Myrkul's terrifying chosen, revived via a weird contraption, was too important to ignore. Still invisible, Astarion chanced it and slid inside the hall for a closer look. Balthazar and General Thorm, thankfully, were busy speaking and didn't notice him.
"... Revenge, Balthazar, albeit a lowly desire, remains a priority."
The necromancer nodded. "Of course, General. My spies have located the blonde Aasimar—"
"Where?!"
"She's at the enemy camp... alongside your daughter."
Ketheric's face twisted into a foreboding snarl. "Then we shall attack as soon as I am fully recovered. I want that wretch back in chains and Isobel under my supervision."
"Understood, General, although I must mention the illithids." Balthazar looked back, and Astarion froze on the spot. Luckily, the spell still hid him from sight, and the necromancer continued. "I... borrowed their technology for the ritual. They're rather sore about it."
"Then we shall crush the tentacled scum as well. Finish draining the assets so I can lay waste to them all."
Balthazar looked at the vats. "Unfortunately, I cannot hasten the process, but know that your enemy is here, fueling your return with her very life."
Ketheric uttered a dark chuckle. "A fitting punishment for her impertinence. We've come too far, Balthazar. Do not fail me now."
The necromancer bowed. That seemed like a fitting moment to leave, so Astarion stepped toward the entrance. His feet seemed unusually... visible. "Oh, shite," he whispered, peeking backward. His eyes met those of a scowling Balthazar.
"How wonderful of you to join us, elf. We can use another fitting subject."
Astarion put on a fake smile. "I'm undead, Balthi. You'll get very little life from me."
"Fortunately, this illithid technology can adjust to accommodate people of your... disposition." The necromancer raised a hand, and his lackey did the same.
Buggering bugbears! Astarion sprinted away. A green ray exploded on a tile by his feet. Why couldn't that dumb invisibility scroll last just a minute longer?! He reached the open doors when a second spell blasted him. The world spun as he tumbled to the floor, landing on his back. His sword arm felt odd... unresponsive. A lemon-sized chunk of flesh was missing; green smoke and a pungent stench rose from the wound. There was no time for shock, though—the two necromancers were preparing more spells. He leaped off the ground and bolted.
His feet crossed the threshold right as a necrotic beam missed his back. In the first hall, many Sahuagin and ghouls were lying dead on the floor, but the battle raged on. Swinging his rapier with that grotesque injury was out of the question, so he dashed to the exit, avoiding the enormous flesh golem, dodging spears and paralyzing claws. Soon, he'd escape the frantic melee and—His thoughts evaporated into nothing. A low hum pounded at his ears while an invisible vise squeezed his brain. Somehow, he'd landed on the floor, and the room continued spinning around his head.
The mind flayer approached with measured steps. Its Mind Blast left Astarion stunned and dizzy. He tried picking himself up, but his strength failed. The creature's tentacles wiggled in excitement, and the tadpole shrieked in terror. If he wouldn't shake off the daze, that was it—the illithid kiss of death. He struggled to reach the dagger with his good hand... one solid stab to the face, to save his brain from becoming a gruesome meal... too late. The eldritch abomination raised a slimy hand, and he floated above the floor, pulled by telekinesis toward the lipless, salivating mouth.
Then a single, heavy thud resounded from nearby.
The mind flayer spun to the side right as the flesh golem came charging, knocking it over with one gigantic arm. Astarion fell to the ground, released from the spell. Muscles became responsive again. He tried to stand, but his innards twisted, sending a tremor up his body and throughout his aching head. He vomited blood and undigested wine onto the floor. Somehow, that improved his feeling a bit. Behind him, three fishy bastards were helping their master, but two others ran toward him. He forced himself up, unbalanced and hurting, and wobbled to the exit.
The hallway seemed to tilt with each step—twice he smacked his shoulder against the thick wall—but the mental shock was slowly waning. A javelin pierced a brick behind him and remained stuck, its shaft jittering with the forceful impact. The chasers were less than ten meters behind, but dim light awaited up ahead. The staircase to the throne room couldn't be far... thirty meters at most.
Astarion stumbled on an uneven tile, losing momentum. While he rebalanced, a lean shadow approached fast from behind. It felt like a solid punch to the ribs, but when he looked, a bloody, triangular javelin tip was sticking from his front. Can't slow down ... The Sahuagin's webbed feet came nearer as he pushed on, bleeding and sluggish. The light, only several steps away, was blinding compared to the dark hallway.
A high-pitched shriek made him look back. A metallic glint in the dark. He spun around, drawing the dagger, and deflected a speartip in the nick of time. The blow sent him reeling. As he landed on one knee, panting, the filthy Sahuagin raised its sharp weapon, preparing for a second thrust.
"Eat hot lightning!"
For an instant, the hallway turned brighter than day. An electric discharge struck the scaly chasers, and they fell back, smoke rising from their punctured chests. Astarion sighed in relief. Gale was standing at the far end, flanked by the women.
Two minutes later, he leaned against a wall in the room between the hallway, the throne room, and the smaller corridor with the corpse piles. The javelin in his chest still hurt badly, but Shadowheart wanted to heal his arm first.
"What have you gotten yourself into?" she said, laying her hands on the festering wound.
"Nothing, mother . Just an army of fish monsters and a—"
"Hold still." The healing spell began regenerating his skin. "You're lucky I can help at all, considering the vampire part."
Astarion sighed, although he appreciated her concern. "Can I explain now?"
"Go ahead," Gale said.
He gave the others a quick recount of the events up to that point, finishing with the imminent return of Ketheric Thorm. When he mentioned the name, everyone's eyes opened in surprise.
"How is this possible?!" Waterdeep asked.
"Illithid technology, combined with necromancy."
"That's probably what drew the Ulitharid here." The wizard rubbed his chin. "That creature will surely interfere at some point, so I need you back on your feet, Astarion." He gestured for Lae'zel, and she put her hands on the javelin's shaft.
"If I draw it backward, the angled tips will rip your insides. I have to cut the shaft and push the tip through."
Astarion grimaced at the thought. "Can I at least have a little wine first?"
"NO."
Shadowheart grabbed the wooden shaft that hung from his back, and the Githyanki slashed with her greatsword. To her credit, the blow was so clean he barely felt it. Then she pushed the rest forward, and he nearly fainted from the pain. After the arrow-shaped tip clanked on the floor, Shadow rushed to stabilize him. Blue light emanated from her gentle hands, soothing the pain and sealing the wound.
He gazed at her, lightheaded; she seemed to glow like an angel. "You know you're a true darling, darling?"
"You must've lost a lot of blood," Shadow said, but a shy smile adorned her face.
Lae'zel made a vomiting sound, and Gale chuckled. The two drow were staring curiously, especially the daughter... Bite, drink . Astarion shook his head—the lost blood really was an issue. He couldn't even stand up.
"I'm afraid you'll have to go without me."
Waterdeep scratched his head. "As magnificent a wizard as I am, we need you for this fight."
Shadowheart touched him. "Let me help."
"It's not a matter of healing—"
"Hush." She wagged a finger at Gale. "Give us a little privacy, please."
The wizard nodded, and gestured for the others to gather near the staircase. There, he tried to convey the situation to the drow. Was he planning to use them as ballista fodder? Perhaps not such a bad idea...
Shadowheart swiveled his face toward her. "You need blood, right?" She exposed her wrist.
"Shady, I—"
"It's alright." Her lips curled into a vulnerable smile. "Just don't make me kick you again."
The cleric's pearly skin was already calling to him. He nodded, unable to resist her alluring scent and the warmth emanating from her flesh. In a moment, his yearning fangs pierced her, and rich, flavorous blood flowed into his mouth. Shadowheart winced at first, but let him continue. Her other hand fondled his hair, all too comforting... He closed his eyes, losing himself in the moment. All, take it all; drink every drop inside her delicious body . The refreshing, intoxicating taste of life melted down his parched throat...
Shady's life.
Astarion stopped. "Thanks, darling. I... owe you."
"And I intend to collect," she said with a sly wink.
He felt great afterward, but Shadowheart looked pale. She even drank a health potion. Mentioning it would've likely annoyed her, so he kept quiet while they rejoined the group.
"Good to have you back," Gale said. "Now we must act with speed and decisiveness. Tav's life depends on us."