24. General Ketheric Thorm
Several hours later, the darkness seemed to constrict around them, the air feeling denser. But within the light of Kar’niss’ Moonlatern, the shadows did not harm the party.
Across a long stone bridge, a large dome of dim light surrounded the area, and they saw the fortress that is Moonrise Towers, its six adjoining spires looming above them.
“They survived the dark, Majesty! Praise be!” Kar’niss marched ahead on his spindly legs, approaching the door to the keep. Kal followed him closely. Vez, Kanif, and the rest of the party and monsters walked behind, all visibly more relaxed now that they were within the lit barrier.
“Halt.” Two humans, a man and a woman, stood on the steps of the towers, clad in blue and silver armor, a silver skull icon on their chests.
Kanif waved at the guards. “Malik, Merim. We’re back.”
Malik nodded in response, then his eyes narrowed in suspicion as they fell on Astor and the rest of the party. “And who are these?”
“The queen sent them! Her Majesty’s flesh grows, full and glorious,” Kar’niss replied gleefully.
“Helped us with some Harpers on the way too,” Vez added, walking up the steps. “They’re shadowbait now.”
“Move,” Merim said dismissively, shoving past goblins and half orcs who walked through the doors. She approached Kal and looked him over.
Suddenly, Kal felt Merim’s thoughts search his, grasping, seeking, his tadpole squirming in recognition.
“Welcome back, True Soul” Merim finally said. She opened the doors wide.
“‘Welcome back’?” Kal replied quizzically. “I’m never been here before.”
Merim paused. “Oh, my mistake. Your mind tasted familiar.”
Kal rubbed his chin. Something about this area does feel familiar, but he couldn’t place it.
“Disciple Z’rell is in the great hall. She’ll be wanting to see you. Head on in.”
Kar’niss turned around. “This is where we part. My queen summons me to her chapel—to be in her presence!” He scuttled straight up the walls of the tower, towards the roof. “I am coming, my queen!”
The party watched, and then Wyll muttered, “Absolute’s blessings.”
“In Her name!” both guards yelled in response.
Kal led the party down the halls of the towers. There were scattered gatherings of goblins, half-orcs and drow talking amongst themselves.
For some perplexing reason, he knew exactly where to go. They walked until they stood in front of a large set of stone doors, which were slightly ajar.
Walking into the large audience chamber, various cultists of the Absolute stood around the room, apparent by the same skull symbol they all wore on their clothing. At the far end of the room sat a man in a menacing stone throne. He had greying long hair, a full beard and dark, heavy armor, and he leaned on his arm, looking bored.
Kal’s heart skipped a beat when he saw Mint standing in front.
“I will not be slandered! General Ketheric Thorm, you saw my reports—you know it’s not my fault!” Mint yelled at the man in the throne.
The man named Ketheric did not respond, only continued to look like this didn’t concern him.
A half-orc woman dressed in a dark blue robe stood beside Mint. “The facts suggest otherwise. You were ordered to look for the artefact—you failed to do so.”
“Z’rell,” Mint turned to the woman, “we don’t know if this artefact even exists! If I had been given drow warriors instead of goblin trash—“
“Oi, what?!”
“You scrap!”
The group of three goblins that stood beside Mint complained loudly.
“ENOUGH!” Z’rell yelled at the goblins. A blast of mental energy radiated from her, filling the room. Kal’s tadpole twisted in his mind, urging him to obey, but he ignored it.
“Let me make sure I understand this,” Z’rell said, turning back to Mint. “You’re claiming that General Thorm gave you the wrong soilders?”
“Yes—no! Wait!” Mint expression turned horrified at her mistake. “I meant—“
“You blame the Absolute’s Chosen for your failure?” Z’rell snarled.
“Of course it is not the General’s fault,” Mint floundered.
Z’rell crossed her arms angrily. “Then, whose fault is it?”
“T-The goblins!” Mint yelled desperately. “They failed us all.”
The goblins erupted in protest. “You lyin’ little—“
Ketheric, the man sitting in the throne, raised a hand. The goblins immediately fell silent.
“…And what would you do to those that have failed you?” Z’rell asked slowly.
Mint scoffed smugly. “They are to be put to death, obviously.”
Ketheric sat up straight, his voice commanding and clear. “True, ultimate failure must earn ultimate punishment. Nightwarden Mint, your crime is incompetence and your sentence is death.”
“NO!” Mint yelled, falling to her knees. Guards moved in to grab her, hoisting her to her feet.
“Make her passing slow, Disciple Z’rell,” Ketheric suggested. “Be creative.”
Kal began walking towards the front of the room, flexing his hands, putting on a show. He flashed a wicked, toothy grin. “Let me…process her. I’m a master at creative techniques.”
Mint glanced to the side and met Kal’s gaze, her expression turned to one of betrayal. “You!”
Ketheric looked Kal over, his dirty shirt and trousers, his messy red hair and yellow eyes, the four long horns that he had been recently wearing, now no longer glowing.
“Well, look who we have here. I’m surprised to see you again, Kalsarin.” Ketheric smirked. “You are here to assist and not to meddle, I trust.” He shifted in his seat, relaxing back. “I would remind you that while you are in my halls, you obey me—just as you would any other Chosen.”
“You know me?” Kal asked, tilting his head.
Ketheric paused thoughtfully. “Better than you know yourself, it seems. But we are here to speak of Mint, not you.”
“I was at the grove. I did all the hard work—she’d be dead already without my help,” Kal helpfully explained.
Mint was about to say something when one of the guards hit her head and she choked on her words.
“…As if more evidence is needed,” Ketheric murmured. He turned to the guards. “Take her below.”
“No. Please, mercy!! Please!!” Mint wailed as she was forcibly dragged out of the room.
Kal watched impassively, but from near the main doors, Astor watched Kal’s back cautiously, sensing his building rage.
“Hah!” One of the goblins laughed heartily. “Bye-bye, princess.”
Ketheric stood up from his throne. “And kill the goblins, too,” he added as an afterthought.
“What? No!” The goblins yelled.
“You creaking old bag of shit!” One of the goblins rushed ahead, grabbing a halberd from a surprised guard. It hurtled the large weapon at Ketheric, hitting him with full-force in his chest, spearing through his armor. He stumbled backwards, falling into his chair.
“Hmm.” Ketheric stared at the halberd embedded in his chest in mild shock. Then, after a beat, he grunted in anger and pain as he grasped the halberd with one hand and yanked it free. The gapping wound left by the blade glowed purple, and then quickly disappeared, leaving his chest without a scratch.
He marched over to the terrified goblin and stood towering in front of it.
“I’m so sorry, my lord,” Z’rell said quickly. “She’s an unbeliever—outside my control.”
“Try again,” Ketheric demanded, dropping the halberd at the goblin’s feet.
The goblin, shaking, picked up the weapon again and swung it to decapitate Ketheric. But as the blade crashed into his neck, splitting bone, he didn’t even flinch. He pulled the weapon out again, his neck wound quickly healing, and he tossed the blade aside. “Huh.”
“Gods above,” Wyll mumbled. The rest of the party watched nervously from by the door.
“He’s invulnerable…” Night murmured, her hands over her mouth. But Astor saw she was hiding a smile, probably fascinated by whatever magic could be causing this. He rolled his eyes.
Ketheric stretched his neck, cracking it. Then he raised two heavy, mailed fisted, throwing them down on the goblin, killing it where it stood. The other goblins screamed in horror.
“Dispose of the other two as you see fit,” he said to Z’rell casually. “Or better yet—let us take advantage of our surprising guest, and their particular creative genius. I’m sure the results will send a clear message to the troops on the importance of discipline.”
“Of course, my lord. Thank you,” Z’rell replied, bowing slightly.
Ketheric left the chamber through a side door, and a tense silence fell in the room.
“You heard the General,” Z’rell said, turning to Kal. “The goblins are yours—deal with them however you wish.”
“I’m really allowed to do anything?” Kal asked excitedly.
“You can release them, kill them, or feed them to each other for all I care. Report to me upstairs when you’re done.” She promptly left the room, nursing a headache. The rest of the cultists followed her out.
Astor and the rest walked to Kal, standing behind him.
“We should release them,” Karlach said. “From the sound of it, they didn’t do anything wrong.”
“From the sound of it,” Wyll started, meeting Kal’s eyes, “you participated in a battle on the Absolute’s side. Is that right?”
Kal shrugged. “What do you want from me?”
Wyll looked around him. “How many of you fought with the cultists?”
Night stepped close to him, speaking quietly. “Just drop it, Wyll. It’s in the past. It’s not important right now.”
Wyll just sighed and he rubbed his eyes.
Kal nudged Astor. “Did you want their blood?”
“No, I’m good.” Astor said. He eyed the dirty little creatures, dressed in rags. “I had my fill on the Harpers.”
“Alright, same,” Kal replied. Then he turned to the goblins, wearing a twisted smile that was all teeth. “Then split yourselves open. Use the halberd!” He picked up and pushing the weapon into one of the goblin’s hands. Then his eyes flashed as he tapped into his tadpole’s psionic abilities, the mental energy surged, enveloping the goblins.
The party watched the two goblins scream as they speared themselves on the blade. Their voices trailing into pained gurgles as they fell to the floor, dead.
Wyll and Karlach stood, horrified at the brutality they just witnessed. Night rubbed a spot of blood from her robe, and Shadowheart looked bored.
Astor patted Kal on his shoulder. “Done, nice and neat. Now let’s report to the lovely Z’rell.”
“No,” Kal growled quietly, his hands tightening into fists. “You can go to Z’rell. I’m going to find Mint.”
“Kal,” Astor’s voice dropped as he leaned in, mildly threatening. “Ketheric is invulnerable. You did well pretending to be on his side, so until we figure out how to bypass his ability, do not turn him against us. Do you understand?”
Kal nodded slowly.
Astor eyed him suspiciously, then sighed. “Nevermind, I’ll come with you. The rest of you, go report to Z’rell and don’t make her suspicious.”
He looked at each member of the party in turn, then stopped at Wyll. “You, Wyll, you’re in the charge.”
“H-hey!” Night raised her hand. “Why not me?”
Astor ignored her complaints, and dragged Kal with him out of the chamber.
Wyll, Night, Shadowheart and Karlach explored the towers together, speaking quietly to monsters and cultists they met, trying to gather information.
On the upper floors, Z’rell roamed the hallways, barking orders at other cultists. She turned when she saw the party approach.
“There you are. You came with the red head, right? The goblins—tell me how they suffered.” Z’rell’s eyes sparkled. “No. Better yet—show me.”
Wyll shoved Night to the front. “Good luck,” he murmured to her.
Night met Z’rell’s eyes, smiling nervously, and she felt her mind connect abruptly, flickering across her thoughts in a blaze of excitement. A pool of warmth spread through her mind as Z’rell settled on the memory of Kal commanding the goblins to die.
“Oh that was inventive. Efficient. I like that.” Z’rell looked the party over. “You’re all True Souls?”
“Yes,” Night replied. She raised her arms. “Praise the Absolute!”
“Right, praise be. Now…” Z’rell said, licking her lips, her glare menacing. “Let’s see if there’s anything interesting in this brain of yours.”
“Wait—“ Night began to say, but it was too late. She felt her mind part again, and soon Z’rell was searching through her thoughts, touching her wants and hopes, tasting them. Every emotion soaked into her mind’s palate, but Night knew there was a purpose to her exploration. Z’rell was searching for proof of Night’s faith to the Absolute.
Night stiffened, and she willed her thoughts, steering them. She focused in on the memories of that morning, when she woke up in Astor’s arms, his cool skin surrounding her, his lips inches away.
“Are you trying to impress me with your dalliances? Please—I’ve lain with everything from an ogre to an ooze.” She looked down on Night dismissively. “You don’t measure up to either.”
Shadowheart tried to stifle a laugh. “Wait, what did you see?”
“IT’S NOTHING,” Night yelled immediately, flustered.
Z’rell chuckled. “Well, I have a mission for you all, direct from General Thorm. This is your top priority.”