Chapter Text
The Shadow Cursed lands were well named; no light filtered through the branches of dead trees. Any time someone stepped too far from the light shed by the Blood of Lathander they felt the curse close around their heart and lungs, squeezing the life out. The party stuck close together, clustering around Shadowheart as she held the glowing mace aloft. The curse even seemed to affect Astarion, whose heart didn’t beat;he only one immune to the effects at all was their light bearer- the cleric of Shar.
“Lady Shar must be protecting me from the curse; it was her who powered it, of course.” Shadowheart bowed her head in a silent prayer.
“In that case, do you want someone else to carry the mace?” Amnon offered. He hated Shar, but not Shadowheart, and there was no need to draw the goddess’s wrath right now.
“No, I can do it. I’m sure Lady Shar will understand that I need you all to be kept safe,” Shadowheart assured him, before wincing as her wound flared up.
Soon enough they managed to kill a group of Absolutists keeping a pixie hostage as a way of traveling through the curse. Freeing her earned them all protection, but no one was keen to step out of Lathander’s light just yet.
“Hard to believe this place used to be full of life,” Amnon observed as they walked.
“It was. I grew up not far from here,” Halsin replied. “This forest was once green and full of birdsong. These cabins once housed families; Ketheric Thorm destroyed all that in an instant. I know you need to reach Moonrise, but this curse must be lifted.”
Amnon nodded in agreement. This curse was an abomination, responsible for more undead than he had thought possible. No one was having a good time as they moved through the dead woods. For all her thanks to Shar, Shadowheart kept quiet, her eyes darting to the ruined houses and mutilated bodies. Even Astarion took little joy in dispatching the undead.
Finally they found something unexpected: a safe haven. The ironically named Last Light Inn was protected by a shroud of moon magic. The party had just enough time to be relieved before they were caught by grasping vines.
“And who are you venturing all the way out here?” An older half elf stepped into view, clearly controlling the vines.
“I’m a paladin of Kelemvor, I’ve come seeking the source of these cursed undead,” Amnon answered, struggling against the vines.
“Perhaps, but your companions do not wear the same colours. So I will ask again: what brings you out here?” The druid smiled.
“We came to find the source of the cult of the Absolute, at Moonrise Towers.” Clearly half truths weren’t going to work here.
“Ah yes, so do we. We’ve learned much about this cult and the parasites they use to control people.” The druid pulled out a jar containing a tadpole. “These things are mysterious, but we do know one important thing.” She stepped closer and the tadpole in the jar started to writhe. “It knows its own.” Amnon winced.
“I can explain. We’re infected but… we’re protected from the Absolute’s influence. Wyll, show her the artifact.”
Wyll pulled out the prism. It floated towards the druid. The parasite in the jar shrieked before exploding. The druid stared at it for a moment.
“This is unusual,” she admitted.
“Wait… Jaheira?” Halsin asked from the back of the group.
“Halsin…even after a hundred years, I have never met another elf that I could mistake for you. Did the cultists get to you too?” Jaheira turned around, and another harper brought her a second jarred parasite. Halsin carefully navigated the vines, not flinching when Jaheira leveled her scimitar at his chest. The tadpole stayed still as she brought it closer to Halsin.
“May I?” He asked, taking the jar in his hand. “This is quite a specimen, I had to make due with dead ones for my own studies.” He handed it back.
“Clearly, you are not infected. But they are,” Jaheira observed, “and you trust them?”
“I do; they rescued me from a horde of goblins and protected the tiefling refugees at the Emerald Grove.” Halsin explained. Jaheira nodded.
“That is easy enough to prove- most of the refugees are here, the ones that weren’t captured.”
Amnon stepped forward as the vines let him go. “Captured by who?”
“Who else? Ketheric Thorm, the leader of the absolutists. Come, adventurers. I would like to have a word.” Jaheira answered, as she walked away.
Of course they couldn’t just rest. The Last Light Inn had been attacked by a former ally-now tadpoled and serving the absolute. But the party had fought him off and the refugees were safe- except for Mol who had been carried off. But overall the mood was good, Karlach could touch people again and had pulled Wyll off to a private corner to take advantage of that. Amnon sat down at the bar and smiled at the two tiefling children who were pouring wine.
“Do you want a drink, Mister Hero Man?” Ide asked, lifting up a wine bottle. Before Amnon could answer he heard someone else snarl.
“Oh, I’m cut off but he gets prompt service?” Amnon turned to see that the drunken snarl belonged to Rolan.
“Jaheira said we should serve drinks, not drunks.” Umi replied.
“Jaheira didn’t save your scrawny, little tail.” Rolan snapped.
“Maybe you should slow down.” Amnon suggested.
“Oh as if I’d listen to you again, you stupid old man!” Rolan sneered. Amon couldn’t help but step back as Umi poured Rolan another glass. He wasn’t that old, was he? “This is all your fault! Thanks to you we stayed! And now Cal and Lia have been taken!” Rolan knocked back the glass of wine in one swallow. Amnon let out a breath. That explained the attitude; having your only family captured by cultists could drive anyone to drink.
“I am on my way to Moonrise anyway, we’ll find them and anyone else who was taken.” Amnon pledged.
“No you won’t!” Rolan growled, “You’ve done enough. I will go save them. Because they’re my family! Then we can finally go to Baldur’s Gate and be done with all of you!” Rolan did his best to stalk off angrily but he swayed back and forth from all the wine. Amnon sighed, that kind of bond, that need to save someone; he’d never felt it himself, not that he could remember. He could name all of his brothers but he couldn’t feel their absence in his life. In that moment as Umi and Ide poured him a glass of wine he swore that once the Absolute was gone he would get his memories back. (chapter break)
Amnon shivered as he met Ketheric Thorm’s eyes for the first time. Only it wasn’t the first time, was it?
“Amnon. I didn’t expect to see you again, true soul.” Ketheric smirked. Amnon flinched as half a memory surfaced- standing before this throne. Not to bow, but to command, on equal footing with the general.
“Ketheric. The general. So sad, so… dead. Put him back in his grave.” The urge growled.
“So you know me?” Amnon asked. “We’ve met before?”
“Better than you know yourself, it seems. We have indeed, many times. The… things I have seen you do, so different from the company you now keep.” Ketheric leaned back in his throne. Questions filled Amnon’s mind, questions that Ketheric could answer: what had he been up to for the last twenty years? What were these feats that Ketheric had witnessed? How had they even met?
“Can you tell me anything about the last twenty years?” Amnon asked. Ketheric may have been their enemy but if he knew something, anything.
“Could I? I suppose. But no, I will not.” Ketheric smiled. “Z’rell, leave the goblins to my old friend. He will make short work of them. Then put him and his new friends to work.” Ketheric got up from his throne and walked up the stairs out of sight. Z’rell, the half orc lieutenant, smiled at Amnon.
“I look forward to seeing your work,” she said before walking away.
“What the hells was that about?” Astarion asked. “Do you know that crusty old ass?”
“No. I can’t remember. But maybe I did once, and he knows me.” Amnon answered, before looking at the trembling goblins. These were the ones he found tormenting Barcus Root at the windmill.
“Please don’t kill us! We didn’t even do anything this time!” Fezerk yelled. Amnon sighed; they could easily be lying.
“Then you better run before they come back, or before Astarion gets hungry.” He snapped. Astarion took the opportunity to hiss dramatically as the goblins scattered.
“You should have let me eat them.” He pouted.
“I’m sure you’ll find a meal.” Amnon replied, “We’re far from done here. We need to find the tieflings.” Despite Rolan’s words Amnon was still determined to find Cal, Lia and anyone else who was still alive. “But first we should talk to Z’rell.” Amnon bowed and quickly prayed for strength. “Time to pretend to be part of this brainwashed horde again.”
Z’rell filled Amnon with a disgust so deep that he wanted to gut her- not for the horrible urge that lurked in his mind, but for all the people she doomed, and how she laughed when pushing her way into his memories of Lae’zel at night in their tent. And now she wanted them to rescue a necromancer, a lich. Amnon pushed the bile down as he bowed to her.
“It will be done, Z’rell.” The words felt like poison, but she swallowed them easily.
“See that it is. If you do well, maybe the General will give you what you seek.” She smirked.
The party made their way outside where Amnon drew his war hammer and brought it down on a ruined statue, showering the ground in stone dust.
“By the scales!” He shouted, bringing his hammer down again on another statue. “She wants us to rescue a lich! I will not do it! I will slay this abomination, then I will slay Z’rell and then… then I will destroy Ketheric Thorm!” Amnon’s breath was heavy as he started to calm down. He managed not to flinch as Lae’zel stepped up behind him.
“I have never seen you so eager for blood,” she said, her voice both approving and a bit worried.
“I don’t remember anything ever disgusting me this much. I…” Amnon trailed off. For once he and the Urge were in full agreement. This necromancer would suffer at his hands, Z’rell would bleed and Ketheric… he would find whatever was protecting Ketheric and he would stop it and then… he would make Ketheric beg for his unnatural life. He would make the general tell him everything and then… he would kill him anyway.
“Your rage is well placed. We may have to keep this necromancer alive for a time however, so he can lead us to this Nightsong.” Lae’zel pointed out.
“The moment he stops being useful he dies,” Amnon declared.
“You won't get any argument from me.” Shadowheart spoke up. “Ketheric betrayed Shar, he left her to serve Myrkul. He and his servants can die.” Amnon looked around; no one tried to argue for Ketheric's life.
“Let's get going. Even with that blessing I don't want to stay here longer than we have to.”