Chapter 16 – Red-to-Red

Lyric wrinkled her nose in disgust as the slowly decaying remains of Sarevok Anchev were reduced to gore and ash at her feet. The rest of his Murder Tribunal was also in a similar state. The echoes of the Bhaal-servants Illasera, Sendai, and Amelyssan crumbled into greasy flakes of mummified skin and tendon in the wake of their utter defeat. Halsin grumbled and tried to wipe some of the soot from his armor but only succeeded in spreading it across his chest and arm instead. Much to his dismay. Lyric actually chanced a small chuckle at his expression; half way between sour and relieved.

"Well." Lae'zel surveyed their signature handiwork. "So much for the great Bhaalspawn, lord of the Time of Troubles. I see no reason for such accolades. He was a mere shadow of the long dead, too far gone to even realize it."

Lyric nodded. "He was quite something back in the day though, I'm told. Went from street urchin to advisor of the Iron Throne. Even became Grand Duke for a time. Almost got Baldur's Gate into an all-out war with Amn though and that pretty much put the kibosh on everything. The Bhaal Temple was exposed, the Harpers took on the whole cult, and Jaheira hasn't stopped talking about it since."

"That makes sense." Karlach kicked a shin bone into a puddle of sewage. "Just like every other devil in this place. He can dish it out, but he sure can't take it."

Lyric laughed. "You threw a granite bench at his head, Kar! Bhaalspawn or not, that's going to crack a few skulls."

The tiefling giggled in response. "Yeah, well, his voice annoyed me. And all that stuff about his daughter and Orin? I mean, gross."

But Lyric just shrugged. "When it comes to the Gods of Death, Tyranny, and Murder, you can't really be all that shocked when their most fervent zealots engage in a little light incest. I mean, it's kinda far down on the list of oh-hells-no if we're talking Bhaal here."

Halsin heaved a deep sigh. "I think I will stand with Karlach on this one. I have seen many depravities already in our time here in the city, but this surpasses all of it. There is no depth to which the Red Cult will not sink."

"Yeah, ok. You're probably right." Lyric agreed, finally shouldering her bow. "Sorry, I think I am just a bit too familiar with the worst things life can do to people right now. On repeat by the looks of it. But, speaking of which, has anyone seen Astarion yet?"

"Not since he stole that amulet and snaked his way through the lower doors." Lae'zel replied. "I suspect he's gone to scout the way to the Temple itself. But I hope, for his sake, he's remained undetected. Our victory here will not be unknown for long. Those passageways might already be flooding with reinforcements."

The druid raised his head and tilted his ear upwards. "I hear no great commotion. No clamor of greaves. If they are coming, they are doing so under great reserve. The stones of these old caverns are quite unforgiving when it comes to anything less than silence."

"Then we press on." Lyric stated. "Keep to the plan. We need to get to Orin before she knows we're coming. The first gauntlet has landed. So, the less time she has to prepare, the better."

"Hells yes!" Karlach agreed. "That'll be two down and the last one to go. I can't wait to pulp these fuckers. Gortash especially."

"Cool your engine." Lyric tossed back as she made for the stone stairs. "We haven't beaten Orin yet and I doubt we've even seen the worst of the Bhaalists. Anchev was barely a dust mote of what he used to be. Custodian of the Murder Tribunal? Pfff. He might as well have been promoted to altar drain cleaner. And don't forget, Olivet's got to be around here somewhere too. Right at home with the shapeshifters and doppelgangers."

The company murmured its collective understanding and regrouped at the bottom of the stairs. The lock on the metal door that barred their way to the tunnels had already been picked, so Lyric only paused briefly to listen for movement near the threshold. When no discernable noise presented itself, she pushed the door open with her foot, keeping her sword, the Prerogative, at the ready.

The Undercity was no pleasant place, Bhaalists or not. Ancient stonework leaned heavily on a few decaying supports while rainwater, run-off, and sewage mixed into potent rivers of disgusting yellow-green slime. It also made for slow going, since the mixture was not only toxic but acidic as well. Too long slogging through anything more than a trickle and it would eat the soles right off of their boots.

"Tsk'va." Lae'zel growled.

"Exactly." Lyric concurred.

"One of the only times I'm grateful for the ol' infernal gearbox here." Karlach chuffed, banging her chest with a smile. "Keeps me hot enough to burn the stink off."

"Yeah, I bet." The ranger coughed. "I'm not getting any of this out of my leathers. I've just come to accept that."

They moved quickly but quietly, navigating strange turns and confusing crossways from centuries of architecture overlapped with centuries of other architecture keeping all of Baldur's Gate on a patchwork of stilts. It was no wonder that the Guild, the Zhentarim, and all other manner of infestations favored the under ways. There was literally an entire metropolis down here to disappear into if one so desired. Which, of course, was exactly why the Temple of Bhaal had managed to dig in for so long. Even when fires of destruction raged above, they were safe in their secret alcoves drowning in a quagmire of cold filth.

Lyric noted however, that the signs of the cult weren't hard to follow once one knew what to look for. Like the markings on trees used by wanderers to designate safe paths through the forest, the devotees of Bhaal had also inscribed their runes and arrows on random stones or columns throughout the Undercity. She stopped to carefully inspect a stylized skull in dried red paste, matching some of its imperfections with her recollections of other such drawings. Pensive, she could see that this one was newer. But before she could make complete sense of it, she was interrupted.

"Hey." Karlach shout-whispered from a few feet ahead of her. "Hot-foot, hot-foot. Someone's coming!"

Lae'zel raised her sword and immediately moved up to take point while the others backed away towards the sides of the tunnel, expecting an ambush.

But instead of a vanguard of Unholy Assassins, it was only Astarion. Limping slowly down the causeway as he held his hands to a bloody wound punctured deep into his side. His silhouette was easy to ascertain without his hood, but his pace was stiff and ungainly. On spotting the glint in the githyanki's armor, he slumped, shoulder first, into the wall; a pained wheeze escaping his throat.

Halsin was the first to act, jumping across the gravel and muck to catch the rogue before he lost his footing entirely. From there, he was able to lower Astarion to safe ground, onto a platform of raised stones sheltered by a fall of old timbers. Working quickly to assess the injury and stanch the bleeding, while being mindful of his companion's undead state, he considered what magics he had on hand that would be of the best use. Astarion didn't have to worry about infection as much as the fully living might but blood loss, in his condition, had more serious consequences.

A split-second later, Lyric was kneeling next to them. This, in every way, was the picture of her worst nightmares. Her heart had always feared seeing Astarion harmed and in that way, she was actually grateful to have been Cazador's first target. Though she'd never said it out loud, Lyric was glad to have taken any of the scars that had been meant for him. She would take more too, if necessary. Now, panic began to roil in her stomach and already her own mind was lashing out at her for letting him spy ahead alone. Of course he'd been attacked. Of course he was gravely hurt. This was Bhaal they were talking about. And Orin. And…Olivet. She suddenly felt incredibly stupid, reckless in a way that was unlike her. After her capture, maybe she had been too eager to pay back the violation? Had she mistaken rage for confidence? Put too much faith in the grit and fortitude of her friends? Of course, she would pay for her boldness with Astarion's life.

"Astarion! What…what happened?" She set the rapier aside and grabbed onto his hand. His skin was chilled straight through with a damp pallor and his eyes seemed unfocused.

"I…" He started, trying to wet his tongue enough to speak. "I saw it. The Temple, I saw it. There was…so…much…blood. Like it was falling from the walls in…endless waves. I was overwhelmed…the sight…the smell…I didn't…didn't see them watching me."

"Hush." Halsin replied, almost automatically. "We've got you now. I can mend this; you just have to hold on a little longer."

Karlach fretted and paced but Lae'zel simply scowled and returned to her position at the head of the tunnel. Her warrior's instincts were still sharp, and she had no interest in being caught unawares due to the cries of a fallen ally.

"Astarion, listen to me." Lyric pressed her other hand to his cheek. "Just breathe and stay calm, ok? Halsin's fixed us both up before, you know he can do this. You're going to be fine."

"Skulls…screaming my name…" He was saying. "Everyone I had ever lured away for my master. Everyone I had ever seduced. Everyone I had... I had ever killed. A mountain of corpses, a mass of skeletons tangled like great knots, they said they would tie to my back…That Bhaal was displeased and wanted me crushed under the burden of what I had done. All these murders, for nothing!"

Karlach knelt down several feet away to give Halsin space to work. "What's he saying, Lyr? I don't get it."

Lae'zel remained facing forward but answered first. "He's delusional. The fear has seized his mind."

But even as Halsin pressed herbs lit with blue magic into the gaping wound, the ravings did not stop. "You were right, my darling." He shook as he spoke, his eyes wide and his voice becoming frantic. "I'll never be free of this. I'll never be free of him! Thousands piled on thousands! I can't…. aauurrrgghhh…. I can't do this! I'll never…"

It was Halsin however, who then witnessed something he could not have even begun to imagine. Not if he lived for a thousand years more. He met Lyric's eyes as she slowly, almost nonchalantly, raised her head and stared at him for a tense moment. Her face held no emotion. Blank. No glint in her eyes, no preamble to her intentions. Just an icy glare as she gently unthreaded her fingers from her lover's. Astarion tried to grab onto her again, reaching for her waist, but she shrugged him off.

The druid's considerable brow lowered, and concern caused him to frown. He never got his question out though. Because in a flash, almost too fast for him to even register the motion, Lyric flipped the dagger from her belt into her palm, threw back her arm, and plunged the blade straight into the vampire spawn's chest as hard as she could.

"Lyric! No!"

Karlach even toppled backwards with a terrified shout. "Hells!"

Astarion made a hideous gurgling sound as blood gushed into his throat. Thrashing his arms in a mockery of his lively mannerisms.

Karlach shrieked. "What are you doing?!"

Lae'zel, on the other hand, remained silent. But for the fact that her eyebrows twitched, and she had a look of, one might dare say, admiration. Who knew the elf-maiden had such mettle when real danger loomed.

Lyric ground the dagger with her fist until she could hear cartilage scraping against the razor edge, her mouth curled nearly into a sneer as she slowly looked back down into Astarion's twisted, terrified, face. Rivulets of blood streaming from his open, screamless, mouth. She leaned down, eye to eye and nose to nose with that face.

"They're not dead." She said flatly, her tone tinged with malice. "Because he didn't kill them. There can be no mountain of bones for the Murder Lord to make such threats. Because he freed them. Orin."

At first, Halsin thought that Astarion was attempting to vomit out the blood coagulating in his chest, but then, with a sickening realization, he saw that Astarion was actually laughing. It all came out in undignified convulsions and retching but by the end of the spectacle, Astarion's body had snapped into several severely odd angles before a mean kick to the stomach sent Lyric rolling backwards and onto her feet.

The visage of Astarion cracked and fell away as Orin the Red slid the dagger from her ribcage and threw it into the cistern. "Oh, well." She sighed dramatically. "I guess my little tattletale didn't stick around for the end of your tete-a-tete with Papa Vampire. Seems he's a tad out of date on his information."

Halsin roared and tried to leap for the shapeshifter, but a quick sidestep was all it took to avoid the predicted attack.

"Tsk, tsk." Orin tittered in a high-pitched voice. "And you should be more grateful. I was going to make you my wonderous sacrifice to father's victory. All that meat and bone splayed out on hooks would have been so pretty, so satisfying. I was even going to wear that glorious chest of yours draped over my shoulders." The last part she explained by sensually dragging her fingers over the many bound and dripping strips of flesh that adorned her torso.

The Chosen of Bhaal turned to Lyric. "But! Father has now made clear to me that he will accept no offering but the very best. And for his very best, he wants you. Sliced and dead, sliced and dead, twice over now and here you are. It is you who will face the Slayer."

With licks of flame starting to dash up her braids, Karlach yelled in frustration. "That's it! I have SO had it with you!" Lae'zel seemed to be of the same thought and moved in to cover the tiefling's left flank with her greatsword.

"Ah, ah!" Orin chided gleefully, placing her index finger and thumb around the ring on her left hand. "Not here, my delicious sucklings. But don't be so down, you're almost there. Now, granted, I want to gut at least one of you for spilling grandfather's crimson. It was not yet time for him and he was supposed to be mine! I had great plans for that Tribunal!" She then returned to her girlish tone. "But, alas, I shall have to arrange you all together into my new gallery! Waste not, want not."

She smiled with nothing but sheer menace. "I'll see you soon."

With that, Orin turned the ring and was gone. Just as she had done three times previously.

They all stood in silence, fuming and indignant. Halsin trembled, his hands balled into fists at his side, feeling just a thread-width away from taking his wild shape and charging forward. Karlach could have burned holes in the rock itself with her glowering as literal steam puffed up from the stray water drops that fell onto her arms.

Lyric turned to the druid; the gallows humor having once more returned to her as the slime overflowed the toes of her boots. "See? I told you that incest wasn't the worst thing you were going to hear about today. Oh, and also, I'm sure that Orin knows we're coming now. Just, you know, FYI."

Halsin blinked, unable to move or form coherent words.

Thankfully, Lae'zel spoke. "When she dies, I am drinking the Elfsong dry."

Astarion – the actual Astarion – stepped softly along a granite ridge overlooking the entrance to the Temple. A sudden flurry of movement had caught his attention and though he couldn't hear anything being said below, he was surprised by the number of cultists making their way out of the sacred confines and towards the sewers.

He had been somewhat equally surprised at finding this particular pathway. It wasn't especially wide, but the smoothed stones and jutting platforms told him that it was at least regularly used. And anyone following it would be quickly brought from a rookery view of the Temple's main entrance to some kind of crate drop-off area below. He guessed that it was probably connected to some manner of passage in the rocks above that would allow whoever knew of the secret hatch, it was always a secret hatch, to access the Temple directly. Without all the meandering through the grime part.

Now, he wanted to know where it went. What house or building would he find himself in if he went all the way up?

He glanced back down at the Temple bridge. Still no sign of Lyric or the others. He really should go back at this point; try and meet up with them somewhere between here and the Tribunal's court hall. But the siren song of curiosity pulled at him. So, instead, he promised a few unseen forces that he'd be quick about it. Just a look to see where the high road went and then he would return to his post, to await his company.

With that decided, Astarion took off at a steady pace, weaving in and around various rock formations while ensuring that his boots did not sound out against the stones. It was a good thing though that he was accustomed to darkness and felt right at home slithering over and under tight gaps. Confident and assured, he was certain no one had seen or heard him.

It was then with some delight that he also, in fact, discovered a hidden hatch. Truly, he loved being right. No doubt he was about to crash in on some noble or city politician, maybe even a Patriar, who had clandestinely been beholden to Bhaal this whole time. He didn't have much of a sense in terms of where within the city he was unfortunately but by the look of the stonework and iron fittings hammered into the small door, he assumed he was still somewhere in the Lower City. So, probably not a Patriar then.

With a flick of his wrist, he brought out one of his trusty lock picks and popped the latch. Easy.

He raised the hatch just slightly, enough to see something of what was beyond. But he saw nothing. Just darkness. It was quiet too, but for the faint sound of a bustling street that must have been very far away. Carefully, he folded the hatch open and stole into the room, letting his eyes adjust to the change in light so that he could make out what appeared to be shelves. He looked around cautiously. Some kind of storeroom, perhaps? That would make sense. But then he noticed that the shelves were not filled with dry goods or food. They were filled with jars of some kind. Big, heavy, glass jars full to the brim with clear fluids that…wait…was something floating inside each one of them?

Astarion felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise and a deeply frightened feeling begin to creep under his skin. He leaned a little closer as a dark shape within the nearest jar started to slowly turn.

A face. It was a peeled-off face.

He turned to run. The open hatch was only a few feet away. Something in his mind screamed, run! Just…run!

But that's when he heard the sound of a match being struck and the light of a single candle, warm and fluttering yellow and orange, illuminated the room around him. He heard a voice address him from close behind. Just around his right ear.

"Hello, Astarion. My name is Olivet. It's nice to finally meet you."