Realms of the Underdark

The Road to Menzoberranzan

Much later, after endless hours of walking, the party of four stopped to rest by an underground pool. The two drow captors offered their captives some leathery jerky made from a long-dead lizard of undetermined species.

"Eat," Haukun instructed. "We have no intention of dragging your starving carcasses the rest of the way. This should sustain you for a while."

The jerky tasted awful and was far from filling, but both captives realized that eating it was better than going hungry. They tried their best to ingest the leathery sustenance. Woodehous also noticed, with some consolation, that neither of their captors seemed to enjoy the meal either.

"Too bad there aren't any fish in this pool," Volo said matter-of-factly.

"Why do you say that?" Courun inquired just as an eyeless trout broke the surface with a flick and splash.

"Well," Volo replied, "I've always heard that drow are excellent fishermen, and given that my compadre in captivity is one of the best chefs in all Waterdeep-let alone Skullport-I don't see why brave warriors such as yourselves should have to make do with inferior field rations… I guess that sort of self-denial is what makes you such great warriors. I, on the other hand, could really go for some fish stew. Then again, I've never claimed to be a great warrior, let alone the equal in fortitude of the noble and great drow."

Courun and Haukun looked at each other for a moment, and then said something in the drow tongue. Haukun turned to Woodehous and said, "Are you really a good cook?"

"The best," Volo answered in his stead, adding for agreement, "right?"

"Well, I don't like to brag," Woodehous responded, seeing the opportunity for a better meal than the rancid jerky, "but, well, let me put it this way, all of Waterdeep can't be wrong."

"Let alone Wurlitzer of Skullport," added the gazetteer. "He's a noted connoisseur."

The two drow looked at each other in puzzlement.

"That means he likes good cooking," Volo quickly explained.

A quick exchange of words between the two, and Haukun took to his feet, grabbed his spear, and positioned himself on the pool's ledge, eyeing the water for a trout. Courun meanwhile arranged some rocks in a pile and said a drow incantation.

In no time at all, the rocks began to glow fiery hot, and a sizeable trout had been freshly speared. Both Woodehous and Volo's hands were unbound, and instructions were given.

"Cook!"

Volo whispered to Woodehous surreptitiously.

"Okay, Percy," the gazetteer said, "do your stuff, and you better make it good."

"I need a pan or a pot of some sort," Woodehous replied.

"But of course," Volo agreed. "Courun, can he borrow your breastplate?"

"Sure," Haukun replied.

As Courun undid the fastening from his tunic, the chef gazed around the subterranean chamber as if looking for something in particular.

"What are you looking for?" Haukun demanded. "You have a pan now. Why aren't you cooking?"

Woodehous prepared to place the trout on the breastplate. "It's just that pan-roasted trout is so bland," the maitre d'/cook/waiter explained, still looking around. "Would you do me a favor and fetch me some of the moss from that half-submerged rock over there, and perhaps some of the hanging fungus from that stalactite as well?"

"Why?" the drow demanded.

"You'll see," Volo assured.

The two drow once again exchanged gazes of puzzlement, and then, with a shrug, Courun set off to fetch the requested ingredients.

Expertly, Woodehous the chef gutted the trout and removed its innards, replacing them with some of the recently obtained hanging fungus. He then added a little water to the breastplate pan and sprinkled some of the fungus into it. The water began to simmer with a truly delicious odor of spice. While the water was heating up, Woodehous rubbed the moss against the outside flesh of the fish until little flecks of vegetation had permeated the meat. He then added the thoroughly seasoned trout to the pan, carefully turning it every few moments so that it cooked both completely and evenly.

The cavern was soon filled with the tempting and savory aroma of a gourmet's delight, and in no time at all, the four travelers were enjoying a nourishing and delicious meal.

"See," Volo attested, "I told you."

"No complaints here," Haukun agreed. "If you can cook this well all the time, my partner and I might be willing to let you continue the journey with your wrists unbound, that is, provided you don't try to escape."

"Where would we go?" Volo reminded him. "We'd just get lost and die in the dark without your expert guidance."

"You'd better believe it," Courun replied, his mouth half full of the gourmet's delight.

Once the meal was over, the foursome rested while Courun allowed his breastplate to cool. Once it was back in place, they recommenced their journey, following the stream that evidently fed the pool that had been the source of their splendid repast. In a little while, they decided to make camp to rest a bit, and get a little sleep. Woodehous quickly realized that the concept of day and night no longer really existed. He had quite lost track of the time that had passed since he had first spotted Volo back in the Double G and raced after him through the alleyways of Skullport. He had also not realized how tired he really was, and quickly found himself fast asleep.

"Percy, wake up!" Volo urged in a hushed tone.

Woodehous stirred from his moments with Morpheus, and opened his eyes.

Sometime during their rest, their two drow captors had been confronted by a pair of kuo-toa-tall, nasty, pot-bellied amphibians-and harsh words were being exchanged. During the course of what had started as a cordial though wary meeting, the conversation between representatives of the two dominant subterranean species had quickly deteriorated into a heated argument.

"The tall kuo-toan," Volo explained, "claims he can smell the blood of his people on Courun. No doubt he really smells the residue of our dinner on our captor's breastplate."

"One would have thought that he would have washed it off before putting it back on," Woodehous observed.

"No doubt," Volo replied, "but then again, neither of our captors have shown much evidence of common sense or brainpower. If their superiors back in Menzoberranzan thought they were incompetent, the odds are that they really are. Drow matrons are usually keen judges of competence and potential."

The disagreement was quickly turning into a shoving match between the two pairs.

"What are they saying now?" Woodehous inquired.

"He just called Haukun a son of an illithid," Volo translated. "They should come to blows any moment now."

The drow and the kuo-toa began to use their spears as quarterstaves in a battle that had not yet escalated to lethality.

"I foresee a few bruises and contusions exchanged, but no death blows," Volo observed. "We can go back to sleep."

A thought crossed the maitre d'/waiter/cook's mind.

"Why don't we take this opportunity to escape?" Woodehous asked with great urgency. "Our captors are distracted, and we never know when another opportunity will present itself."

"Don't worry about that," Volo replied, returning his head to the pillow of his pack."You could never find your way back to the surface on your own, and my mission is nowhere near completed yet."

"What mission?" Woodehous blurted, his voice a trifle too loud.

"Hush!" Volo demanded, quickly looking over to make sure that their captors had not heard him. Luckily they were still beating each other with the shafts of their spears.

No doubt, hair pulling and scale scratching would soon follow.

"Just trust me for now," the master traveler instructed. "I assure you I have no intention of spending my remaining days as a slave or worse in some Ao-forsaken city of the drow, nor do I intend to abandon you to that fate. Just trust me. I have a plan. Now go back to sleep."

Volo turned over, closed his eyes, and was soon snoring, leaving a puzzled Woodehous, wide-eyed and wide awake to contemplate this recent revelation of facts.

The following morning, the drow captors were far from gentle in bringing their captives to consciousness so they could resume the long trek beneath the surface of Toril. There was no sight of the kuo-toa, and Courun and Haukun looked the worse for it, their deep ebony skin mottled with bruises and swelling.

"What happened?" Volo asked innocently. "You look as if you've been attacked."

"The Underdark is laden with danger," Courun replied. "Haukun and I had to fight off an entire army of fierce kuo-toa warriors to save your sorry skins."

"Thank you," the gazetteer replied.

"We didn't save them for you," Courun replied churlishly. "Lloth prefers to render her punishments and torture. It was our responsibility to save you for her, rather than let you fall into the fishy hands of her enemies."

"Or fins, for that matter," Volo replied under his breath.

"What did you say?" the drow captor demanded.

"I said, 'Unto the finish, you are the master,' " the quick-thinking gazetteer replied.

"Well, let us be off," the bruised drow ordered. "We still have many days' journey ahead of us."

"As you wish, Master" Volo replied. He helped Woodehous to his feet as they proceeded onward along the road to Menzoberranzan.

The words day and night lost all meaning to Volo and Woodehous as their journey continued. Darkest night bled into darkest night as they traveled onward between infrequent stops for rest and nourishment. No matter where they chose to dine, the former maitre d'/cook/waiter always rose to the occasion, fixing the foursome a meal fit for a lord of Waterdeep. Subterranean moss salad, fermented fungus casserole, and even spiced filet of cloaker (courtesy of an extremely luck Courun, who happened to accidentally run one through with his spear before it had managed to attack the group) kept their bellies full and spirits incongruously high for a party of captors leading their captives to their doom.

Volo quickly became aware that the drow were actually beginning to feel sorry for Woodehous and himself. What sorry dark elves these two had turned out to be.

"You know," Courun confided, "if it were solely up to us, we would probably let you go, but you understand, of course… You are the only means we have of clearing our names and restoring our reputations to their rightful grandeur."

"Of course," Volo replied, "a drow has to do what a drow has to do. I bet you're looking forward to going home again. Menzoberranzan is probably filled with pleasant memories for both of you."

To himself, Courun recalled his childhood and adolescence, the sense of inadequacy, the beatings, the taunting by his sisters, and the third-class existence of a lowborn male in a maliciously matriarchal society, then said out loud, "Uh, sure. There's no place like home."

Woodehous could not fail to notice the lack of conviction in his captor's voice, and quickly stole a look at Haukun, whose face exhibited a similar cast of remembered oppression.

"During one of my travels, I met a drow in exile… a fellow by the name of Do'Urden," Volo offered.

"The house name is familiar," Courun offered. "I believe it is one of the minor ones."

"He was a very melancholy fellow, and probably also missed his home. How long have you been away?" Volo asked.

"I've lost track," Courun replied absently. "Many years, maybe longer."

"Well," Volo noted, "a lot of things can happen in that long a time. I'm sure things might have gotten better."

"That's right," Haukun replied righteously, "and we are returning as heroes, and devoted champions of Lloth."

"No, we mustn't forget that," Volo agreed. "We mustn't forget that, indeed."

Hoping to break the melancholy mood, the master traveler of the Realms began to regale his companions with tales of his exploits, including the time he circumnavigated the globe. Unfortunately the two drow captors showed little interest. Their entire existence had been spent in the Underdark, and they had little inclination toward places outside their own spheres of influence.

"We can sample the best you surface dwellers have to offer in Skullport," Haukun boasted. "Beyond that, I see little reason to expose myself to the damned sun and daylight."

Volo tried a different tack to distract the captors.

Drawing on his research for his famous suppressed work, Volo's Guide to All Things Magical-and fully aware that all drow were required to take part in some magic training-the gazetteer tried to regale them with stories of different enchantments, artifacts, and phenomena that he had come across.

"Wait a minute," Courun interrupted, "do you mean that you are a wizard?"

"Well, no," Volo answered carefully, cautiously, and deceitfully, "I've just done a lot of research on it. That's all."

"It's hard stuff," Courun admitted. "I never was much good at those classes."

"If it hadn't been for our cheating on tests," Haukun added, "Courun and I would have been drider bait, for sure."

Not wishing to further tip his hand on his innate abilities, Volo once again changed the subject.

"Well, I bet you two are plenty expert on other things," the gazetteer observed.

"Like catching nosy writers," Courun said smugly.

"Uh, yes," Volo agreed. "But I was thinking more specifically of the goings-on in the Underdark itself. I did a lot of research before my first trip down here, and I am telling you, nothing beats firsthand experience."

"You can say that again," Woodehous agreed, trying to reenter the conversation. "It's like trying to learn how to cook without ever setting foot in a kitchen."

The maitre d'/cook/waiter's simile was lost on the two drow captors, so Volo continued his train of conversation.

"When I started studying the Underdark," Volo explained, "I had no idea there was so much going on. I had never even heard of a duergar, or a svirfneblin, or of thaalud, or of the great cities of Eryndlyn, Llurth Dreier, or Sshamath, and, of course, Menzoberranzan. I just knew I had to go there."

"And you did," Woodehous inserted.

"Uh, right," Volo continued with a quick glare at his fellow captive, signaling him to hold his tongue, "and that's why I felt I just had to do the Guide to the Underdark."

"I thought you were going to call it Volo Does Memo," Courun interrupted.

"Well, yes, and as I was…" Volo struggled to continue.

"So which is it?" Haukun demanded.

"And where is it?" Courun insisted.

Quickly regaining his composure, Volo calmly explained. "I don't get to pick the title," he asserted, "the publisher does… and as to the manuscript, don't worry about it."

"Well, give it to us," Haukun demanded.

"I don't have it with me," Volo continued, "but don't you worry. It's well hidden. No one back in Skullport will ever find it."

The two drow would-be warriors once again looked at each other and conversed in their native tongue. True, their entire retrieval of the interloping journalist would be for naught if the manuscript ever fell into another surface dweller's hands, thus undercutting the validity of their great deed and threatening their chances of vindication. The two talked for a few minutes, and finally nodded in agreement.

"If anyone asks," Haukun instructed boldly, "Courun and I destroyed your only copy of the manuscript."

"All right," Volo replied.

"And if either of you contradicts us," Courun added, "it will go extremely bad for you."

"We wouldn't think of it," Volo assured, "would we, Percy?"

"Of course not," Percy choked out, though he was quite unsure how his own fate could be made any worse than it already was.

"Fine," Courun said with a certain degree of finality. "Then let us proceed onward. I believe we're almost there."

"But of course," Volo agreed, once again helping Woodehous to his feet.

"Do you know any stories about drow maidens?" Haukun inquired as they set off down the tunnel.

"I do believe that back in Skullport I heard something about a young girl named Liriel, but I'm afraid the details have escaped me for the moment. Perhaps you would care to hear about a little intrigue that took place around Undermountain not too long ago. It was a virtual comedy of errors, an escapade of adventure, and involved two fellows by the names of Mirt and Durnan, and…"

Woodehous discreetly tried to ignore the latest tale being told by the gazetteer, who so loved the sound of his own voice. It was almost as if there were two Volos: the gregarious fool who didn't mind being captured by drow buffoons, and the savvy traveler whose exploits were legendary. Woodehous believed he had only observed this more capable fellow on the night their captors fought with the equally inept and juvenile fish-men, and he realized his only hope for escape lay with the assurances that he had been offered on that night. If they had any hope of escape, this more capable side would need to resurface… and really soon.

But, perhaps, it, too, was only some long-winded piece of fiction.