Prototype's Gate

As they ran, the mist thickened, and the sound of their pursuers grew louder. Glut's massive form provided some cover, but they knew they couldn't rely on him forever.

"Keep moving!" Wyll shouted. "We need to reach the dome!"

The mist was shifting around them, something was lurking in the shadows, waiting to pounce when they least expected.

Their breaths came in ragged gasps, feet pounding against the cursed ground.

Astarion glanced back, seeing the shepherds gaining on them. "We're not going to make it at this pace!"

"We have to try!" Karlach shouted, her eyes blazing with determination.

Gale, his face pale and drenched in sweat, pushed himself to keep up. "Just a little further... we can make it..."

Fiery lights, likely from torches, illuminated the area up ahead.

"Let's go towards the lights!" Wyll shouted.

As they drew closer, they saw the source of the light: a group of men and women , weapons at the ready, exploring the area. They raised their weapons as Wyll's party approached.

"Don't shoot!" Karlach shouted, pointing to their rear.

Arrows flew through the air, embedding in Glut's armor.

"Not me, fools! The undead behind me!" Glut shouted, not pleased by being riddled with arrows.

The armored group hesitated for a moment, then redirected their aim as the two death shepherds emerged from the mist, their forms illuminated by the torchlight. The clash of steel and the whistle of arrows filled the air.

Glut swung his massive mace, smashing one of the death shepherds to the ground, but the necrotic energy around the other one began to mend its wounds. The other death shepherd lunged at Karlach, who barely dodged its deadly swing.

"Focus fire on one at a time!" Wyll commanded, his voice cutting through the chaos.

The other group took aim and unleashed a volley of arrows and spells at the downed shepherd , ensuring it stayed down. Their melee fighters engaging the still standing shepherd .Karlach, seeing an opening, charged the second shepherd, her battle axe slicing through its armor.

Suddenly, ghouls and ghasts emerged from the shadows, their twisted forms moving with unnatural speed. Shadowheart raised her shield blocking the claw of a ghoul and casted Sacred Flame on it. The undead reeled back hurt by the holy magic

Living shadows slithered along the ground, waiting for a moment to strike. One of the shadows leaped at Gale, who managed to deflect it with a weak shield spell, but the effort left him gasping for breath.

"We need to hold them off until we can make it to the dome!" Wyll shouted, his voice filled with determination.

As the battle raged on, the group fought desperately to make it to the safety of the silvery dome. Astarion danced through the battlefield, his daggers flashing as he swiftly dispatched a ghoul that had targeted Ellyka.

"You're welcome," Astarion said with a charming smile, hurling a firebolt at another ghoul nearby.

Lae'zel, her voice filled with anger ,"Tsk'va , the egg . " swore in her native tongue as she cleaved another ghoul in two with her flaming greatsword. The creature had been attempting to claw at the precious egg she carried, likely sensing the budding life within.

Meanwhile, Alex swung his sword with brute strength, lacking his usual deathly precision but ensuring that anything his blade struck was cleanly severed.

Glut roared, his mace crashing through undead flesh and bone, leaving a path of destruction. "Get to the dome! I'll cover you!" His form ignited, bathing the battlefield in flames that momentarily held back the relentless undead.

Despite Glut's efforts, the shepherds were cunning, sending part of their forces to chase down the group. A ghast lunged at Wyll, raking its claws across his chest. He stumbled, but Karlach was there in an instant, her battleaxe cleaving the ghast in two. "Keep moving!" she urged, helping Wyll back to his feet.

Suddenly, shadows darted towards them. One of them struck at Shadowheart, its dark claw wrapping around her arm. She gritted her teeth, unleashing a burst of holy energy that shattered the shadow's grip. However, her arm fell limp sapped of vitality. , forcing her to drop her shield.

As they neared the dome, they encountered a crow standing ominously in their path. The crow turned its head, fixing them with an emerald gaze that seemed to pierce through their souls. A deafening caw echoed through the forest, and from the mist, a murder of corrupted crows descended upon them, pecking and clawing. The damage was superficial, but the curse they carried began to sap the group's strength, leaving them feeling weaker with every passing moment.

A scream pierced the air as someone from the explorers' group was dragged into the shadows.

"Yonas!" a woman shouted, trying to rush to her comrade's aid, only to be held back by another.

"Down!" someone yelled, and the group instinctively dropped to the ground as a stream of fire incinerated the cursed crows.

Turning to the source of the fire, they saw Glut. His body was in shambles—his left arm completely gone, ichor dripping from the wound, and a gaping hole in his torso that he clutched with his remaining hand.

"What are you waiting for?! Move!" Glut bellowed, limping as he rushed to rejoin the group.

They didn't hesitate. Scrambling to their feet, they made a mad dash across the stone bridge and finally passed through the protective dome. The death shepherds and their minions halted at the barrier, retreating into the shadows as the group collapsed to the ground inside, panting and covered in sweat and grime.

"Thank the gods," Wyll gasped, his voice trembling with relief. "We made it."

A heavy thud shook the ground, and everyone turned to see Glut's massive form retracting to its normal size, ichor pooling beneath him. Wyll began to approach the fallen creature, but his path was abruptly blocked by the tip of a scimitar pressed against his neck. He looked up to see the owner of the blade—an old elf woman.

She had long, braided silver hair adorned with small decorative elements. Her sharp, almond-shaped eyes gave her a piercing gaze that conveyed both wisdom and strength. Her facial features were angular and well-defined, with high cheekbones and pointed ears that marked her as half high elf. She wore an intricately designed green and red tunic with gold accents, complemented by a sturdy leather belt. A small silvery pin depicting a harp was clipped to her chest, identifying her as a member of the Harpers.

Beside her, a woman in scale mail and stepped forward, her expression stern. "You led those undead right to us, and because of that, Yonas is dead. You'd better have a good explanation," she said, her voice shaking with grief as tears welled in her eyes.

Wyll looked up at her, then lowered his gaze in shame. "We were only trying to reach the dome," he said, his usual confidence gone.

"If only I had been more cautious, or had stronger spells," Wyll thought, berating himself.

The woman was about to say more when the older woman stopped her with a raised hand. Reaching behind her back, she pulled out a small bottle containing a writhing tadpole. "This is why we're here," she said, her voice calm but cold. "It is a curious creature that hides all manner of secrets. But if there's one thing we know..." She paused, bringing the bottle closer to Wyll. The tadpole inside thrashed violently, reacting to the presence of its kin within Wyll and his companions. A glance at the others revealed that their tadpoles were reacting too.

The half high elf put the bottle away and fixed Wyll with a murderous gaze. "You should never have come here, True Soul," she said, raising her scimitar to strike.

"Stop!" a voice called out. The elf halted her blade just inches from Wyll's neck, turning to see the druid ,Halsin rushing towards them.

"Wyll, what happened to you and your friends?" Halsin asked, his face full of concern.

"Halsin, what are you doing here?" Wyll asked, surprised by the druid's sudden appearance.

"You know them?" the elf asked, her tone skeptical.

"Yes, they fought against the Absolute's army when it tried to invade the Emerald Grove. They are not True Souls," Halsin explained.

"A True Soul with a mind of his own... How is that possible?" the elf mused, eyeing Wyll and his companions with renewed interest as she sheathed her scimitar.

"We have an artifact that protects us from the Absolute's influence. Shadowheart, please show them," Wyll said.

Shadowheart shot Wyll a glare but reluctantly brought forth the Astral Prism, knowing her head was on the line.

The half high elf retrieved the bottle with the tadpole, watching as the creature inside writhed in agony before bursting, splattering its insides across the bottle.

"What in the hells is that thing?" She asked, her voice filled with disbelief.

A deep, monstrous growl interrupted their conversation, drawing their attention to Glut.

"Get to the fucking point already, and someone come here and heal me!" Glut shouted, still lying face down in his own ichor.

Halsin quickly moved to Glut, using his healing magic to mend the wounded creature.

"So far, it's been a life-saver. Here's hoping you agree," Wyll said, looking back at the older woman.

She stared into Wyll's eyes for a long moment, her expression hard as stone. Finally, a small smirk tugged at her lips. "My name is Jaheira . Congratulations. You've earned yourself the benefit of the doubt," she said, stepping back. "Hear me, Harpers! All clear, at ease!" she commanded.

The Harpers around them sheathed their weapons and resumed their activities, the tension in the air slowly dissipating.

"I won't pretend to understand what that artifact is, but I'm old and wise enough to recognize a silver hope when it crawls out of the dark. Now, tell me, why have you come here?" she asked, her tone softening slightly.

"To destroy the Absolute in its lair: Moonrise Towers," Wyll answered, speaking for everyone in the group.

"Then you have found an ally in me, for that is precisely why I am here . " Jaheira replied, her gaze firm and resolute.

Halsin walked back to the group, his expression a mixture of concern and relief.

"How is Glut?" Wyll asked, his voice filled with worry as he glanced at Glut’s figure still lying motionless on the ground.

"He just needs rest and food," Halsin replied. "His vitality is astonishing, especially considering the grievous wounds riddling his body."

"If he hadn’t been with us, we would have died already," Wyll said, his tone somber. "He gave everything trying to protect us." Wyll paused, his eyes narrowing with concern as he looked back at Halsin. "Why are you here, Halsin? Did something happen at the grove?"

Halsin shook his head, his expression grave. "I’m here to fight the Absolute, just like everyone else here. The grove is secure for now, but this battle requires all of us."

Wyll scanned the open yard, his eyes searching for someone. "Are you looking for Zeus?" Halsin asked, noticing Wyll’s gaze.

Wyll nodded, his brow furrowing. "Do you know where he is?"

"He headed towards the Moonrise Towers not too long ago or at least I think he did ." Halsin replied, his voice laced with concern. "He didn’t say much, but it seemed urgent."

Wyll’s thoughtful expression deepened as he absorbed the information. Halsin placed a reassuring hand on Wyll’s shoulder. "You need to rest, Wyll. In your current state, you’re in no position to fight. Pushing yourself any further could be fatal."

Wyll sighed heavily, feeling the weight of Halsin's words. "I know," he admitted, fatigue clear in his voice.

Jaheira intervened , her voice steady and commanding as she pointed towards a nearby inn. "There’s food and beds in the inn over there. Aloe oil in the cupboards if the vines gave you a rash. Settle in, then come join me for a drink. You may just be the godsend we’ve been praying for."

The party entered the inn, the sight inside confirming their suspicions that a fierce battle had taken place. The roof bore two large, gaping holes, and one of the walls was marred with deep claw marks and dark stains of blood.

But despite that the cozy inn seemed warm and inviting, with a rustic charm that exudes comfort. The room was lit by a combination of soft, warm light from the wall-mounted torches and the gentle glow of a candle on the table. The interior had wooden floors t adding to the overall ambiance of the place.

At the center of the room, there is a square stove, its fiery flames casting a welcoming warmth throughout the space. Various meats and herbs hang around the stove, slowly roasting and adding a savory aroma to the air. This setup not only provides heat but also serves as a functional cooking area, further enhancing the inn’s homely atmosphere.

In the background, there's a bar, where a tielfing man laid over the counter looking asleep . The bar area was stocked with various spirits, wines, and ales . The furniture consists of sturdy wooden tables and chairs.

The walls are decorated with intricate carvings and other rustic adornments, contributing to the inn’s inviting atmosphere. The large windows at the back, partially draped with curtains, allow a bit of the moon light to filter in, adding to the cozy, lived-in feel of the inn.

The inn had a high ceiling, creating an open and airy atmosphere within its rustic walls. That architectural feature allows for an impressive view of the upper floor, which was encircled by a wooden balcony. The balcony ran along the perimeter of the room, supported by sturdy wooden beams

Familiar faces dotted the room, tielfings that they meet back the the Emerald Grove

"Alfira, what are you doing here?" Karlach shouted with a wide smile upon seeing the bard sitting alone at a table, lost in thought.

Alfira looked around in confusion before her eyes found Karlach and the rest of the party. Her chair creaked loudly as she stood up and rushed towards them, her face etched with worry as she took in their battered and bruised appearances. Her gaze lingered on Alex, whose vacant eyes scanned the room aimlessly.

"What happened to you?" Alfira asked, her voice trembling .

"We were attacked on our way here, but we’re fine now," Wyll replied, trying to sound reassuring despite the fatigue in his voice.

"Says the guy who almost got himself beheaded," Astarion muttered from the side.

Wyll shot Astarion a glance before turning back to Alfira. "But what about you, Alfira? Why are you here? Did something happen to the ship?" Wyll’s voice was laced with worry as he asked.

Alfira shook her head, her expression pained. "Lakrissa refused to board the ship. I tried to convince her, but she said she’d rather die than set foot inside it. So, we left the grove together with others, heading towards Baldur’s Gate. But we were attacked by cultists on the way..." Her voice faltered, and she began to tremble, tears welling up in her eyes. "I tried... I tried to fight... but I couldn’t..." Alfira’s voice broke, her tears flowing freely now as she struggled with the memories of the attack.

Ellyka stepped forward, wrapping her arms around Alfira in a comforting embrace. "Ellyka? What are you doing here?" Alfira asked, her voice barely above a whisper as she recognized the familiar touch.

"It’s a long story," Ellyka replied gently. "Let’s go sit down." She guided Alfira to a table, keeping her arm around her as they walked.

"Wyll?" A familiar voice called out.

Wyll turned to see Zevlor approaching, his face a mixture of relief and curiosity. "Zevlor, you’re here too? Did no one board the ship?" Wyll asked, surprised to see the tiefling leader among the gathered survivors.

"The majority did, but some of us chose to stay behind," Zevlor explained. "We decided to come here and help Zeus in his fight against the Absolute, but after he got us here, he just flew away without a word. What about you? Why do you look like you’ve been mauled by an ogre?"

Before Wyll could respond, Jaheira intervened. "I’m sure you two have a lot to discuss, but I need to speak with Wyll privately."

Zevlor nodded, understanding the urgency, and turned to leave. "We’ll catch up later, Wyll," he said, giving Wyll a reassuring pat on the back before exiting the inn.

Jaheira turned to the rest of the group. "The rest of you, go eat something and clean yourselves up. You smell like a walking grave."

"In Karlach’s case, it’s more like a burning grave," Astarion teased, a playful smirk on his face.

Karlach shot him a glare . "Astarion, if I wasn’t so tired, I’d punch you so hard."

With that, Karlach headed towards the nearest table, followed by the others, leaving Wyll alone with Jaheira.

Jaheira led Wyll to a table on the side, where a map of the surrounding area was spread out. She grabbed two silvery cups and filled them with wine, her movements deliberate and precise.

"Please, be welcome. Have a drink," she said, offering one of the cups to Wyll. "To your very good health."

"To your very good health," Wyll replied, raising his cup in a toast before taking a sip of the wine. The flavor was rich and deep, with a complexity that hinted at its age.

"Well over a century old, and yet it hasn’t lost a hint of its flavor," Jaheira remarked, setting her cup down on the table. "Still, I’m not quite so sure about you and your friends, though. People tend to lose more than just flavor when illithids get their hands on them. I speak from experience. There’s an air about you, something… alien. Answer me true, and do not lie: the parasite is changing you, isn’t it?"

Wyll hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Yes. The parasite is giving me powers I never had before. But it’s also changing me in ways I don’t fully understand."

Jaheira’s gaze was intense, her eyes searching Wyll’s face for any sign of deceit. "Look around you, Wyll: good men and women, stranded here with two feet already in the grave. If we’re to survive, I have no choice but to trust you. Can I?"

"You can trust me," Wyll responded earnestly. "But why the public display back there if you don’t trust us?"

Jaheira sighed, her expression softening slightly. "That was a show of hope, despite my private reservations. I have every reason to be cautious. I’ve traced people like you—people with parasites in their brains—all the way from Baldur’s Gate. The cult of the Absolute is spreading through the city—quietly, quickly, and with unsettling deliberation. We tracked them to this ancient village, only to be faced with a man we killed and buried over a century ago."

"General Ketheric Thorm," Wyll said, his voice low.

Jaheira nodded, her expression grim. "Remember that name. He’s the leader of the Absolutists. He was a Sharran once, and he built an army of Dark Justiciars beneath this very village. Alongside the local druids, we made it our business to see him deposed—dead and buried. But he’s returned. Not only does General Ketheric Thorm live again, it seems he is no longer mortal. He has become, in fact, invincible. We met him on the road here—commanding an army of the Absolute, intent on destroying Baldur’s Gate. I put an arrow through his eye myself, only to watch him pluck it out like a splinter. He healed right in front of me and chased us into the shadows. Things looked hopeless, but experience has taught me that no matter how bleak things seem, there’s always hope." She paused, locking eyes with Wyll. "You are that hope."

Wyll’s breath caught in his throat at the weight of her words. "You think I can kill him?"

"Not immediately," Jaheira replied. "Protected by your artifact, you can infiltrate his forces at Moonrise Towers, posing as a True Soul. Find out what makes him invincible so we can strip him of his advantage. Once Ketheric is without his shield, the sword—together, we’ll assault his tower and put a final end to his blight."

"Ketheric’s days are numbered—I’ll make sure of it," Wyll said, his voice filled with determination.

Jaheira nodded approvingly. "Without a cure for your infection, your days are numbered too, yet you selflessly offer to spend them fighting alongside us. I like you, Wyll. I promise I will do everything I can to make sure you survive this. Any cure starts with understanding the disease. Whatever magic Ketheric’s using to control these tadpoles, it must be at Moonrise. Until then, we’ll keep drinking wine when we meet." She smiled, a charming, almost playful expression on her face.

"Of course. But I prefer my wine without spices," Wyll replied with a smug grin.

Jaheira laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "And despite that, you still drank it."

Wyll chuckled. "How do we reach him? The Towers are surrounded by Shadows. The curse was bad enough at the edge of the cursed lands—I can’t imagine how much worse it will be at the center."

Jaheira’s smile faded, replaced by a look of resolve. "You’re not our only secret weapon. Isobel, a faithful cleric of Selûne and a light in the darkness, cast the moonshield around the inn. It’s the only reason we’re still alive. She’s upstairs in her chambers. Tell her I sent you, and she’ll see you through the shadows safely."

"I’ll pay her a visit after I rest a little," Wyll said, feeling the exhaustion catching up to him again.

"Then go," Jaheira said, waving him away with a dismissive yet affectionate gesture. "We have a world to save."

Wyll took one last sip from the spiked wine before standing up, the weight of their conversation heavy on his shoulders. He headed towards the room where the rest of his party had gone, his steps slow but purposeful.

"I can’t wait to take a nap," Wyll whispered to himself as he stepped inside the room, the thought of rest finally within reach.