Exploration of Dungeons

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Shrayla, you aren't thinking you can possibly get to this tavern without going through the village. Nathyrra had a point, Shrayla had to admit.

She recognized the call.

That bastard. That absolute backstabbing, geas-casting, dog-kicking FIEND was here. And, like the last time he'd tried something new and inventive, he was in trouble again and needed someone to get him out of it. Shrayla just wondered what the price of that rescue would be.

Another half a year spent in the Underdark fighting a guerilla shadow war rebelling against a drow empress and her pet archdevil, dracolich, illithid Elder Brain, and sleeper agents in the rebel camp?

Shrayla needed to get down there before someone else did, before someone who didn't know what Halaster Blackcloak was like went and helped him and reaped the bloody whirlwind for it. But that meant going down into the village.

And villages had left Shrayla panic-stricken since she got back to life and living after escaping Hell. Too many bad associations. The Weyrhealer had started muttering something about post-traumatic stress something-or-other, but Shrayla hadn't been able to make out the words over the sound of Larandaithiel's teeth grinding.

Worry not. You shall not be alone, the Hellhound promised, sounding so much like her namesake just then that Shrayla could have cried.

You have me as well, Shraymine. Kytos. Her animal companion on Faerun made her Familiar here, alive again after a brutal murder for which Shrayla also held Halaster responsible, to some degree.

And you are not leaving without me, declared Sehanine, the Gryphon flaring her red-cross inked wings. There may be wounded. Or undead. I demand to be brought along.

"Well, there y'have it," Shrayla conceded. "I'm goin' an' I'm goin' with comp'ny. Jus' let me get dressed firs'."

She had a feeling she wouldn't be needing her dragonriding leathers, so she stripped down and put those in her closet before digging the *Dancer's Silhouette* out of her Armor bag of holding and dressing up for a dungeon crawl. Magic rings, amulet, cloak, boots, bracers, and a specialized headset she'd actually found in Undermountain her first time around that would help her locate traps and hidden doors much more easily.

The North Wind bow was slung over her shoulders, no quiver needed as it generated its own arrows.

Nightmares and anticipation provided enough fear for Shrayla to cling to, which leveled her head, making anxiety a lower priority. She managed to get to the Yawning Portal without messing herself or running away, although her heart was pounding so hard she could feel it in her teeth and she was dizzy.

"Vendui," she greeted the drow. "Nindol zhah natha k'lar Usstan neitar ssiggrin Usstan orn'la kyorl 'sohna. Un Durnan lu'Myrna k'jakr ehmtu nindol el'inssring?"

Why was it so much easier to speak drow than Common?

Oh, yeah, she could blame Halaster for that one too.

---

Bitch think goes without me? Munchy demanded as Linah was attempting to leave her weyr unimpeded by traveling companions. First gives stupid name, now tries walk away from.

"It was nothing personal. I didn't want to bother you."

Lies. I forgives if you takes now.

So it was that Linah ended up walking down to a new tavern, not her own, with Munchy in orbit. He was still getting used to not being a double-jointed hyena-thing, but he was adapting to being a Hellhound-Mistwatcher blend rather well, particularly the part where he could blast into ashes and reform on the other side of a troublesome barrier. Like doors.

Invictus, the bravest of her firelizards, also saw fit to accompany Linah to the Yawning Portal. Maybe he (quite rightly) didn't trust Munchy to keep Linah safe.

Well, she had an iron sword and a pair of bronze daggers under her coat. And no shoes.

Nec didn't understand what was said by the drow, but figured he'd find out sooner or later, more interested in checking out the others who'd come. I knew of some of them, Percival and Shrayla were probably those he knew best, even if he didn't actually know them. Most of the others he'd seen around but at least one was unknown to the blue troll, as he leaned back and waited for whatever was gonna happen, showing no sign of reaction at the warning of danger and things not working right. Thanks to the IF he'd become used to at least expecting the unusual, and was from before used to quickly adapt to a changing scenario, whatever that might be.

When supplies were offered, he did take a look. Nec was always armed, no matter what he was doing, but today he'd come extra prepared. The foot-long obsidian dagger was hidden on his back, a selection of other blades scattered around his body and a claymore hung in a solid belt around his waist. He wasn't want for weapons, but other things could be useful, so he grabbed a thin but solid-looking rope. Easy to carry and shouldn't hinder him. He preferred to travel light, so the rest of the supplies he left for the others to pick through, turning to Jarlaxle with a smirk. "Don't you know it's rude to speak a language not everyone knows?"