“How are we going to reach the Iron Throne?” Karlach asked, her fiery voice tinged with impatience as she paced the damp stone floor of the cave. They had been waiting for what felt like hours since Alex had teleported them here. He had given them no explanation, only telling them to wait, which gnawed at her nerves.
She stopped to glance around, her eyes taking in the massive underground pool before them. The stillness of the water mirrored the uneasy silence hanging in the air. Her boots echoed faintly as she shifted her weight, crossing her arms and glaring toward Alex.
Just as she opened her mouth to speak again, the surface of the water rippled. The ripples turned to waves as something colossal began to rise.
Karlach stumbled back as the water erupted. A gargantuan form emerged, its grotesque, armored carapace gleaming with water that cascaded down like a thousand tiny waterfalls. The creature’s long, twisting tentacles unfurled, sending rivulets of water sloshing onto the rocky floor. It loomed over them, its sheer size enough to send a shiver down even the bravest of spines.
“We are going to use her,” Alex said, his calm voice cutting through the tension like a blade. He stepped forward toward the nautiloid ship, unbothered by the looming monstrosity as it floated toward the shore. Its carapace hissed and cracked as a portion of its side opened, revealing a lit interior.
One by one, the group followed Alex toward the ship. The familiar, luxurious furnishings they remembered was gone. Instead, the interior was stark and utilitarian. The walls were bare, fleshy membranes, and the furniture was now fused into the floor—a circle of simple chairs arranged with precision.
“HiiII, everyone!” A cheerful, almost singsong voice echoed through the chamber.
The group froze, their gazes darting around the room.
“Is… is the ship talking to us?” Gale asked, his curiosity briefly pushing aside the lingering gloom that had clung to him since the morning.
“I’m not an it; I’m a she,” the voice corrected with an indignant huff. “My name is Mia.”
“Nice to meet you, Mia,” Wyll said, his voice warm and polite despite his earlier turmoil. “Thank you for bringing everyone to Baldur’s Gate and for helping us today.”
A chorus of giggles erupted, echoing off the fleshy walls. “Such a gentleman! You make me blush,” Mia said, her voice tinged with playful delight.
“You weren’t kidding when you said she has quite a personality,” Shadowheart murmured to Alex, recalling his earlier descriptions of the ship’s unique sentience.
Lae’zel, standing near Astarion, scoffed, her sharp yellow eyes narrowing. “A ghaik ship, giggling from a cheap compliment,” she muttered, her voice dripping with disdain.
“Oh, you must be Lae’zel,” Mia said, her tone suddenly mischievous. “Is it true that you almost ate a boy who accidentally ran into you while fleeing in terror?”
Laughter broke out among the group, even Gale cracking a small grin.
Lae’zel’s hand shot to the hilt of her sword, her gaze snapping to the walls around her as if daring the ship to say more.
Alex raised a hand, his voice soothing as he stepped between her and the nearest organic wall. “Mia spoke with the refugees while transporting them to Baldur’s Gate. She talked to them just as she’s talking to us now. She’s not making fun of you, Lae’zel.”
Lae’zel’s eyes lingered on Alex for a moment before she let out a slow, controlled breath. Her hand relaxed, falling away from her weapon as she stepped back.
“Everyone, take a seat. We’re heading to the Iron Throne,” Alex commanded, his voice firm yet calm.
The group quickly moved to the chairs
Shadowheart settled beside Alex, her gaze flicking toward him as if seeking reassurance. Wyll and Karlach sat opposite each other, their earlier silence now tinged with unspoken resolution. Astarion lounged in his chair, his usual smirk back in place, while Gale leaned forward, his curiosity about the ship clearly outweighing his caution.
Alex took the seat at the back, his presence grounding the group as the ship began to hum. The walls pulsed faintly, the glow intensifying as the nautiloid slowly sank beneath the water.
The cave grew eerily quiet.
Water streamed across the viewing ports, distorting the dim light from the cavern above. The descent was smooth yet disorienting, the sensation of being enveloped by the deep pressing against their senses.
“I’ve got a good feeling about this,” Mia chirped, breaking the silence.
“Let’s hope you’re right,” Alex muttered under his breath, his sharp eyes fixed ahead as the ship plunged deeper into the unknown.
The group sat in tense silence, each member lost in their own thoughts. The Iron Throne awaited them, submerged in the darkness of the Gray Harbor—a place of history, danger, and, most importantly, Wyll’s father. For better or worse, their journey had begun.
The group sat in heavy silence, the tension between them palpable. They didn’t exchange many words, their focus instead drawn to the viewing ports as the nautiloid glided through the murky depths. The faint light from above barely penetrated the gloom, casting eerie shadows on the jagged rock formations and drifting tangles of algae. The alien beauty of the underwater world was both mesmerizing and foreboding.
“We’ve arrived,” Alex announced, his voice cutting through the quiet like a blade.
The ship came to a stop, and the front portion of the nautiloid opened, revealing the Iron Throne beyond the thick glass-like panel. The tower leaned awkwardly to the side, its once-proud structure now weathered by the weight of the water above and the passage of time. Surrounding it were steel structures—new additions, starkly angular and industrial, contrasting sharply with the weathered stone of the tower itself.
“What are those structures?” Wyll asked, his brow furrowing as he pointed at the unfamiliar additions.
“They were added later,” Alex explained, his tone grim. “Repurposed by Gortash to serve as a prison. It’s where he keeps his personal enemies and anyone he needs to manipulate to achieve his goals.”
Before anyone could respond, bright beams of light shot out from the structures, piercing the darkness and illuminating Mia. The nautiloid ship shuddered slightly under the scrutiny, the lights casting harsh reflections across its organic surface.
“Shit, they know we’re here,” Karlach growled, as her anger rose.
A tall projection flickered into view atop the tower, its shimmering form solidifying into the unmistakable figure of Gortash. His smirk was as sharp as a blade, his voice dripping with mockery as it echoed through the water like he was standing right beside them.
“Aren’t you the intrepid little adventurers,” he sneered. “Digging and diving where you don’t belong.” His cold gaze swept across the group. “Set foot within the Iron Throne, and you will die—as will all the hostages inside.”
Wyll's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the projection. “We will save them all,” he declared, his voice steady and unwavering.
The ship drifted toward a docking station, a dome-like structure with a hatch at its top. As they neared, Gortash shook his head, his expression turning almost pitying.
“That was a mistake,” he said softly, his tone laced with malice. “When the corpses begin to wash up on the shore, remember—you could have prevented this.”
Before anyone could respond, the entire structure shuddered violently. A deep groaning sound echoed through the water as explosions began to ripple along the Iron Throne’s outer walls. Bright flashes lit the murky depths, casting the tower in a grim, fiery glow.
Everyone sprang to their feet, their eyes fixed on the grim scene unfolding before them. The nautiloid hovered over the hatch, its fleshy tendrils latching onto the dome-like structure.
Alex stepped forward, his arm shifting and darkening as his skin hardened into a rough, metallic texture. His claws glinted sharply as he drove them into the hatch, tearing through the steel as though it were paper. The screech of metal echoed in their ears as he ripped it open, revealing a ladder leading into the tower below.
He didn’t hesitate. With a quick glance back, Alex leapt through the opening, landing with a thud inside the Iron Throne. Karlach followed closely behind, her fiery energy illuminating the dark, dripping corridor. The rest of the group opted for the ladder, climbing down swiftly as the structure groaned ominously around them.
They landed in the middle of a cross-shaped hallway. Metal walls lined with pipes stretched out in four directions, water seeping through cracks and pooling at their feet. The air was thick with the metallic tang of rust and salt, and the distant sound of creaking metal was a constant reminder of how precarious their situation was.
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“Everyone, pick a side!” Alex barked, his voice sharp and commanding. “Your father is in the right wing, Wyll. Go!”
The party scattered, splitting into two groups as they sprinted down the corridors. Alex led the charge, his metallic claws glinting in the faint, flickering light. He moved like a predator, his sharp senses picking up every movement ahead.
The first sahuagin—a grotesque blend of man and fish—lunged at him from the shadows. Alex didn’t falter. His claws tore through the creature’s chest in a swift, brutal motion, its blood splattering the walls as it crumpled to the ground.
Wyll followed close behind, summoning his rapier with a flash of light. Karlach and Shadowheart flanked him, their combined strength cutting down anything that dared to stand in their way.
The rest of the group pushed forward down the opposite corridor, the urgency in their movements matching the desperation in their hearts.
Alex continued down the hall, his claws rending through the sahuagin like they were paper. Each kill was swift and precise, his movements guided by an unrelenting focus.
Finally, he stopped before a heavy, reinforced door. Without hesitation, Alex raised his foot and delivered a powerful kick. The door buckled under the force, the metal groaning before it caved in and slammed to the ground.
The room beyond was cold and sterile, a stark contrast to the chaos outside. In the center stood a surgical chair, its sinister design unmistakable. Seated in the chair, restrained by a cruel collar, was Omellum—the illithid Alex had meet in the Underdark a while back .
The illithid’s eyes opened slowly, his gaze meeting Alex’s.
“Nice to see you again, Omellum,” Alex said, his voice low.
He stepped forward, his hand shifting once more. A thin, dark tendril extended from his fingers, slipping into the lock on Omellum’s collar. With a faint click, the collar fell to the floor, landing with a metallic clang.
Omellum straightened, his gaze lingering on Alex for a moment before he gave a small nod of gratitude. Without a word, the illithid’s form shimmered, and he disappeared, teleporting away to safety.
Alex watched the space where Omellum had been for a moment before turning and walking back toward the chaos of the halls. His claws flexed as he moved, his mind sharpening with resolve. There was still so much to do, and the Iron Throne would soon collapse .
From Alex’s shadow, three replicas of himself emerged, their forms dark and rippling like living shadows. The clones moved with eerie synchronization, each striding toward one of the three prison cells arranged in a semicircular pattern.
The prisoners inside stared at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. Their faces were pale and gaunt, their bodies marked by bruises and cuts that told the story of endless torment.
With a single wave of his hand, Alex unleashed a pulse of psionic energy that made the heavy metal doors groan and buckle. Moments later, the locks shattered, and the doors swung open.
“Move out!” Alex’s voice boomed through the damp, suffocating air. “Follow the shadow clones if you want to live!”
For a moment, the prisoners hesitated, fear and exhaustion weighing heavily on their battered forms. Some clung to the back walls, trembling as though afraid this was some cruel trick.
The hesitation was shattered by a deafening explosion. A section of the wall cracked and burst apart, sending chunks of metal and stone flying as seawater surged into the hallway with terrifying force. Screams erupted as the icy water soaked the prisoners’ legs, threatening to drag them under.
Alex stepped forward, his hand outstretched. His eyes glowed faintly as psionic energy radiated from his palm. The rushing water slowed, and the broken wall began to mend itself. Stone and metal warped under his will, fusing back into place as though the explosion had never occurred.
“Go! Now!” Alex barked, his tone brooking no argument.
This time, the prisoners obeyed. They poured out of their cells, stumbling over each other in their rush to escape. Some carried unconscious companions, their arms shaking from the effort. Others limped along, their faces pale with hunger and weakness.
A halfling man struggled to lift his unconscious friend, his frail body buckling under the weight. Alex knelt beside him, his voice soft but firm.
“Leave him to me,” Alex said, lifting the man with ease. His shadow absorbed the the lifeless bodies scattered in the cells. Even in death, they deserved dignity—a proper burial, not to be left to rot in the depths of the Iron Throne.
Astarion rushed ahead, his psionic shield shimmering in his left hand and a dagger gleaming in his right. He met the charge of a sahuagin, the fish-like creature lunging at him with a jagged spear.
Astarion parried the strike, the force of the blow sending sparks flying as the spear glanced off his shield. With lightning reflexes, he retaliated, his dagger slicing across the creature’s chest in a fatal arc. Before it could recover, a purple, ethereal blade cut through its neck, severing its head cleanly.
“Thanks,” Astarion said, glancing back at Lae’zel, who stood with her psionic blade still raised.
Lae’zel offered him a curt nod, her expression unreadable, before she rushed forward to take on the next foe. Gale followed closely behind, his curiosity briefly piqued by the unspoken camaraderie between the two .
The corridor ahead was crawling with more sahuagin. Gale raised his hand, summoning a bolt of crackling lightning that arced through the air and struck a charging creature. The sahuagin convulsed violently, its spear clattering to the ground as it was momentarily stunned. Lae’zel wasted no time, her psionic blades cutting through the stunned enemy with ruthless precision.
At last, they reached the prison cells. Lae’zel’s glowing swords made quick work of the doors, slicing through the reinforced metal with ease.
“Follow us, or die where you stand,” Astarion snapped, his voice cold as he motioned for the prisoners to move.
But the people inside were frozen, their faces pale and eyes wide with fear. The horrors they had endured left them paralyzed, unable to believe salvation had come.
Lae’zel growled in frustration. Without hesitation, she grabbed one of the prisoners and shoved him aside, snarling as she stormed past. The sudden action broke the spell of fear, and the prisoners began to scramble after her, their survival instincts kicking in.
The group rushed ahead, the prisoners following in a panicked mob. They had almost reached the dock when a deafening explosion echoed behind them. The walls trembled violently as a massive section of the corridor collapsed, water roaring through the gap.
The wave struck with the force of a battering ram, sending prisoners and companions alike sprawling. Astarion grabbed hold of a nearby pipe, his teeth clenched as he channeled his psionic energy. A shimmering barrier of force materialized between them and the rushing water, holding back the tide just long enough for the others to recover.
“Go!” Astarion shouted, his voice strained with effort. “Get to the docking station! I’ll follow once you’re safe!”
Gale turned, his hands already crackling with magic. With a sweep of his arms, he conjured a massive wall of ice that surged up to reinforce Astarion’s barrier. The water smashed into the ice, slowing its advance and buying them precious time.
Astarion glanced at the wall, then back at Gale, a smirk tugging at his lips despite the chaos. “You just ruined my hero moment.”
Gale returned the smirk, his voice calm despite the danger. “Consider it a shared victory.”
The group wasted no time, ushering the prisoners forward as the structure groaned ominously around them. The sound of rushing water and distant explosions echoed through the corridors, but they pressed on, determined to reach the dock before it was too late.
----------------------------------------
Wyll sprinted ahead, Karlach and Shadowheart close on his heels. His heart pounded, his grip tightening on the hilt of his glowing rapier. Every step brought them closer to the cells, his mind filled with dread and determination.
They reached the end of the hallway, where three prison cells were arranged in a semicircle. The air was thick with the stench of damp metal and decay. Wyll’s gaze immediately locked onto the far-left cell, where his father hung limply against the wall, his wrists bound by heavy chains.
“Father…” Wyll breathed, his voice barely a whisper as a surge of panic and relief coursed through him.
His rapier flared with purple energy, vibrating with psionic force. He slashed it through the air, sending ripples that shredded the reinforced cell door. The clang of metal hitting the floor echoed sharply, cutting through the background hum of the flooding structure.
While Wyll rushed into the cell, Karlach and Shadowheart turned to the others. Karlach moved to the second cell, using her immense strength to wrench the bars apart, while Shadowheart worked swiftly to release the prisoners in the third.
Wyll reached his father’s side, his hands trembling as he examined the iron chains that cut into his father’s wrists. “I’ve got you,” he murmured. A single strike from his rapier severed the chains, and Wyll caught his father before he crumpled to the ground. The older man was unconscious, his breathing shallow, his body battered from days—or weeks—of torment.
“Stay with me, Father,” Wyll said, his voice thick with emotion. He hoisted him over his shoulder, his jaw clenched as he scanned the cell. The only other occupants were bodies, their lifeless forms a grim reminder of what might have happened had they been too late.
With prisoners in tow, they turned back toward the docking decks. The weakened survivors moved sluggishly, some leaning on one another for support. The party urged them forward, their pace quickened by the distant groaning of the collapsing structure.
But as they entered the main hallway, disaster struck. The ceiling above them crumpled inward with a deafening crash, sending a torrent of water surging into the passage. The force was overwhelming, sweeping prisoners off their feet and sending them tumbling into the rising tide.
Karlach and Shadowheart managed to grab hold of a sturdy pipe jutting from the wall, the current threatening to tear them away. Wyll, burdened by his father’s weight, struggled desperately to hold on. His fingers slipped, his body battered by the relentless current.
“Hold on!” Karlach shouted, her fiery determination flickering even in the face of despair. But her grip on the pipe was strained, and her face twisted in frustration as she realized there was little she could do to help.
Shadowheart clung to her own pipe, her wide, panic-stricken eyes darting around. Her chest heaved with shallow, rapid breaths as the rising water encroached on her. The icy grip of her greatest fear—drowning—paralyzed her.
The situation worsened as sahuagin began to pour through the opening created by the collapse. Their gurgling war cries echoed in the confined space as they surged toward the floundering prisoners.
“Shit!” Karlach snarled, fury and helplessness lacing her voice as she saw the fish-like creatures closing in , her fiery resolve dimming as the weight of their predicament bore down on her.
The hall shuddered again as another explosion tore through the structure. The sound was deafening, and a split second later, the entire section detached from the rest of the prison. The force sent the group tumbling as water surged in from all sides, swallowing them whole.
In moments, they were completely submerged. The icy water dragged at their limbs, pulling them into a swirling abyss. Darkness consumed them, the distant glimmer of light from above fading rapidly.
Then, everything went still.
When they opened their eyes again, they were seated inside the nautiloid. The ship’s interior glowed faintly, its walls pulsing with a rhythmic, organic hum. The survivors coughed and spat out water, their expressions ranging from disbelief to quiet sobs. The prisoners, though battered and soaked, were alive. Even the lifeless bodies of the dead had been neatly placed to one side, their dignity preserved.
Karlach’s eyes darted around the room, her chest heaving as she searched for familiar faces. She spotted Shadowheart, pale and shivering, leaning against a wall. Wyll was cradling his unconscious father, his shoulders slumped with exhaustion. Relief flickered in her eyes as she saw they had all made it.
She could spot Astarion and Lae'zel standing next to Gale who was using his magic to dry them.
Relief flickered in her eyes as she saw they had all made it.
Almost all.
“Wait…” Karlach’s voice cracked as she looked around again. Her gaze moved frantically, scanning every corner of the nautiloid. “Where’s Alex?”
Shadowheart’s head snapped up, her expression shifting from numbness to alarm. Wyll’s eyes widened as he glanced toward the now-sealed hatch.
“He’s… still down there?” Shadowheart whispered, her voice barely audible over the ship’s ambient hum.
The weight of her words sank into the group like a stone, their brief moment of relief shattered. Karlach fiery hair flared brighter with her frustration.
The survivors sat in stunned silence, the realization hitting them like a tidal wave. The hum of the nautiloid was the only sound.