The shadows unfurled around them as they reappeared inside a decrepit, abandoned warehouse. Dust motes swirled in the dim light filtering through broken windows, and the faint scent of mildew clung to the air. The group stood silently for a moment, the weight of their recent battles pressing down like an invisible shroud.
Alex's blue eyes immediately flicked to Wyll, who was already striding to the exit , his shoulders tense and his fists clenched. The anguish radiating from him was almost tangible. He didn’t say a word as he walked away, his posture screaming the need for solitude.
Karlach exchanged a glance with the others, her fiery eyes softening with concern. Without hesitation, she jogged after him, her boots echoing in the cavernous space. “Wyll,” she called, her voice gentle but firm, “Don’t do this. You don’t have to be alone.”
Astarion leaned against a crumbling pillar, crossing his arms with a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “He’s acting like a petulant child,” he quipped, though there was an edge of discomfort in his tone. “But I suppose losing one’s father in such... explosive fashion might warrant a bit of brooding.”
Shadowheart shot him a sharp glare. “Astarion, for once in your life, could you keep your biting wit to yourself?” she snapped, her voice low but seething.
Alex remained silent, his face a mask of neutrality. But inside, a storm raged. He inhaled deeply, steadying himself. “Gale,” he said finally, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “It’s time we visit Sorcerous Sundries. Maybe they have something that can help against the Netherbrain.”
Gale’s eyes lit up with a spark of excitement. “A fine idea,” he said, straightening his robes. “Their collection is rumored to be unparalleled. Perhaps we’ll find just what we need.”
“Do we need to come too?” Astarion asked lazily, motioning between himself and Lae’zel.
“We?” Shadowheart raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, we. As in me and our Githyanki friend here,” Astarion replied, gesturing to Lae’zel, who simply folded her arms and looked unimpressed. “Neither of us particularly cares for magic. It’s best to let you bookworms have your fun without dragging us along to bore us to death.”
Alex smirked faintly. “You can go, Ratarion.”
Shadowheart and Gale both snickered at the nickname, while Astarion froze mid-retort, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “Stalker,” he hissed, before storming off, his dramatic exit punctuated by the sharp clicks of his boots. Lae’zel followed him with an amused smirk.
Alex turned to Shadowheart and Gale. “Let’s go.”
----------------------------------------
The streets of Baldur’s Gate bustled with life as the trio made their way toward Sorcerous Sundries. When they reached the iconic establishment, its towering, round structure loomed over them, crowned by a domed roof made entirely of stained glass that shimmered in the sunlight. The multi-colored reflections danced across the cobblestones like living rainbows.
Before the shop, a fountain burbled cheerfully, surrounded by a group of amateur mages practicing their spells. Their clumsy casting sent erratic sparks and gusts of wind flying in all directions. Gale cringed visibly. “Their form is abysmal,” he muttered under his breath, earning a chuckle from Shadowheart.
As they approached the open entrance, a familiar voice rang out. “Let me back in, or bring Lorroakan out here, you tin tube!” The trio paused, glancing toward the source of the commotion. Aradin, a face Alex recognized from the Emerald Grove, stood arguing with an animated suit of armor that blocked his path.
“You tell Lorroakan I went for his godsdamned Nightsong, and now he has to pay up!” Aradin shouted, his frustration boiling over.
Shadowheart and Gale tried to mask their surprise as they heard the word Nightsong.
Spotting the group, his eyes narrowed. “What are you looking at?”
Alex didn’t break stride, brushing past Aradin without a word. Shadowheart and Gale hurried after him, ignoring the man’s string of insults trailing in their wake. The animated armor turned its helmet briefly toward them before resuming its silent vigil.
'Zevlor should’ve punched that guy when he had the chance,' Alex thought.
----------------------------------------
Inside, Sorcerous Sundries was a marvel. Though the exterior suggested a single domed room, the interior revealed towering stone archways supporting the structure. Light poured through the stained-glass dome, casting vibrant hues across opulent furniture, richly patterned rugs, and silk curtains inscribed with arcane symbols. A faint hum of magic hung in the air, making every breath feel charged with energy.
Gale’s eyes gleamed as he took it all in. “Magnificent,” he whispered. “And the protective runes... impressive work.”
Shadowheart’s gaze swept the room, noting the meticulous arrangement of artifacts and tomes. But Alex’s attention was drawn to a figure in the corner—a cloaked man browsing a shelf filled with spell components. His stance was relaxed, but something about him felt off.
“Stay alert,” Alex murmured to the others.
The murmur of arcane discussions surrounded them as the party stepped further into the building. A few wizards, their robes adorned with intricate glyphs, were engrossed in heated debates about spell modifications and the ethics of enchantments. To their left stood a magma elemental and a wind elemental, their imposing forms flickering and swirling with restless energy. Both creatures seemed oddly still, their gazes fixed intently on Alex, as if sensing something about him beyond the surface.
The party moved toward the center of the building, where a magical projection of a man stood behind a grand counter. The projection radiated authority and sophistication. The figure’s sharp, angular features were framed by high cheekbones and a defined jawline, his piercing pale eyes shimmering with an intensity that demanded attention. His long auburn hair, tied back neatly, cascaded with a natural luster that caught the dim magical light.
His attire was a testament to his station and the opulence of the shop. He wore an elaborately tailored coat of deep crimson, embroidered with golden vines and intricate leaf patterns that shimmered with an almost magical brilliance as he moved. The coat fit snugly, emphasizing his broad shoulders and lean frame. The long, flowing layers of his outfit added a regal air, the edges lined with intricate arcane patterns that glowed faintly, as if enchanted. Polished leather boots, fastened with ornate buckles, rose just below his knees, completing the ensemble with an understated elegance that reinforced his commanding presence.
The projection turned toward them with a practiced smile, his voice smooth and inviting. “Welcome, dear patrons, to Sorcerous Sundries. I am an un-person in service of the revered wizard Lorroakan, the esteemed proprietor of this fine establishment.”
Gale, his expression puzzled, tilted his head slightly. “I thought Sorcerous Sundries belonged to Rivalen Blackhand.” His tone carried both curiosity and a subtle hint of skepticism.
The projection ignored the comment and continued its scripted introduction. “To browse our wares, say ‘Trade.’ To provide information about the Nightsong, say ‘Nightsong.’ If you are a city official here to collect dues, say ‘Taxes.’ For all other inquiries, say ‘Other.’”
Shadowheart and Gale both glanced at Alex expectantly as the leader of their group. Without hesitation, Alex said the word, “Nightsong.” His voice carried a calm authority that left no room for question.
The projection’s eyes gleamed briefly. “To provision information that leads to the retrieval of the Nightsong is worth a great deal to Master Lorroakan. Do you have information regarding the Nightsong?”
Alex’s reply was curt and firm. “Yes.”
“Please proceed upstairs for further instructions,” the projection responded smoothly. “Thank you, please come again soon, and have a magical day.” With that, the projection froze, its expression neutral, as it reverted to its dormant state.
Alex turned to Shadowheart and Gale, his face impassive but his eyes sharp. “Change of plans. We’re going to meet this Lorroakan.”
The trio moved to the grand staircase that spiraled elegantly around the counter, leading to the upper floor. As they ascended, the projection reappeared ahead of them, this time standing between two animated suits of armor. The armors’ polished steel glinted menacingly under the ethereal light of the shop.
“Welcome, dear patrons, to the floor at the top of the stairs,” the projection said in its ever-cheerful tone. “If you have information about the Nightsong, great riches await. If you are here to waste the great wizard Lorroakan’s time, reconsider.”
Gale snorted, crossing his arms. “Great? How come I’ve never heard of him until a few moments ago?” His voice carried a biting sarcasm that betrayed his disdain.
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
The projection’s expression remained unchanged. “Let your knowledge dictate your path forward,” it said cryptically before waving its hand. Four portals materialized in the air, each shimmering in distinct hues: grey, orange, green, and white. Beneath each portal was a plaque etched with faint, glowing script.
Alex strode toward the portal on the far left, its swirling grey hues casting a faint, eerie glow onto his features.
He paused in front of a plaque mounted to the side, his eyes narrowing as he read the engraved text aloud.
“What does it say?” Shadowheart asked, her voice cautious, her hand instinctively resting on the hilt of her weapon.
“They ask: ‘What is the Nightsong?’” Alex said, his tone thoughtful yet firm. His gaze shifted to the next portal, an orange-hued swirl pulsating faintly. He stepped toward it, gesturing to another plaque nearby. “And this one claims that the Nightsong is a priceless ruby from realms beyond our own.”
Gale stepped closer, his sharp eyes scanning the text on the plaque. He let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Clever. A test to weed out pretenders from those who truly know about the Nightsong.”
Alex nodded, his expression unreadable as his mind worked through the implications. He cast one last glance at the orange portal before turning back to the grey one. Without hesitation, he gestured for the others to follow. “This is the one. ” he said, his voice steady and resolute.
The group exchanged wary glances but obeyed without question, following Alex into the swirling grey light.
The air shifted instantly, becoming heavy with the scent of aged parchment and the hum of latent magic. When their surroundings solidified, they found themselves in a grand, towering library. Bookshelves stretched endlessly upward, their dark wood burdened with ancient tomes. The floor was littered with chaotic heaps of parchment and books, the clutter giving the room an eerie, unkempt grandeur. Knowledge and danger seemed to permeate every corner, as though the walls themselves were watching.
At the center of it all stood Lorroakan. He was tall and imposing, his ornate crimson robes embroidered with golden arcane symbols that shimmered faintly. His presence radiated authority, a figure who exuded power and arrogance in equal measure. Around him, a ring of myrmidons of many elements stood silent and still, their glowing eyes fixed on the newcomers. The elementals armed with weapons that gleamed in the dim light, added an oppressive weight to the room. They were more than decoration; they were a warning.
Lorroakan raised a single finger, halting their approach. "Wait a moment," he said, his voice smooth but dripping with condescension. With a lazy wave of his hand, one of the animated armors stepped forward, a bow drawn and aimed at a halfling standing a few paces away. The halfling, pale and trembling, balanced a red apple on his head. Sweat dripped down his face as his hands twitched nervously.
"Hold very still, Miklaur," Lorroakan said, a smile playing on his lips that didn’t reach his eyes. "Krank’s aim has improved, but… let’s just say it still leaves something to be desired."
The halfling swallowed hard, nodding jerkily. "Y-yes, sir," he stammered, his voice trembling as though it might shatter under the weight of his fear.
"All right, Krank," Lorroakan commanded. "Ready. Aim. Fire."
The arrow whistled through the air, slicing through the tense silence. The halfling squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for impact. At the last moment, the arrow halted mid-flight, hovering just inches from his face before clattering harmlessly to the ground. Miklaur’s knees buckled, and he collapsed backward, the apple rolling to the floor as he gasped for air, his chest heaving in relief.
Lorroakan scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. Krank, the animated armor, stepped back into its position, lowering its bow with mechanical precision. Turning his sharp gaze to the group, Lorroakan’s expression darkened. "I see no Nightsong," he said, his tone both mocking and dangerous. "Surely you wouldn’t have entered my tower without it in hand. Surely you wouldn’t dare waste my time. Do you have it or not?"
Shadowheart stepped forward, her voice calm but firm. "She isn’t an ‘it.’"
Lorroakan’s eyes gleamed with sudden interest, his curiosity piqued. "‘She.’ Then you do know her. You’ve been to Shar’s temple. To the Shadowfell. You’ve looked upon the Nightsong’s face."
His sly smile widened as he studied their reactions. "Before we delve further into this discussion, I have another question. By chance, have you encountered something that feeds upon magic? About a month ago, I felt the Weave itself tremble as an immense amount of magic was gathered nearby."
Shadowheart and Gale exchanged uneasy glances, their gazes briefly flickering toward Alex.
"A humanoid creature," Alex lied smoothly, his voice steady. "We barely had time to see it before it vanished."
"Such a shame," Lorroakan said, shaking his head with exaggerated disappointment. "Then tell me—and choose your next words carefully—where is she now?"
Alex didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he countered with a question of his own. "Why do you want her so badly?"
Lorroakan’s smile thinned, irritation flickering in his eyes. "I’m growing tired of this repartee, my friend. Let us cut to the chase." From within his robes, he drew a silvery wand, its head crowned with a blue gem that sparkled ominously. He held it aloft, letting the light catch its intricate design. "Beautiful, isn’t it? Worth more than your life, I assure you. I acquired it from a Calishite warlock who had very little of his soul left. This wand can bind a celestial to the wielder’s service with the snap of a finger."
He gestured toward a glowing magic circle etched into the floor nearby. Arcane energy pulsed faintly along its lines, casting shifting patterns of light onto the surrounding bookshelves. "And this? This can keep her in place. Forever."
Alex’s sharp eyes studied the circle. Its structure was disturbingly familiar, resembling the one Balthazar had used to imprison Aylin. "Let me guess. You wish to become immortal," Alex said, his voice cold and calculating.
Lorroakan’s grin widened into something almost feral. "The Nightsong will be put to a grand purpose: equaling man and god. Whoever helps me achieve this will be greatly rewarded."
"Equaling man and god," Gale muttered, disdain dripping from every word. "Quite the lofty ambition."
"I intend to achieve greatness," Lorroakan declared, spreading his arms as though addressing an audience. "And I intend to do it for a long, long, long time."
Gale scoffed audibly, the sound sharp and derisive. Shadowheart glanced at him in surprise; it was rare to see Gale express such open contempt.
"You seek the power of the gods for the pettiest reason—for your own gratification," Gale said, his voice steady but laced with quiet fury. A note of self-loathing tinged his words, as though condemning not only Lorroakan but himself.
Lorroakan’s eyes narrowed, his amusement fading into something darker. "What’s that? I didn’t quite catch your words, but the insolent tone was clear enough."
"Pity, not insolence," Gale corrected, his gaze unwavering.
For a moment, the room fell silent, tension crackling like a storm about to break. Then Lorroakan’s face split into a sharp grin. "Ah, I know who you are now. Gale of Waterdeep. Mystra’s discarded lapdog. And now you think your bark is cause to make me tremble?"
Gale’s jaw tightened, his composure unyielding. "There is no need for me to bark," he said, his voice resonating with quiet power.
Alex closed his eyes, and for a moment, all was silent. When he opened them again, he found himself standing in a vast, ethereal chamber. The place radiated a serene beauty, an almost sacred stillness where all sound seemed muffled, as if the air itself dared not disturb the tranquility. The ever-present moonlight bathed everything, imbuing the space with a soft, silvery glow. It hugged every surface and figure, creating an otherworldly ambiance that felt both comforting and awe-inspiring.
Alex’s gaze shifted to the center of the chamber, where an ethereal young woman stood. She had a slender frame, her dark eyes holding an ancient depth that belied her youthful appearance. Her dark hair cascaded around her shoulders like liquid night, and her diaphanous robes shimmered, their colors shifting between white and the dappled hues of moonlight. Tiny motes of light, like falling stardust, trailed her movements. She was the embodiment of grace and serenity, and yet her presence commanded reverence.
“Alex Mercer,” the goddess spoke, her voice a soothing melody that resonated through the chamber. “We finally meet.”
Alex inclined his head respectfully, bowing slightly in acknowledgment of the divine presence before him.
“For what reason have you sought my audience?” Selûne asked, her tone gentle but inquisitive.
Alex straightened, his voice steady as he began. “There is a wizard in Baldur’s Gate who plans to imprison Aylin for eternity, exploiting her divinity for his own gain. I seek your guidance. What would you have me do with him?”
Selûne’s expression remained serene, but she did not answer immediately. Instead, she raised her hand in a graceful motion, and with a shimmer of moonlight, another figure appeared beside her. It was Aylin, clad in her pristine silver armor, her radiant white wings tucked neatly behind her. Her presence was as fierce as it was divine, her piercing gaze scanning her surroundings until it landed on Selûne. The celestial warrior’s eyes softened as she knelt before her mother.
“Mother,” Aylin said, her voice reverent yet strong.
Selûne’s gaze remained calm as she gestured toward Alex. “Alex has brought news that concerns you. Listen carefully.”
Aylin turned her full attention to Alex, her presence commanding yet receptive. “What is it you know?” she asked, her voice ringing with authority.
Alex met her gaze, unwavering. “A wizard named Lorroakan seeks you,” he began. “He intends to capture you and exploit your divinity, much as Ketheric Thorm did, using you as a source of immortality.”
Aylin’s gauntleted fists clenched, the metal screeching under the force of her grip. Her eyes darkened with a mixture of fury and disgust. “He dares?” she growled, her voice resonating with a divine wrath. “Dame Aylin will strike down any who seek to bring harm. Yet... it is better to sever the serpent’s head than let its venomous offspring spread unchecked. This wizard... this wretch must be held to account.”
Selûne observed her daughter with an unreadable expression, her gaze steady and unwavering.
“I will wring his neck until he breathes no more,” Aylin vowed through gritted teeth, her wings flexing slightly in a display of restrained power.
Alex’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. “What do you say, Aylin? Shall we do it together?”
Aylin’s smirk mirrored his, fierce and determined. “Let us travel to his chambers, his lair. We will see him undone, much like the unburied Ketheric Thorm. This magus will learn the price of his hubris.”
As her words hung in the air, the chamber shimmered and warped. The moonlight faded, and Alex felt the pull of reality gripping him once more. When his senses cleared, he found himself back in the tower, his companions around him. Yet something had changed. He could feel the imprint of a spell in his mind, a divine tether granting him the power to summon Aylin at will.
With a wave of his hand, the celestial warrior appeared beside him, her radiant form immediately drawing the attention of everyone in the room. Her piercing gaze scanned the chamber until it settled on Lorroakan. Her expression hardened, and her disdain was palpable.
“What have we here?” Aylin began, her voice dripping with contempt. “A magician in a tower, hiding away from the frightening world. What is it you fear, magus? Surely not the Nightsong. Why, she’s nothing but a relic to be pursued and purchased, is she not?” Her tone was laced with venom, her words cutting like a blade.
Lorroakan stiffened, his arrogance faltering for a fraction of a second as he realized the gravity of the situation. The celestial’s presence was not something he had accounted for, and the weight of her wrath bore down on him like a storm. The room seemed to darken as the confrontation began, the air charged with the promise of retribution.