---

Skullport.

Aurix registered the name possibly more hostile than she was supposed to, her mind settling that the place would be openly filled with dangers. For a moment, the lizardfolk thought to herself before she rose from her seat after Esvelle had finished speaking and standing silent for a moment as she gazed at the human. With a huff, the reptile turned her back and walked off to gather information about the place they were going to, such preparations being key to survival as these tasks favored the prepared. Aurix was determined that she would survive and that would be her reasoning for leaving the table.

After looking around, Aurix could not find anyone that seemed like a good source of information before she came across an old pirate, his skin old and tough showed that he had seen many horrors and experienced many things. No doubt that he would certainly know more than any of the other soft ones that occupied the bar. Her eyes focus on him as she moved towards the old man, her form finding it hard to navigate in the rather crowder tavern as she moved about with little grace or elegance.

“Hello,” Aurix introduced herself, looking down on the old man before continuing, “Our group travels through maze to Skullport. Can you give knowledge for survival?”

The pirate turned to her, his wrinkled face forming into a bit of a mad smile, showing that his teeth had been replaced with iron fangs, earning a bit more respect from Aurix as this soft-one attempted to make up for what she had naturally. He let out a sort of wheezing sound, something that the lizardfolk could be a sound of amusement, before slamming his drink down and putting a hand on the tough skin of the lizardfolk.

“Skullport is filled cannibal dragonborn! Warring tribes and such! They do sacrifices on non-dragonborn and creatures of shadow serve them!” the old man said, gracing Aurix with his knowledge as he pulled out a piece of pottery. “They use these in their rituals so that the shadows can take people away when they least expect it! Halflings and gnomes better be wary!”

Aurix’s eyes scanned the ground as she thought before she went to speak, “I th-”

“But gnomes swindle too much! They deserve it!” He interrupted before offering the piece of pottery to his knew scaled friend.

“Your words carry much wisdom, old one. May you survive longer,” she said, proud to know of someone who was more lizardfolk than the other soft-skins. She took the pottery and looked back at the old timer who had already had his back as he downed more of his drink.

“I wish ye luck in travels, lizard! Trust not the shadows or the dragonborn!”

Aurix could only nod in respect as she turned away to finally go get rest so that the tired would not bring her down. She would tell the others of what information she had found when they would descend into the maze as such valuable knowledge must be known.

---

As the group gathered by the wench, gear ready and morale high for the adventure ahead, there was a clear lack of a certain presence. Aurix was with the group, however, she would soon appear as the doors of the tavern came open and there stood the lizardfolk, next to her standing the brown-coated horse of Achthend. The two stood there for a moment before the lizardfolk took a step forward, guiding the draft horse through the interior of the building. In a moment of silence, the crowd stared at the horse before there was a murmur of happiness swept through the onlookers, very much pleased to see the new take on trying to get through the maze.

Some reached out to let the horse, whose tail merely flicked back and forth as Aurix pulled it along towards the winch down to the maze. Aurix cared not for what the softskins did to her horse, so long as it did not impair her ability to lead it through the maze with the extra supplies that it was carrying on it. As she reached the step to the winch, Achthend stopped and refused the lizardfolk’s motions to try and get it aboard the way down. She knew exactly what it wanted and she could understand why.

Achthend was far smarter, or at least Aurix believed with his sense of preservation matching that of the lizardfolk, than any horse she had previously come across. This horse once killed a drow by crushing its skull when Aurix has led it into the underdark during the first campaign the group had together, proving its usefulness as being more than mere food. She had grown as attached as a lizardfolk could get to a creature, refusing to relieve the horse of service until it has breathed its last breath and provided Aurix with sustenance after death and his bones had been made into a dagger and shield. Such was the circle of resourcefulness that Achthend offered, being more than just a traveling snack for the ever neutral reptilian.

“Smart,” Aurix commented as she reached into one of the packs to grab a carrot, holding it in front of the horse’s face. He leaned forward to try and grab the carrot only for Aurix to pull back, forcing the horse to move onto the winch to retrieve its bribe.

When the horse settled upon the winch, the crowd erupted into cheers as it seemed Achthend had become a hit without caring to and without showmanship. Aurix blankly looked over to Durnan, a low grumble sounded from her as she sized up the rather large man before looking back to the horse, gently caressing his snout. She would not bother putting on a show for softskins, there was no reason to as she was not in danger or threatened by any of the creatures in the raven. “Useless,” she muttered under her breath, as she stared into her horse’s eyes.

Lauk didn’t know much about what waited below. He didn’t care much either. When it came to his turn to go down through the Yawning Portal, he easily grabbed the chain with a single, large hand, holding on to his wizard’s staff with the other as the pulley system lowered him down into the depths.

The trip down was utterly dark. When he landed, it was utterly dark. Nobody had seen fit to light a torch yet. He let go of the chain, moving his fingers across the various leather straps attached to his staff until he found the right one. Stroking a hand across it, he felt the shapes of the magical runes, recalling exactly how to cast the spell. Pulling an arm into his shell, he found his various spell components and pulled out some ruby dust, carefully casting the appropriate spell upon the crystal at the peak of his staff.

At first, when he spoke the words and made the appropriate gestures, nothing happened. Then there was a very faint light from within the crystal, which quickly flared up into a flame surrounding the crystal. He put his finger inside it, just to see what happened. He could feel the energies, but there was no heat. He smiled at the horse. It looked stupidly back at him, letting out a faint whinny that echoed through the hollow chamber.

Looking at his surroundings, he tried to see if there was anything of note in the chamber

---

<sub>Mechanics: Cast Continual flame (2nd level slot). Used 50GP worth of ruby dust. Will fix inventory later.

Perception check to look at surroundings by the light of a continual flame.</sub>

---

Aurix was quick to follow Lauk down the pit, not truly caring that Jhimas and a few of the party had to deal with personal matters as it would hardly have any consequences on her survival. Luckily, they had replacement soft-skins, though she had not gotten a good look at them since being ushered to the platform that would lower her, and the rest of the party down. The lizardfolk did, however, notice that one was slightly meatier and she knew it was a good enough boon should that member happen to die, though she had to remember her ‘manners’ as some of the party had previously put. She knew not what manners were, but she figured it just meant to not make comments about eating soft-skins upon their eventual demise to further her own survival, though she could never be too sure.

Her gaze went to Ardour before letting out a huff at the tall man, moving to the platform and dropping the necessary amount of useless coin that Durnan had demanded for the entire party, excluding Luak. “Come, tiefling. I do not trust Achthend by himself and I don’t think the turtle is capable enough to handle him,” Aurix started, crossing her arms in a generally impatient fashion.

In the few seconds it took for her to be lowered down, along with her party of course, Aurix could not help but remember the time the group had spent in the dark caverns in the past, slaying the drow that had dared to imprison her. The times were certainly better then, plenty of corpses to feast upon and never an empty stomach because of it, missing the feeling of eating raw flesh that the more intolerant could not bare to eat. However, she had little time to think about those times as she reached the bottom of the pit and spotted her horse, standing there and scuffing the floor with his hoof. The horse had an attitude, something Aurix found mildly amusing.

She walked over to Achthend, handling his reigns to move him to what looked to be the back of the room, eyeing the tortle all the while. In addition, Aurix swiped up the saddle as she passed by. It took her a moment to properly get the saddle on Achthend, rubbing his snout every now and again as he whinnied and continued to paw at the ground with his hooves. It seemed that he did not like it down in this tight, confusing space, but he would have to get over it eventually otherwise he would prove to be useless rather quickly.

---

Markus's dark eyes glinted subtly in the gloom within the passageway, his cloak about his shoulders. He'd been down here for about an hour, and even though he wanted to, he had been instructed to wait for the 'team' by Esvellee. Now that he got a good look at them, he wasn't certain he should have followed that particular rule. "Guess I'll deal with it," he muttered to himself, watching a horse being lowered into the dungeon.

He had fought both Lizardfolk and Tieflings before. He never thought he would find himself allying with them, but he wasn't closed minded enough to think it beneath him. Everyone, even planar beings and savage races had a choice in how they interacted with the world. He had never met a Tortle, but the way this one moved about seemed strange to his sensibilities. He should have known that Esvellee didn't simply call him to help get her brother. It was likely to also watch these adventurers and make sure they barreled their way into Skullport.

Taking the hood of his cloak off to reveal his rakish features, he stepped out of the darkness of the tunnel, opening his cloak so they didn't suspect him of hiding any hidden weaponry. They would see a longsword hanging at the Eldritch Knight's hip, and two Scimitars crisscrossed upon his back. "It took you long enough," Markus said to them, his face casually expectant. "I'm not certain if Esvellee told you about me. She enjoys teasing me that way at times."

Despite the irksome circumstance (if that was the case), he couldn't help but give a grin. It truly was like old times, he decided. "I apologize, I didn't introduce myself. I'm Markus Flintbrook, an old associate of Esvellee's here to help. Is there anyone else we're waiting on?"

The whereabouts of the righteous dragon-god that the priest professed to be an acolyte of were unknown to him. Yet he felt certain that Bahamut, wherever his draconic divinity might dwell, was far away from him.

If the jostling and brusque entry of a cloaked host was only a little more obstreperous than normal in the Yawning Portal, then either Vodalus must have not been a regular, or he had cause to be truly afraid. Both were true.

His instincts, slack and ill-made for battle, but adroit for this sort of situation, sent his eyes darting to the nearest secondary exit. Those same instincts soaked his brow in a fresh coat of sweat when that exit was found first by another band of intruders, bent on the same purpose as the others. He ducked behind a table to gain a respite while he searched for a tertiary escape.

“We are blessed! The priest has come to join us!” The table’s occupants, thin, pallid refugees Vodalus had promised the deliverance of Bahamut to, rejoiced.

The priest froze.

His pursuers were not so courteous. At the noise, they turned towards its source.

“We were meaning to ask you if you could stay in town a little while longer to bless our friends, who also were devastated by the- wait, where are you going?”

“Holy business, I am sure!” said one of the others, seconds before entering a pitiful coughing fit.

Vodalus had absconded to undertake a business nothing short of empyreal: saving his skin.

Unfortunately for the cleric of sacrosanct morals, four hundred pounds of flesh and a mauve cassock large enough to cover it are not easily hid, or deftly handled. He knocked over almost the whole contents of the adjacent table.

Were he a common tavern-monger, he could have expected to have been struck in the center of his gelatinous mass, toppled flat, and pummeled without hope of aid. Instead, the victims of his clumsiness forgave him immediately.

“Your holiness! Such a pleasure to see you again! We were actually in the midst of a theological discussion, and were wondering if one of your sagacity in such matters could-”

Vodalus allowed himself no time to appreciate the incongruity of scholarly discussion coming from the mouths of brawny, bare-armed stevedores, pounding into full flight. He had no specific objective, only the vague hope that the motion of his legs, like the pulleys of an engine, would spark a coruscation in his desperate mind.

This did not happen. Something even more unfeasible to the paragon of piety did:

A miracle.

Well, if it were a miracle, then it was the most sardonic one Vodalus had ever heard of or preached about. A call for volunteers had been raised in the tavern, audible even over its characteristic cacophony. Dungeoners to brave the perilous depths of the Undermountain.

In Vodalus’ learned opinion, “Dungeooner” was just another word for “suicidal maniac.” Which was why he was quite happy to stay above ground, in sight of the sun, in an occupation that allowed himself to make a comfortable living– albeit with its own share of dangers.

I guess I’m a suicidal maniac then! Vodalus would have sighed if he had the time for it. As it was, he scurried towards the boniface. He was greeted with considerable less gruff enthusiasm than he typically showed his habitués, and a good deal more plain gruffness; Vodalus suspected that Durnan had disliked him from the moment he had stepped through into his “Yawning Portal.”

Still, he could offer him a sheepish grin, and inquire as to the nature of this offer.

Vodalus grimaced at the price. But he expected something far more grimace-worthy would be done to him by the men chasing him. Men who had finally spotted him, and were rounding past every nook and corner in the establishment.

Vodalus shoved a hand in his purse and tossed a handful of coins at him. Durnan blinked, then smiled at the total (4 gold pieces) and chuckled. Vodalus scowled and searched frantically for the adventuring party.

A minute flew by like a sparrow. This was all the time Vodalus had, and also all it took for him to hastily and fervently make the acquaintance of a certain Jhimas.

Durnan prepared the winch, and a hush fell over the tavern. Vodalus, glancing over his shoulder, happily obliged himself to go first.

Except the party insisted that the horse have the honor.

Very well, very well. I shall go shortly after, and… No, but it was one of the others. And another, and another.

Vodalus was the last one down. And it may have already been too late.

“There he is! The imposter-priest!” At least a dozen men with arms, armor, and vengeance filed into the space around the open pit. “Seize him!”

The hush brought about by the descending adventurers was naught compared to the shock brought about by this accusation. Cries of disbelief, denial, and anger split the air and the hearts and minds of every patron. The rolling of Durnan’s eyes could have powered a windmill for a year.

And Vodalus would see none of it. He had already jumped into the winch.

Once there, he found that his inadvertent munificence had not attained him a comfortable ride. Far from it. He had hurtled, just as inadvertently, past the platform and into the open air. He tried to reach for the rope holding up the smaller pay-bucket. Bahamut had not created his frame for feats of dexterity, so he missed the mark utterly.

140 feet. 140 spans of plummeting, stomach-churning, darkness.

And, of course, a lot of screaming.

Such a drop could have been terminal. Yet Bahamut apparently changed his mind about the maneuverability of the priest’s figure. For, when the beleaguered cleric spied, at the highest point of his despair (the lowest point of his plummet), the horse and its saddle, he knew what he had to do.

Survival demanded it. Humanity– albeit not for the horse– demanded it as well.

All 400-plus pounds of him landed on Architend.

The blow smarted like a hammer to his stomach, and there was not a trace of wind left in him. In such a condition, he could do nothing to stop the beast from rising from underneath his ponderous mass and throwing him off. He landed prone, but alive, on the dungeon floor.

---

When the fat man landed on Achthend, spooking the horse and almost causing it to run into what may be assumed to be certain death, Aurix was less than metaphorically happy. In fact, the lizardfolk made an approximation of what emotion to use on the situation and decided that aggression would be the best course of action. Of course, even though she noticed the others attempted to calm the spooked horse, there was no calming something that only she could.

The lizardfolk stompted over to the horse, grabbings its reigns and snapping her jaws like the predator she was before she stroked the horse’s snout. It took a few moments of the horse stomping its own feet, declaring that it disliked the fat man, before it finally obeyed the lizardfolk. It whinnied as Aurix patted his snout.

Then, her golden eyes looked over to the fool who had managed to fall onto her horse, summoning her blade, a longsword with a large glowing eye on its hilt, looking right at the cleric, as she pointed it to the cleric. “I will use your bones for daggers and your fat for torches if you do that again,” she snapped at the cleric, a loud and audible hiss coming from her maw before she turned away to tend to Achthend, noticining the bruising on his back.

Aurix led the horse around the corner, awaiting for her comrades to lead the way.

It was a good thing Lauk was slow to react, as he had never been much good with horses. For some reason, they never quite seemed to like him. Give him a good giant lizard any day in place of a horse. Fortunately, the horse’s owner—Aurix—kept it from running off. There was no doubt about there being someone or something out there. Beyond the obvious fact of what this place was, of course.

“There is something ahead,” he muttered softly as they started moving out, “not sure who or what, but we’re decidedly not alone here.”

He kept his eyes open, only occasionally blinking with his nictitating membranes to keep them wet. The light from his spellflame-wrapped staff didn’t go far, but at least the orange-red flame around the pale green crystal didn’t mess up his sight too much. Idly to himself he wondered whether that spell could be cast on a person, such as around their hand or head. That could look… interesting.

The priest went from agonized to terrified in short notice. When he lifted his thick head from the flagstones, still rubbing it sideways, it was to look upon a face dry as leather, projecting oblong and outwards, and pockmarked with scales. Her eyes glowed like fire through a dust storm, and her maw doubtless housed sawblades of teeth and a tongue of flexibility and cruelty.

Earlier, Vodalus had learned that she was a woman. That made it worse.

The reptile, from thin air, procured a sword in the space of a breath. The priest’s horror was now fixed on this blade, to the hilt of which was affixed a cyclopean eye. Both blade and eye stabbed towards his person– and there was a lot of person to stab, should it come to that.

Vodalus winced violently, then closed his eyes as if waiting for a storm to pass overhead while the lizardfolk blasted him with a threat. At some point, the danger passed. Vodalus shuddered, then rose off the floor.

First, he inspected himself for injuries. He had broken something, and perhaps several other somethings. Though, by all rights, he should have been dead.

But there was the horse. He glanced over at it. The poor creature was peppered with bruises and neighing raggedly.

Better the beast-of-burden take injury than a valuable asset such as myself.

Next, he inspected his surroundings.

It turned out that there was little to inspect. A look from top-to-bottom would have been neck-straining and unnecessary, but a survey from side-to-side was simply mundane. It was a box-shaped chamber, whose contours were illumined not wholly yet largely by the dome of torchlight someone had brought forth.

This was not an unpromising start. It was more promising certainly, than torture, interrogation, and confession at the hands of religious fanatics.

Still, Vodalus was not eager. He slid to the rear of the party. There, his towering, pulpy frame was anything but inconspicuous, and took up the space of almost two others.

He would have been content in this rearguard, offering moral support and smiling affirmations of his priestliness, had he not heard a heavy snort to his left. Vodalus turned.

The horse spat on him.

Vodalus and all his jiggling, gelatinous mass jumped back, as if acid had landed on his sleeve. He wiped it off, then, looking strenuously away from the equine, marched forwards with the party.