16. To The Surface
The group had been circling what should have been the ruins of the temple of Selûne for days, unable to find any trace of it. Frustrated, they sat together at camp one evening, the map spread on a flat stone used as a table.
A firepit blazed nearby, its light throwing the party’s shadows across the walls of the small cavern. Night’s arcane sigil carved on the low ceiling dispelled the smoke.
The mood was tense.
“I wish Blurg added elevation to this map. I have no idea if we’re too high or too low.” Astor tapped the parchment absentmindedly. He had his notebook open, reading the notes he had been taking of their last few attempts to find the ruins.
“This temple is supposed to lead to the surface, so we can’t be too high,” Night reasoned.
“So we’re too low,” Shadowheart said. “Then we need to find a path to go higher.”
Kal eyed the half-eaten skewer on Shadowheart’s plate. “Are you going to finish that?”
Shadowheart pushed her plate in front of Kal.
“I’m so sick of the Underdark,” Night whined. “I’m forgetting what the sun looks like.”
“Perhaps I can be of some assistance.” A familiar, ghostly voice suddenly spoke from the entrance of the cave, making all of them look up in surprise.
“Withers!” Kal yelled cheerfully. “You found us!”
“Nay, I did not lose thee.” Withers wore his familiar draped robes, loosely wrapping a body that was as sunken and grey as a mummified corpse. He approached them, green pointed lights regarding them from his sunken eye sockets.
“Good evening,” another voice said. A tanned, sturdy man clad in chainmail and dark leather trailed behind Withers. He had a square jaw, his forest green eyes glowing and his wild, dark hair streaked with grey.
“L-Lord Kelemvor!” Night immediately stood up and bowed towards the human avatar of the current God of Death. “It is an honor to host you at our camp.” She quickly tried to clear empty, dirty plates from the table, while Astor scoffed.
“If you’re here, does that mean you know a path to the surface?” Shadowheart asked politely.
“Not necessarily,” Kelemvor replied after a moment. “We arrived from my divine realm. I would have liked to travel on foot more but work has been piling up.”
Why does being a god sound like holding a tedious day job? Astor thought to himself.
“However, the Selûne temple thou dost seek is near,” Withers intoned. “Thou art almost there.”
Withers and Kelemvor stood by the stone table, scanning the map thoughtfully.
“This is quite a rough overview of the area,” Kelemvor murmured. “I was never that good at reading maps.”
Withers was silent. He stared intently at the parchment laid out on the table. Then he held out his palm, and a quill appeared in his bony hand. “This is where thou art.” He drew an X. “Here, thou wilt discover an incline to a higher path.” He drew a line. “Follow this, and thou wilt find the ruins thou dost seek.”
Astor stared at the markings and then at his own notebook. “We were close, at least,” he said, sighing. He met Wither’s gaze. “Thank you.”
For the rest of the evening, Kelemvor and Withers stayed at the campsite, each of them conjuring an ornate wooden armchair to sit by the fire. The group told them about everything they’d seen and done in the Underdark, including meeting Blurg and Omeluum.
“The process of ceremorphosis is known to destroy the soul,” Kelemvor explained. “The being you met is one with the memories of its previous, mortal life. A different existence.”
“Omeluum doesn’t have a soul?” Kal asked, looking unconvinced.
Kelemvor paused. “Truthfully, not enough research has been attempted on mind flayer transformations to know for sure.”
Astor watched the group talk. As conversation died down, he cleared his throat, asking the question that they were all thinking. “Kelemvor, are you the reason we haven’t turned yet?”
Kelemvor did not reply—he merely smiled.
Then Withers spoke, his voice echoing more than it should have, given the size of the cave. “Thou shalt ■ ■■■ ■■.”
“…What?” Astor shared a look with the party; they all wore similar confused expressions. They didn’t understand what they were hearing. It wasn’t a different language, but something was distorting their ability to understand what was said.
“You do not need to understand,” Kelemvor replied after a moment.
The next day, the four of them found the path Withers had drawn on their map. In the distance, they saw the remains of a half-collapsed fortress, the holy symbol of Lady Selûne carved onto a column that still stood tall.
A portcullis hung closed in front of the ruins. They could see white light emitting from behind the gate.
As they approached, a beam of energy shot out through the portcullis. It hit Kal directly on his head, throwing him off-balance.
Astor pulled the group off the path and behind a large boulder.
“Who did that!” Kal growled in anger. He had already conjured a ball of flames in his hand, ready to throw it at the enemy.
“Relax, Kal. It’s an autonomous sentry,” Night explained, squinting through the gates. “It probably attacks whoever approaches. That looked like radiant energy.”
Shadowheart wore a serious look. “Kal should decimate the remaining ruins, to take revenge for his head.”
Astor laughed, shaking his head. “And cut off our only route to the surface? Do you hate Selûne that much?”
“I can disable it,” Night said. “I’ll Misty Step behind the gates. I predict the sentry won’t target those within the keep.”
“That seems reasonable. Can you bring me too?” Astor asked.
“I can handle this!” Night replied. Since the Sussur Tree cavern, Night had become more proactive in finding solutions. Astor could tell she wanted to prove herself, after how useless she was in the antimagic field.
“Just in case there are enemies in the ruins,” Astor said. “What if one of them conjured an antimagic field?”
Kal laughed loudly while Shadowheart just shook her head in exasperation.
Night glared at Astor. “Fine.” She murmured a spell and a glowing, translucent door appeared in front of her. Grasping Astor’s hand, she quickly dragged him through.
In the next moment, Astor found himself standing behind the gates, staring up at a tall statue of Lady Selûne. The stone figure was holding an orb high over her head, the sphere pulsing with radiant magic. It threatened to discharge, but did not activate on their arrival.
Night bowed slightly towards the statue of the Goddess of the Moon, which caused Astor to frown in confusion.
“Do you pray to every god? Is this a casting-a-wide-net strategy?”
“I’m merely being respectful,” Night said with a small smile. “My loyalty lies with Lady Mystra but she has many allies.”
Astor looked at Night quietly, not understanding her steadfast faith in spite of Mystra’s treatment of her.
Night moved to kneel at the base of the statue of Selûne, tinkering with the arcane sigils carved into the plinth. The orb’s glow eventually faded.
Meanwhile, Astor found a lever that opened the portcullis. He walked outside and waved at Kal and Shadowheart, who he saw peeking out from behind the boulder in the distance.
Soon, the four of them took turns climbing a long ladder up towards the surface.