Underhanded Upgrades

We descended through the trapdoor nestled at the rear of the shed, the wooden rungs of the ladder groaning beneath us. It stretched far deeper than I’d anticipated, each step intensifying the scent of sand and dry stone. Flickering torches lined the stone walls, their steady flames hinting that this place was very much active despite its hidden entrance.

Eventually, we stepped out into a wide cavern, the floor loose with fine sand, the ceiling high and jagged. The walls curved into the darkness, and we followed the natural path until it ended at a massive, rust-streaked iron gate. Behind it, torchlight flickered.

A voice rang out from beyond the gate—sharp, female, and commanding. “Halt! What is the passcode and why are you here?”

I answered, mock annoyed. “The guard upstairs already let us pass.”

"That is not the passcode," she said sharply, her tone cool and authoritative. "State your purpose, or turn back."

"We don't have time for this, open up, this is your last warning"

There was a pause, then the clunk of a lever. The gate creaked open, and the hidden traps audibly de-activated.

“Fine,” the voice replied with a dry chuckle. “You're either brave or just really stupid—maybe both. You may enter. But one wrong move and we'll make you into a needle-cushion..”

Inside, the hideout was bustling. Crates stacked high, barrels everywhere—many of them stamped with the dangerous black sigil of smokepowder. Weapons glinted from shadowed corners. The Zhentarim here weren’t dressed in finery or cloaks—just leather, mail, and gruffy workboots. Professional thieves, mercs, and smugglers.

At the center stood a woman, exotic features complimented by blonde hair and stern eyes—Zarys, the branch head of this operation.

“So what’s the rush?” She quipped.

“Goblins,” I answered.

"You come all this way, risk your life, might not leave in one piece yet—all for some goblins?” she scoffed,

“And ogres. Bugbears. Hobgoblins. Led by a drow.”

That wiped the amusement off her face. The Zhentarim run skirmishes and trade routes through the Underdark—the domain of the drow. They understand, better than anyone else, the viciousness and danger of drow.

Zarys tilted her head. “So, what do you need from us?”

“Anything you can spare really.”

“There’s nothing here we can just spare,” she said, her tone cool. “But feel free to see what the merchants willing to sell.”

I took a quick glance at the nearest Merchant stall, a few daggers, an old shield—not even slightly magical, and some worn leather armor.

Turning back to Zarys, I asked, “Don’t you have anything more ...interesting?”

She scoffed. “Maybe. Maybe not. Why should we sell it to you?”

“We’ve got coin,” I replied, lifting a pouch that carried a satisfying heft after our recent looting spree. “Isn’t that your business—selling rare and illegal things to people with enough gold?”

Zarys narrowed her eyes, then leaned back with a slow grin. “We might have use for you then. If you want access to the good stuff? Then do us a favor. One of our shipments is late. Find it. Bring it back. Intact.”

I didn’t answer, already knowing where it was—beyond the gnoll boss fight we skipped earlier. Acces to the secret Zhentarim shop was the prize of a long hard questline with several tough fights, the first one we had just barely won fairly. And I was not into playing fair.

Charm.

I put on a gentle smile and laced my words with soothing magic “Are you sure we can’t find a way around it? I’d really appreciate it.”

Zarys blinked, a slow smile curling her lips as something playful sparked in her eyes. Her posture shifted—less commanding, more playfull.

“Well now... if you ask that nicely,” she murmured, looking at me with eyes both bashful and eager. “Shopkeeper!”

A wiry man poked his head out from behind a stack of crates. “Yes?”

“Show our handsome guest the good stuff. And give him my price.”

The shopkeeper looked like his eyes were about to fall out. “Seriously?”

“Don't question my orders,” she snapped.

He scurried off.

Karlach let out a low whistle. “That’s our boss for ya. Sweet-talker supreme.”

Shadowheart smirked. “He can be very convincing at times.”

Lae’zel frowned slightly. “This was not a natural reaction.”

"High persuasion" I said.

Lae’zel said nothing in return, her gaze lingering on me for a beat before dropping to the ground with a grunt of vague acknowledgment. Still doubtful, but slowly beginning to accept these strange interactions as part of our chaotic normal.

We followed the shopkeeper around the corner to find a hidden space among the crates containing secured chests and carefully labeled gear. He opened several cases.

“You guys a unreasonably lucky. These are highly restricted items” he grumbled.

We scanned the inventory. Gloves of pick-pocketing. Illegal alchemical oils and poisons. And of course, the real options.

First, the Titanstring Bow—enchanted to draw strength from the wielder’s raw muscle. Karlach snatched it up, tested the string with a flex, and grinned.

Second, the Giantbreaker—a heavy crossbow with steel limbs and a brutal impact. Lae’zel examined it, visibly pleased by its unrelenting design.

Third, the The Jolty Vest—a sleek suit of medium armor woven with fine, conductive threads. I touched it and felt the latent hum of power. When paired with the lightning buildup from my spellstaff, the vest would release a small electric shock whenever I was struck—perfect for shaking off enemies who got too close.

And lastly, a high-quality dagger. No enchantment, no tricks. Just good craftsmanship. Shadowheart took it, weighing it with a nod—though I caught her side-eyeing the rest.

“This is... fine,” she said. “I suppose it allows me to cast and stab in the same heartbeat.”

“It also fits your style” I said, which earned a smile from the gothic cleric.

We dumped everything of value we had—silverware, trinkets, Unwanted sprinting shoes, half the good wine vintages from the stash—which made Shadowheart visibly wince.

Karlach slung the bow over her shoulder. “Shall we test them out?”

Lae’zel was already loading a bolt.

Shadowheart twirled her new dagger and rolled her eyes. “Tomboys and their toys.”

I adjusted the vest, feeling its pulse with my magic. Outfitted with our new acquisitions, we had managed to shore up several of our most glaring vulnerabilities. Karlach and Lae’zel now had solid ranged options, I had a much-needed layer of defense, and Shadowheart had gained new versatility—able to weave her spells and follow up with a flick of her dagger in a single, fluid motion.

With this we were hopefully ready for the Grove. Hopefully.