Raslo resumed his journey along the Eastern shore of one of the greatest Underdark water reservoirs in the area, namely Darklake. He glanced over its mirrorlike surface at the poorest of fishing vessels manned by a minimum of crew. The Duergar grumbled something from behind his jagged, pointy beard about the lack of rather skilled crew members in that matter, especially when he recalled his experiences on his trip to Menzoberranzan some tendays ago. A sudden underwater current, probably caused by a sinkhole -which was high likely the result of some form of local collapsing of the bedrock-, had almost dragged their ship towards a vortex of madness, a powerful maelstrom that would have consumed the vessel as a whole, ending the life of everyone on it. Including his.
If he wouldn’t have smacked a few panicking heads blandly together, and hadn’t put in an oar himself, they probably would have become food for the crab fish and whatever other troglobite organisms that were about in these black waters. After this most perilous exercise they had been able to resume their journey without any further incidents. For Raslo however the idea of getting cold feet had made him rather hesitant to board another ship for an undefined period of time. True enough, the corridors of the Underdark were a hostile place to wander about. More than often he had compared the seemingly endless cave systems with branching creep tunnels -some ballooning into caverns so enormous they could hold city-sized colonies- with the organs of the digestive system.
Some paths as if by design, seemed to serve as passageways for both air and prey, where anything swallowed into them was seldom able to make it out again. It was beyond doubt should one fall in this dangerous realm, no part of their body would remain unutilized. He grinned behind his beard. Well, perhaps it was the only place where even morons and other excrements had their use. He glanced a moment about the lake again. It was all like a body that sought to survive, and any solution -radical or not- was good.
From behind the rocks a pair of taurine eyes gleaming with cunning observed the back of this seemingly careless traveler. What an incredible stroke of luck this was. A clawish hand moved aside grimy hair plastering a bestial face. The creature flexed its massive shoulders, convinced this rather tall but lone Duergar would prove more than an easy prey. There was no need to offer ‘it’ a chance in a fight, he was not cruel right now, just hungry. One swing of his mighty axe would decapitate his victim and then he could gorge on that dwarven flesh. How much meat was yet to be seen though. This dwarf was broad indeed at the shoulders, but there seemed to be a lack of bulk at other parts of ‘its’ body. The eyes shifted left and right. At least he wouldn’t have to share.
But just when he was about to make his move, muscles preparing to strike, the Duergar standing with his back 30 feet in front of him said,” You know… you really stink, minotaur…”
Then the dwarf suddenly spun around, a blade flashing in each hand, and seemingly fearless to face the mighty creature… seemingly defying it all. That blood-chilling roar echoing over the lake, the foul stink filling his nosetrils, and the ground beneath his feet shaking as the faerzress-infused minotaur charged.
Raslo just grinned,” Meat..., finally…”
