The wagons creaked and shook as they trundled along the narrow, rocky path. The caravan moved single file through the Mountain Pass, bouncing the tiefling children and elders and jostling the crates and chests with every stray boulder or pothole. Alex, his companions, and the able-bodied tieflings walked between the wagons, taking care to avoid tripping on the strewn stones.
Everyone was on the alert, scanning their surroundings for signs of enemies. Though they had not encountered any hostilities so far since leaving the Emerald Grove, they passed plenty of signs of the region's danger: the abandoned goblin roadblock, its crude stockade walls and wooden barricades painted with the Absolute’s red insignia; the broken, decaying wagons and the bleached skeletons of long-dead travelers, some of whose bones had bite marks from some sort of massive, monstrous jaw; and the burnt-out ruins of an inn, complete with hastily-dug shallow graves in its scorched courtyard.
This must be Waukeen’s Rest, thought Alex as they marched by. The shallow graves looked relatively fresh and were marked by a solitary, torn banner that flapped in the breeze: a clenched fist enveloped in orange flame, on a checkered background of red and blue. The Flaming Fist. In the game, we would have arrived in time to rescue Councillor Florrick from the fire. But now, it looks like traveling with the tieflings caused us to miss it. I wonder if she made it…
The road twisted and turned amongst the mountains like a giant snake. At times, they slowed to a crawl to weave around piles of boulders that fell from higher up the mountains, or to usher the oxen and wagons around a sharp turn bordered by a sheer cliff face that fell down to a misty valley far below. Fortunately, with Halsin’s help, they were able to gently cajole and persuade the oxen forward, despite being so close to the precarious drop. Progress is slow, but all things considered, I’m glad that we have the company. And I’m glad that we didn’t attempt this on our own, without the druids’ supplies.
Every day before sundown, they stopped to establish a temporary camp, as best as they could under the circumstances. On the narrow road, it was impossible to form a wagon circle or really any kind of defensive position, so Zevlor simply ordered the wagons moved as far from the ledge as possible. The first night on the road, Alex was able to set up his tent with no trouble, thanks to the lesson from Halsin. He even helped Shadowheart, Gale, and Astarion set theirs up, despite the grumbling from Astarion that disguised his gratitude.
To ensure that everyone stayed warm, the tieflings always set up a few campfires as space allowed. During the day, everyone mostly stuck to dry rations for convenience, but for dinner, there would always be a stew or soup bubbling above each campfire without fail. During dinner, he normally sat next to Gale, who was always happy to indulge his curiosity and seemed quite pleased to have someone willing to listen to his long-winded explanations of seemingly every aspect of Faer?n.
After dinner, Alex kept himself busy by practicing his lockpicking on the camp’s many chests, shooting his crossbow or throwing knives at an old wooden shield to improve his accuracy, or simply by reading. But he always found time for two things: writing in his journal and sparring.
In the tight quarters of the camp, his sparring session with Wyll on the first night was observed by nearly everyone, much to his embarrassment. But he swallowed his pride and pushed through, recognizing that he very clearly needed the practice. Karlach and Lae’zel both called out tips from the sideline as he and Wyll swung their training swords at each other, supplemented by some cheers and jeers from Astarion, Shadowheart, and the tieflings.
But as the nights passed and Alex showed improvement, the jeers stopped, and seemingly everyone wanted a turn to spar with him, much to his surprise. Several of the tiefling soldiers and even Karlach and Lae’zel went a few rounds with him; though the matches with Karlach left his armor a little singed and his matches with Lae’zel left him covered with bruises as she seemed to have no ability to hold herself back.
Eventually, after nearly a tenday of marching and camping on the narrow path, Alex saw it from their position on the high mountain road: a valley full of darkness and shadow, which the overhead sun could not penetrate. A black void, just a couple days ahead. The Shadow-Cursed Lands.
The rain came down in sheets, drenching everyone and everything and turning the already treacherous path into a mud pit. Alex sealed his cloak shut and pulled up the hood, but the mud pulled at his boots and the rain ran down his back like a waterfall. The sound of raindrops against rock filled his ears and echoed around him in the narrow Mountain Pass, leaving him unable to hear anything except for the shouts and grunts of those next to him. Though it was only midday, the dark thunderclouds blotted out the sun, leaving them shrouded in twilight.
Ahead of him, past the struggling tieflings and oxen, Halsin held aloft a sputtering torch, guiding the caravan off the main path to the only shelter available for miles. Rosymorn Monastery. The last place of shelter before the Shadow-Cursed Lands. And the location of the githyanki crèche.
In the game, the githyanki seemed to keep to themselves and stay in the monastery’s basement. I hope that they do the same here. Otherwise, we’ll have to do some quick talking to prevent them from attacking us. And that reminds me: there was an inquisitor searching for the Artifact. But here, Shadowheart has not yet revealed it and we have not needed its protection from the Absolute because of me. Does she even have it? Will it even work the same way?
And most importantly: if we go down into the crèche, how are we supposed to get out alive?
After about half an hour of muddy, miserable marching, the caravan finally made it to the ruined monastery. Built into the side of a cliff, the enormous stone structure looked grand, majestic, and welcoming… at least until illuminated by flashes of lightning. Upon closer inspection, the stone walls were cracked and home to invasive, crawling vines; the once-elegant stained glass windows shattered; and the formerly lifelike marble statues missing limbs or heads. Halsin and Zevlor lead the caravan into a massive, cathedral-like main hall, its large exterior doors long-since destroyed or rotted away, leaving an opening large enough for the wagons to easily pass through.
The interior of the monastery was dark and foreboding, but thankfully dry, aside from occasional puddles fed by drops of rain that dripped through holes in the roof. Every small noise echoed off the damp stone walls, giving the whole place an eerie, uninviting aura. Alex helped the tieflings light torches and place them into empty sconces, casting a friendly orange glow around the cavernous main hall. Gale and Rolan walked around using prestidigitation to clean the worst of the mud off of boots and wagon wheels while Shadowheart cast a few destroy water spells to dry off the soaked children. Seeing that they were going to be stuck here for a while, the tieflings began unloading their camping equipment with Wyll and Karlach’s help. Astarion and Lae’zel disappeared, presumably to poke around the ruins.
The tieflings quickly started a campfire and the echoes of chatter and laughter filled the hall, pushing back against the feeling of being unwelcome. Aside from the loud rumbles of thunder and the whistling of wind, the storm raging outside was largely forgotten as they set up an impromptu campsite, spreading out bedrolls and hanging up wet clothes to dry wherever they could. The savory odor of beef stew soon filled the air as Alfira strummed her lute, and everyone seemed happy to finally have shelter from the elements after a tenday on the mountain road.
Everyone except for Alex, his companions, Halsin, Zevlor, and the most experienced of the tiefling soldiers. While the civilians celebrated their respite from the road, they huddled a short distance away, discussing their next move.
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad to be out of the storm. But this place gives me the creeps,” said Cerys, Zevlor’s recently appointed second-in-command. “It feels like we don’t belong here.”
“I sense something wrong about this place,” said Halsin with a frown. “I do not hear any mice, squirrels, or even rats wandering these ruins. I am sorry for taking us here.”
“Don’t be,” reassured Zevlor, though the elderly paladin kept one hand near the hilt of his longsword. “Any shelter, even a place like this, is better than risking a flood or landslide on that narrow road. We’ll stay vigilant and post guards, and leave as soon as the way is clear.”
“Do you think we should search the place, at least? Just to make sure that there aren’t any monsters lurking around?” asked Alex, remembering that a few kobolds and other enemies resided here in the game.
“Not necessary, my friend,” called Astarion from behind their huddle, striding up with Lae’zel in tow. He had the usual grin plastered on his face, while Lae’zel marched like she was on a mission. “We searched the area and did not find anything out of place, not even a lousy rat. But our little green friend did find something interesting.”
“Chk. Fortunately for you, even your biting insults cannot dampen my mood right now,” said Lae’zel, wearing a triumphant smile. “I spotted tir’su markings carved into the stone walls. It seems we have finally found the crèche.”
“A… crèche?” repeated Zevlor, a look of horror spreading across his face. “You mean we are camping right next to a githyanki outpost? They’ll slaughter us all!”
“Fortunately for us, those monstrous murderers seem unaware of our presence,” said Astarion. “They do not appear to have any guards posted at all. But they are somewhere below us, so maybe keep the festivities a little on the quiet side.”
“Let us go down there, quickly!” implored Lae’zel. “This is our chance to finally get these ghaik worms out of our heads!” She looked around eagerly at the rest of the party, but encountered only skepticism.
Alex’s foot tapped with agitation on the stone floor, mind racing as he tried to balance the risk of losing Lae’zel against the overwhelming danger of marching down into the crèche. I’ve heard that Lae’zel will leave the party and go down into the crèche by herself if we do not accompany her. And if she goes down there alone, they will kill her. Either in the zaith’isk or by the inquisitor’s hand.
I would like nothing more than to avoid the creche… but I don’t want to lose Lae’zel. She’s a strong fighter and I don’t want to lose a companion if I’m supposed to defeat the Absolute. I need everyone I can get.
But do I even have to fight the Absolute? Elminster is somewhere nearby, right? If we can find him, maybe he can send me home. But that is a big maybe.
If we go down there, we are basically walking into a death trap that we will have to fight our way out of. And while I’ve gotten better at sword fighting, I’m definitely not good enough to hold off a trained githyanki.
“You can go,” said Shadowheart, with a finality that precluded any attempts at persuasion. “I intend to stay safe and sound up here, away from those beasts.”
“Well, I for one think we should go down there,” interjected Alex before anyone else could protest. Choosing his words quickly but carefully, he desperately threaded the needle, trying to keep the party intact. “This is the best chance we’ve found to have your tadpoles removed, right?”
Astarion appeared taken aback. “Wait a moment. You, the only thing keeping our tadpoles quiet, would willingly walk into that place? Have you gone mad?”
I don’t want to go into that crèche, but I also refuse to let Lae’zel walk to her death. “We’re all friends here, right? I don’t trust the githyanki in that crèche, but I do trust Lae’zel. I may not have a tadpole, but I’m going with her as support.” He eyed the others, hoping at least some of them would be agreeable.
“I am not interested in putting myself in mortal peril, but I am most curious about the inside of a githyanki crèche,” said Gale, to Alex’s relief. “And getting our tadpoles removed would be a nice bonus.”
Karlach grinned. “Well, if you two bookworms are going, then I guess I gotta go, too. We’ve only been together a short time, but we’ve been through a lot. I trust Lae, too. And I’ve dealt with far worse than some githyanki.”
“I consider Lae’zel a friend, too,” agreed Wyll. “And someone needs to watch your backs. Let’s go.”
Halsin and the tieflings remained silent, watching this play out, while Alex, Lae’zel, Karlach, Wyll, and Gale stared imploringly at Astarion and Shadowheart.
Astarion rolled his eyes. “Is this why they say curiosity killed the wizard? I was willing to fight a horde of goblins with you all. But this is a bit much, I must say. Even I have lines that I don’t cross, and going to near-certain death is one of them.”
“And I’m not going down there, either,” added Shadowheart, arms crossed. “I need to get to Baldur’s Gate no matter what. And this little distraction of yours is no concern of mine. I’m staying here.”
The party, minus Astarion and Shadowheart, walked down the stairs to the crèche. Lae’zel confidently led the way, not even bothering to hide her presence as the rest of them followed behind with trepidation. Alex strategically positioned himself next to Karlach, ready to jump behind her if the githyanki initiated combat.
Anticipating tight quarters in the underground crèche, he had stowed his spear and crossbow in their bag of holding. His sword and dagger lay sheathed at his waist and a few throwing knives were secured to the strap of his satchel, which itself held some smokepowder grenades gifted by the tieflings with the air of a farewell present. My objective is to survive. Not to win any fights.
Zevlor and Halsin had wished them the best. Zevlor was confused about why they would risk their lives by descending into the crèche, but Halsin seemed to understand that there was more than meets the eye. Both cautioned them to not alert the githyanki to their temporary encampment, and emphasized that for the sake of the group, they would move on when the storm cleared, whether the party returned or not.
At the bottom of the stairs, they entered a stone hallway illuminated by torches, ending in a large, sturdy, wrought-iron door. A squad of sleepy-looking githyanki warriors stood up sharply at their approach, startled and caught completely off guard.
“Pa’vrylk!” shouted the most senior-looking soldier, hand going to the hilt of the massive greatsword slung across her back. “State your purpose, kin!”
“Is this how your crèche treats all of Vlaakith’s faithful?” replied Lae’zel, not hiding her annoyance at the disrespect. “I am a warrior of Vlaakith, just as you are, and though I am not from this crèche, the protocols state that I am to be welcomed and offered aid.”
“And what aid might that be?” asked the githyanki soldier. She signaled to the other warriors and their hands also went to their weapons. “And what business do you have with these istik?”
Alex’s heart pounded and he slowly moved closer to Karlach, who reached for her greataxe. Come on, Lae’zel, get us through this, he willed.
“Shka’keth! I am a faithful servant of Vlaakith, and I will have the respect I am due!” growled Lae’zel. “My companions and I carry ghaik tadpoles and have immediate need of a zaith’isk. They may be istik, but the information they possess about these tadpoles must be conveyed to your ghustil at once.”
“Ghaik tadpoles?” repeated the soldier, eyes narrowing dangerously. “Then you are but a thrall walking.”
“I know the protocols as well as any other faithful,” countered Lae’zel with an undercurrent of anger, seeming to stand up taller with each word. “I am entitled to purification. That is my right. Now, let us through!”
The two githyanki stared each other down, tension rippling in the air between them, until the soldier relented and lowered her hands to her sides. “Chk. Fine. Go see the ghustil. But be warned: there is a ch’r’ai here. Do not do anything that would embarrass us. Keep those istik in their place.”
The sentries swung open the heavy door and Lae’zel led them inside. Dozens of githyanki soldiers walked through or loitered in the hallways, all giving them looks ranging from curiosity to hostility as they passed. But thankfully, no one attacked them.
“Thanks for getting us in peacefully,” said Alex quietly. “For a second, I was worried that those guards were going to fight us.”
“Chk. It is one of our undying queen’s most well-known commandments: all of her faithful are to be offered aid, no matter which crèche or outpost they are at,” said Lae’zel, beating her chest in pride. “To almost ignore such a basic protocol and to appear sleeping at their posts… this ch’r’ai will have much to do here.”
“What does that word mean? Ch’r’ai?” asked Gale slowly, trying to get the pronunciation correct. “Some sort of official?”
“Not just any official. An inquisitor,” clarified Lae’zel. “Someone charged by Vlaakith herself with rooting out heretics. And it seems there is much heresy here.”
After a little more walking, they found themselves at a junction. Hallways extended left and right, leading further into the crèche. Markings etched into the wall seemed to indicate what lay down each, but Alex could make neither heads nor tails of them; the scratches were arranged in a circular shape and looked like arrows or rays emanating from a central sun. Directly across from them, a door opened into a large room, which seemed to be some sort of classroom. Several young githyanki were paired off, facing each other with wooden training swords, swinging at each other under the watchful gaze of an instructor.
“Bring back memories?” asked Karlach.
“No,” answered Lae’zel, scorn in her voice and on her face. “This training is too tame. In my home of Crèche K’liir, we would have stuck to real weapons.” Her eyes narrowed at the sight of several baskets of apples, pears, and other fresh fruit, presumably the trainees’ lunch. “Perhaps this Faer?nian food has made them soft.”
“You seem to like it well enough,” pointed out Wyll, drawing grumbles from Lae’zel as she led them left.
At the end of the long hallway, after passing several rooms that appeared to be sleeping quarters or storage, they made it to the infirmary. Lae’zel opened the door without even knocking and walked in like she belonged. Knowing that this encounter would likely not end well, Alex ensured that the door shut behind them.
The room looked more like an alchemical laboratory than an infirmary. There were a few empty cots for patients, but the room was dominated by rows of shelves filled with all manner of vials, bottles, and test tubes that contained various colorful solutions and laboratory specimens. And in the center of the room stood the zaith’isk.
Standing tall like an evil throne, it seemed like a perverse cross between a dental chair and the mouth of a giant monster. A mass of pink flesh held up a burnished metal chair, meant for the ‘patient’ to recline on. Suspended above the chair, an appendage of bone and muscle seemed to beat with life, enclosed in a winding silver cage. Countless pipes and cables spidered out from the flesh and disappeared into the floor and ceiling.
Alex stared at the zaith’isk with terrible fascination, trying and failing to understand how it worked. This is the thing that the githyanki believe removes tadpoles? It is the most mind-flayer-like thing I’ve seen since coming here.
“Is there something you need, child?” asked a low, bored voice from the corner. They walked around the rows of shelves to its source: a githyanki clad in a blue mage’s robe, hunched over a workbench, carefully writing in a notebook and staring through a magnifier at a jarred mind flayer tadpole. She stood up straight as they approached, annoyed by their intrusion. Alex spotted several other mind flayer parasites held in vials and jars on her desk, and one clamped down and cut open on the tabletop, looking freshly dissected. “You are interrupting some very important research.”
“Are you this crèche’s ghustil? My companions and I are infected with ghaik tadpoles that need immediate extraction. We must use your zaith’isk without delay,” demanded Lae’zel.
“Of course, my kin,” said the ghustil to Lae’zel, before she turned and analyzed the rest of them. “But why should we assist these istik? If they truly do carry parasites, is it not protocol for them to be neutralized before they turn?”
“Because their parasites are unusual and are worth study,” replied Lae’zel, giving a rehearsed answer. “We have all been infected for over a tenday, yet show no sign of imminent ceremorphosis. Their intimate knowledge of this unusual breed of parasite is worth saving.”
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
The ghustil stared at them for a moment, then relented. “Fine, I suppose. I have recovered plenty of unusual ghaik parasite specimens from the surrounding region, but have not yet had the opportunity to question live carriers. Let us start with you, child.”
She gestured to the malignant-looking zaith’isk. Without hesitation, Lae’zel unstrapped the greatsword from her back, passed it to Karlach, and climbed onto the fleshy machine’s metal chair. The ghustil tapped a tir’su rune carved into the floor and the half-metal, half-flesh throne came to life. The caged mound of flesh suspended above the chair wriggled and lowered itself until it was only a few feet above Lae’zel’s head.
Alex and his companions stepped forward to watch with morbid curiosity. Everyone looked nervous, but Gale had a look of fascination, like he was about to witness a live science experiment. I wish it didn’t have to be this way. If it were up to me, we wouldn’t even be down here. But Lae’zel needs to experience this.
This… thing looks part-machine, part-monster. But if it is powered by magic, then I should be able to disrupt it, even if just for a moment.
“Vlaakith'ka sivim hrath krash'ht. Stay strong, child,” said the ghustil. She tapped another rune and the machine let out a low, monstrous grumble. A beam of concentrated white light shot from the hovering mound of flesh straight into Lae’zel’s forehead, temporarily blinding Alex as her pained voice filled the room. She chanted loudly in the Gith language through gritted teeth and between grunts of pain, her body convulsing like she was having a seizure.
“Lae’zel!” yelled Karlach. She rounded on the ghustil, fury in her eyes. “What the hells are you doing to her?”
“Purification, of course,” said the ghustil, as if lecturing a child. “The zaith’isk will destroy the tadpole. And as long as she stays faithful and true, it will not destroy much else.”
The seconds dragged on and Lae’zel’s grunts became shouts of pain, her chanting ceased. This has gone on long enough. “No. I’m getting her out of there.” He walked forward, hands raised to shield his eyes from the blinding light. Gale followed a few steps behind.
“What are you doing? The process is not complete-” sputtered the ghustil, until Wyll interrupted by pulling her back and Karlach stepped in front of her, cutting off her view of the machine.
Pushing back his disgust, Alex put one hand on Lae’zel and the other on the zaith’isk flesh, sickeningly spongey to the touch. As soon as he made contact, Lae’zel’s convulsions ceased, the beam of light went out, and the chair itself seemed to release a low moan of pain.
Gale peered closely at Lae’zel’s forehead. “It looks like she was under some kind of psionic assault. Unfortunately, not my area of expertise.”
Alex gently shook Lae’zel’s shoulder. “Hey, Lae’zel. Are you-”
Lae’zel shot up and jumped out of the zaith’isk. She grabbed her sheathed greatsword from Karlach and strode angrily towards the ghustil, who backed away towards the door. “What treachery is this, is’tark?” she shouted. “You tried to kill me!”
“No, there was no deception, if only you had managed to bear the pain, then-” explained the ghustil quickly, before the door flew open behind her and a squad of githyanki poured into the room, clad in silver armor with weapons drawn, led by the surly soldier who challenged them at the entrance.
“Silence. The kith’rak and the ch’r’ai wish to meet you.”
Surrounded by a dozen warriors, Alex and the others were led through the hallways of the crèche. Seeing as their situation in the infirmary had been hopeless, Karlach, Wyll, and Gale followed his lead in surrendering and going along. The loitering githyanki now glared at them with open hostility as they walked by.
Alex’s eyes shifted around, desperately searching for a way out, but he couldn’t think of anything as their escort pushed them deeper and deeper into the crèche. In the game, the only way out was to fight. But unfortunately, there are a lot more githyanki here than I was expecting. There’s no way we can fight them all, even if Gale had his full spellcasting ability. How are we supposed to get out of this?
They finally entered a large chamber, deep in the depths of the crèche. Their escorts pushed them into the middle of the room and closed the heavy doors, taking up positions around the perimeter. Two important-looking githyanki faced them, flanked by another squad of armed soldiers. One wore regular silver armor, but the silver circlet on her head and the jewel adorning the pommel of her greatsword marked her as some sort of officer. The other stood tall and projected an almost noble-like aura of haughtiness, matched by his ornate silver armor engraved with elaborate, sweeping patterns and dotted with sparkling gems.
“Your security is most lax, captain,” said the one in the elaborate armor, clearly the inquisitor. All of the githyanki in the room, including the officer, flinched at his words. “Imagine, letting a group infected with ghaik parasites wander about freely. Let alone a group of istik.”
“I apologize, ch’r’ai,” replied the captain, who simmered with anger at the disrespect but could do little except bear it. “I have little to offer except acceptance of my failure and my promise that it will not persist.”
The inquisitor ignored her words and focused on the party. “So, we finally meet. Lae’zel of K’liir and her istik companions. I’ve been keeping a close eye on you. I was wondering when you would make it here.”
Lae’zel bowed her head. “It is an honor that you even know my name, ch’r’ai. I’ve been working tirelessly to get here and purify myself of the ghaik tadpole that writhes in my head.”
“Indeed,” said the inquisitor curtly. “But you certainly took your time getting here. Taking time to fight some goblins and befriend these istik. Protocol clearly states that you should kill anyone infected with a ghaik parasite and make your way to the nearest zaith’isk immediately.”
A look of surprise spread across Lae’zel’s face, but the inquisitor continued before she could offer an explanation. “But it seems that your misadventures have borne fruit. Our glorious queen has been searching for an ancient weapon, which was stolen from us by a group of Sharrans. Through a great stroke of fortune, it seems one of your traveling companions has it, and it is now within our reach.”
Everyone in the party looked surprised at his words, and Lae’zel’s lips curled into a silent snarl as she realized Shadowheart’s transgression against her people. “And it seems that you’ve also befriended someone of personal interest to Vlaakith herself. A mere human, but someone who demonstrates the power to tame ghaik parasites,” continued the inquisitor, shifting his baleful gaze to Alex. “I know not how such a thing is possible, but you should be honored, human. Vlaakith herself wishes to meet you.”
The inquisitor gestured to a raised dais behind him, which held what appeared to be a large, ornate brazier, adorned with rubies, glistening like obsidian, and dotted with tir’su markings. “You have done well, Ch’r’ai W’wargaz,” boomed a loud, dangerous voice that echoed around the room, emanating from the brazier. All the githyanki in the room immediately dropped to the floor, kneeled, and bowed their heads as bright, shimmering, golden light filled the dais, coalescing into the form of giant, terrifying githyanki, who stretched as as high as the cavernous ceiling and glowered at everyone with the yellow eyes of a serpent.
Alex, however, remained defiantly standing, and his companions, minus Lae’zel, followed his lead despite their evident anxiety. He was surprised, but not scared. In the game, this was just an astral projection of Vlaakith. Though she is a powerful lich, she is not even a god. And if I don’t fear a couple of Great Old Ones, why should I fear a god, let alone her?
“Your companions are most disrespectful, Lae’zel of K’liir. I expected better of you,” boomed Vlaakith’s projection.
Lae’zel bowed even lower, until her forehead neared the stone floor. “Please forgive me, my Undying Queen. They are stubborn fools who are unable to learn our rich customs, but they have their uses.”
“I suppose they do,” said Vlaakith, turning her head to stare down at Alex, who met her gaze with crossed arms despite the shiver running down his spine. “You. You are the human with the ability to silence those ghaik worms. It is fortunate that you have caught my interest, otherwise you and your companions would be slaughtered for such disrespect.” She bent forward, examining the group closely. “And where is your Sharran thief? The one who stole our great weapon?”
Lae’zel raised her head and opened her mouth, but the inquisitor was quicker. “My queen. We are preparing a squad to go to the surface and capture her. As soon as you give the word, I will go and lead them myself.”
Alex's heart thumped at his words, though he did his best to not let it show on his face. The tieflings.
“Do not worry yourself with such things, my ch’r’ai. I do not see it, but I sense the great weapon in this very room.” She raised a giant hand and a pulse of red light radiated from behind a stone column in a shadowed corner of the room. Floating out from behind the column came a black polyhedron, glowing with red energy, about the size of a closed fist and covered with markings in a language that Alex couldn’t place. The Artifact. But where’s-
“No!” shouted Shadowheart, startling him out of his thoughts. She ran out from behind the pillar, futilely chasing after the Artifact as it floated up into Vlaskith’s outstretched palm. Astarion appeared and chased after her, trying to drag her back, but gave up once it was obvious that they were spotted.
Alex stood dumbfounded, unable to even react. What the hell are they doing here?! How did they even get here?!
Everyone in the room except Vlaakith seemed to be thinking the same thing and stared at Shadowheart and Astarion, mouth agape. The inquisitor recovered first and signaled the soldiers, who surrounded the pair and dragged them over to stand with the rest of the party.
“Most disappointing, captain,” said Vlaakith. “It seems your defenses are so porous that even a pair of thieves can enter your crèche unnoticed.”
“Forgive me, my queen,” began the captain, speaking quickly and desperately. “I will personally ensure that this oversight is rectified-”
“Silence!” boomed Vlaakith. “You are fortunate that your mishap has inadvertently given me exactly what I needed.”
The Artifact floated down to the dais, and with a wave of Vlaakith’s hand, clicked open and unfolded, like a piece of origami becoming undone. But instead of a flat, burnished metal interior, Alex saw a similar sight to the inside of their bag of holding: an ocean of blue, purple, and green, dotted with starlight. The Astral Plane. Just like in the game, she is going to order us to go in there. But what will we find? Unlike in the game, the Astral Prism has hardly played a role here.
“Lae’zel,” said Vlaakith, bending close to the prostrate githyanki, “You are my loyal, faithful warrior, correct?”
Lae’zel raised her head, an expression of awe on her face. “Yes, my liege. My Undying Queen. Tell me what is your will, and I shall execute it.”
“Excellent. Then hear my command: this portal leads to a pocket dimension in the Astral Sea. You are to enter it with your companions and kill the ghaik that has tainted this weapon with its presence. Do this, and your training in the Material Plane will be complete. Do you understand?”
“Yes, my queen! Vlaakith gha'g shkath zai!” recited Lae’zel with pride, standing up straight and clapping a fist to her chest in salute. She strode toward the portal to the Astral Plane, then turned and glared at the party when they did not follow.
After a moment’s hesitation, Alex walked after her, and others followed his lead. We don’t have a choice. And I doubt my antimagic will be able to dilute the effects of such a powerful item.
Under the watchful gaze of Vlaakith and her warriors, he walked into the portal after Lae’zel…
…and found himself in a sea of stars and nebulae, set against a background of blues, purples, and greens that stretched like an endless, beautiful watercolor. He openly gawked and stared in wonder at the beautiful sight, turning slowly to capture a memory of the vista. It’s like how I imagine seeing the Northern Lights, or the Milky Way untouched by light pollution…
“Are you going to gawk, or are you going to get out of the way?” complained Astarion as the rogue pushed past him.
“Sorry…” muttered Alex as he walked forward, realizing he had been blocking the exit from the portal. They stood on a giant rock, an asteroid floating in space. Behind him, the rest of his companions emerged from the portal, which from this side showed a view of the inquisitor’s chamber. In front of him, a series of asteroids formed the path forward like a chain of stepping stones, leading to an enormous, rocky skeleton that floated in the Astral Sea, adorned with equally large jewelry on its desiccated wrists, fingers, and head.
“What the hells is that?” asked Karlach, staring with wide eyes at the giant skeleton. “And where the hells are we?”
“Just as Vlaakith said, we are in a pocket dimension in the Astral Plane,” answered Gale, also looking around with fascination. “And that, if my readings about the Astral are correct, is the corpse of a god.”
“A god?” piped up Wyll, confusion evident on his face. “But how did a god-”
“We don’t have time for this!” interjected Lae’zel, who strode to the edge of their asteroid. “You disrespected me in front of my queen! You are lucky that I don’t end you all right now, for she ordered you to accompany me.”
“Disrespected?” repeated Shadowheart indignantly, glaring daggers at Lae’zel. “I’m not the one who wanted to go into this murderous death trap! And I’m not the one who pushed everyone to go with her!” she added, shifting her glare to Alex.
Lae’zel whirled around and grabbed the hilt of her greatsword. “Silence, you petty thief! You are the one who stole this from my people! I should have known not to trust you, you traitorous cur!”
Shadowheart reached for her flail and advanced. “You gith bitch, I should have killed you in your sleep!”
Alex and Karlach stepped between them as Gale moved to placate Lae’zel and Wyll shifted to block Shadowheart. “Calm down!” ordered Alex in his best authoritative voice, belatedly realizing that he sounded like he was scolding his daughter. “Regardless of what led up to this, we are in a very difficult situation, in case you haven’t noticed. We’re stuck in an unfamiliar, weird place and need to hunt down a mind flayer with a bunch of unhappy githyanki waiting for us when we leave. We need to work together if we’re going to get out of this alive.”
Lae’zel and Shadowheart glared at each other, but dropped their hands to their sides. “Fine,” said Lae’zel. “But only because Vlaakith herself has ordered me to work with you to kill the illithid that infests this place.”
“Heh,” snickered Shadowheart, eager to get the last word. “It is almost pitiful to see how much you defer to that queen of yours. Maybe if you had an original thought of your own, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
Lae’zel looked like she wanted to explode and tried to push past Gale. “As if the way you defer to your ‘Dark Lady’ is any different, you wretched priestess!”
Alex closed his eyes, rubbed his forehead, and took a deep breath, trying to summon the same patience he called on when Melanie acted up. “Both of you, calm down! Or I’m leaving, and you can both turn into mind flayers together!”
Both of them froze at his words. Like dealing with teenagers. Or maybe toddlers. “I know you both have a problem with each other, but now is really not the time. So unless you have something constructive to say, please be quiet!”
“A ‘problem’ is an understatement,” said Lae’zel. “Whatever this great weapon is, it is of utmost importance to my queen. And she stole it!”
“Only because my own goddess commanded it!” replied Shadowheart with indignation. “I’m not even sure what this thing is, but all I need to know is that it is important. Important enough that several other clerics of Shar gave their lives for it, slaughtered by githyanki as we ran for our lives. And I need to bring it back to Baldur’s Gate in one piece.”
Alex’s foot tapped against the stone with agitation, his stores of patience running thin. It’s as if they don’t realize how similar their situations are. Both trapped in mindless service to a higher being that doesn’t care about their wellbeing.
“I’m not exactly the brightest person around, but it sounds like you two have more in common than you might think,” said Karlach sagely. “So you two either set aside your differences and call a truce, or I’ll make you.” She emphasized the point by driving a fist into an open palm.
Karlach’s words finally got them both to settle down. Shadowheart and Lae’zel glared at each other, but moved their hands away from their weapons.
“So…” said Astarion, who had been watching from the sidelines. “Is anyone going to explain what exactly is going on? Or ask what Shadowheart and I are doing here?”
They bounded along the chain of asteroids, heading in the direction of the dead god with Lae’zel in the lead. On the way, they filled-in Astarion and Shadowheart on how they talked their way into the crèche, rescued Lae’zel from the zaith’isk, and were dragged away for an audience with the inquisitor and Vlaakith. Astarion and Shadowheart recounted how they were exploring the monastery out of boredom and curiosity when they found a concealed doorway hiding a long, winding staircase that led down to a room that contained several treasures, including an extravagant-looking gilded mace, and began to poke around when they heard Vlaakith’s booming voice and decided to investigate. Then they discovered another hidden door and somehow found themselves in the same chamber as the rest of the party.
Did they really stumble upon the Blood of Lathandar by accident? thought Alex as he bounded after Lae’zel, clearing the massive gaps between asteroids with ease. It almost sounds unbelievable; in the game, there was no way to access that room without going through the inquisitor’s chamber. But I suppose things really are different here. And my knowledge of the game is becoming more of a crutch than a guide.
Moving about in the Astral Plane was intimidating at first glance, but after Gale explained that the mental mattered more here than the physical, it just sort of clicked for him. There was no danger of falling due to the lack of gravity. To move, all he had to do was think about moving in a specific direction, and it happened. He and his companions jumped between the floating rocks as easily as playing hopscotch, albeit a very surreal version of it. And for one of the few times since he was pulled to Toril, Alex smiled broadly. He was having genuine fun. Of all the things I’ve experienced so far, this is probably what I will miss most. Being able to jump between asteroids floating in space, set against a beautiful background… I’d never be able to experience something like this on Earth.
With one final leap, the party landed on the desiccated corpse of the dead god, near the bottom of its ribcage. All of its flesh had long-since decayed, but the upper half of its fragmented skeleton remained, its bones now turned to gray fossils with the passage of time. Which must have been a truly long, long time ago, he realized, given how differently time passes in the Astral Plane.
Ahead of the group, beyond the ribs that poked up and over them like massive, curved stalagmites, sat the god’s skull. Adorned with an enormous golden crown that once marked its station, the skull stared at them with its mouth wide open, as if inviting them inside.
Alex’s excitement now turned to roiling anxiety. Here, we are supposed to meet the Dream Guardian and learn some of the truth behind the Emperor and the Astral Prism. But will things be the same? Without a tadpole, I haven’t been able to tell if the Prism has been doing anything, and the others haven’t complained of strange dreams. Is the Emperor even in here?
Lae’zel drew her greatsword and the others followed her lead, expecting to run into a mind flayer or worse. Unsure of what he might find, Alex also drew his sword, though it was more for show than anything else, as he had no illusions about his ability to defeat a mind flayer in combat.
They marched up the dead god’s spine towards its skull, peering around anxiously for signs of enemies. But they saw nothing except rock and heard nothing except their own footsteps. They cautiously drew close to the skull, and then they saw it: the remnants of a battle.
Bodies of githyanki warriors and intellect devourers lay scattered amongst the fragments of rock and fossil or floated weightlessly in the Astral. Alex bent forward to peer at the bodies, more fascinated and curious than disgusted. The fleshy, brain-like bodies of the intellect devourers were burnt, bruised, and smashed to a pulp, while the bodies of the githyanki were covered in bloody lacerations.
“These are not normal warriors,” observed Lae’zel. “These are gish’ra: fighters who are skilled in the ways of magic and psionics. But what are they doing here?”
A trail of bodies led into the dark, gaping mouth of the skull, its empty eyes staring at the party ominously. Alex could clearly see that Lae’zel was nervous, but she still led the way inside, greatsword held at the ready. He and the rest of the party followed with caution, stepping over more ruined corpses of githyanki and intellect devourers.
Ahead of them, Lae’zel turned a bend and gasped. Her sword clattered to the ground and Alex hustled forward, finding her staring in shock at the sight in front of her. In the large, hollowed-out cavern of the skull laid the battered corpse of a mind flayer, surrounded by a pile of githyanki corpses. And only a few feet away hung the corpse of a male githyanki wearing an ornate robe and circlet, arms suspended from shimmering chains mounted to twin columns of red stone, skull cracked open and bloody.
The Emperor. And Orpheus.
Green necrotic magic swirled around Orpheus’s corpse, still suspended from chains that shimmered with energy. As the magic concentrated, his body straightened up with its last vestiges of dignity.
“Who are you?” asked Gale, clutching his staff tightly as he read from a list of prepared questions.
“Orpheus…” whispered the corpse, slowly and robotically. “...Son of Gith.”
“What are you doing in here?”
“Imprisoned… by Vlaakith.”
“Why did Vlaakith imprison you?”
“Use… my powers… to counter… ghaik.”
“Why did this mind flayer kill you?”
No response, just a heavy, exhausted exhale.
“And finally, what really happened to your mother, Gith?”
“Betrayed by… Vlaakith… sold to… Tiamat.”
The necrotic magic faded and the corpse slumped over, never to speak again.
Lae’zel knelt on the ground in shock. “No, this is impossible. This is heresy. These are all lies!”
“I’m afraid that the dead cannot lie,” said Gale, head bowed in respect. “That corpse spoke only the truth.”
Lae’zel pounded her fists against the ground, unable to accept it. The companions watched with a mix of sympathy and pity, standing a short distance away to give her some privacy; even Shadowheart seemed sympathetic to her plight. Meanwhile, with Orpheus’s identity confirmed, Alex turned away and walked to a large hole in the skull, looking out at the starlit canvas of the Astral Plane as he faced his own inner turmoil. Orpheus is dead, most likely killed by the Emperor. And the Emperor is dead, too, probably killed by Orpheus’s Honor Guard in vengeance.
What am I supposed to do now?
He stared out at the green and purple nebulae, trying and failing to glean any answers. I always figured that the game would be an unreliable guide, but this… this is too far. Too much has changed. I can’t rely on it any more, except maybe as an outdated blueprint.
And this also means that I am the only thing protecting everyone from the Absolute. The only thing stopping everyone from becoming enthralled or undergoing ceremorphosis. If somehow my antimagic ever stops working, or I die… they’re dead.
They bounced back along the series of asteroids, making their way back to the portal. Lae’zel remained silently in the lead; behind her, after some prompting from Alex, the party came up with a plan. They will emerge from the portal ready for combat. If hostilities do not break out and they can talk their way out of the crèche, then they will. But if the githyanki turn hostile, they will engage in a fighting retreat through the hidden passageway discovered by Astarion and Shadowheart, then make a dash for the Shadow-Cursed Lands, hopefully diverting enough attention to allow the tieflings to make their own escape.
They emerged from the portal and returned to the large stone chamber in the crèche. Vlaakith’s astral projection had vanished and the hapless captain was gone. The inquisitor now sat behind a newly-placed desk, directly across from the portal. He scratched away at a piece of parchment with an elegant quill, paying no attention to the party. Sixteen githyanki soldiers stood around the room’s perimeter, all glaring with open hostility.
Lae’zel stood in front, waiting for the inquisitor to deem her worthy of attention. Behind her, Wyll, Karlach, and Shadowheart formed a line in front of Alex and Gale while Astarion slowly crept his way over to the hidden door.
The scratching finally stopped. The inquisitor put down the quill, exuding an aura of haughty malevolence. With a signal, the guards stationed around the room left their posts and advanced towards the party, hands drifting towards their weapons. “So, Lae’zel of K’llir,” began the inquisitor. “Did you complete your mission?”
Lae’zel bowed her head. “Yes, ch’r’ai. The ghaik infesting the mighty weapon is dead.”
The inquisitor’s face twisted into an evil smile. “Good. And tell me, did you find anything else in there?”
Lae’zel hesitated for a moment. The guards took up position around them, grasping the hilts of their swords. Alex could plainly sense the storm of emotions roiling within her. After a few more seconds, she stood up straight, staring down at the seated inquisitor. “I saw a corpse, dressed in ornate robes, tied to infernal pillars with an enchanted chain. The body of Orpheus, Prince of the Comet.”
The inquisitor slowly stood up. “That is impossible, child. Orpheus is a traitor to our people, his body long ago destroyed in a flash of dragon fire. Perhaps you saw something else.”
Lae’zel locked eyes with him, the tension in the room reaching a boiling point. Alex flipped open his satchel and grasped a smokepowder grenade. Wyll, Karlach, and Shadowheart reached for their own weapons while Gale’s grip tightened on his staff. “We spoke with his corpse. It was Orpheus. He said that he had been imprisoned by Vlaakith. And… that Vlaakith betrayed Gith.”
The inquisitor stared back at Lae’zel, a malicious sneer spreading across his face. “Most amusing, child. What you say is heresy. And by Vlaakith’s will, you are declared hshar’lak. An unforgivable traitor.”
He reached for the hilt of the silver longsword sheathed at his side. “Capture that human. Kill the rest.”
Gith Language Translations
