Immediately, the fishfolk priestess's tone became puzzled. "A human? Don't you surface-dwellers lack Water Breathing? What is she doing?"
Charles smiled gently. "It's magic. She can move as freely as any fish underwater."
The fishfolk nodded very slowly, maintaining the same eerie calm. From start to finish, she was too composed for Charles to read her true thoughts.
But that, he figured, was typical. Kuo-toa, after all, were famous for being mad—trying to understand them through reason was pointless. It seemed this priestess worshipped an "utterly tranquil" evil god, afflicted with a sort of "permanent calm" disorder—making her act, ironically, almost normal.
Charles shifted his attention from her, focusing instead on what was happening beneath the water. Thanks to Theresa's magical light, he could see Theresa herself had half-shifted into her true form: long, powerful tentacles emerged below the surface, sliding along hulls, tapping and scraping around for weak spots.
All the boats here were wooden, and when it came to judging seaworthiness, Hattie was an expert among experts.
Back when she lived underwater, Hattie made a living wrecking boats and devouring the souls of the drowned, so over time, figuring out which vessels were sturdy and which were easy prey had become second nature.
She checked each boat that fit Charles' requirements without being overlarge, wrapping up her inspections as she rose up beside one. "Master, this one's the best. We should buy it!"
Charles nodded. "Thanks. Come on up."
With that, Hattie leapt from the water onto the pier, her nun's habit still hiding a few ink-green tentacles as they flicked in the air. But as soon as she landed, every tentacle vanished inside the habit, leaving not a trace. She stood steady and dry, as if she'd never been wet at all.
Charles was about to tell the priestess which boat he wanted, when suddenly the fishfolk woman dropped to her knees, prostrating herself before Hattie and bowing deeply. "O mighty archmages of the surface world, I beg you, have mercy—help my misguided daughter!"
"If you're willing to save my foolish girl from her twisted, evil faith, I'll give you this boat for free—no gold, nothing in return!"
She repeated her plea, surprising Hattie, who was obviously unused to anyone bowing or groveling to her; usually, that was Theresa's job.
The witch cast Charles a pleading look, clearly in over her head.
Charles winced, frustrated. He'd planned to skip this obvious side quest and just move the story forward, but now this priestess was using the oldest trick in the book—emotional blackmail. Though her tone remained emotionless, the deep conviction in her voice made even Charles feel a sting of guilt. Even madness can't erase a mother's instinct.
He sighed, unable to refuse her. "Okay, okay, tell me the whole story. I'll see if I can help."
The fishfolk priestess got up and began: "About half a year ago, my daughter converted to a foul god called the 'Deep Father'…"
She explained how her daughter, once a devout follower of the Sea Mother, changed suddenly six months ago. The girl claimed she heard the Deep Father's call—and gained real power. She quickly gathered a cult of followers, built a massive altar, and began seizing captives to sacrifice, hoping to summon the Deep Father into the material world. Distressed, the priestess wanted it resolved peacefully; kuo-toa were delicate, and bloodshed would only lead to disaster.
Charles listened quietly. In his heart, he was thinking: You're worried for her because she's your daughter, but fact is, your Sea Mother is just a product of your own tribe's delusions—neither you nor your daughter are much different. In the hierarchy of real gods, the Sea Mother doesn't even exist.
Still, he kept his smile. "And what exactly would you like us to do?"
"I don't know," she admitted. "I've tried everything, but nothing can sway her faith."
"But… the Deep Father she worships—she says he has two incredibly strong and thick tentacles. When I saw Madam Hattie's spells just now, I thought perhaps you'd have a way to shake her faith."
Two thick, powerful tentacles?
That sounded oddly familiar… But then, there were all sorts of tentacled monsters in a fantasy world—could just as easily be something invented by the girl herself.
Casting aside those weird thoughts, Charles nodded. "Alright, I get it."
Trying not to laugh, he turned to Hattie. "Any ideas on how to get this girl to change her mind?"
Hattie looked awkward—she'd never expected to face anything like this. Nearby, Theresa smiled serenely but suggested, "What's so hard about that? Just a rebellious teen—give her a good thrashing!"
"She's only so obstinate because you haven't been strict enough. If you show her real power, she'll change her mind!"
The fishfolk priestess turned to stare at her, but Theresa was unfazed. With overwhelming strength on her side, she had nothing to fear—if things went wrong, she'd just leave.
Hattie, though, disagreed. "If beating her worked, you'd have done it already. We need to try something different."
She looked to Theresa. "Eldest sister, aren't you pretty good at manipulating hearts? Why not cook up a script, and we'll play out a drama to give the girl a taste of 'reality shock'?"
Charles nodded approval. "Agreed. That's probably the best bet, Theresa. Got any ideas?"
Theresa hesitated. "I'm not omniscient. I have no idea what's really going on with her, so I'd need more input before I can improvise a plan…"
The fishfolk priestess quickly volunteered, "Just ask me anything! I've been investigating my daughter's weird cult, so I know everything about it. If you need answers, just ask. If I don't know, I'll find out."
Charles's mind whirled. "I might have an idea, but first we'll need some facts to make sure it'll work."
"First, about the Deep Father's divine power…"
...
Meanwhile—
Though they were both on the north side of the crevice, the Dark Elf and surface races' market stalls were clearly separated, an invisible line drawing a hard boundary.
Nymeria, clutching Hanni's hand, wandered through the Dark Elf market searching for Hanni's parents.
Raised on endless stories of the Dark Elves' cruelty, Nymeria couldn't help but feel threatened by so many drow watching her, even though she was much stronger now. The threat of betrayal, ambush, or a sudden attack made her grip Hanni's hand tighter, afraid to let go.
Hanni, for her part, was every bit as nervous—she might be a drow, but in drow society, old grudges run deep. She was terrified she'd be recognized by an enemy and murdered before she ever found her parents.
The only one unbothered was Shapiro. Born in prison, used to living among dangerous criminals, he felt almost at home.
Still, his body instinctively entered a state of readiness—one hand swinging at his side, the other only inches from his scythe, ready to draw at the first sign of trouble.
He was more than prepared to fight back and cut down anyone who messed with them.
The drow merchants cast wary stares at the trio, but business is business—even in an evil market, commerce comes before violence. Buyers and sellers circled each other warily, always cautious, always jockeying for advantage.
Most of the bargaining was left to Shapiro. Nymeria and Hanni—shivering, wide-eyed—searched the crowd for Hanni's mother.
But, ironically, it was much easier to find Shapiro's spellcasting materials than it was to find Hanni's family. The rare ingredients cost a fortune, but were otherwise easy to collect.
Hanni's family remained stubbornly missing. After three fruitless laps around the market, Nymeria started asking other drow stallkeepers for news about Hanni Harren's family.
After paying out more than a dozen gold pieces for their "helpful tips"—most said they'd seen her family one or two weeks ago, but not since—it was clear the info was both genuine and useless. Hanni herself had been captured by orcs a week earlier; anything before that was old news.
In other words: their money had been wasted.
With no clues to be found, Nymeria and Hanni sat by the massive crevice, glaring into the endless blackness in frustration.
At this point, Hanni was the one doing the comforting. She hugged Nymeria's neck and whispered, "Come on, don't get upset! It's just a few gold coins. When we get home, I'll give you a half-price deal on our family's purple worm venom."
Nymeria looked down, wronged. "It isn't about the money—I'm mad at myself for getting scammed. Woo…"
She hung her head, feeling inexperienced and naïve. "If Priest Charles were here, he'd squeeze every secret out of them without spending a penny…"
Hanni giggled. After finding out Nymeria was actually even younger than herself, she'd begun to guide her. "That's life with drow! You have to keep your guard up when you're among my kin."
Both girls kept talking in Common, so the other drow wouldn't overhear and stir up even more trouble. Behind them, Shapiro finished shopping and strutted over, catching Hanni's last words and scoffing, "Drow are just a pack of bullies!"
Hanni pouted, ignoring him, and kept comforting Nymeria. Nymeria calmed down but thought of a new problem, "But Hanni, if we can't find your parents, what'll you do?"
Hanni's spirits drooped. "What else can I do? Stick with you guys, I guess."
Nymeria frowned. "We're headed for someplace really dangerous next. We might not be able to protect you."
An idea dawned. "Hey—what if we find some drow going back to Menzoberranzan, explain, and have them escort you home?"
Hanni shrank back, wide-eyed. "You want to hand me over to strange drow?!"
Nymeria hesitated. "But they're your kin… and you're just a kid. Surely it'd be fine to let them escort you home?"
But Hanni shook her head so hard she looked like a rattle. "That's precisely why it's a terrible idea! Nobody knows better than I do how drow treat their own kind, especially if you're weak and unlucky!"
"In short, sending me off with other drow is absolutely not an option! I'd much rather endure the sunlight on the surface than go with them!"
Nymeria: "…You really don't trust your own people, huh…"
Shapiro snorted. "Drow understand their own race better than any of us surface folk ever could."
Hanni shot him a dark look—he was so infuriating—but she stuck to Nymeria, teary-eyed. "I know you're good people. Please—just keep helping me a little longer, please?"
Nymeria sighed, half-exasperated. "Fine, I'll take you to Priest Charles and see what he thinks. As long as you behave and listen, he won't drive you away."
Hanni smiled and snuggled up to her. "Yay!"
Nymeria's mood finally lifted; she hugged Hanni back. After a little more snuggling, she stood and took Hanni's hand, then glanced to Shapiro, "You done?"
He nodded. "Yeah."
"Then let's go west—to that fishfolk village. We'll help Priest Charles pick out a boat!"
Hanni agreed, and Shapiro had no objections either. The three set out together, heading out of the small town and on toward the fishfolk village.
~~~
Get early access to 370+ advanced chapters on Patreon!
https://patreon.com/TransFic
~~~