Once the meal was over, the foursome rested while Courun allowed his breastplate to cool. Once it was back in place, they recommenced their journey, following the stream that evidently fed the pool that had been the source of their splendid repast. In a little while, they decided to make camp to rest a bit, and get a little sleep. Woodehous quickly realized that the concept of day and night no longer really existed. He had quite lost track of the time that had passed since he had first spotted Volo back in the Double G and raced after him through the alleyways of Skullport. He had also not realized how tired he really was, and quickly found himself fast asleep.
"Percy, wake up!" Volo urged in a hushed tone.
Woodehous stirred from his moments with Morpheus, and opened his eyes.
Sometime during their rest, their two drow captors had been confronted by a pair of kuo-toa-tall, nasty, pot-bellied amphibians-and harsh words were being exchanged. During the course of what had started as a cordial though wary meeting, the conversation between representatives of the two dominant subterranean species had quickly deteriorated into a heated argument.
"The tall kuo-toan," Volo explained, "claims he can smell the blood of his people on Courun. No doubt he really smells the residue of our dinner on our captor's breastplate."
"One would have thought that he would have washed it off before putting it back on," Woodehous observed.
"No doubt," Volo replied, "but then again, neither of our captors have shown much evidence of common sense or brainpower. If their superiors back in Menzoberranzan thought they were incompetent, the odds are that they really are. Drow matrons are usually keen judges of competence and potential."
The disagreement was quickly turning into a shoving match between the two pairs.
"What are they saying now?" Woodehous inquired.
"He just called Haukun a son of an illithid," Volo translated. "They should come to blows any moment now."
The drow and the kuo-toa began to use their spears as quarterstaves in a battle that had not yet escalated to lethality.
"I foresee a few bruises and contusions exchanged, but no death blows," Volo observed. "We can go back to sleep."
A thought crossed the maitre d'/waiter/cook's mind.
"Why don't we take this opportunity to escape?" Woodehous asked with great urgency. "Our captors are distracted, and we never know when another opportunity will present itself."
"Don't worry about that," Volo replied, returning his head to the pillow of his pack."You could never find your way back to the surface on your own, and my mission is nowhere near completed yet."
"What mission?" Woodehous blurted, his voice a trifle too loud.
"Hush!" Volo demanded, quickly looking over to make sure that their captors had not heard him. Luckily they were still beating each other with the shafts of their spears.
No doubt, hair pulling and scale scratching would soon follow.
"Just trust me for now," the master traveler instructed. "I assure you I have no intention of spending my remaining days as a slave or worse in some Ao-forsaken city of the drow, nor do I intend to abandon you to that fate. Just trust me. I have a plan. Now go back to sleep."
Volo turned over, closed his eyes, and was soon snoring, leaving a puzzled Woodehous, wide-eyed and wide awake to contemplate this recent revelation of facts.
The following morning, the drow captors were far from gentle in bringing their captives to consciousness so they could resume the long trek beneath the surface of Toril. There was no sight of the kuo-toa, and Courun and Haukun looked the worse for it, their deep ebony skin mottled with bruises and swelling.
"What happened?" Volo asked innocently. "You look as if you've been attacked."
"The Underdark is laden with danger," Courun replied. "Haukun and I had to fight off an entire army of fierce kuo-toa warriors to save your sorry skins."
"Thank you," the gazetteer replied.
"We didn't save them for you," Courun replied churlishly. "Lloth prefers to render her punishments and torture. It was our responsibility to save you for her, rather than let you fall into the fishy hands of her enemies."
"Or fins, for that matter," Volo replied under his breath.
"What did you say?" the drow captor demanded.
"I said, 'Unto the finish, you are the master,' " the quick-thinking gazetteer replied.
"Well, let us be off," the bruised drow ordered. "We still have many days' journey ahead of us."
"As you wish, Master" Volo replied. He helped Woodehous to his feet as they proceeded onward along the road to Menzoberranzan.
The words day and night lost all meaning to Volo and Woodehous as their journey continued. Darkest night bled into darkest night as they traveled onward between infrequent stops for rest and nourishment. No matter where they chose to dine, the former maitre d'/cook/waiter always rose to the occasion, fixing the foursome a meal fit for a lord of Waterdeep. Subterranean moss salad, fermented fungus casserole, and even spiced filet of cloaker (courtesy of an extremely luck Courun, who happened to accidentally run one through with his spear before it had managed to attack the group) kept their bellies full and spirits incongruously high for a party of captors leading their captives to their doom.
Volo quickly became aware that the drow were actually beginning to feel sorry for Woodehous and himself. What sorry dark elves these two had turned out to be.
"You know," Courun confided, "if it were solely up to us, we would probably let you go, but you understand, of course… You are the only means we have of clearing our names and restoring our reputations to their rightful grandeur."
"Of course," Volo replied, "a drow has to do what a drow has to do. I bet you're looking forward to going home again. Menzoberranzan is probably filled with pleasant memories for both of you."
To himself, Courun recalled his childhood and adolescence, the sense of inadequacy, the beatings, the taunting by his sisters, and the third-class existence of a lowborn male in a maliciously matriarchal society, then said out loud, "Uh, sure. There's no place like home."
Woodehous could not fail to notice the lack of conviction in his captor's voice, and quickly stole a look at Haukun, whose face exhibited a similar cast of remembered oppression.
"During one of my travels, I met a drow in exile… a fellow by the name of Do'Urden," Volo offered.
"The house name is familiar," Courun offered. "I believe it is one of the minor ones."
"He was a very melancholy fellow, and probably also missed his home. How long have you been away?" Volo asked.
"I've lost track," Courun replied absently. "Many years, maybe longer."
"Well," Volo noted, "a lot of things can happen in that long a time. I'm sure things might have gotten better."
"That's right," Haukun replied righteously, "and we are returning as heroes, and devoted champions of Lloth."
"No, we mustn't forget that," Volo agreed. "We mustn't forget that, indeed."
Hoping to break the melancholy mood, the master traveler of the Realms began to regale his companions with tales of his exploits, including the time he circumnavigated the globe. Unfortunately the two drow captors showed little interest. Their entire existence had been spent in the Underdark, and they had little inclination toward places outside their own spheres of influence.
"We can sample the best you surface dwellers have to offer in Skullport," Haukun boasted. "Beyond that, I see little reason to expose myself to the damned sun and daylight."
Volo tried a different tack to distract the captors.
Drawing on his research for his famous suppressed work, Volo's Guide to All Things Magical-and fully aware that all drow were required to take part in some magic training-the gazetteer tried to regale them with stories of different enchantments, artifacts, and phenomena that he had come across.