11. The Myconid Colony
Several days passed, and the party had made little progress in finding a way out of the Underdark. Still, they were alive and in decent health.
They came across the remnants of a hideout stocked with supplies from the surface, but the shaft leading upward had long since collapsed. And that evening, they made camp there.
The area around the hideout was dense with foreign fungi and plants, and Kal and Night had developed rashes from careless contact.
Thankfully, several books left in the hideout detailed the plant life of this region of the Upperdark, and the group gathered together to learn which were dangerous and which might prove useful.
Astor watched as Night scratched at a circular rash on her leg. “You should really wear longer trousers, Night. This book says the rash you have is called Ringshroom.” He smiled mischievously. “Unfortunately, you’ll turn into a mushroom in a tenday.”
“It does not say that, Astor,” Night replied, rolling her eyes. She leaned into his space, pulling the book in his hands towards her. “Let me see that book.”
Later that night, Astor finally found something to eat. A lone dwarf wandered around a field of bibberbang—pulsing, green mushrooms that explode easily. Trying to subdue the dwarf without triggering the mushroom’s explosive properties was a tedious process. But in the end, Astor fed.
It was his first taste of dwarven blood, richer and more complex than that of humans. He took his time, savoring it. When he was done, he searched the body for anything of value, then tossed the corpse into the abyss.
He remained at the ledge, his hands in his pockets, staring into the darkness, wondering when he would find his next meal.
The next day, as they wandered past fields of exploding mushrooms, a voice suddenly sang into their minds. It was strange, alien, and it asked for their intentions.
Astor answered honestly. They were looking for a way back to the surface.
Soon after, they were welcomed into the colony of myconids, sentient fungi who communicated with song-like telepathy. They seemed peaceful.
This colony functioned as a circle, their minds joined into a shared consciousness, the same voice that reached out to them earlier. At the heart of the grotto, the circle’s Sovereign, Spaw, asked for their aid in dealing with a group of duergars—dark dwarves who lived in the deepest places in the Underdark.
Astor was intrigued. This meant access to thinking blood. So he accepted, much to the party’s confusion.
For now, the myconid grotto served as a sanctuary, and they were given a patch of soft grass in the back to call their own.
“This place gives me the creeps,” Kal muttered.
Mushrooms of various shapes and colors stalked slowly down the dirt roads, their forms vaguely humanoid. Among them moved duergar corpses, reanimated on spores rather than necromantic magic.
“It’s just a different way of life,” Night said.
Near their camp, a few merchants had set up shop. The group split in two. Night and Shadowheart went to talk to a hobgoblin merchant, while Astor and Kal approached a dwarven merchant.
“My name is Derryth,” the dwarf said, waving them over. “I heard you’re adventurers in the area. Tell me, have you seen a male dwarf named Baelen? He’s my husband, and I’m still waiting for him to return.”
“I’m Astor, this is Kal. Can’t say we’ve seen other dwarves around here,” he replied lightly. “Do you have anything for trade? I’m looking for Greater Healing Potions or better.”
Derryth sighed. “I have a few healing potions in this bag here. Take a look.”
As Kal and Astor perused her wares, Derryth mumbled to herself, “I hope he didn’t get into trouble. He should be back by now…”
“We’ll take these,” Kal said, holding up a few bottles. “Also do you sell meat?”
“Not meat, but I have bread.”
“Oh, we’ll take two loaves,” Kal replied. “I’ll bet the others need more food,” he said to Astor.
Soon, they walked down the road to meet Night and Shadowheart.
“You totally know something about her husband,” Kal said casually.
“I—what? No, I don’t,” Astor replied quickly.
Kal smirked at him. “You got all stiff. You have better posture when you’re nervous.”
Astor didn’t respond. He stared straight ahead as they walked in silence.
“I won’t say anything,” Kal said suddenly, laughing. “Calm down, Astor. The hair on your neck is standing up.”
“Shut up, Kal,” Astor murmured.
As they approached the hobgoblin merchant, Astor caught snippets of what he was saying.
“I can’t say I know how to extract mind flayer tadpoles. How long do you have, anyway? Should the grotto be worried?”
Hells, they’re just telling every stranger their entire business, aren’t they? Astor thought. His eyes swept the hobgoblin’s robe, purple with a silver eye on the chest. Is that a holy symbol?
“Astor, over here!” Night waved him and Kal over. “This is Blurg. He’s a member of the Society of Brilliance, a small organization of scholars dedicated to researching the ecosystems of the Underdark. They’re headquartered in Baldur’s Gate! Do you know of them?”
“Ah, you must be their friends Astor and, what was it, Kalsarin? A pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Astor said, shaking Blurg’s hand. “I’ve not heard of your organization. But if you’re located in the city, then surely you know how we can get out of the Underdark? How do you get to the city?”
“I haven’t been up there in a year. The entrance I usually take is nearby, but it caved in last year. But I do know the next closest entrance is in the ruins of an old Selûne temple. I can draw you a map.”
Blurg dug around his work area for parchment and ink. When he finally finished scribbling the map, Astor took it and tried to make sense of it.
“It’s a ways away, maybe a tenday or more.” Blurg added more information to the map, to help Astor understand it better. “We really should work on clearing the entrance near here, but I don’t have the manpower for that right now.”
“So you’re a hobgoblin,” Shadowheart began. “But you’re researching plants in the Underdark. That’s…interesting.”
Blurg laughed warmly. “That’s one way to put it. I know hobgoblins are commonly known for valuing strength and physical abilities, but once in a while you get someone like me who prefers studying mushrooms.” His eyes twinkled. “If you do turn into a mind flayer, you should know you can continue your hobbies, if that’s what you want.”
“What?” Astor was confused. “You lose your mind completely when you become a mind flayer.”
“Well, I don’t understand it too much. But if the Elder Brain you’re a part of is dead or loses track of you, then you’re pretty much free to do what you want. And if you’re talented in certain magic, you can resist its compulsion to a certain degree.”
“You sound like you have experience here…” Astor said suspiciously.
“Not me. My friend, Omeluum. He’s a mind flayer, and also a member of the Society of Brilliance.”
“Wait,” Shadowheart began, “you’re saying your friend is a mind flayer who studies plants. In the Underdark.”
Blurg nodded. “He’s trying to improve living conditions for people down here, as well as researching how mind flayers can subsist on less brains. He’s around. I can let him know you want to meet him.”
“Wow, I would love to,” Night said. “And maybe get his autograph.”
Blurg smiled. “I think he’d be happy to hear that.”
Later that night, Astor approached Blurg alone. “Do you know if anyone in the society is doing research on vampire appetites? Like dampening their blood hunger or allowing them to require less blood?”
Blurg looked thoughtful for a minute. “Can’t say I have. We don’t have any vampires in the organization. Though if any want to join, we’d be happy to have them.” He leaned in to Astor. “Why are you asking?”
“I have a friend who’s a vampire and they live in Baldur’s Gate. I’m seeing if there’s anything I can do for them,” Astor explained coolly.
“That makes sense. It must be a special type of hell to live amongst your natural food supply. I know Omeluum struggles with his appetite. Tell ya what, let your friend know to contact the society headquarters and put in a research request, and I’ll see if any members would be interested in picking it up.”
Astor nodded. If he could figure out a way to not require so much blood, his life would improve dramatically.
The group moved through the Underdark, following a route laid out by Sovereign Spaw. They reached a duergar hideout built into the remains of a spacious, crumbling village. There were only half a dozen duergar, and the group split up to cover more ground.
Astor found opportunities to discreetly drink his fill during combat.
When the battle was over, Kal, Night and Shadowheart regrouped on the ground floor..
“Um, where is Astor?” Night asked. “Is he alive?”
“I’m fine, I’m up here,” Astor called back quickly.
He stood on the upper floor of the structure, having just tied up a duergar hostage, stuffing him into a closet for later.
“I think we need to take that ship to the next base,” Shadowheart said, scanning the area. “But we should rest here for the night first.”
“Sounds good,” Astor replied as he climbed down the ladder. “We can use one of their fire pits. And I’m sure they have supplies stashed away.”
Night and Shadowheart gathered firewood into a metal ring, and Night lit it with a flick of magic. Then they walked as Kal begun tearing through a duergar corpse, much to Shadowheart’s dismay.
“I’m not eating duergar,” Shadowheart said firmly. “They’re dwarves. People!”
“You didn’t seem to have a problem killing them,” Astor said, smiling darkly.
“Somebody told me to kill with conviction.” Shadowheart crossed her arms. “That doesn’t mean I want to eat them.”
“Let’s use the cured meats we bought from Blurg. We can toast some bread and make some sandwiches.” Night pulled a wooden table over near the fire and got to work. “Did you want some, Astor?”
“I’m good,” he said. “I’ll start looking for supplies on the top floor.” He climbed the ladder and disappeared from view.
Shadowheart watched him go. “Is it just me or does Astor barely eat? Is he hiding something from us?”
Night shrugged. “Maybe, but I’m sure it’s not a big deal.
“You trust him an awful lot,” Shadowheart said. “Should you?”
Night met Shadowheart’s gaze. “He makes decisions for our benefit, and keeps us moving. He’s earned some trust, hasn’t he?”
Shadowheart nodded slowly. “Still. We should be careful.”
The next day, they took a boat across the lake. On the other side, they arrived at the remains of an ancient underground fortress, an abandoned temple for the goddess Shar. Shadowheart was nearly frantic with excitement. She paused at every statue and carving they passed, taking it all in, and then scowled at the duergars and drow now occupying the ruins.
“Let’s kill them all,” she suggested.
“I’m down,” Kal replied, licking his lips.
“Thankfully, that’s exactly what Spaw asked us to do,” Astor added.
“You’re all bloodthirsty,” Night said with a laugh. “There are a lot of them. Maybe we should form a plan first?”
The battle was loud, chaotic, and flashy. They ambushed the enemies from above. Night unleashed wide arcs of storm magic, while Kalsarin breathed columns of flames across the battlefield.
Shadowheart and Astor had little to do until the end.
The duergars were led by a drow named Nere, and he was a competent mage. But inside Night’s silence aura, he fell quickly to Shadowheart’s spear and Astor’s blade.
Astor drove his dagger into Nere’s corpse and cleanly severed the head. “Spaw wanted the head as proof. This should do.”
“Can I have the body?” Kal asked, almost casually. He was in his dragon form, pieces of duergar caught between his teeth.
“Have at it,” Astor said, stepping aside. “Just leave the gear.”
Shadowheart walked up to Astor, resting a hand on his shoulder. “It must have been difficult, killing Nere. Did you see yourself in him? If you need to talk, I’m here.”
Astor blinked, confused. “…I’m fine.”
Before they left, Astor found time for a few more sips of blood without anyone finding out.
A day later, they were back at the Myconid Grotto.
Astor dropped Nere’s head at Spaw’s feet.
The circle sang in celebration, their voices threading through the party’s minds from every direction. All around them, the mushrooms in the grotto released a fine cloud of spores. Under their influence, the party’s injuries healed quickly.
They made their way back to Blurg, where a mind flayer now stood beside him, clad in a similar robe.
“You must be Omeluum,” Astor said. He shook hands with the mind flayer.
“It is good to meet you, friends of the circle.” Omeluum’s voice was smooth and layered, several tones overlapping at once. “I am told you are infected with the tadpole, yet have not transformed. An interesting case.”
His tentacles twitched slowly against his chest as he studied them. “May I examine one of you?”
Astor glanced back at the party, and all three of the others shook their head.
“…I’ll do it,” he said at last, stepping forward.
Omeluum met his gaze. Then he sent a wave of psionic energy towards Astor.
A sudden piercing headache erupted in Astor’s head, and he could feel his tadpole writhing inside his skull. He clutched his head and groaned, fighting to keep himself upright. Someone caught his arm.
Then all of a sudden, it stopped.
He opened his eyes and blinked, his breathing uneven. Night stood beside him, her hand gripping his arm, wearing a concerned look on her face. “I’m fine,” he muttered.
“Curious,” Omeluum said. “There is a barrier around your parasite. It has been altered, and powerfully at that. I do not recognize this magic.”
“So you don’t know how to remove it?” Kal asked.
Omeluum shook his head. “Whatever shields you from the tadpole also prevents its removal.”
“Thank you for trying,” Shadowheart said. “Is it true what Blurg said? That you’ve freed yourself from the illithid hivemind?”
“Yes. I was born with a natural affinity for psionics, which allowed me to resist the elder brain’s influence. Once I was far enough beyond its reach, my mind became my own.“
“That gives us hope then,” Night said. “That even if we turned into mind flayers we could keep our sense of self.”
“I would still rather not sprout tentacles,” Kal muttered. “No offense, Omeluum. They clash with my… aesthetic.”
Omeluum’s tentacles quivered, which Astor hoped was a laugh.
“Now, I believe one of you wanted my autograph?” the mind flayer said.
“Me!” Night raised her hand. “I’ve never met a rogue mind flayer before. Can you sign my Monster Manual book? It has a mind flayer artwork on the cover…”
“How delightful,” Omeluum said, admiring the cover of Night’s textbook. He signed in ink with a careful flourish, and added the symbol of the Society of Brilliance beneath it.
That night, they camped within the grotto again, on the patch of grass reserved for them near the back. Night and Shadowheart’s tents were pitched against a stone wall. A small fire smoldered in front, and Kalsarin lay on a bedroll in front of it, still in his humanoid form. He didn’t want to cause panic by turning into a dragon.
Inside Night’s tent, Astor sat on the couch, books spread across the low table. He had a list of questions from his studies, and Night worked through them with him. Before long, the lesson turned practical, and Astor managed to cast a basic cleaning cantrip, clearing the bloodstains from a piece of cloth.
“You’re a quick learner. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you had formal magical training,” Night said with a grin.
“Or you’re just a good teacher,” Astor replied.
“Flattery will get you everywhere, Astor,” Night said lightly.
Astor leaned back into the couch, tired from studying. He tapped his fingers idly against his leg. “What do you think the magic around our tadpoles is? What Omeluum mentioned earlier…”
“I’d wager Kelemvor had a hand in it,” Night said. “He must be protecting us.”
“Then why not just remove it?” Astor said, frowning. “If his magic is the reason we can’t… then there’s only one conclusion.”
Night turned to him. “What are you saying?”
“He needs us like this,” Astor theorized, “but not transformed. He’s trying to get us to do something without saying it outright.” He sat up straighter. “I wish gods would just tell us what they want instead of play games. Was Mystra like that?”
Night sighed. “Yes… It’s like they don’t know how to speak to mortals.”
“He seemed so human,” Astor said, thinking back to their meeting with Kelemvor. “It’s hard to believe he’s a god.”
“An avatar is just a shell,” Night explained. “A tool holding a tiny fragment of their consciousness. Their true existence is something much bigger. It’s closer to the myconid circle. Or an elder brain and its illithids. A kind of hivemind, growing more complex the more divinity the god has. And that lets them operate in parallel streams, like the mushrooms here are all doing different things at once.”
Astor sat in silence for a moment. “This is all very confusing.”