After the brief rest, Astarion and the others walked to the shimmering portal. On the way through the prison, the freed drow equipped themselves—Xunvir collected the halberd and chain mail from the dead dark elf warrior he saw earlier, and his daughter picked up a light crossbow, loaded by a goats-foot lever.
They entered the gate in pairs—Shadow and Lae'zel first, weapons held in front, followed by the dark elves, and finally Gale and himself. A bright light enveloped Astarion, forcing him to cover his eyes, but the travel lasted only a moment, after which everyone was standing on a flight of stairs inside Moonrise Towers' throne room. General Thorm's authoritative chair sat on a raised platform above a wooden floor. Behind its oaken seat stood a towering iron altar to Myrkul, a menacing skull glaring from its center, flanked by two pointy spears.
Thankfully, the hall was empty save for a dozen corpses that littered the stairs. Clanging and banging noises came from somewhere above, confirming that the battle was still raging.
A burst of green light startled Astarion for a moment. "Necromancers," he said, looking at Waterdeep. "Balthazar's forces?"
"I was thinking the same. The invaders must be doing well if he abandoned the throne."
"He's a clever wretch, though, so don't count him out yet."
"WE SHOULD ATTACK!"
Gale looked around, rubbing his chin. "Lae'zel, you, more than anyone, should know the value of reconnaissance. Would you please inspect the exit with our red-eyed friends?"
"Chk! Thinking about retreat?"
"On the contrary—I'd like to know we won't be surprised from the rear."
The Githyanki's eyes opened in understanding. With some effort, she managed to convey the message to the former slaves via hand gestures. After the three left, Astarion gave Waterdeep a wicked smile.
"Not bad, getting her out of the way."
"Yes, we need to be smart about this—" A deep rumble shook the floor. Gale looked upward. "Sounds like a battering ram."
"Let them fight," Shadowheart said in a dismissive tone. "We'll destroy whoever is left."
The wizard shook his head. "We can't assume they'd erode each other. A decisive victory may end with the winning side mostly intact." He turned to Astarion. "Can you scout upstairs?"
"Trying to get rid of me too?"
"Yes, I plan to make a move on Shadowheart," Waterdeep said with a wry smile.
Astarion rolled his eyes. "We're talking mind flayers and necromancers, though, so I can use extra reassurance in case things go sideways." He nodded toward the wizard's bag.
"I can bless you," Shadow said while Gale rummaged through his belongings.
"That'll make me glow like a lamp, darling—not ideal for stealth."
"Right. How about Aid then?"
"Oh." He broke into an uneasy smile at her helpfulness. "That'll be lovely,"
"Ah-ha! Here." Waterdeep plucked out a scroll. "Invisibility—that should help in a pinch."
He also had a smokepowder bomb, good for both confusion and concealment. "Thanks. If I'm not back in thirty minutes, please make a desperate saving attempt."
The wizard nodded, smiling. "We just might. Good luck."
"Luck is for the incompetent," Astarion said, walking away. Inside, however, he wasn't so certain. He climbed up the stairs, attuned to every noise, especially the low rumbles that rattled the structure every ten seconds. Downstairs, Lae'zel reported that the exit led nowhere—the reconstructed location included nothing beyond the throne room. He continued ascending the staircase. On the upper floor, a doorway stood to his right, and twenty meters to the left, a group of Sahuagin was guarding an entrance. They didn't spot him yet. Another loud rumble, coming from the same direction, made them look. He exploited the moment to sneak right.
Into an unlit hallway. It lacked details, as if whoever made it couldn't bother... certainly not a part of the original Moonrise Towers. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he spotted clumps of trash, and a heap of... cadavers. The dead were of different races and looked dried up, almost mummified... Victims of some dark ritual, possibly. The stench made his eyes water. He continued, taking careful steps in case there were undead lurking in the dung. The noise of battle, faint behind the stone wall, grew louder after he took a corner. A smaller pile of corpses lay nearby, older based on their poor state and fainter odor. Just how long was Balthazar scheming there, and for what purpose?
The next bang almost made him jump. It was nearby—he could feel the vibration on the floor, and coming from a wall part to his left. It might've been thinner. Astarion felt the rough surface... Yes, those stones were different, potentially good for making a peephole, if only... One was crumbling. He used his dagger to dig through, and then, rubbing his hands, put his eye to it.
A great hall lay on the other side. The illithid force had gathered before two great steel doors. Astarion leaned on the stones, trying to see better. About two dozen remained, and Six Sahuagin were carrying an iron ram whose tip glowed with magical power. When they smashed it against the doors, their surface shimmered and flashed like a Mage Armor spell. The siege seemed futile, but mind flayers weren't dumb—ugly, yes, but not dumb. That creature must've had a plan.
The view moved suddenly, shifting right as if the entire castle spun around... No, it was him. He gazed with dread at the floor, which finished rotating along with the wall part. He'd been leaning on a secret passage and somehow triggered its mechanism.
Now he was standing like an idiot, fully exposed to the Sahuagin force. Two enemy drow spotted him. They pointed and shouted to their master, the illithid in the robes with the golden epaulets.
Solid shit on a salami stick! Astarion reached for Gale's scroll of Invisibility. The dark elves aimed crossbows at him while several fishy bastards ran in his direction, hissing and raising spears. Arcane symbols disappeared off the enchanted parchment as he recited each word, ignoring a javelin that bounced off the wall to his right, and sidestepped left, dodging a steel bolt. Two words left—sharp pain cut into his shoulder. Another sharp projectile, but the hit left a mere graze thanks to Shadow's protective magic. He spoke the final words, eyes following the approaching Sahuagin... And vanished.
The slimy buggers could still smell and hear him, though, but that's what the smokepowder bomb was for. He leaped to the side, performing a dive-roll while the charging fish-folk stabbed at empty air, and tossed the grenade. It smacked into an attacker's face, sending him reeling into his friend, and exploded.
When Astarion's eyes refocused and his ears stopped ringing, a smoky black cloud surrounded him. More crossbow bolts flew around, thankfully missing, and another javelin clanged on the floor. The noise of approaching enemies pushed him to act—invisibility couldn't protect him from an entire army. He needed an exit. Running past the smoke, he spotted a torch-lit hallway behind the mind flayer's force. It seemed like the only way out, but could he fool everyone to attack in the wrong direction?. He dodged a charging drow, nearly tripping, and ducked under a sword that another swung randomly in the air. A distraction was sorely needed. His pockets contained empty vials, lock picks, and coins... precious, but less than staying alive.
He threw a bunch of gold and silver straight behind. The coins glinted as they reappeared, and clinked on the stone floor. They proved a good enough misdirection for two Sahuagin to shoot at the noise. Their bolts nearly hit a chasing drow, further contributing to the chaos.
But then the stupid tadpole pounded at his brain. The pain twisted his legs mid-run, and he careened to the floor. Gandrel's Aspiration flew off his back, landing exposed two meters away. A drow warrior stopped beside the crossbow, her reddish eyes scanning for his location. Why did that idiotic parasite betray him?! He looked up, prepared to see an army closing in; instead, the mind flayer pointed at the doors.
They had opened. Something huge—a tower of stitched flesh and muscle—plodded into the hall and trampled the battering ram team. What sheer luck... or perhaps Balthazar exploited the disarray he'd created in the illithid's ranks. Either way, his flesh golem went on the offensive, bolstered by a group of ghouls.
The chasers left him, probably obeying their leader's telepathic orders, but not before that drow stole his crossbow. A fierce melee engulfed the large room while Astarion clambered to his feet. If the fighting shifted away from the exit, it would be a chance to flee. Only, the scroll's effect could end at any moment—The tadpole writhed again, and a psionic pulse drew his attention to the huge doors. Eerie lights danced beyond the opening, and there were no combatants near it. An inquisitive peek, followed by a swift retreat? That could prove useful. Waterdeep and Shady would approve—not that he cared... too much.
Steeling himself, Astarion hurried to the doors, skirting the battle. A ghoul crashed to the floor before him, gasping its last breath. He leaped over it and ran the last few steps to the threshold. Behind it was a second large hall with a domed ceiling. More corpses lay stacked on its floor, covered in green slime. A winding flight of stairs led to a raised platform, where several human-sized vats sat, each filled with icky green fluid. There were people inside them... nude and unconscious, probably being drained of life like all those unfortunate corpses.
Among them was an athletic half-elf with neck-length golden hair—their party's quirky leader, Tav.
What in Avernus were those repulsive necromancers doing to her?! A series of glowing tubes linked the macabre vats with a larger container. Balthazar and a second robe-wearing pervert stood before it, facing another floating body. It seemed familiar... disturbingly familiar... Astarion's eyes opened in disbelief.
Ketheric Thorm.