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Between Kith’rak Voss and then Elminster himself showing up in camp over the past day or so, Rhian’s mind was positively reeling with the influx of new information, not even touching on everything that had happened in the creche and the mad dash to escape all the githyanki they’d pissed off.
So much had happened recently, and her companions were all more than a little subdued compared to a week ago. Lae’zel was still working through the revelations in the creche: Vlaakith had basically sent out a kill order on her, marking her to be hunted and put down like a rabid dog, lest she infect the rest of the lich queen’s cult with ideas of liberation. Voss coming to them as an ally had shifted something else— and now they only needed to reach Baldur’s Gate and meet up with him to form some kind of a plan in moving forward.
And Gale… Mystra had tasked him with a suicide mission. She could phrase it however she liked, but the bottom line was that he was to detonate the orb and end the cult of the Absolute at the first opportunity.
Back when they’d first met, the wizard had been rather insistent on making sure detonation didn’t happen, that the orb would be capable of wiping out an entire city. Elminster stabilizing it for the time being had been a relief— now they only had one ticking time bomb in camp, literally speaking, anyway— and Rhian had no intent of allowing the wizard to make the sacrifice. There was no telling if it would work for sure, detonating at, presumably, Moonrise, if their sources were correct in saying that the seat of the Absolute’s power was concentrated there.
And if it didn’t work, their little group of misfits were the only ones she knew of that were able to resist the Absolute, thanks to the artefact. Without them…
It was partially self-preservation, of course. She would readily admit it: a few tenday ago, she’d been, well, maybe not happy in Baldur’s Gate, but content enough, in her little apartment with her workshop. Surreptitiously glancing around at their gathered group, trodding along back to the elevator in the Grymforge, she was slowly starting to realize how much she longed for this all to be over. She’d never been much for having friends, but this whole ordeal had thrust her into the midst of people she was learning to enjoy being around. Perhaps it was wishful thinking on her part, but the idea of a future where they were a part of her life seemed to be holding an appeal. Sure, Gale sacrificing himself, and consequently everyone in the vicinity, would be for the greater good. Yet when the time came, would she be strong enough to push him in that direction?
She glanced sideways at the wizard, walking along next to Astarion and Karlach, deep in thought. She didn’t doubt he was asking himself a similar question.
In her chest, Rhian knew the answer. It wasn’t a sacrifice she herself would be willing to make, she wouldn’t ask it of him.
So distracted by her musings and following along behind Halsin, Rhian hardly registered they were back at the elevator up and out of the Grymforge.
Startling out of her own head, she refocused.
Gale’s conundrum would have to wait. For now, they were nearly to the entrance of the shadow-cursed lands. Nerves danced along her spine. Halsin had told them a little about the curse, a blight upon the land, some kind of dark power that had risen a hundred years ago.
Rhian was somewhat familiar with it, oddly enough. Even as far north as she had been, the call for aid from the Emerald Enclave had reached even her circle.
At the time, she and Zorah had been in their twilight years together, and despite her wanting to take up arms again, Rhian had staunchly refused. Zorah had known why and agreed, of course, but it hadn’t stopped her desire to be young and able again, serving her goddess and nature once more. It had been one of the last arguments they’d ever had, a good several years before she’d lost her. Rhian never regretted not coming south then, however entering the very place she’d avoided all that time ago felt like a sick kind of irony now.
The elevator up and out of the forge was rickety and old. Rhian didn’t particularly trust it, tilting her head and eying the mechanisms. There wasn’t a lot of space, and with the lot of them, they’d have to split and make two trips.
Standing beside the doorway, Halsin gestured them forward. “Who’s up first?”
Rhian balked, at first, but with the promise of finally moving forward, toward hopefully finding answers concerning the signs they’d found of Shar worship in the area, Shadowheart eagerly stepped in. Rhian inwardly groaned at herself, hopping on the untrustworthy elevator behind her, followed by Karlach and Astarion.
Shadowheart hit a lever, and the metal lurched under them. Rhian stumbled, catching herself on the guardrail. Luckily, after the initial jolt, it rose smoothly, and her worry about crashing back down to her death dissipated— mostly.
Stepping off the elevator, Rhian did a quick visual sweep of the room, making sure they were alone. Without the squeak and rattle of the elevator once it was receding back down, it was eerily quiet. “Looks abandoned,” Shadowheart said, stepping up next to her.
“Good news for us, would hate to get jumped by another group of goblins, or gnolls, or intellect devourers, or…” Rhian trailed off when Shadowheart gave her a look, flashing her a grin; the cleric just shook her head.
Waiting on the other half of their group, Rhian actually looked around the space. Between the statues and the color scheme and the effigies, the place screamed Sharran, though it looked long abandoned. Same as the rest of the Grymforge, everything was dusty and crumbling. The dust revealed tracks and trails though, so someone had recently been through here— several someones, by the looks of it… They had heard tell of the infected converging on Moonrise, so it came as no surprise there was evidence of other passings.
Shadowheart meandered forward, looking up at the statues and reading a plaque embedded in the floor. It wasn’t long before everyone else was rejoining them, the squeak of the elevator announcing their arrival well in advance.
Regrouped, they had one way forward and headed up the stairs and towards a door on the far end. Wreathed in vines permeating the entrance hall, Rhian wasn’t terribly excited about seeing what awaited them on the other side. “Well, here we go,” Rhian said to no one in particular, pulling the door open and standing back, gesturing for her party to go ahead with an over-exaggerated flourish.
Following along behind the group, Rhian stepped out of the ruined remains of the temple, and into the shadow-curse.
And it was like she got slammed full force in the chest with a warhammer.
Legs nearly giving out under her, Rhian lurched forward, catching hold of whoever was in front of her— Lae’zel?— with a pained gasp, her vision blanking white.
The land was screaming, crying out in a symphony of sheer agony, a full assault on every one of her senses all at once. Her ears rang, her tongue tasted of acid, skin burning, starting at her fingertips and toes, like the very magic she called upon was trying to burn her up from the inside out.
Lae’zel helped her gently to the ground, and at the edges of her awareness, she could hear her yelling for Shadowheart.
Hands flying to her head, covering her ears, Rhian tried to block out as much as she could, squeezing her eyes shut and curling in on herself. With deep, ragged breaths, she tried to shove it down and ignore the pained cries of the world around her.
After several minutes, the agony dulled in her awareness, allowing her to adjust, settling into a discomforting presence in her periphery— still there, still constant, but no longer a tidal wave ready to drag her down and drown her.
She winced, shaking her head in a futile attempt to further clear the feeling, to no avail. Blinking, she found Shadowheart kneeling in front of her, saying something she still couldn’t make out over the ringing in her ears and the pulsing heartbeat in her head.
Rhian shook her head, staring blankly at her. When she repeated the words, she still couldn’t hear her, but could make out what she said this time despite her blurred vision. Are you okay? What happened?
“I’m okay,” Rhian attempted to wave her off, voice sounding strangely hollow in her head, “I just… I just need a minute.”
Shadowheart didn’t look convinced, but she waited, not pushing again.
Rhian wiped her face with the back of her hand. Her eyes had watered, tears streaming down her face. “Gods, that was… uncomfortable.“
Her senses were returning, the ringing in her ears dissipating enough that she could actually hear again, the chatter of her party coming back in to clarity. She’d broken out in a cold sweat under her armor, leaving her chilled and trembling.
Most of their companions had moved off, giving them space, except for Karlach lingering nearby. No one else seemed to have had as adverse a reaction to stepping through the doors, waiting patiently while she got herself put back together.
“What happened?” Shadowheart asked, lightly pressing the back of her hand to Rhian’s forehead.
Rhian forced herself to stay still, knowing the cleric was only looking out for her. Struggling to find a way to put into words exactly what she was feeling, she answered as best she could. “You can’t hear it? It’s like the land itself is screaming in pain. I can’t— it’s non-stop, in my head.” Rhian wrapped her arms around herself. “I’ll be okay, it just caught me off guard, like I stepped out and got hit by the equivalent of Karlach swinging her hammer.”
“Hey,” the tiefling was apparently eavesdropping, “I would never.”
Seeing she was mostly back to normal, Halsin chimed in, offering an explanation. “It’s the shadow-curse. Sapping the life from this land, it’s sure to have affected her magic, pulling from the natural world. I feel it, too.”
“Any reason why you’re not also convulsing on the ground, then?” Rhian grumbled.
“I’ve been close before, have felt the full effects of the curse, I knew what to expect.”
“Mmm, well thanks for the heads up,” Rhian muttered at the ground, where only Shadowheart could hear, stopping herself from voicing the rest of that thought.
She wanted to curse him for not giving her any kind of warning, choosing to not pick a fight with the elder druid. Instead, she turned her focus back to Shadowheart, still silently inspecting her for any additional signs or symptoms. Suddenly uncomfortable with her undivided attention, Rhian got back to her feet, Shadowheart following and keeping an eye on her.
The entire atmosphere felt weighted, heavy, dragging her down. Now, at least, her awareness of the world’s pain had dulled to a consistent hum rather than full-on scream, making it more manageable for the time being. Still, she wanted to turn around and go back already, to where she knew she could wake to morning sunlight and bright colors. Instead, their path was forward, further into the curse and the darkness, toward whatever awaited them at Moonrise. They had but one choice to move along. “Well, guess we’d better see what we can find for a campsite,” Rhian tried sounding at least a little upbeat, for her friends’ sakes if not her own, “Tadpoles aren’t gonna remove themselves.”