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Up close, Moonrise Towers partially disappeared through the clouds. The main edifice had been built in a square form, and was almost three storeys high. The second tower was smaller, and followed the rampart to a private port. The huge stone bridge at the entrance allowed horses and carts to pass through: a remnant of when this place could still be visited.
During their journey, the adventurers had wondered where the power of the Absolute could be hiding. They quickly came to the conclusion that it must be in a discreet place, concealed from most of the cultists; undoubtedly, few of them would appreciate the true origin of their devotion... The catacombs or prisons seemed a good starting point for their research.
"Our main target remains Ketheric," Nymuë reminded.
"Darling, it would be ridiculous to miss the opportunity of controlling such a useful cult..."
"You won't be controlling anything, Astarion, if the general gets between you and our objective," Lae'zel retorted.
"Not to mention that his whole army will be on guard," Shadowheart added. "Better to investigate and eliminate the mastermind first."
The rogue sighed, disappointed once again by his teammates' lack of ambition. They were always so cautious! A little chaos had never hurt anyone...
As True Souls, the companions hoped to have the occasion to snoop around and observe the enemy's military strategy. Two zealots stopped them as they finished crossing the bridge: "Not a step further!" said one of them.
Their parasite manifested at once. As they approached the Towers, the adventurers had sensed its impatience growing; Halsin hadn't been mistaken.
Nymuë and her comrades submitted to the guard's inspection: "I see you're blessed," he said. "What news from the field?"
"Everything's calm," the dark elf replied. "And inside?"
"Disciple Balthazar went off on a mission, and Z'rell is in charge 'til he gets back. You'll find her in the audience chamber, True Souls. She'll be wanting to hear from you."
"Praise the Absolute!" Astarion concluded.
The musician glanced at him. The influence of their tadpole was like an ocean: constantly changing, and deceptive. Yet, the vampire was bathing in it, revelling in their little comedy. When he had insinuated that they should take over the cult of the Absolute the night before, Lae'zel and Shadowheart hadn't taken him seriously. For her part, Nymuë was more wary of his thirst for greatness. Announce a free buffet, and the first to rush will always be the hungry.
"I long to draw my sword and slaughter every last one of those cultists," the githyanki hissed as they entered a vast hall.
The dark elf looked around nervously, but no one seemed to have heard her. The entrance was so crowded that their words were drowned out by the hubbub. The faithful of the Absolute had gathered from all over the world: warriors, merchants, all social classes and all trades were represented. The Absolute had chosen her disciples with frightening efficiency.
"Restrain yourself," the priestess warned. "Some adepts are more useful to us alive."
"I know how to control my impulses, Shadowheart. But when the time comes, they will feel my blade."
On the other side of the room, two large doors led to the audience chamber. They weren't the only ones who wanted to meet the famous Ketheric Thorm; when the zealots escorted them inside, protests erupted from everywhere. The small team moved diligently towards their meeting...
The hall where they were welcomed was small. A few soldiers stood guard near what was to be the day's session. Sitting on the throne, towering over his subordinates, was a man who hovered between life and death.
Ketheric Thorm's presence left no doubt as who was the master of the house. The composure of his stance, the calm of his face; he exuded such authority that Nymuë wasn't surprised that he had discouraged death itself.
And yet... his figure looked prematurely aged. His cold eyes gauged his underlings without seeing them. A general, a strategist, a warrior whose arm served punishment: that was all what remained of him. But what had become of the leader, the legendary fighter who inspired the masses, the guardian of justice in these lands? That individual seemed to have perished long ago.
"We did as we were told, general! Followed every order we were given!"
The sentries parted, allowing the adventurers to catch sight of a group of goblins kneeling before the throne. With horror, the musician recognised those they had questioned near the abandoned village. Had they heard about the poisoning that had wiped out their camp? Had they witnessed the battle of the Emerald Grove? One thing was certain, they knew their faces...
Standing straight behind Ketheric, a half-orc spoke up: "The facts suggest otherwise. You were ordered to retrieve the artefact, you failed to do so!"
"Failed? No, no, it was Minthara! We were at the village, Your Majesty! We didn't..."
"Enough!"
A wave of energy surrounded the goblins, filling the entire room. In the corner of their minds, the companions' parasite begged them to submit. This woman, probably disciple Z'rell, knew how to master her tadpoles's abilities. This was going to complicate their mascarade!
"You have failed on every level," she continued. "You do not deserve to live."
"Please, general," one of them begged. "Have mercy!"
As if waking from a long sleep, Ketheric Thorm gestured towards the newcomers. Zealots and goblins alike immediately turned in their direction. Nymuë's parasite urged her to bow before the general's implacable gaze. She forced herself to remain unyielding.
"Let our newest True Souls speak," the master of the house ordered.
The three goblins were staring at them with wide eyes, when the one in the middle let out a high-pitched scream. Ketheric noted this reaction: "You have seen what these creatures are capable of, and you have seen their inadequacies, isn't that so? What is your judgement?"
The dark elf swallowed. The goblins looked at her in despair, their hands joined. She said: "I saw the atrocities they committed in the Absolute's name."
There was nothing in the general's expression to indicate whether or not this was the right answer. Still impassive, he pursued his interrogation: "No doubt they were extremely... enthusiastic. But zeal, without efficiency, is anaemic. We are too close to the ending... and the new beginning. I can coddle failure no longer."
He rose, giving Nymuë a chance to observe the details of his armour: the steel chainmail cut like a ribcage; the knee pads depicting a golden skull, surrounded by a triangle; and finally, the purple gem at the centre of his chest, connecting the various elements together.
"Kill them," he commanded his advisor. "Quickly."
The goblins whined, and the zealots drew their weapons. One of the creatures glared at Ketheric with hateful eyes: "You creaking old bag of shit!" she yelled.
Snatching the axe from one of the cultists, she threw it with all her might at the general. A perfect aim, which harpooning him to the throne. Nymuë watched their enemy in shock: a blow like this would have split a less massive individual in two. Ketheric's chest slowly turned red, and the goblins roared joyously.
Too soon. And too optimistic.
The general opened his eyes again. Without even glancing at his tattered torso, he withdrew the axe and stood up. His dislocated body was restored in an instant.
Nymuë had already seen a marionette show one winter, at Baldur's Gate. They moved their mechanical limbs regardless of rain, wind or snow, to the delight of the spectators. One of the oldest models had dislocated its leg during a pirouette, but had continued to spin as if nothing had happened. Ketheric Thorm seemed as unaffected as that machine... He was animated to give the illusion of life, but alive he was no longer.
"I'm so sorry, my lord," Z'rell murmured uneasily. "She's an unbeliever, outside of my control."
The general approached the goblin. Slowly, he dropped the axe: "Try again," he told her.
Fear took over the creature's face, and she grapped the weapon at her feet. This time, she plunged it straight into her opponent's neck. Nymuë felt her companions tremble as they watched the man nonchalantly reposition his own vertebrae. Was this the power of the Absolute?
The calm of the zealots indicated that they weren't witnessing this scene for the first time. A scream filled the room when Ketheric, tired of this demonstration, crushed the goblin's skull with his bare hands. The guards immediately sprang into action. Soon, the floor of the court chamber was covered in blood.
"Put those True Souls to use," the general ordered his disciple. "You have far more important matters to attend to... or have you forgotten?"
"Of course not, my lord," Z'rell murmured. "Thank you."
Servants entered the room stealthily to clean up the massacre. The councillor quickly regained her composure: "General Thorm will now retire for his prayers and preparations. The rooftop is off-limits to everyone. Keep watch and ensure that nobody passes."
Her gaze then fell on the adventurers, whom she invited to approach: "Excellent timing, True Souls. You had the honour of witnessing those wretches' elimination."
Nymuë tried not to show her disgust.
"If General Thorm had asked me , I could have destroyed them with a single thought," the half-orc regretted. "That would have been delicious... Thanks to the Absolute, the desires of the mind can overcome those of the flesh. I have already been blessed to stand in Her presence. It was bliss. She gave me everything I wanted."
"What do you mean?" Shadowheart demanded.
"To take without asking, to feel without doubting, and to kill without consequence. In a word, freedom."
"Fascinating," Astarion smiled. "Can you show us?"
The vampire had trouble hiding his admiration, despite the disaproving looks from his comrades. Z'rell, on the other hand, seemed delighted by his enthusiasm: "Oh, why not? What's the point in power if you don't get to have a little fun every now and again? The Absolute gave me the gift to cut the thread of life with a thought."
She crossed her fingers and an intense violet light materialised between her palms. At the same moment, a retainer groaned in pain; he staggered, his limbs trembling. Z'rell clapped her hands, and a spray of blood spurted from the servant's eyes. He collapsed, dead, at the feet of his terrified colleagues.
Nymuë clenched her fists: if she hadn't witnessed Ketheric Thorm's power, she would gladly have thrown herself at his advisor. This woman's sadism was equalled only by her contempt for the lives of her subordinates. A contempt that Astarion must have shared somehow, for he applauded joyfully. The musician knew how seductive this power could be. It made you feel invincible, to the point of believing that the world, and its inhabitants, had no choice but to bow to your will.
But in truth, it blinded you; its aura was so dazzling that it eclipsed the leash insidiously sliding around your neck. The rogue would do well to remember that.
"I can caress as well as cut," Z'rell whispered. "That's why you should stay on my good side. And the best way to do that is to serve General Thorm. I have a mission for you."
"We're here to help," Nymuë replied obediently. "What do we need to do?"
"There is a relic that the General requires. He sent his most trusted advisor, disciple Balthazar, to retrieve it. It's beneath the Thorm family mausoleum; that is where you will find Balthazar. But we have lost contact with him. Go there, aid him if you can, and bring the relic home."
The adventurers looked at each other, united by the same thought: the mausoleum was where the orthon they had to kill was... If what Raphael had told them was true, then the so-called Balthazar had probably come up against something stronger than him.
"What if Balthazar's dead?" Lae'zel questioned cautiously.
"Death would not silence him for long. Whatever has become of him, it is the relic that matters."
"And what is it, exactly?" Shadowheart asked.
Z'rell's frowned: she almost seemed nervous, as if the mere mention of this object made her feel uncomfortable. "It is something that General Thorm desires, and that he has ordered us to retrieve," she answered hastily. "That is all you need to know."
"I'm sure a disciple as loyal as you can tell us more," Nymuë said with a fake smile. "And any additional information will be useful to satisfy the General as quickly as possible..."
"I am... in awe of the power the relic must hold to be of such importance," she admitted. "Our troops have been ready for weeks, but General Thorm will not leave Moonrise without it."
The dark elf nodded thoughtfully: this was their chance to delve further into the cult's business. If Ketheric wanted this artefact so badly, it must be priceless... Something similar to their astral prism, perhaps? Or maybe an instrument directly related to his immortality...
"You can count on us," she declared. "We'll leave first thing tomorrow, once we've filled up."
"You'll find food and a place to sleep on the first floor. However, the shadows around the mausoleum are deep and hungry. You will need a moon lantern to survive them."
The companions realised that, from a stranger's point of view, the blessing granted by Dolly Thrice must be invisible. And it would certainly be in very bad taste to inform their interlocutor of the attack on a certain convoy...
"You're free to help yourself in Balthazar's chambers," Z'rell continued. "But don't pry. The last person who snooped into his secrets lost their head. Literally. Balthazar has been using them as a chamber pot ever since."
The adventurers acquiesced, barely containing their excitement; this Balthazar, whoever he was, was important enough for Ketheric to send him on a mission personally...
And they had just been accorded an official visit to his private quarters.
A zealot escorted them upstairs to an isolate room. The surroundings were deserted, not to say avoided. When the guard closed the heavy wooden door behind them, the adventurers quickly understood why.
Balthazar's office looked exactly like a torture chamber: blood stains covered the floor, and a number of hard-to-identify organs were kept in jars. The smell made the companions' stomachs turn, and even Astarion - despite his penchant for haemoglobin- had to pinch his nose. Ustensils were hanging on the wall, among bookshelves describing in detail the anatomy of the different species of Faerun. Shadowheart pointed to a work table, where alchemical instruments, divination stones and dark pentacles were piled up. This Balthazar was a necromancer. A dubious branch of magic, drawing its source from corpses and other decomposing entities.
"No wonder he and Ketheric get along so well," Astarion grumbled. "An immortal general must be fascinating for someone in his profession."
"Is that why he's invulnerable?" Nymuë asked.
"I don't think so," the priestess replied. "Such power is beyond the knowledge of a single man. His experiments, however, may have led the general in the right direction..."
As they approached the large secretary in the centre of the room, the adventurers made a macabre discovery once again. Next to a moon lantern - the very one Z'rell expected them to take - lay the bloody remains of a pixie. The creature had been carefully dissected.
"This cult is full of degenerates," the dark elf hissed. "Still impressed by their gifts, Astarion?"
"Darling, sometimes you have to get your hands dirty to achieve anything. If defeating death meant drawing rainbows and petting bunnies, everyone would do it."
The musician was about to retort sharply when a scream of rage made her turn around. Ignoring the bones and other questionable residues at her feet, Lae'zel crossed the room towards a cluttered shelf.
"Shka'keth!" she cried. "Where did he find that?"
Several objects were stacked on top of each other. They were unlike anything Nymuë had ever seen. One of them, small and hollow, reminded her of a whistle; two others, disc-shaped, were engraved with strange markings.
"These are githyankis," the warrior explained. "My people crafted them!"
The companions drew closer: what were gith artefacts doing on the Material Plane, in the midst of the shadow curse? From the little Lae'zel had told them, they knew that the gith lived on rock formations scattered throughout the Astral Plane. This was the source of their vast knowledge. Their presence in Faerun had already been noted on numerous occasions, but nothing was known about their customs. Had the Absolute's interest in their prism led her to attack some of their patrols?
"They were here," Lae'zel guessed, as she examined the first disc. "These markings are what we call tir'su. It is our writing."
"What does it say?" Shadowheart demanded.
The warrior gave her an inscrutable look: "This message mentions githyanki troops on a mission in this territory... to find the artefact. To find us."
"Does your people know who we are?" Nymuë inquired.
"Not directly; they just know that the thief is from this world. They'll never stop hunting us until they get what they want. This order comes from Vlaakith herself!"
"And I suppose you intend to take the prism back to your queen?" the priestess provoked.
To the dark elf's great surprise, the warrior shook her head: "No. It is now very clear that the artefact is connected to the cult of the Absolute, and therefore to the ghaik. If my sovereign wants to recover it, it's certainly to stop what the illithids call the 'Grand Design'. I will carry out Vlaakith's will, but not blindly. I want to discover how these fanatics were able to defeat an entire squad of highly-trained githyankis!"
"And what exactly is this?" Astarion asked, pointing to the whistle. Lae'zel's eyes lit up: "This ... is a qua'nith, a psionic beacon. When silver swords get lost in unknown territory, they can use this device to alert their creche. If it works, my people should be able to find us!"
The warrior stared at them, euphoric: Nymuë could see the hope on her face. Separated from her family for several weeks, Lae'zel was eager to call on the githyanki's knowledge. The group had already turned away from the nearest creche in order to head to Moonrise Towers; it would be cruel to deny her this new opportunity.
"Can you guarantee that your people won't just slit our throats?"
"You can't be serious!" Shadowheart protested. "If they don't kill us immediately, the gith will take the artefact, which is just the same!"
"My kin will listen to me," Lae'zel assured. "And since you're with me, you will not be harmed. I'm willing to overlook your crime, Shadowheart, but we must do everything we can to defeat the ghaik threat!"
"If we learn more about the astral prism, we'll be better prepared to defend ourselves against the Absolute..." Astarion suggested.
Nymuë reflected, hardly able to ignore the glances of her companions. On one hand, the gith weren't known for their friendliness. On the other hand, Lae'zel had proved her worth as an ally since the beginning of this adventure. The musician was more than inclined to trust her. They had seen the power of the Absolute with their own eyes, and an army was coming…
They could not face the cult alone. Even if Jaheira's Harpers came to their rescue, they would be outnumbered.
"Very well," she decided. "Let's see if this qua'nith works."
Shadowheart sighed, but didn't argue any further. Lae'zel raised the device to her lips without making the slightest sound. It must have had some effect however, because she quickly smiled: "Now all we have to do is wait for a patrol to spot us."
"If they don't kill us first," the priestess sneered.
"Look on the bright side," Astarion quipped. "If your goddess really has big plans for you, you shouldn't die."
"And if the githyankis slaughter us, we won't have to face your orthon."
The rogue grimaced at this backlash. Ignoring her comrades, Nymuë pointed to the second disc: "Can you translate this one too, Lae'zel?"
The gith complied and, almost immediately, her good mood disappeared. Her skin paled and her eyes widened. "What's going on?" the dark elf worried. "Tell us!"
"It can't be true..."
The warrior dropped the tablet as if it had burnt her; when she turned around, her companions saw her bewilderment. "This disc is a report on the astral prism... and its origins."
"Oh!" Astarion exclaimed. "So what? Where did it come from?"
"It once belonged to the greatest traitor the githyankis have ever known. The one who had dared to rebel against Vlaakith in the darkest hours of our history... Orpheus, Prince of the Comet."
END NOTES:
Yes, we're going to cover the githyanki lore earlier than planned... It will be the subject of the next chapters, but I wanted to include Lae'zel's story at the beginning of this Act 2, so she can be developed at the same level as Astarion, Shadowheart and Nymuë. This means making a few changes to the main storyline, which we'll have the opportunity to discuss again. I didn't feel obliged to follow the game plot 100% if I wanted to change it.
I really enjoyed describing Ketheric in this chapter!
In the next one, a particularly important encounter for Astarion with another dark elf...
See you next week!