As the group gathered they started to share their thoughts after everything that happened .Karlach was the first to voice her opinion, her brow furrowed in uncertainty. “So, we’re going to meet Voss in the city, are we? Set the tenant of the Prism free? This is all very... I don’t know. I like a good caper, but I’d long for a tiny bit of status quo now and again.” Her voice was tinged with unease. The thought of diving headfirst into another unpredictable venture, with the stakes higher than ever, was unsettling even for her.
Gale chimed in next, his mind already racing with possibilities. “What will Voss have to show for himself when we catch up with him, I wonder? His intelligence may yet prove the key to unlocking the artifact’s secrets. We should ensure we follow up when we reach Baldur’s Gate.” There was a note of excitement in his voice, the scholar in him eager to unravel the mysteries that had eluded them for so long. Yet beneath that excitement was a layer of caution—he knew well that such secrets often came with a heavy price.
Shadowheart, always the skeptic, added her thoughts, her voice laced with quiet astonishment. “I didn’t expect Lae’zel to turn on the Lich Queen so readily. Wonders never cease.” There was a sharpness to her words, but also a hint of admiration. Lae’zel’s decision to defy Vlaakith had shaken them all, proving that even the most steadfast could be swayed by the truth, no matter how bitter it was.
Wyll, voiced a broader perspective. “There’s a schism among the githyanki people. And Lae’zel just took one step toward choosing a side.” His words were calm, but the gravity of the situation was not lost on him. Choosing a side in a conflict as deep-rooted as this could lead to untold consequences, not just for Lae’zel.
Astarion, always quick with a quip, offered a rare smile, one that held genuine warmth. “So, Lae’zel’s going to war with Vlaakith? Going to break her chains in Baldur’s Gate? Good for her.” His eyes flicked to Lae’zel, and for a moment, the usually aloof vampire seemed truly connected to the group’s plight. His smile was brief, but in it was a flicker of solidarity—he, too, understood the pain of breaking free from a life of servitude.
Minthara, ever the realist, voiced a concern that was on everyone’s mind. “Lae’zel risks our safety. If she attracts the ire of Vlaakith, we will all suffer.” Her tone was clipped, her gaze sharp. She was not one to mince words, and the potential danger of their situation was clear to her. The stakes were higher than ever, and one wrong move could lead to their undoing.
All eyes turned to Zeus, who had been silent until now, his gaze fixed on the ground as if deep in thought. Finally, he looked up. “It would be a smart decision to work together with Voss against the Lich Queen. We’ve already disobeyed her, and Vlaakith is not known for her mercy.” His words carried a cold, hard truth that everyone knew but needed to hear aloud.
There was a moment of silence as the group absorbed his words, then a collective nod of agreement. They knew the path ahead was treacherous, but they also knew they couldn’t turn back now.
Wyll turned to Alex, who had been uncharacteristically quiet. “What about you, Alex?” he asked, his voice gentle.
Alex looked up, meeting Wyll’s gaze. “I think Zeus is right,” he said simply, his tone firm.
Zeus looked toward the metal door, just a few steps behind the bar. “Are we ready to go?” he asked, his voice steady as he prepared to lead them into the unknown once more.
They checked their equipment, making sure everything was in place, and then headed for the door. But before they could leave, Zeus paused, something catching his attention. He crouched down to the floor and pushed aside some loose planks, revealing a small, hidden hole. Reaching inside, he pulled out a ledger, the pages yellowed with age. Zeus opened it, scanning the contents quickly before reading aloud.
“What does it say?” Karlach asked, leaning in closer.
Zeus’s voice was low as he read the passage, the words heavy with foreboding:
“The words ‘For the Attention of Dark Justiciar Netasha’ are written across the top of every page. This is an excerpt from the last page.”
Morning, day fifteen: Szymon Nowak. Said Ketheric wouldn’t ‘hold onto Moonrise Towers for long at this rate.’
Evening, day eighteen: Imanni Aatakni. Claimed it was unfair that the Thorms had ‘the cushiest jobs.’
Night, day twenty-two: Marc Jacobs. Benjamin Blanchet. Made jokes about the Thorms, especially Lord Ketheric. Said he was a ‘misery guts,’ a ‘weeping nutsack,’ and discussed exactly how his wife would have ‘liked it.’
I know what Marc and Ben said was just plain awful, Lady Netasha, but they’re some of my best friends, and I’ve never heard such talk out of them. They were upset over their wages being cut, and were the drunkest I’d ever seen by midnight. I know it looks bad, but hand over heart, you’ve never met two gents more devoted to our Lady—I swear it.
A different, more elegant script appeared beneath it.
‘Our Lady of Loss would be proud of you, Madeline. Do not worry about Marc and Benjamin. Myself, and your two “gents” are simply going to have a little chat. I promise.’
The air grew cold as the words sank in. “That’s dark,” Karlach muttered, her usual bravado dimmed .
“Ketheric Thorm had sharans all over this land, acting as his ears and eyes,” Zeus explained, his voice grim as he closed the ledger and replaced it in its hiding spot.
“Do you think there are any more left?” Shadowheart asked.
Zeus shook his head slowly. “They were all killed more than a hundred years ago.”
Shadowheart seemed saddened by Zeus’s response, her usual stoicism giving way to a brief moment of melancholy.
Zeus stood up and he turned toward the metal door. The others followed.
With a steady hand, Zeus inserted the key into the lock and pushed. The door creaked open, revealing a damp, dark cave. The smell of rotting flesh and damp earth hit them immediately, a foul stench that made their stomachs churn.
As they stepped inside, the dim light of a orb Zeus summoned barely illuminating the path ahead. Without warning, something leaped at them from above, its shadowy form barely visible in the gloom In one swift motion, Alex drew a throwing knife and hurled it at the creature. The blade flew through the air with deadly precision, embedding itself in the small thing. It fell to the ground with a sickening thud, revealing itself as a severed hand, its fingers twitching like the legs of a dying spider.
Alex stepped forward, his boot coming down hard on the writhing appendage, crushing it into the dirt. The others unsheathed their weapons, their eyes scanning the darkness for more threats.
Suddenly, the sound of glass shattering echoed through the cave, and a thick, stinking cloud enveloped them. The smell was so overpowering that it made the ground beneath them seem to spin, and they began to feel dizzy. Everyone seemed to be affected, everyone except Zeus. His arm shifted, his flesh transforming into a black shield, just in time to block a barrage of bolts aimed at the party. The bolts clattered harmlessly to the ground, unable to penetrate the adamantine-infused shield.
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A small orb of silvery light formed above Zeus’s head, a manifestation of his power. With a burst of energy, it illuminated the entire cave, purifying the stinking cloud and revealing their assailants.
The group heard a series of screeches as the light banished the shadows, exposing four zombies similar to the ones they saw shuffling around the distillery , each wielding a crossbow. To their left, on a stone rampart, another undead stood, this one with vials strapped to its chest, ready to unleash another deadly cloud.
“They’re all yours,” Zeus said, his voice calm but with an edge of command as he gestured for the party to take action.
Karlach didn’t hesitate. She surged forward, flames igniting across her body as she charged at the undead with a ferocity that made the air around her crackle with heat. The rest of the party held back, watching as Karlach took the lead, her sheer power turning the undead into smoldering piles of ashes.
Zeus’s arm morphed , transforming into a whip- fist. With a sharp, calculated motion, he lashed out, the tip of the whip elongating like a harpoon. It struck with lethal precision, piercing through the rotting chest of the undead perched on the rampart, ready to hurl another vial of poison at the group. The creature’s eyes flared briefly with a malevolent gleam, but it was too late.
A surge of golden energy pulsed through the whip, coursing into the undead’s body. The power was overwhelming, unstoppable. For a heartbeat, the undead froze, its skeletal form illuminated from within by the radiant light, as if the very essence of life was rebelling against its unnatural existence. Then, with a violent, explosive force, the undead burst into flames, the fire consuming it entirely. The creature’s form disintegrated into ashes, the remnants scattering in the air like a dark cloud, leaving nothing behind.
Karlach’s eyes gleamed with a fierce satisfaction as she walked back to the group, her body still ablaze with the flames of her rage. “That was exactly what I needed,” she said, the fire around her slowly extinguishing as she regained control. For a moment, she hadn’t even realized she was still burning, the adrenaline of battle numbing her to the heat. But now, as the flames flickered out, she sighed, her muscles loosening as the tension ebbed away. There was something primal and purifying about unleashing that much power—it made her feel alive in a way that nothing else could.
With the undead taken care of, the group ventured deeper into the cave, their footsteps echoing in the cavernous space. The air grew colder, more oppressive, as they descended further into the darkness. They stopped in the middle of the cave, their breaths misting in the damp, stale air. Around them, the remnants of some long-abandoned alchemical operation were scattered: rusted metal racks lined with vials and jars, tanks with intricate piping snaking across the walls, all covered in a thick blanket of dust that seemed untouched for centuries.
Zeus’s eyes were drawn to a table cluttered with alchemical devices. Among the debris, a book lay open, its pages yellowed with age but otherwise intact. He approached it, his curiosity piqued, and began to leaf through the brittle pages. “Spread out, explore this place, look for traps,” he ordered, his voice steady but carrying the authority that made the others immediately follow his command.
As the others moved away, cautiously examining the surrounding area, Zeus focused on the book before him.
"Research notes," he muttered to himself as he deciphered the faded script. "They describe a powerful venom extracted from a rare purple worm. Distiller Thisobald Thorm sought to create a fatal poison using the worm's gullet." His gaze narrowed as he continued reading, piecing together the story of obsession and failure that had unfolded in this very place.
"Thisobald procured several parts of a worm gullet but rinsed one in error. The poison he brewed was noxious—but not fatal. He devoted months to formulating a deadly poison with the remaining ingredients, but he never succeeded. After exhaustive experimentation, he managed to create a near-deadly extract from the glands. But to complete his poison, he required one last ingredient: the petals of a corpse rose."
Zeus's gaze flicked over the book's index, which revealed that corpse roses might grow near tombs, mausoleums, and particularly pungent cadavers. The notes mentioned that Thisobald had enlisted a courier from Baldur's Gate to obtain the petals and other ingredients, but the final destination of the parcel was obscured by a deep purple stain on the last page.
Zeus’s eyes narrowed as he focused on the stain, mentally separating the black ink from the purple blotch. Slowly, the stain seemed to fade away, revealing the hidden text beneath. The stash location was not far from where they were now, just a short detour from their current path. His mind raced with possibilities, the thrill of discovery coursing through him. There was more to be found here, more that could be of use in the battles to come.
He closed the book and turned to see Astarion approaching, holding two more books in his hands. With a graceful bow, Astarion handed them to Zeus before returning to his search, leaving Zeus to delve into these new finds.
The first book, titled "On Serpent Venom Toxin," was a curious mix of alchemical formulas and cryptic musings. The writing was erratic, as if the author had been teetering on the edge of madness. One passage caught Zeus’s attention:
WOULD YOU LIKE TO KNOW SOMETHING INTERESTING
IF YOU MIX SUSPENSION OF VENOMOUS FANG WITH VITRIOL OF LOLTH’S CANDLE (ANY VITRIOL WILL DO!) OUT COMES A POISON DRIPDRIPDRIP
when in doubt with alchemy
when in need of ecstasy
when my throat clicks with scream
dripdripdrip is what I dream
The words were both unsettling and intriguing, a glimpse into the twisted psyche of a mind consumed by the pursuit of deadly knowledge. Zeus’s fingers traced the lines of text as he muttered to himself, “Interesting...” His thoughts churned, considering the potential uses of such a poison, should they ever need it.
The second book was a ledger, filled with meticulous records of deliveries to and from the Waning Moon, but the latter pages were what caught Zeus’s eye. They were devoted to the distiller's personal reflections, a diary of sorts that revealed much about Thisobald’s character and his relationship with his father, Ketheric Thorm.
10 Tarsahk
Father Ketheric's reach begins to extend beyond Reithwin's borders. The Thorms are but collectors: collectors of coin, glory, blood, and more yet. I, however, collected that which holds the most value: information.
The Mason caught my eye. Straight are his steps and faithful are his words, for as long as drink does not touch his tongue. Two drops of Blackfire whiskey, and he sings his heart's true tune. He calls Father a tyrant, a coward, a traitor. He beseeches the Moonmaiden to shine upon him once more.
Dangerous words. I have told Father; he will surely silence the Mason and make him an example. Meanwhile, the Mason drawls his heresy. It is all I can do not to mock him to his very face.
Zeus’s grip tightened on the book as he continued reading, the words painting a chilling picture of a man who would stop at nothing to maintain control, even if it meant betraying those closest to him.
6 Flamerule
My own methods, used against me!
The ale she fed me was poisoned—and by my own hand! My truth serum was all too effective. I professed the lot: the poisoned drinks, Malus' 'treatments', the interrogations—all of it. She means to reveal our 'schemes' to the Baldur's Gate authorities. Unless, of course, I grace her palm with more gold than Gerringothe could muster. Father would have my head if he knew—or worse yet, donate me to Malus.
Such is my good fortune that I possess all manner of barrels. She should make a perfect fit.
Thisobald had been betrayed by someone close to him, yet his response was cold, calculated. He had seen the same darkness in others before—this was not the first time someone had let power and paranoia consume them, but it was always unnerving to witness.
23 Elient
The Harpers came too close—they poisoned Father Ketheric himself, yet he professes no ill effects. Malus insists it a fluke. Doctor he may be, but he is no less a fool for it: Father has achieved that of which I can only dream: immortality.
I have long suspected. I can guess Father’s purpose, but I cannot fathom the means.
"He deserved his fate. " He muttered as he placed the books on the table and walked over to the largest shelf in the room. Hundreds of plants and animal parts were stored in bottles, their contents preserved in various solutions. The dust covering them was thick, but as Zeus inspected the bottles, he noticed something curious—the contents inside weren’t corrupted by the curse that had ravaged the land. They were pristine, untouched by time.
He picked up one of the bottles, carefully removing the stopper. Without hesitation, he dipped his finger into the liquid, letting the organic matter absorb into his body. One by one, he checked the bottles, his movements methodical.
The rest of the party watched him in silence, their confusion growing with each bottle he touched. Karlach, never one to stay silent for long, finally muttered, “Why is he dipping his fingers in the bottles?”
No one answered, as puzzled as she was. They had seen Zeus do strange things before, but this...