About This Adventure
In the river-port halls of Verbobonc, where the Voormann’s banners hang above crowded wharves and the scent of kiln-smoke mixes with spring melt from the Kron Hills, ordinary trade carries an undercurrent of unease. Deep-gnome prospectors who once arrived on schedule with crates of rare ores and warnings of drow scouting parties have begun to miss their berths; the few who do surface speak carefully of tunnels that no longer echo with the expected clash of steel and lash, of patrol markers left polished and ribboned instead of bloodied, and of distant laughter that drifts through fungal galleries where silence used to reign. Surface rangers posted along the gnomish trade roads report that the usual raids for slaves and steel have faltered into odd, lingering encounters—warriors who shrug off bolts that should drop them, who linger over bright cloth and scented oils looted from caravans, then melt back into the dark humming half-remembered hymns. The Viscount’s stewards and the local temple of St. Cuthbert have quietly assembled a purse and sealed letters of passage for a small, reliable company willing to descend a known Underdark approach under the guise of ore-buyers, map the altered traffic of the lightless ways, and return with proof before midsummer swelling of the Velverdyva seals the lower shafts. In the low-ceilinged common room of the Brass Unicorn, maps of the old Hateful Wars tunnels lie unrolled beside cups of spiced wine, veteran delvers trade half-believed signs of the deep, and the air holds the damp-stone chill of something rewriting the ancient predation of the realms below—something that may soon find the river city and its hills far too inviting to leave untouched.
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