Two golden discs materialized in Zeus’s hands, glowing with an otherworldly light. With a flick of his wrists, he sent them hurtling through the air. The discs moved with a serpentine grace, twisting and turning as if they were alive, their paths unpredictable yet precise. In mere seconds, the discs had sliced through the shadows surrounding Roland, their forms disintegrating into nothingness as the golden light consumed them. The discs returned to Zeus and disappeared.
As the last of the shadows vanished, Zeus stepped forward, his eyes catching sight of shallow claw marks on Roland’s robes. Without hesitation, he cast a healing spell, a soft light enveloping Roland as his wounds closed and his strength returned.
Roland, still gripping the torch used his staff to help himself stand. His body trembled with exhaustion, but his face was a mask of fury. His gaze locked onto Zeus, the one who had just saved him, and his anger boiled over.
"Gods damn it all!" Roland shouted, his voice thick with rage. "I can’t do a single damn thing right—not one bloody thing!" The frustration in his voice was palpable, his words laced with bitterness and self-loathing.
Zeus approached him slowly, his demeanor calm, almost serene in contrast to Roland's turmoil. "You’re supposed to be at Last Light," Zeus said, his voice steady.
"I’m supposed to be saving Cal and Lia!" Roland shot back, his voice cracking with emotion. "Instead, I find myself cornered by shadow-fiends, needing to be rescued. By you of all people!"
There was a note of understanding in his voice as he replied, "You were trying to help your family. You’re too hard on yourself."
"Or not hard enough," Roland muttered, his anger giving way to a deeper despair. "I’ve failed Cal and Lia… again. Be on your way—I’ll return to Last Light… I know when I’m outmatched."
With that, Roland turned to leave, his shoulders slumped in defeat. But as he passed by Zeus, a firm hand caught him by the collar of his robe, halting his steps.
"Your cousins are safe at Last Light," Zeus said, his voice filled with a quiet strength. "I’ve already saved them."
Roland froze, the words sinking in. He didn’t respond, but his clenched jaw and the way he bit his lip spoke volumes of the frustration and guilt that still lingered.
"We will escort you back to the inn," Zeus continued, releasing his grip on Roland’s robe.
For a moment, Roland stood there, processing the weight of what Zeus had told him. The rage in his eyes dimmed, replaced by a mixture of relief and resignation. He nodded slightly, his voice too choked with emotion to form any words. With a deep breath, he accepted Zeus’s offer.
They escorted Rolan back to the inn . Rolan remained silent, his face a mask of brooding thoughts, his steps heavy and deliberate. Not a word passed between them .
With Roland saved they walked back and crossed the bridge where Zeus had impaled the adepts.
As they reached the other side of the bridge, they paused before the Toll House, a looming structure shrouded in shadows. Zeus’s gaze swept the area . The darkness seemed to pulse with life, the faintest of movements catching his attention. Glowing orbs of light, like floating eyes, flickered in the distance, eerily suspended in the pitch-black void inside the toll house . They hovered, watching, waiting.
They could have avoided the toll house entirely, but leaving any threats lurking behind them seemed unwise. Clearing the area would make their assault on Moonrise Towers easier when the time came.
"Wait here," Zeus commanded, stepping inside the building without waiting for a response.
"We’re coming with you," Wyll insisted, his voice resolute.
Zeus turned to look at his companions. Their eyes were steely, their postures tense and ready for battle. The determination in their gazes left no room for argument. With a nod, Zeus conjured a set of glowing orbs, casting light into the darkness around them.
As they ventured further inside, the dim glow of the orbs revealed a set of lights approaching them. Instinctively, they readied their weapons, muscles coiled, breaths held. But as the source of the light drew nearer, it became apparent that it wasn’t an immediate threat—a large, floating cranium, its hollow eyes glowing with a sickly green necrotic energy, drifted by them, indifferent to their presence.
They stood frozen in the silence that followed, ears straining for any sound that might betray an ambush. But only the creaking of old wood and the distant clink of coins echoed in the stillness. Then, from above, they heard something—heavy footsteps, the sound of metal on stone, accompanied by the unmistakable jingle of coins.
“We should check what’s up there,” Zeus whispered, pointing toward a pile of crates and debris that offered a precarious path to the upper floor.
Carefully, they climbed the debris, their steps deliberate to avoid any noise that might give away their approach. When they reached the upper floor, the light from their orbs illuminated a figure shuffling about.
The creature before them was an unnerving sight. It stood a little shorter than them. It was encased in an ornate, golden armor that seemed far too grand for the decayed being within. The armor was exquisitely detailed, with baroque patterns etched into every surface, layers upon layers of metal.
Its face wasn't visible instead being covered by a golden mask , that was grotesque, the metallic features exaggerated , frozen in a stern, unyielding expression. The helmet it wore was tall and conical, reaching skyward with an array of intricate adornments, adding to its intimidating, almost regal appearance. The creature’s body was bulky and round, its armor plates layered thickly over one another, giving it the look of a creature built for war, yet also of something that belonged to a distant, forgotten age.
As the light revealed their presence, the creature suddenly turned its head towards them with a sharp, unnatural movement. Before they could react, it lunged at them with surprising speed, its armor clanking as it charged. Zeus reacted instinctively, his arm shifting into a blade, ready to strike. But just as quickly as it had begun its charge, the creature skidded to a halt before them.
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“I am Gerringothe Thorm, the toll-master of the Reithwin Tollhouse,” it proclaimed in a loud, hollow voice that echoed off the rotten walls. “WHAT DO YOU BRING?”
“Thorm… It must be a relative,” Wyll muttered, his voice low but clear.
Zeus gaze studied the undead figure. “What do you know about Ketheric Thorm?” he demanded.
The undead toll-master’s gaze fixed on Zeus, but it offered no reply.
“What do you require?” Zeus asked, his voice steady, betraying no hint of the tension in the air.
“I REQUIRE GOLD,” the creature demanded, its voice tinged with a desperate greed that made the hairs on the back of their necks stand up. From the shadows they could spot pairs of small glowing orbs staring at them.
“Of course,” Zeus replied calmly. “Here is some gold.” With a flick of his wrist, he tossed a golden sphere toward the creature.
The toll-master lunged for the sphere with ravenous hunger, clutching it greedily. But as soon as it touched the sphere, it seemed to come alive, snaking around the creature’s armor, slipping into every crack and seam. The golden tendrils tightened, binding the creature in a vice-like grip, and then, in a flash, it ignited in golden flames.
The toll-master let out a piercing screech, a sound that seemed to reach deep into their souls and shake them to their core. They watched, unable to look away, as the golden flames consumed the creature from within, reducing it to nothing more than a pile of ash and empty armor. Once its job was done the sphere retracted and flew back to Zeus hand .
“That was quick,” Karlach remarked, breaking the tense silence that followed.
“They’re undead. Holy magic is their bane. ” Zeus explained as he bent down to inspect the remains.
The rest of the group exchanged uneasy glances. This victory had come too easily—there was no sense of accomplishment, only a lingering unease. They had expected more of a fight, something that would justify the fear they felt creeping up their spines.
“Can I have it?” Astarion asked, his eyes gleaming with interest as he eyed the golden armor.
Zeus nodded, stepping aside to let the vampire spawn claim his prize.
Astarion eagerly moved toward the armor, but its weight proved too much for him. He nearly toppled over as he tried to lift it, his grunts of effort echoing through the silent room.
“Could someone lend me a hand…?” Astarion groaned, struggling to drag the heavy armor out.
Wyll, Gale, Karlach, and Shadowheart averted their eyes, pretending not to notice Astarion’s struggle. Meanwhile, Minthara, Zeus, and Alex remained focused, their eyes scanning the dark corners of the tollhouse for any hidden threats. The floating craniums seemed to have dispersed once Gerringothe was slain .
Seeing that no one wanted to help him he let go of the armor ."I will come and get you later . " Astarion murmured as he looked behind one more time at ornate armor.
They moved cautiously as they left the toll house, the heavy silence broken only by the sound of their footsteps. When they reached a crossroads, the remnants of a battle fought over a century ago came into view. The landscape was a haunting reminder of the conflict: broken barricades lay scattered like the bones of a fallen beast, and rusted weapons jutted from the ground, forgotten relics of a desperate struggle.
Skeletons were strewn about, their bones weathered and bleached by time. Some wore tattered leather armor, while others were clad in tarnished silver armor adorned with the symbol of Shar. The air was thick with the lingering aura of death and sorrow, as if the echoes of the battle still resonated in this forsaken place.
To their left, a bridge led directly to the ominous silhouette of Moonrise Towers, its towering form barely visible through the cursed mist. The silvery light of distant pole lamps cast long, eerie shadows that danced on the ground like specters.
To the right, the main square of the town lay in ruin, barely discernible through the cursed mist that clung to everything like a shroud. It overrun with corrupted trunks, twisted roots, and vines that strangled the life out of the buildings. In some spots, chasms split the earth, glowing with a sickly green light that seeped into the mist, giving it an otherworldly glow. The mist rose slowly from these chasms, like the breath of some foul beast lurking beneath the surface.
Zeus pointed ahead, toward a foreboding structure that loomed in the darkness. “There’s likely another undead like the one we encountered in the toll house. Stay sharp and keep your senses heightened,” he warned as he led them forward.
As they took a step forward, a circle of fire erupted before them, its flames flickering ominously. From the inferno emerged Mizora, Wyll’s patron, her presence demanding attention. But something was different this time—her form was shrouded in a red aura, her entire body blurred like it was made of smoke, ethereal and menacing.
“Playtime’s over, pet,” Mizora purred, a playful yet sinister smile curling on her lips as her eyes locked onto Wyll.
Karlach scoffed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “I love this time of the year . The dickheads start popping up wherever you look. .”
Mizora ignored her, her focus unwavering on her 'pet', who stepped forward, exasperation heavy in his tone. “What do you want, Mizora?”
“Drop the attitude and perk up your ears - you've got a new mission. ” Mizora commanded, her voice sharp as a blade. “Absolute's cult has gone and grabbed one of Zariel's assets. A devil-and a powerfull one at that . They're locked up in the cult's fortress. Moonrise Towers. And you're getting 'em out.”
Zeus interjected. “There’s no devil imprisoned in the Towers. If it’s not in the prison, it’s in the mind flayer colony beneath it.”
The atmosphere grew taut as his words hung in the air.
“Lae’zel’s voice crackled with fury. “A gith nest? We must annihilate it immediately.”
"Fuck". Karlach muttered under her breath, and Shadowheart’s disbelief was palpable. “There’s a mind flayer colony under the Towers?”
Zeus’s retort was cold and cutting. “Did I stutter?”
He turned his faceless visage back to Mizora. “And this is our problem how, exactly?”
Mizora cleared her throat, her tone smug and dripping with condescension. “Clause Z, Section Thirteen: 'Should the promised soul refuse obedience or neglect duty, the pact-holder shall cast the promised into Avernus as a lemure.’ To put it simply, if Wyll fails, he turns into a writhing blob of flesh, condemned to eternity in the Hells. So be a good boy, Wyll, and fetch—unless you want to spend the rest of your days sizzling in the inferno.”
Despite her flippant demeanor, there was a hint of desperation in Mizora’s voice. She couldn’t afford for Wyll to fail. This might be his only chance to negotiate Wyll way out of their pact.
Zeus saw his opportunity. “We’ll rescue your asset—on one condition.”
Mizora’s interest was piqued, her smug smile never wavering. “Oh? And what might that be?”
Wyll murmured under his breath, “What are you doing?”
Zeus didn’t hesitate. “You end Wyll’s pact and go your separate ways.”
Mizora’s eyes narrowed, her voice dripping with intrigue. “And why would I let my favorite pet off his leash?”
Instead of answering, Zeus moved with lightning speed, a blur as he closed the distance between them. His arm shot through Mizora’s chest—yet no blood spilled, no wound appeared.
Karlach’s eyes widened in shock. “What in the Nine Hells?”
“It’s a projection,” Gale observed calmly from the side, his tone matter-of-fact.
Zeus’s voice was as cold as steel. “We could let the cult infect you. I’m sure you’d make a very obedient thrall.”
Wyll, stunned, pieced it together. “Wait… Mizora, did they capture you?”
Mizora’s laughter echoed through the dark and desolated crossroad , mocking and cruel. “I’ve never witnessed such fearless stupidity. Bravo! I’ll play your little game. But the pact remains until the mission is complete—Clause F, Section Nine: ‘The soul-binder shall bestow reward or favor only upon the soul-bearer’s fulfillment of the related obligation.’ Now, to Moonrise, pet. And watch out for the shadows—they’ve been especially hungry.”
With her final taunt, the circle of fire consumed Mizora, swallowing her whole as she vanished into the ether.