Мензоберранзан

Locations

Browse the public locations that belong to this world. Select a card to read more.

Public locations roster

таверна "пьяный рот"

Nestled in the shadowed depths of Datkloimm's lower trading quarter, the tavern known as "Пьяный рот" occupies a cramped space between merchant warehouses at the very edge of the Klofrift chasm, a location that discourages casual visitors but attracts those who value discretion. The establishment thrives under the watchful eye of Mauvra, a drow woman of considerable age who severed her ties to her House long ago and now fears nothing, having already lost everything that could be taken from her. The low vaulted chamber is illuminated by bioluminescent fungi suspended in clay vessels and the deep crimson glow of Narbondel's light filtering through a ventilation shaft, casting the space in an otherworldly amber haze. The mingled scents of mushroom stew, cheap wine, and the occasional splash of spilled blood permeate the air—the first two fragrances are welcomed here, while the third is cleaned away without comment or judgment. Furniture consists of sturdy tables carved from solid fungal wood, while a wall-mounted board serves as the tavern's gossip exchange, where patrons trade information for modest coin: two coppers for rumor, five for verified truth. The establishment's rules, etched into stone beside the entrance, are absolute and enforced with quiet efficiency: weapons must remain visible but sheathed, payment precedes service, and those foolish enough to violate these customs find themselves feeding the creatures in the Klofrift below. The tavern draws a remarkable clientele—wizards from distant academies, duergar mercenaries, surface refugees, and mysterious cloaked figures—all of whom conduct their business with the understanding that survival depends on mutual respect. Mauvra herself serves as both proprietor and information broker, while the scarred veteran Barkil nurses his drinks and dark memories of names lost to chance, and an enigmatic hooded visitor claims the same corner table each night, never eating, always watching the tunnel entrance in the cellar.

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базар датклоим

Nestled at the base of the great fungal column known as Narbondelum, базар датклоим pulses as the shadowed economic heart of the subterranean drow metropolis. This sprawling marketplace district operates as a labyrinth of concealed commerce, where goods emerge from shadowy alcoves and silken drapes conceal wares from casual observation—prices determined not by marked labels but by the social standing and connections of the buyer. The bazaar thrives on an intricate economy of necessities and contraband: fungal breads and luminous wines fermented from rare fungi, exquisite spider-silk harvested from the territories of Arachne-Tinilith, weapons and armor forged from rare adamantite, jeweled ornaments bearing House seals, alchemical preparations, and coveted trophies smuggled from the surface world. A separate district of whispered transactions exists within the greater market—a shadowed quarter where poisons of every variety, stolen religious artifacts, and enslaved beings from goblin tribes, deep duergar merchants, and occasionally surface elves change hands amid heated bidding. Male merchants from the lower-ranking Houses conduct business alongside duergar intermediaries who arrive with deep-tunnel caravans, while information brokers trade in rumors of House movements and political shifts. The city's official guard—marked with the spider insignia—maintains visible presence across the main trading floors, yet deliberately absent from the concealed rows where serious transactions occur. The bazaar operates by three unspoken codes: never inquire into a neighbor's merchandise, never accept credit from Houses whose names remain unspoken, and never seal significant agreements beneath Narbondelum's direct light, where deals of consequence are instead concluded within the shadowed crevices beyond observation. Currently, the market thrives with unprecedented activity, its shadow-lanes bustling with opportunity and danger in equal measure.

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тоннель вестмиф

The тоннель вестмиф stands as a forgotten artery beneath the great drow city, a testament to an era when commerce flowed freely through the deepest reaches of the underground realm. Once a vital trade route connecting Menzoberra'nzan to the distant settlements of the Underdark's outer territories, caravans bearing drow poison, luminescent silks, and enslaved populations moved through these passages for centuries until an unspoken conflict brought official closure to the tunnel. Though nominally sealed, the gate remains accessible to those willing to bribe the indifferent guards, offering three days of unmonitored passage into darkness for the desperate or ambitious. The tunnel's first sections retain remnants of its commercial past—decaying trading posts, empty warehouses, and fading value-marks that time has not yet completely erased. However, deeper passages reveal disturbing signs of abandonment: walls covered in incomprehensible glyphs, frigid drafts emanating from fissures that reek of wild magic, and the inexplicable sound of phantom coins jingling in the absence of any living hand. Grillon scavengers haunt the deeper stretches, their wings beating in the dim light as they hunt isolated travelers during the twilight hours of the Narbondelian cycle. A drow outcast known as Ku'Toa lurks within, a betrayer who surrendered to something far below and now navigates the tunnels with unnatural knowledge. The legendary flooded lock chamber beyond holds rumors of House Hun'att's lost caravan, laden with adamantium, waiting in the depths where the noble houses will pay handsomely for its recovery—and far more for discretion.

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нарбондель

Narbondel, the Pillar of Flame, serves as the eternal sun of the subterranean city of Menzoberranzan, rising majestically from the lower districts to pierce the cavern ceiling high above. This colossal column of magical fire is far more than mere illumination—it is the pulsing heart of an entire civilization, for no natural sun or moon reaches into these lightless depths, and only the faint violet glow of the cavern vault provides ambient illumination. The towering stone structure is inscribed with intricate arcane runes along its entire length, its uppermost reaches burning with such intense heat that the stone glows brilliant white, creating the only true daylight the dark elves have ever known. The ignition of Narbondel each day falls to the Archmage Gromph Baenre as his exclusive privilege and daily ritual, a visible proclamation of power that reminds all citizens whose authority shapes their world. Throughout each cycle, the flame shifts in both color and intensity—from ashen and dim during the dawn hours to a fierce crimson blaze at midday, then fading to cool blue tones as the drow evening descends—providing a living clock by which the city's noble houses coordinate their schemes and audiences. The merchant classes and common folk structure their entire existence around these celestial cycles, their labors and rest periods dictated by the pillar's ever-changing glow. Narbondel transcends mere timekeeping; it is a throne visible to all citizens, a constant reminder that even the most powerful matrons remain dependent upon the archmage's will and magical prowess. Whoever commands the flame commands the very rhythm of an entire people's existence.

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тир бренч

Тир Бренч stands as the preeminent institution of learning for the dark elves of Menzoberranzan, perched upon a jagged rocky pinnacle at the eastern boundary of the great cavern. The sole means of access winds through the treacherous Shaharzad tunnel—a narrow, sloping passage whose every misstep promises a fatal plunge into the darkness below, serving as the first and most unforgiving test of worthiness. Within its walls, three distinct academies forge the next generation of drow society into instruments of power and ambition. The Arachit-Tinilit operates as the priesthood's domain, its heart a magnificent tower woven from enchanted spider-silk that possesses both the strength of steel and the vital pulse of living flesh, where initiates master the sacred rites of sacrifice, the craft of poison, and the prayers that bind them to their divine mistress. Sorcere functions as the mage college where exceptional male students occasionally achieve parity with their female counterparts through ruthless competition and magical prowess, with advancement purchased through blood and cunning as duels between rivals form an integral component of advancement. The Militär Mey'Uns serves as the warrior's crucible, training elite combatants in bladecraft, ambush tactics, and the lethal arts of treachery, where veteran instructors brook no tolerance for weakness and dispense death without hesitation or ceremony. Failure within any school carries singular consequence—transformation into either sacrificial offering upon the altar or expendable material for the graduating students. Those who emerge from Тир Бренч have transcended the status of novice and earned their place among the drow through trials of uncompromising severity.

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