Chapter 1: Prisoners of the Drow

Captured by the drow! You wouldn't wish this fate upon anyone. yet here you are—locked in a dark cave. The cold, heavy weight of metal tight around your throat and wrists. You are not alone. Other prisoners are trapped in here with you, in an underground outpost far from the light of the sun.

Your captors include a cruel drow priestess who calls herself Mistress llvara of House Mizzrym. Over the past several days, you've met her several times, robed in silken garments and flanked by two male drow. One of whom has a mass of scars along one side of his face and neck.

Mistress llvara likes to impress her will with scourge in hand and remind you that your life now belongs to her. "Accept your fate, learn to obey, and you may survive." Her words echo in your memory, even as you plot your escape.


You find yourselves in a slave pen. On one end of the naturally-hewn rock chamber sits a massive iron gate, locked under all circumstances save one: the times when you are removed under heavy guard to perform menial chores for the amusement of your cruel drow masters. All told, there are fifteen of you in the slave pens, though five of you are gone at any given point in time.

Rough iron collars, manacles, and a belt adorn your necks, wrists, and waist. Through heavy rings a short length of chain tethers your arms to your waist, leaving you enough movement to do your tasks but little else. Any possessions you had when you were captured have long since disappeared into the depths of the drow camp. All you have left is anything you’ve managed to secret away during your time here.

It has been several hours since your last serving of the thin mushroom broth they feed you, and the heavy clay chamber pots lined up along one wall are beginning to reek with several hours gathering of excrement. Several other prisoners are in the room with you, some sleeping, some sitting alone.

The roar of falling water can be heard through the door. You know from your previous rotations out on labor details that you are in a massive underground cavern, where a giant waterfall pours into a pool below. The entire cavern glows with a dim light at all times, disconcerting for those that are used to the sun.

The heavy gate clangs open and work team 3 is ushered into the slave pens, hands gripping their own, now empty, chamber pots. With a cold click, the gate closes behind them.

The Quaggoth looks down at Dustin before speaking in flowing, urbane Elvish. Your deference to my role is proper, kinsman. Would that I could walk in the sun once more, and look upon the spires of Nelrindenvane in the High Forest once more. I will shake this vile polymorph and reclaim my crown! With an air of finality, Derendil walks across the room, causing several of the other prisoners to scatter to avoid his path.

Hah! This one may look like me, but we're not from the same family. Jimjar says, with a jerk of his head indicating Bildaweer. My people certainly would come rescue me, if they knew I was missing. Alas, I was taken when I was away from home. They don't even expect me back from my foray to the surface yet! Jimjar says with a chortle. No lad, I'm here until I can either make an escape. Possibly when the damned drow send their contingent from Menzoberranzan to take us to the trading block there.

Jimjar looks over at the half-orc with a look of cocked-headed confusion. Exactly what did you think the drow did with their prisoners? Of course they'll want to be selling us off. With a shake of his head, he looks around the rest of the room. Not that all of us here will likely make the block. That one over there, I hear he's dangerous. Very dangerous, from the whispers. He says, nodding at the shackled drow sitting alone along one of the walls.

They say he went crazy and slaughtered one of the other drow warriors. He's a nasty sort, doesn't often talk to anyone. Jimjar says quietly, eyes darting between the group and the drow.

I don't know as much as I would like, to be honest with you. I know they have a force of about 20 drow here. At least one of them is another priestess - Asha, maybe? Jimjar says as his craggy face scrunches as if doing math in his head.

You all have met Ilvara, Shoor, and Jorlan, of course. Shoor and Jorlan are the two that are always with Ilvara. Nasty scars Jorlan got. Those happened right after I got here. Something like a tenday and a half, maybe? Again, that scrunched face that belies mental math creases his brow.

Oh, something else I've heard about but not seen, personally. Spiders and quaggoths. They've got more than a dozen mixed of those beasties. At this his voice drops, and his eyes furtively flick to the back of Derendil's massive frame.

Sarith looks up , red eyes piercing out from behind his straggly white hair. His lip curls into a sneer and he drops his gaze back to the ground between his feet. Magic. P'ah. Clearly you surface-dwelling scum know nothing of the ways of the drow.
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Jimjar glances around, making sure no guards are near to the gate before speaking lowly to the small group No one really knows, at least no one here in the room. All I can say is that the disfigurement seemed to cause him to fall from Mistress Ilvara's grace. She even took his toy away and gave it to Shoor! Some wand that shot sticky things out to help capture new slaves for the pipeline. Shhhh! Break apart now, we'll talk more later, if you're still alive. Jimjar says suddenly. He darts to the back of the cave. Moments later, a drow warrior walks up to the gate and peers through, assessing the masses.

You scum break it up. You should rest, your jobs on the morrow will be taxing enough. He says with a sneer before continuing on his way.





Anyone attempting to get further information out of Sarith will need to provide a Charisma check of some kind (either Intimidation or Persuasion, depending on your approach).