Blood Magic

Chapter 6

233 days after turning.

There was a keen curiosity about the Underdark upon my first visit nine months ago. After overcoming the initial malaise of such a dreary, damp underground, I found a strange sweetness in the bioluminescent fungi surrounding the edges of pure abyss and the Myconids that take care of them. And while facing seismic and colossal terrors like bulettes, minotaurs, and spectators were certainly not any more pleasant in retrospect, not a foe we faced could have defeated us. That was the kind of power my party and I once wielded. With just Geraldus and I together for a long journey ahead, it is difficult to muster the same confidence.

Yet, the man has demonstrated considerable worth thus far, enough for me to restore my faith in fortune's hold on me. A week of hugging the Winding Water root within the Netherese Caverns has proved eventful, consisting of run-ins with a cloaker, goblins, and a caravan of drow on a pilgrimage to Menzoberranzan; it was this caravan that caused us the most grief but simultaneously established our fighting dynamic of ranged domination. With us against five drow eager to accost us at a crossroads, we took advantage by casting Dimension Door, transporting Geraldus and me to an overhead sussor tree, and picked them off one by one. Geraldus' aim is sharp and precise, dealing incredible damage in quick succession, while my specialisation in lightning invocation fried them to ash. It's unfortunate, I explained to Geraldus, how the weapons and gear which empowered me before were locked away by my master, keeping me from my fullest arcanic potential, but he assured me that no true power comes from outside of oneself, so it is no loss after all.

There is a loss, however, of much greater things, inside and out.

The drow provided for the week's blood supply, but I had completely forgotten the amount of sustenance needed to travel during every waking hour—likely because the memory of food is exceptionally futile for a vampire—so the supply drained entirely before we could restock via an unlucky Underdark dweller. Hunger or none, we press on, turning due north toward the Lowerdark town of Reeshov. While the quickest Underdark path to Waterdeep shortens the journey significantly, there are no settlements along the way, forcing us to detour in pursuit of blood, food, and shelter.

Now hugging the northernmost tip of the Serpent Tail Stream's root, we see the town limits in the distance, and Geraldus' surveillance of our surroundings increases into excessive paranoia.

As he checks around a massive limestone pillar, I point out sarcastically, "You forgot to turn a rock over there. There could be a troglodyte hiding underneath for all we know."

"Har har har," Geraldus replies, turning back and joining me at my side. "The moment we are ambushed, you will be thanking me for checking every corner and crevice of this horrid place."

"Reeshov is a tiny settlement of grimlock who distrust every interloper, lest they have a reason to suspect us as allies. I read all about this very band of grimlock from a history of the Northdark back at the academy a thousand years ago now. I distinctly recall their hatred of illithids, their former enslavers, which you and I can certainly relate to. How could they possibly turn away the chance to hear a first-person account of murdering entire legions of their greatest enemy? Plus, I've hardly had the opportunity to relish in my great triumphs, so please worry less and try to enjoy the potential of sleeping on something better than a bedroll, even if it is provided by grimy cretins."

"I have no intent to ruin your self-congratulatory storytime, but do be a little more concerned with what we are about to face, Dame Lillith. Remember the old adage: If you think it's impossible, it happens in the Lowerdark," he warns, taking a slight lead ahead of me to look for traps.

This journey better not be an ongoing battle between Geraldus' wisdom and my intelligence because he might be the first to give me a run for my money.

A group of eight grimlocks equipped with bone clubs gather in the area before the entrance to Reeshov, between us a wide expanse of a dead-fall trap with sharp spikes covered by a metal grate. One of the grimlocks rests his hand on a lever before the grate.