Though they hadn't acquired treasure, discovering the Drow family insignia boosted the adventuring party's morale.
With half their time already spent, finally finding traces of their mission objective made everyone eager to reach the legendary Menzoberranzan and end this grueling journey.
None knew exactly what a Drow city looked like, but any properly governed settlement—no matter how flawed—had to be better than these monster-infested Underdark tunnels where danger lurked around every corner.
After eating their fill, the squad set out again. This time, Anthony didn't make others serve as living torches.
Leaving the hook horror's territory meant venturing into the unknown. Even Anthony wasn't arrogant enough to disregard all native inhabitants here.
This was Toril. This was the Forgotten Realms. From a multiversal perspective, Faerûn remained an undisputed monster den teeming with legendary figures and beings. Those who acted recklessly usually met unpleasant ends.
Just consider that white dragon who'd been peacefully sleeping in its lair until some bored adventurers stumbled upon it, slaughtered the creature, and casually claimed its hoard as spoils.
What perilous times. To pass the tedious travel hours, Anthony pondered future possibilities.
If even their first mission in this quasi-infinite space proved so challenging, he'd need to rapidly strengthen himself after reaching the city.
He wondered which power players occupied Menzoberranzan at this timeline, and whether that infamous rebellious mistress had already become the Drow's nemesis.
If so... things might get complicated.
Their forced march proceeded luckily, with few powerful monsters blocking the path.
Just as the party sought a campsite, faint sounds of battle echoed from beyond a cavern wall.
Though none understood Undercommon, they recognized this as trouble.
Most Underdark natives possessed darkvision or other visual abilities. The group hastily extinguished their torches and hid behind stone pillars.
Anthony ignited a flame on his fingertip, made a silencing gesture, then snuffed it out to investigate alone.
Compared to Drow, the goblin monk and rogue's scouting and stealth skills seemed amateurish at best.
Anthony wasn't particularly stealthy either, but magic compensated.
After whispering an incantation, his figure vanished—the 2nd-level spell Invisibility.
In the darkness, the party stood breathless. Only Yoda blinked at where his master had disappeared, nerves taut.
Should anything befall their lord, this expedition would end catastrophically.
The others shared this unspoken thought despite seeing nothing: May our master return safely with good news.
Anthony proceeded with uncharacteristic caution.
He alone recognized the Elvish curses now tinged with Drow inflection—one of a dragon's most trivial yet convenient innate abilities.
Most chromatics cared only for pillaging, never conversing with lesser beings. But this served Anthony well now.
As battle cries echoed ahead, he advanced while analyzing.
Underdark politics proved complex, but only two factions truly ruled this vast subterranean world:
The Drow city-states and the mind flayer empires.
Their dominance forced even black dragons and shadow dragons to play at warlords in remote corners.
Not that dragons lacked power, but without unity, they couldn't compare. Yet dragonkind rarely cooperated—even among kin or clutchmates.
Unless breeding.
Other factions—duergar, deep gnomes—merely survived in established habitats beneath these evil races' predatory shadows.
Drow and illithids ruled through different means: the latter via innate psionic supremacy, the former through ruthless meritocracy and racial intellect.
This produced an exceptionally high ratio of skilled professionals to commoners—often half or more.
Their sole common traits? Utter cruelty and evil.
Setting aside the mind flayers for now, male drow began serving their houses from childhood—subjected to grueling labor, harsh training, and relentless scoldings or lashings, stripped of all dignity.
Female drow fared slightly better, though their combat training was even more brutal. At least they were spared menial chores.
Though drow society was a matriarchy, advancement still depended on sheer capability.
Yet their shared faith tilted the scales—the Spider Queen Lolth's favoritism toward females ultimately cemented their dominance.
Gender aside, power dictated privilege. The extreme pressures of survival warped all drow into deeply twisted individuals, making them one of the most ruthlessly self-serving races.
A true martial society, through and through.
Anthony advanced cautiously. His perception was sharp, but trained drow moved with near-silent steps. A hundred yards still stretched his limits.
The clang of steel alone couldn't reveal how many drow were present.
If this turned out to be a full-scale battle, his only option would be to flee and return later, hoping to scavenge whatever remained.
For now, stealthily observing the situation was his best move.
The Boots of the Untraceable struggled under his 200-pound frame—they were designed for lithe drow, not his bulk. Fortunately, the chaos of battle masked his presence.
Invisibility let him edge closer, but he stayed fifty yards back. A drow priest or spellcaster might detect him, and this distance allowed an easy escape.
Luckily, the worst-case scenario didn't unfold. Before him, a group of drow clashed with deep gnomes.
Nearly a hundred combatants total, yet the fight was utterly one-sided.
A slaughter, really.
Deep gnomes weren't weak. Their gem-mining lifestyle made them sturdy compared to other gnomes, and their pickaxes and warhammers posed real threats.
But the drow warriors' fluid footwork dodged every swing, counterattacking the moment gnomes overextended.
Superior reach and skill let the drow dominate melee—gnomes barely landed hits.
Yet the deep gnomes weren't helpless. Their leader roared, and survivors hurled their weapons in unison. The sudden barrage bloodied several drow, even knocking two unconscious.
The drow priestess commanding the fray didn't panic. She barked orders, sending warriors to crush the "fools" who'd disarmed themselves.
But deep gnomes had survived underground for millennia. They weren't that stupid.
The gnome leader raised a necklace, shouted an incantation, and smashed it against the ground. A fifteen-foot-tall earth elemental materialized in the tunnel.
Explosions echoed from adjacent passages.
With the elemental blocking the main route, the gnomes retreated in formation. The priestess split her forces, sending most warriors down side tunnels to flank, leaving only two drow and a glossy black panther to handle the elemental.
The battle's brutality peaked as Anthony witnessed something absurd:
The drow warrior dodged every massive swing—even as the elemental's blows cratered the walls—never once getting hit.
When the elemental nearly cornered him, the panther leapt onto its head, claws raking. The enraged elemental smashed the cat into black mist, provoking the warrior's fury.
What followed was a display of divine swordsmanship. Twin blades became a whirlwind, carving the elemental apart in under a minute—a masterclass in "dismantling a walking boulder."
So you wait until your pet dies to get serious? Anthony mentally scoffed, eyeing the warrior's distinctive lilac eyes.
Then again, this was a fantasy world. Stranger things had happened.
He didn't linger. His invisibility was fading, and though he had spell slots to spare, he vaguely recalled what came next.
No need to watch the inevitable backstabbing.
Time to slip away and deliver the news.
Along with some bad news for the others.