorful engravings illuminated by the dim light of the alley. His hand tightened around the hammer's grip, his frustration and uncertainty fueling his resolve.
Laelia's eyes widened in terror, and she cried out, "No, wait! Please, you can't destroy it!"
Spark joined her in pleading, his voice shaky, "Please, I’ll do anything you ask!"
But Darbakh remained unmoved, his gaze fixed on the puzzle box. As his hammer collided with the puzzle box, the alleyway erupted in a blinding flash of arcane light. The impact didn't shatter the box as he had intended; instead, it caused the two sides of the puzzle box to flip open with a jamming click, revealing a hidden mechanism within.
Laelia and Spark fell to their knees, shielding their eyes from the brilliance of the magical display. Darbakh took a cautious step back, his defensive posture betraying his apprehension. Arcane energy surged out from both sides of the open box, swirling in tiny whirlwinds of light, creating an ethereal dance of colors and crackling sounds.
A gust of wind rushed through the narrow alleyway, carrying with it an unsettling sense of foreboding. The magical display seemed to imply that something terrible had been unlocked by the hammer's impact.
And then, as the lights continued to dance, the unimaginable occurred. From within the depths of the puzzle box emerged two entities, their forms taking shape amidst the brilliance of the arcane display. One was an Efreet, his fiery presence burning with intense heat and power. The other was a horned devil, a creature of immense malevolence, exuding an aura of darkness and infernal might.
Both Laelia and Spark were in a daze, barely able to comprehend the grandfathers they had unwittingly released. The Efreet and the horned devil stumbled, disoriented from their sudden freedom, and surveyed their surroundings with confusion. The alleyway seemed to grow smaller as the towering forms of the supernatural beings now occupied the space.
.
The ugly truth comes out…
Darbakh - Duergar troublemaker [Pic 1] [Pic 2] [Story 1] [Story 2]
Quorian - half-elf watcher
PM me the word ‘tomato’
Oh boy, here we go. We won't even want to be near a mile of that alley by this point
*DOOM soundtrack starts playing*
In the sweltering heat of the cramped and polluted alleyways of Brampton, the air grew thick with a palpable tension. The towering brick buildings, leaning precariously against each other, cast long shadows that seemed to reach out with claw-like fingers. The stench of decay and filth hung heavily in the air, mingling with the charged atmosphere of arcane energy.
As the dust settled from the dazzling display of magic, the two beings that had emerged from the puzzle box regained their senses. The efreet, wreathed in flames that danced and flickered across his form, slowly rose to his feet. His eyes blazed with an intense fiery light, and his presence radiated a searing heat that seemed to distort the air around him.
Opposite him, the horned devil stood upright, his crimson skin contrasting starkly against the dark alleyway. His horned head tilted slightly, and his eyes glowed with a malevolent intensity. Dark, smoky tendrils snaked around his form, hinting at the infernal power that pulsed within him.
Both beings exuded an aura of resolute evil, a force that seemed to bend the very fabric of reality around them. Despite the mortal world that surrounded them, their presence was far from mundane, commanding awe and fear in equal measure.
The tension between the efreet and the horned devil crackled in the air like a storm gathering its fury. A silent exchange passed between them, a wordless challenge that needed no spoken words to convey its intent. The world around them seemed to shrink, narrowing down to the space between their formidable forms.
In the face of such immense power, the mortal realm felt small and insignificant. The mortals who had unknowingly released these beings—Darbakh, Laelia, and Spark—stood on the sidelines, their hearts pounding with a mixture of dread and fascination. The air was charged with anticipation, the moment pregnant with the impending clash of forces beyond human comprehension. Their dark eyes locked onto each other, and a tense silence hung in the air, heavy with their mutual animosity.
The fiend spoke first, rolling his shoulders. “Karzoth…I still can’t shake you off,” the horned devil said with a venomous familiarity dripping from its lips.
The genie spoke second after popping the bones in his neck. “We both knew it would come to this, Malgog,” the efreet replied in a harsh tone seething with the weight of a long-standing rivalry.
The simmering hatred between them was palpable, like a storm about to break.
Darbakh stood rooted to the spot, caught in the crossfire of their intense gaze. He felt the tension like a physical force, the weight of their ancient conflict casting a shadow over the alley. Despite being surrounded by the otherworldly power of these beings, fear wasn't his first reaction. Instead, he was struck dumb by the sheer otherness of the situation, unsure of what to do or say as they faced off.
The efreet's molten gaze flickered with flames as he assessed the horned devil, his features contorting in a mixture of rage and scorn. The horned devil's eyes, glowing with malevolent intelligence, bore into the efreet, a mixture of contempt and disdain emanating from him. The atmosphere was electric with their mutual enmity, the air thick with the potential for violence.
The tension in the alleyway exploded into chaotic motion as the two outsiders charged at each other with earth-shattering force. The ground quaked beneath the impact of their pounding feet, and the air vibrated with the sheer intensity of their collision. The world seemed to hold its breath as the two powerful beings clashed, their hatred manifesting in physical violence.
Malgog swung his pitchfork with a fierce bellow, aiming for Karzoth's head, while Karzoth's two-handed scimitar arced through the air in a deadly sweep. The impact of their weapons clashing sent shockwaves reverberating through the narrow space, the sheer power of their blows causing sparks to fly and the ground to crack beneath them.
However, their first strikes missed their mark as they both dodged and tangled with each other, locked in a brutal embrace. Their combined weight smashed into the wall of a nearby building, the impact shaking the very foundations of the surrounding structures. The force of their collision was so immense that a dirty window shattered into a thousand pieces, raining glass down onto the cobblestones below.
As the window shattered, Laelia and Spark both instinctively threw themselves to the ground to avoid being caught in the crossfire of their respective grandfathers. Their terrified faces were etched with shock and fear as they watched the ferocity of the fight unfolding before them, the clash of titanic forces that threatened to consume them all. The scene was a maelstrom of violence, raw power, and unleashed fury, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake.
Frozen in place and stunned by the cataclysmic clash between the efreet and horned devil, Darbakh's thoughts spun in chaotic circles. He dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding a flying piece of debris that was kicked up by the force of the ongoing battle. His heart raced as he glanced from Malgog to Karzoth and back, uncertainty gnawing at his insides.
"What should I do?" he muttered aloud, his voice almost lost in the tumultuous sounds of combat. His fists clenched at his sides, his gaze darting around the alley as he searched for any semblance of a plan. The weight of his own rashness bore down on him; he had let these two creatures out of the puzzle box, and now the consequences were spiraling out of control.
Intermittently, his attention was drawn to the furious clash between Malgog and Karzoth. The efreet's flaming sword sliced through the air, only to be deftly parried by Malgog’s pitchfork, which gleamed with an otherworldly radiance. The horned devil retaliated with a swift swipe with his tail, but Karzoth twisted away, his molten form dancing around the attack. Neither opponent seemed to have the upper hand, their movements a ballet of destruction and chaos.
Amidst the battle's tumult, a voice cut through the chaos from behind him. “Now I have to fix your mess,” gurgled a warped, inhuman voice in Undercommon.
Darbakh's heart skipped a beat as he turned, his gaze fixing on the figure that had appeared in the alleyway. The sight was familiar, and yet shrouded in haze—a mind flayer, right in the middle of an urban street in a surface city. Darbakh struggled to place where he had encountered this twisted, hunched creature before, his memories clouded by the passage of time.
"How do you know me?" Darbakh's voice emerged steady but wary, his eyes never leaving the mind flayer's unsettling visage.
“Do you not recall what led you to this gross error? The battlefield which you picked through like a mangy jackal all those years ago?” The crippled mind flayer's response was a bitter hiss, its voice dripping with resentment. "You ruined me, forge-slave. I have watched, waited, and plotted all these years for a chance to repay the pain you inflicted upon me."
A chill crept down Darbakh's spine as he struggled to recall any memory of the limping Illithid before him. But then, in a sudden torrent of realization, the creature's words pierced his understanding.
"You... You were surrounded in that pile of corpses," Darbakh stammered, his eyes widening with shock. "I thought I... I thought I killed you!"
The mind flayer's chittering laughter rang out, mocking and chilling. "Oh, you impaired my mobility, but death was not your gift to give. You may have crushed my form, but you could not extinguish me."
Darbakh's incredulity mingled with his growing dread. The alleyway seemed to close in around him, a claustrophobic enclosure of threats and bitter memories. The tension thickened once more as Darbakh's gaze locked onto the mind flayer before him. The air seemed to crackle with the promise of conflict, but this time, their exchange was more rapid, the words flowing as naturally as a river of bitterness.
"What do you even want?" Darbakh's voice carried a mix of confusion and defiance, his eyes narrowing as he confronted the mind flayer.
The mind flayer's response was swift and unyielding. "What is mine by right. The puzzle box, the prison of these two outsiders, was stolen from me. A wizard, one of those my thralls had slain, may have invented the artifact, but it rightfully belongs to me."
Darbakh's mind raced, his thoughts drawn back to the beginnings of his involvement with the puzzle box. Very briefly, he thought of a sheet of paper which had hung from the dead wizard’s pocket, a paper he’d ignored and left behind. The mind flayer momentarily broke through the Duergar’s mental fortress and read his thoughts.
"You’re thinking of this?" The mind flayer held up a worn pamphlet, its contents faded but still decipherable. "The wizard who possessed the box warned of its dangers. And yet you bludgeoned it like an impatient child." The mind flayer's cold laughter sliced through the air. "The puzzle box is rightfully mine, and so is my revenge. You will give me both, willingly or not."
Darbakh's resolve remained unshaken even in the face of the mind flayer's taunts. He retorted, "You look too weak to be a threat."
The tentacles hanging from the aberration’s face curled and twisted in an ecstatic manner, almost like a cephalopod smiling. "My body may be broken, but my mind remains formidable."
With that declaration, the mind flayer extended its psychic grasp toward Laelia. Her eyes glazed over, her movements becoming mechanical as she raised her arms to attack Darbakh. Her fists flailed toward him with all the force of a summer breeze. He stood motionless, his demeanor unwavering even as her attacks landed with a curious lack of impact. He found himself unsurprisingly immune to her noodle-like strikes, his body unfazed by her useless spamming of thaumaturgy. He locked eyes with the mind flayer, a mix of curiosity and exasperation in his gaze. The mind flayer's attempt at controlling the tiefling was proving ineffective, and its confidence seemed to waver as its control over Laelia faltered.
Darbakh's expression remained one of bemused disbelief. The absurdity of the situation threatened to break his usual stoicism, but he resisted the urge to let out a chuckle. Instead, he stood there, his patience and resolve unbroken, facing down a mind flayer that had underestimated him in more ways than one. As the mind flayer's control over Laelia waned, a look of sheer terror overcame her. With a shake of her head, she blinked, her expression one of bewilderment mixed with a newfound dread. The realization of her own vulnerability seemed to wash over her, leaving her momentarily paralyzed with fear.
Across the chaotic alleyway, Malgog's fiery gaze turned from his opponent to his granddaughter. Seeing the fear in her eyes seemed to ignite a fire within him. His voice thundered with a mix of authority and concern, "Blood of my blood, take cover!"
Laelia didn't need a second warning. With her heart pounding in her chest, she darted behind a nearby trash can, seeking refuge from the escalating conflict that surrounded her.
Meanwhile, the struggle between Malgog and Karzoth raged on. Both beings of immense power grappled with one another, locked in a fierce struggle that sent shockwaves through the alleyway. Neither of the pair could fully overpower the other, their strength and fury nearly matched in a battle that seemed destined to continue indefinitely.
As the mind flayer unleashed its mind control, Spark's eyes widened in terror. The display of power shook him to his core, and he called out in desperation to Karzoth, his voice a mixture of fear and pleading, "Grandpa, save me!"
Amidst his own tumultuous struggle with Malgog, Karzoth's reaction was far less sympathetic. His grip tightened on his two-handed scimitar as he shot a cold glance in Spark's direction. His voice was sharp and laced with impatience as he barked, "Save yourself, boy! Prove that you're worthy of carrying my family name."
As the mind flayer's mind blast rippled through the alleyway, a wave of psionic energy washed over Spark. He was thrown backward by the force of the blast, crashing into a pile of discarded crates. The impact left him dazed and disoriented, struggling to regain his bearings in the midst of the chaotic conflict.
Darbakh, too, felt the weight of the mind blast, his mind momentarily clouded as he dropped to one knee. The power of the mind flayer's attack was a stark reminder of the otherworldly forces at play in this confrontation.
Amidst the turmoil, Karzoth's growl of disapproval cut through the air. His focus remained on his ongoing struggle with Malgog, the fierce clash of their weapons creating sparks that illuminated the alleyway. In the midst of this battle, there was little room for sentiment or compassion, and Karzoth's callous dismissal of Spark's plea underscored the harshness of his nature. The devil stabbed him in the thigh with the pitchfork, garnering a sharp growl until he cast his gaseous form. Washing over Malgog in the form of flowing smoke, Karzoth reformed directly behind his fiendish opponent, already in position for a rear naked choke. The genie then flew up into the air, dragging the choking devil along with him, and then slammed them both into the ground from a height of three stories.
Despite the pounding migraine that pulsed through Darbakh’s head and the painful cramp that knotted his neck muscles, the dark dwarf’s willpower refused to yield. Gritting his teeth against the throbbing ache, he forced his body to respond, pushing himself up from his kneeling position. The haze that had clouded his mind began to dissipate, replaced by a surge of determination that cut through the pain.
The mind flayer, standing a few paces away, was equally astonished by Darbakh's resilience. It had expected its mind blast to incapacitate him, to render him helpless before its power. Its widened eyes betrayed its disbelief as Darbakh stood up, his posture shaky yet resolute.
As the mind flayer stepped back nervously, its confusion gave way to a flicker of fear. It hadn't anticipated this level of resistance from a mere mortal. Its mental calculations were thrown into disarray, and it quickly drew a knife from its belt, clutching it with a trembling hand. The knife was a pitiful defense against the force that Darbakh represented, but it was all the mind flayer had at that moment.
Darbakh's fingers clenched tightly around the worn handle of his blacksmithing hammer. The pain in his head and neck still throbbed, but his determination burned brighter. He took a deep breath, his focus laser-sharp, and with a burst of raw courage, he charged forward. The world around him seemed to narrow to a single point—the mind flayer before him—and he barrelled toward it, hammer raised. His charge was relentless, like an avalanche hurtling down a mountainside. The mind flayer's attempts to fend him off with the knife were feeble against the force of his advance. With a swift, powerful motion, Darbakh swung his hammer, shattering the mind flayer's hand and sending the knife clattering to the ground.
The mind flayer's cry of pain echoed through the alleyway, a testament to the brutal efficiency of Darbakh's attack. Its pain-filled eyes darted around in desperation, and in a desperate attempt to defend itself, it reached out with its face tentacles, aiming to ensnare the hammer. But Darbakh had other plans.
As the mind flayer's tentacles neared the weapon, Darbakh released his grip on the hammer, allowing it to fall to the ground with a resounding thud. Instead, his hands shot forward, seizing the mind flayer's sensitive, writhing tentacles. He squeezed with a fierce strength like an ape, exerting unrelenting pressure. The mind flayer's agonized howl filled the air as it dropped to its knees, its once menacing posture reduced to one of vulnerable suffering. Its struggles were futile against his sheer force, and its pain-filled cries were met with cold resolve as Darbakh maintained his hold.
Darbakh's eyes blazed with anger as he loomed over the mind flayer, a vessel of ancestral memory and the pent-up rage of his people's subjugation. With a swift and decisive motion, he pulled the creature to the ground and stepped onto its back, a visual representation of his defiance against the malevolence which the Illithid’s visage reminded him of.
“I can give you a deal which these outsiders can’t!” the mind flayer said more urgently.
The mind flayer's cries were a mixture of pain and hysteria, its attempts to plead and manipulate evident in its desperate struggles. It fought against the unyielding pressure of Darbakh's foot, its body writhing as it tried to free itself. The creature's tentacles lashed out in a last-ditch effort to regain control, its mind control abilities taking hold with a powerful surge.
“Y-you don’t want to do this,” the mind flayer said in wavering, panicked Undercommon.
For a moment, Darbakh's mind wavered as the mind flayer's influence wormed its way into his thoughts. His resolve flickered, threatened by the invasive psychic assault. But then, like a surge of strength born from his ancestral connection, he shook off the insidious hold. His determination remained unbroken, and he roared his defiance into the alley.
"Wait! Just wait, Darbakh! Don’t!"
Amid the chaos of the ongoing fight between the outsiders, the mind flayer's whines and pleas were drowned out by the clash of powers and the sound of Darbakh's unwavering voice. The creature's attempts to manipulate and negotiate fell on deaf ears as Darbakh's grip on its reigns remained firm. With a voice that carried the weight of generations, he bellowed his refusal to submit to the creature's entreaties.
“No! Noooooo! Stop!”
With a surge of raw fury, Darbakh's grip tightened on the mind flayer's tentacle, and with a swift motion, he tore it from its socket. The sound that followed was a strangled scream, an agonized cry that pierced the air and resonated with the mind flayer's torment. The creature's anguish was palpable, its writhing and shrieks a testament to the searing pain it was experiencing.
In a mixture of anger and repulsion, Darbakh threw the severed tentacle to the ground, the wet sound of impact a stark reminder of the brutality of the moment. The mind flayer's screams and howls were a haunting symphony, its agony reverberating through the alley.
As his eyes darted around the alley, Darbakh's gaze landed on Laelia’s stunned face, jaw dropped open, her expression a mixture of shock, horror, and disbelief. Even the efreet and the horned devil, locked in their own battle, seemed momentarily taken aback by the sheer brutality of Darbakh's actions.
“Holy s***, dude,” Karzoth murmured.
The mind flayer's cries had turned into a desperate, broken wail, its pain a testament to the symbolic vengeance that Darbakh had wrought.
In the midst of this scene of turmoil and brutality, it was Malgog's voice that cut through the chaos. The horned devil's words were laced with a mixture of incredulity and approval as he looked upon Darbakh. "You may want to consider seeking some counseling," Malgog said in a voice which carried a note of mockery, a stark contrast to the grim scene that had unfolded.
The mind flayer lay on the ground, a broken and defeated creature, its cries of agony replaced by ragged breaths. With a final, desperate exertion of power, it triggered its plane shift ability and vanished from the scene, leaving behind only the echo of its torment. As the eerie silence settled over the alley, the written warning that had floated in the air drifted back down to the ground, landing like a feather.
Darbakh's hand shot out, grabbing the parchment, and his eyes scanned the words upon it with a rapid intensity. The instructions were finally laid bare before him, revealing the warnings and dangers that he had failed to uncover before. As his gaze raced across the page, his thoughts churned with a mixture of realization and determination.
Meanwhile, the battle between Malgog and Karzoth raged on. The two outsiders clashed with a ferocity that shook the very foundations of the alley. Their blows were powerful and thunderous, each strike reverberating through the air like the clash of titans. The brick walls that lined the alley were no match for their strength, and as the fight continued, they tore through the masonry with a relentless force.
A section of the brick wall crumbled beneath their might, revealing a hidden world beyond. Behind the broken wall stood a warehouse, rows of colorful stained glass windows lining its interior. The windows cast fractured patterns of light and color across the scene, illuminating the fierce struggle between the two outsiders. Yet, in contrast to the violence that unfolded, the warehouse itself was empty, devoid of human presence.
Laelia's trembling form emerged cautiously from her hiding spot behind the trash can. Her wide eyes took in the scene of devastation before her—the shattered alley, the battered figures, the fractured stained glass windows casting colorful hues upon the grim tableau. Her heart pounded in her chest as she took a hesitant step forward, but her resolve crumbled as she saw her grandfather, Malgog, collapse onto the ground beside her.
A cry of despair escaped her lips, and she scrambled back behind the trash can, a veil of tears clouding her vision. Malgog's once-mighty form lay broken, his body bearing the marks of a fierce battle. Unholy blood oozed from wounds that crisscrossed his skin, and his limbs twitched weakly as he fought to rise, his strength ebbing away.
As he struggled to push himself up, his efforts were met with a cruel barrier. Karzoth, also injured but less so, stood over him, scimitar pointed menacingly at the devil’s throat. The genie’s eyes bore a triumphant glint, his twisted lips curling into a malevolent smile. "Finally," Karzoth hissed, his voice dripping with venom. "I've won."
Karzoth's scimitar wavered, its tip hovering just above Malgog's neck. Blood dripped from its blade, mingling with the grime of the alley floor. Malgog's labored breaths echoed the dire situation, his tendons and limbs lacerated beyond repair. His muscles refused to obey his commands, and he lay there, trapped in a helpless predicament.
A cruel grin tugged at Karzoth's lips as he taunted Malgog with a twisted promise. "You'll be locked in that puzzle box for eternity, while I watch your lineage crumble to dust." His words were laced with malevolence, each syllable a dagger thrust into the hearts of both grandfather and granddaughter.
Laelia's sobs pierced the air, her face buried in her hands as she crumbled under the weight of her grandfather's defeat. Tears streamed down her cheeks, mingling with the dirt and grime that clung to her skin. In that moment, she was no longer the wicked heretic who had manipulated others to her will; she was a broken young woman, devastated by the cruel fate that had befallen her family.
"Put a sock in it, all of you," Darbakh's voice rang out, cutting through the tension-soaked air like a blade. His fingers deftly manipulated the puzzle box's intricate mechanisms, following the instructions laid out on the warning.
The scene was bathed in a blinding flare of arcane light, so intense that even Laelia's sobs and the genie’s cry of protest were momentarily drowned out. The box itself seemed to hum with newfound power, its ancient enchantments reawakening.
As the light intensified, the figures of Karzoth and Malgog were suddenly enveloped in its brilliance. Panic flashed across their alien features as they realized what was happening. In a whirlwind of desperation, they twisted and writhed, their forms contorting as if caught in the event horizon of some invisible vortex.
Their towering figures shrank with every passing second, becoming distorted and unreal as they were drawn inexorably toward the open puzzle box. The very essence of their malevolence was stripped away, replaced by a shimmering cascade of magical dust which was sucked into the box like a vacuum. The dust swirled and danced, almost mocking the once-powerful beings it now represented.
And then, with a final, resounding snap, the box shut tight once more. The intricate runes that adorned its sides ceased their glow, leaving the puzzle box as seemingly innocuous as it had appeared before. The alleyway, once a battlefield of epic proportions, was now eerily quiet, the echoes of the conflict fading into the background.
Spark's eyes fluttered open, his head throbbing like a drumbeat. As he stumbled to his feet, his gaze landed on the scene around him. Darbakh stood off to the side, a mixture of exhaustion and relief etched across his features. Laelia, her makeup running down her cheeks and eyes swollen, hissed furiously at the Genasi. “You ruined everything! None of this would have happened if you hadn’t interrupted!”
"What did you expect, huh?" Spark's voice trembled with frustration, his words slurred as he tried to find his footing. "Grandpa was about to win! You should've stayed out of it!"
"What!" Laelia shot back, her voice thick with angry tears. "You’re the one who interrupted me, are you having cognitive dissonance or something!"
"You have no idea what you're talking about," Spark retorted, his words clipped and harsh. "Those aren’t even real words."
As the two exchanged heated words, Darbakh's presence seemed to fade into the background. He turned away from the bickering pair, his steps leading him away from the alleyway. Without a word, he continued walking, his footsteps carrying him away from the chaos that had unfolded.
It was then that the sound of approaching footsteps reached the ears of both planetouched persons. A group of city guards from the Flaming Fist emerged around a corner, their armor gleaming in the dim light. They paused as they took in the scene—the demolished brick wall, the shattered windows, and the two figures engaged in a heated argument.
"Oi, what's all this then?" one of the guards barked, his voice carrying authority.
Laelia and Spark turned to face the guards, their argument momentarily forgotten in the face of authority. The two of them exchanged glances, the anger in their eyes giving way to a mix of confusion and trepidation. The guards' questions hung in the air, a stark reminder of the fact that the chaos they had caused had not gone unnoticed.
This is the longest chapter by far. Warning label for violence (yeah, this is DnD, but I still figure that some younger readers might appreciate the warning).
Darbakh - Duergar troublemaker [Pic 1] [Pic 2] [Story 1] [Story 2]
Quorian - half-elf watcher
PM me the word ‘tomato’
Quite modern in speech, but that made me chuckle. Good work.
Omg, the mind flayer is ALIVE, it didn't perish! But daaaaang, it lost a tentacle in one of the most brutal ways possible.
In the heart of Brampton, a bustling street came alive with the chatter of local commoners. The road, not grand or wide, hummed with the presence of Lower City regulars all clad in simple attire that mirrored their modest lives. The air buzzed with anticipation as the crowd pressed close, forming a circle around a horse-drawn prison coach.
The coach stood in stark contrast to the everyday scene, a dark symbol of authority amidst the lively surroundings. Its wooden frame was sturdy and weathered, and the metal bars on its windows gleamed ominously in the sunlight. Gossipy whispers flowed like a current through the crowd, each spectator eager to glean morsels of the unfolding drama.
As the tension in the air grew thicker, the sound of approaching footsteps signaled the arrival of the city guards. Their uniforms bore the emblem of the Flaming Fist, a symbol of order and control. With practiced authority, the guards began to lead the two detainees toward the awaiting prison coach. The murmurs of the crowd swelled with curiosity and judgment, a cacophony that painted the scene with an air of uncertainty and intrigue.
Laelia's voice rang out above the hubbub, filled with desperation and frustration. "Please, you have to believe me! It wasn't me who caused all that destruction! It was a genie, and he was fighting my grandpa!"
Her words hung in the air, the context lost on the guards as they continued their unyielding march. The locals, however, took in her plea with a mixture of incredulity and amusement. Laughter rippled through the onlookers, the idea of a genie battling someone's grandfather seeming too absurd to be true.
As the laughter echoed, Laelia's face flushed with a combination of anger and humiliation, her protests lost in the sea of jeers and mirthful chuckles. The crowd's reaction underscored the vast gulf between her desperate explanations and the skeptical audience before her.
With Laelia's pleas falling on deaf ears, the guards proceeded to load her into one of the compartments in the prison coach, sealing her fate within its dark confines. On the other side, the situation took a more dramatic turn as they attempted to load Spark into the opposing cage. His resistance was immediate and fervent, his voice rising above the clamor as he began to yell:
"Devils! Mind flayers! You have no idea what you're dealing with here! This city is crawling with creatures from other planes, and they're all connected by a web of magical conspiracies!"
Children recoiled, clutching their parents' hands tightly, while a general unease spread through the gathered commoners. In the midst of Spark's frantic outbursts, one of the guards raised an enchanted wand, by pressing it directly against the man’s body, produced the effects of a mild lightning spell. The shock coursed through him, causing his body to convulse involuntarily before he crumpled to the ground, subdued by the magical device.
“Alright people, move along,” said an older guard with a more ornate insignia than the other Flaming Fist members. “This is an open-and-shut case of property damage via aggravated cantrips, nothing more.”
Despite the spectacle, the crowd began to disperse under the stern watch of the guards, their mutterings of curiosity and fear lingering in the air as the scene quieted, leaving behind only the fading echoes of Spark's protests.
With Spark's unconscious form safely secured within the prison coach, the guards wasted no time in prompting the horses to move. The wheels rolled over the cobblestone road, the vehicle's presence commanding the attention of all bystanders as it began to move away. The street echoed with a chorus of laughter and jeers from local youths, who found amusement in pelting the caged duo with overripe tomatoes.
As the prison coach turned the corner and disappeared from sight, the scene shifted to the roof of a nearby building. Its expanse was devoid of any occupants, yet it provided an unobstructed vantage point over the bustling street below. The sun cast long shadows, and the building's height allowed for a perfect view of the proceedings.
In the midst of this quiet observation, footsteps echoed softly on the rooftop's dusty surface. An unseen figure moved deliberately, leaving faint tracks in the grit and grime as they approached the edge of the roof, eyes focused on the direction the prison coach had vanished.
The figure on the rooftop, hidden from sight by the power of invisibility, gradually revealed themselves to be none other than Darbakh. With a simple gesture, he disengaged from the ability common to his people and reappeared, his presence now visible to the world below.
As the tumultuous scene below slowly settled, Darbakh's gaze swept over the dispersing crowd. His dark cloak billowed in the wind. He stood on the rooftop, a lone observer above the chaotic streets, absorbing the aftermath of the commotion he had both witnessed and been a part of.
A long moment passed as he remained rooted in place, lost in thought and contemplation. The din of the crowd's chatter faded into the distance, leaving him alone with his reflections and the weight of the events that had unfolded.
Darbakh's gaze shifted from the street below to the puzzle box in his hand, its enigmatic surface reflecting the weight of his thoughts. Anger and weariness mingled on his face, a testament to the toll that recent events had taken on his patience. His fingers tightened around the box, its presence a constant reminder of the chaos it had wrought.
The determination in his eyes was juxtaposed with an unmistakable weariness, a sense of exhaustion that came from battling not just the outsiders but the turmoil within himself. As his fingers traced the edges of the box, his resolve solidified. With a heavy sigh, he murmured to himself, "I've got to skip town."
Shoulders slumped and steps heavy, Darbakh turned away from the rooftop's edge, leaving behind the chaos of the street below.
.
Is he making the right decision, I wonder?
Anyways, one more chapter left after this.
Darbakh - Duergar troublemaker [Pic 1] [Pic 2] [Story 1] [Story 2]
Quorian - half-elf watcher
PM me the word ‘tomato’
Under the dim glow of distant streetlamps, the Outer City of Baldur's Gate lay still in the late hours of the night. Most of its inhabitants had retreated to the shelter of their homes, leaving the cobblestone streets mostly deserted. A chill wind whispered through the alleys, carrying the distant sounds of hushed conversations and the occasional clopping of horses' hooves.
Amidst the quietude, a lone stable remained awake, its lantern light casting long shadows on the ground. Caravan workers bustled about, their movements slowed by fatigue, and the weary neighs of horses punctuated the night air. A few figures, bundled in cloaks and scarves, moved with a sense of purpose under the starlit sky. They were the night watchmen, keeping a vigilant eye on the surroundings, their lanterns casting a soft, flickering glow that painted intricate patterns on the walls.
As the night wore on, the activity of the stable gradually subsided, and the sleepy animals huddled together for warmth. The travelers who had sought refuge for their mounts were now tucked away in their lodgings, seeking rest before the dawn would call them to continue their journey. The last remnants of the night's activities clung to the air, as the city's heartbeat seemed to synchronize with the steady rhythm of the horses' breathing.
Under the cover of that night, Darbakh, Lirak, and Brynni moved through the quiet streets like shadows. Their dark cloaks shrouded them from prying eyes, and they walked with a purposeful determination. In contrast to his work attire, Darbakh now wore a dark cloak that billowed behind him as he walked, his features hidden by its deep hood. Lirak, similarly cloaked, moved with his own quiet grace, his eyes darting about in caution. Brynni stood out from the pair, her attire markedly different as she walked with an air of composed authority, dressed like a proper school headmistress.
As they reached the side of the stable, the trio set down their luggage with care, the soft clinks and shuffles of their belongings echoing in the stillness of the night. They worked with practiced efficiency, arranging their gear in a precise manner that spoke of years of experience. Each item had its place, and every detail was attended to.
With their task completed, they paused for a moment, their gaze turning toward the outer walls of Baldur's Gate. The distant glow of the city's lights cast an eerie radiance against the night sky, lending an almost magical quality to the scene. Silently, they absorbed the sight, each lost in their own thoughts, the weight of their shared journey palpable in the air.
With careful precision, Darbakh placed two small wooden chests on the ground. The night air held a sense of anticipation as he unlatched each chest, revealing a trove of glittering coins, intricate bank notes, and assorted trinkets that gleamed in the faint light. The contents of the chests were a testament to their shared endeavors, a culmination of their hard-earned gains.
Brynni and Lirak leaned in to inspect the treasures, their expressions reflecting a mixture of assessment and approval. As their eyes roved over the coins and the gleam of precious gems, they exchanged a brief, knowing glance before nodding in agreement.
Satisfied with their assessment, Darbakh carefully closed the chests, the soft clinks of the latches resonating in the night. He straightened and met their gazes, a sense of resolve in his eyes. "Your severance is all within these chests," he said, his tone steady. "And whatever extra I couldn’t carry in my own bags."
"How much is left?" Brynni's voice carried a note of practical concern, her eyes fixed on Darbakh as if searching for answers within his words.
Darbakh's brow furrowed slightly, his gaze steady as he met her inquiry. "Little," he admitted, a touch of weariness in his voice. "I spent a fortune to contain the puzzle box—a bag that blocks its magical beacon from prying eyes. And I bribed the magician who crafted the enchantment into silence."
The dark cloak that cloaked Brynni's form seemed to mirror the shadow that had fallen over their shared endeavors. As Darbakh's words hung in the air, Brynni's composed exterior wavered, a fleeting expression of disappointment crossing her features before she regained her composure.
"So that's it then," she responded, her voice steady and resolute. The veneer of her emotions was contained within her words, her face a mask of determination that did little to hide the complex currents beneath the surface.
"Yes," Darbakh's response was measured, his tone carrying the weight of their situation. “Even if the beacon is blocked, we still don’t know who else might have traced our location to that flat. We can’t stay here.”
"Finally," Lirak interjected, a hint of exasperation in his voice as he gathered his belongings and cast a curt glance in Darbakh's direction. With a huff, he turned away and began striding purposefully toward a nearby caravan, where merchants from various corners of Faerûn were settling in for the night.
"Stay out of trouble," Darbakh's words followed Lirak's departing figure, a note of caution woven into the simple directive.
“That isn’t your business anymore, is it?” Lirak said acrimoniously and without bidding farewell.
For a brief moment, Darbakh frowned in annoyance, but it passed. “Be careful what you wish for…there are much worse masters than me. Particularly if you ever encounter other drow.”
Lirak paused, his steps slowing as he turned to face Darbakh once more. Resentment flickered in his gaze, a mix of irritation and lingering loyalty that colored his next words. "I lived in a closet under the stairs in your flat, Darbakh. Nothing could possibly be worse."
And with those words hanging in the air, Lirak continued on his path, walking away from the stable and out of their lives.
Brynni and Darbakh faced each other, a silent understanding passing between them. Yet, Darbakh's pragmatism didn't allow the moment to linger. "Are you sure your ride is here?" he asked, his gaze turning toward the cluster of deep gnomes lurking around the corner of a nearby stable.
Brynni nodded, her eyes flicking to the group of her kin before returning to Darbakh. "They're waiting on me; I owe them my ring for passage north and a job when I get there. Night shift at an orphanage in Neverwinter," she replied, a hint of weariness in her voice. The surface world was a different realm of opportunities and challenges, and it seemed even for a scholar like her, work was never in short supply.
A trace of sadness barely breached her composed facade as she added, "Who would've thought the surface world has so much work to go around?"
"It's been fun," Darbakh said, the slightest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. It was the first and last time he smiled at anyone who worked for him.
Brynni's gaze softened as she responded, "And it's been an honor to serve you."
Darbakh didn't linger. He nodded to her, his gaze steady, before pulling the hood of his cloak over his head and striding purposefully toward a waiting horse-drawn wagon stationed near an eastbound dirt road. Brynni's gaze lingered for just a moment, her eyes tracking his retreating figure. She watched, as if waiting for him to turn around. But he didn't. And so, with a determined breath, she turned and joined the group of deep gnomes who had been watching from a distance, and the night swallowed her form.
Darbakh efficiently loaded his luggage into a waiting wagon, placing each item with a practiced ease. With the last bag in place, he climbed into the back, settling himself amidst a collection of barrels and a sturdy wooden crate.
Sitting across from him was the wagon's driver, a snazzily dressed human with a curly mustache overshadowed only by his plumed hat. He leaned forward slightly, directing a curious look at the Duergar passenger.
"Excuse me, Darbakh," the human began, his voice tinged with a touch of nervousness. "May I ask if you're armed?"
Darbakh met the human's gaze squarely, his expression remaining calm. "Don't worry," he replied, his tone steady. "I'll handle anything that scares you too much."
The human driver's mustache twitched as he offered a faint smile. "That's reassuring to hear," he responded. "I've never set off on a journey this late before, you see."
He adjusted his hat and regarded Darbakh curiously. "So, what's got you in such a rush to leave? Seems like an odd time to be hitting the road."
Darbakh's gaze remained steady, his expression inscrutable. "Half your pay is for the discrete ride," he reminded the driver evenly. "The other half is not to ask questions."
The human nodded, his smile faltering just a bit. "Right, right," he mumbled, his curiosity momentarily checked. With a final nod, he turned his attention back to his horses, guiding the wagon onto the road.
The horses' hooves clattered against the dirt road as the wagon began to roll forward, the darkness of the night enveloping them. Dawn was still a few hours away, but it raced towards them, heralding the beginning of a new day.
As they traveled, Darbakh turned his attention to the human driver. "You're sure the next town is secure?" he inquired.
The human nodded confidently. "Absolutely. I've traveled this route countless times. It's a peaceful town, no worries about bandits or anything."
Darbakh's gaze narrowed slightly. "I meant secure from… supernatural threats."
The human's brows furrowed in thought, then realization dawned on him. "Oh, you mean like interplanar invasions? Don't worry about that. Elturel is the most secure city in these parts. It's got wards and defenses that keep anything otherworldly out. No need to fret about that."
Darbakh's expression remained stoic as he considered the human's words. Satisfied, he settled back against the barrels in the wagon, his thoughts as inscrutable as the night around them.
A few minutes passed in silence as the wagon continued its journey along the dark road. The rhythmic sound of the horses' hooves created a steady backdrop against the night.
After a while, the human driver cleared his throat, breaking the quiet. "You know," he began, "I’ve been trying my hand at poetry lately. I could recite one of my latest works if you'd like."
Without taking his eyes off the road ahead, Darbakh's voice was firm. "Just keep quiet and drive, Volo."
The end…
This epilogue takes place in 1489 DR; it’s just a day or two after the previous chapter. That’s a little context for those following recent events.
Thank you so much to those who read. I hope you remember this.
Darbakh - Duergar troublemaker [Pic 1] [Pic 2] [Story 1] [Story 2]
Quorian - half-elf watcher
PM me the word ‘tomato’
Smooth ending. Again, thx for sharing, 't was an enjoyable voyage.
Thanks. It was fun)