Arcturia

Session 4 August 2024

I strain my ears, trying to make sense of the sudden silence that follows the earlier commotion. The muffled sounds behind the door have vanished, replaced by an eerie quiet. Something doesn’t feel right. With my heart pounding, I push the door open, bracing myself for whatever lies beyond.

Inside, I see a strange sight: a man sitting on the cold stone floor, his face replaced by the head of a rabbit, casually chewing on a carrot. The incongruity of the scene stops me in my tracks.

“This rabbit must be one of Arcturia’s experiments,” Farryn mutters, his voice tinged with disgust.

Jaf’ar narrows his eyes, studying the creature. “It used to be humanoid, I’d wager. Another one of her twisted creations.”

I glance around the room, spotting a spectral image of Halaster lingering nearby. He’s watching us with a bemused expression, as if this is all part of some grand joke.

“Who or what is this rabbit?” I ask Halaster, pointing to the man-rabbit.

“One of Arcturia’s experiments,” Halaster replies nonchalantly, his voice echoing in the small chamber. “She likes to play with her toys, reshape them, make them… better.”

The conversation takes a darker turn as Halaster mentions the inevitable conclusion of our journey. “There will be a battle at the end,” he says, almost casually. “Between you. It cannot be done without killing.”

I frown, uneasy at the prospect. “You could be the one to die,” I suggest, half-serious.

He chuckles, shaking his head. “I have to teach. It’s my purpose.”

“What about Jaf’ar?” I counter. “He could take your place.”

Halaster doesn’t respond directly, only repeating his cryptic statement: “There will be a battle. You can kill yourselves or let yourselves be killed, but the final battle is inevitable.”

The ominous weight of his words hangs over us as we move on, making our way down a new hallway. The passage opens up into a beautiful, almost serene space. Pillars covered in lush green plants, mushrooms, and mosses line the area, their vibrant colors a stark contrast to the dark stone walls. The air here feels different, alive with magic.

Jaf’ar steps forward, his gaze thoughtful. “This… this looks like a portal,” he says, pointing to the center of the room. “It leads to the Neverlight Grove, a cavern deep in the Underdark, filled with mushrooms. It’s a place of beauty, but also danger.”

Morph, who has been uncharacteristically quiet, suddenly asks for a moment alone. His request is met with suspicion from Farryn, who gives me a knowing look. I decide to stay back and keep an eye on him.

Morph kneels down, laying Corvax beside him. He begins to mumble in a language I don’t recognize, his words slipping past my understanding. His hands caress a small rock, his voice filled with doubt and conflict. I catch fragments of his muttering—something about fighting each other, about whether this was the right choice. He seems… lost, as if struggling with something deep within.

After ten long minutes, Morph tucks the rock into his pocket, picks up his sword, and walks back to rejoin the group. I follow him, keeping a careful distance, and arrive just as Farryn opens another door.

We’re in the midst of discussing our next move when Farryn suddenly freezes, his eyes widening. “Jaf’ar!” he calls out, his voice tinged with both surprise and urgency.

From the shadows, I hear another voice, cold and calculating. “They’re here,” it says, and my blood runs cold.

Farryn steps forward, his voice steady despite the tension in the air. “Hey, Arcturia!”

Oh no. We’ve found her.

Arcturia’s presence fills the room with a palpable sense of dread. She eyes us with a mixture of curiosity and condescension, her attention focused particularly on Jaf’ar.

“You should greet me properly,” she says, her voice sharp and commanding. “Where is the wizard among you?”

Without a second thought, I turn invisible, my instincts screaming at me to avoid her gaze. I see the glint in her eyes as she considers our group, her mind already whirring with the possibilities of what twisted creations she could make from us.

Jaf’ar, ever the pragmatic one, cuts straight to the point. “Your spellbooks. Where are they?”

Arcturia’s expression darkens, her eyes narrowing. “Your mimic, the one that took my phylactery, likely has them,” she replies, her voice dripping with disdain. “Or perhaps you’ve lost them in this chaos you’ve created.” Then, she notices Morph, and expresses her interest in him, because he’s a changeling.

As she speaks, I notice the other figures in the room. A few commoners, twisted and reshaped into grotesque forms, stand like living proof of Arcturia’s dark experiments. Among them are a few champions, their bodies fused with various animal parts—a stork’s head, an iguana’s head, the snout of a dingo. The sight is unsettling, each abomination a testament to her cruel genius.

Suddenly, Morph vanishes from where he stood and reappears right beside Arcturia, his face a mask of grim determination. Before any of us can react, he turns toward Farryn, his weapon raised. My heart skips a beat—has he betrayed us?

“What the hell, Morph?!” I barely have time to think as the situation spirals out of control.

The battle erupts with terrifying speed. Arcturia unleashes her power with relentless fury, the room itself seeming to come alive. Objects begin to animate, skittering and slithering toward us with deadly intent. Farryn is locked in close combat with Arcturia, standing right in front of her as they exchange blows. I feel an overwhelming urge to protect him, my instincts driving me to act.

I nock an arrow, take aim, and fire three quick shots at Arcturia. Each one finds its mark, sinking deep into her flesh. She snarls in pain, but it only seems to fuel her rage. Desperate for cover, I dash behind one of the nearby pillars, pressing myself against the cold stone. It’s only then that I realize something is wrong—very wrong. The pillar isn’t solid; it’s sticky.

Panic floods my mind as I realize the truth. “SHIT!” I shout, struggling in vain as the mimic reveals itself, its adhesive surface pulling me in tight. I’m trapped, held fast by the creature’s grasp, and all I can do is watch in horror as Arcturia’s form shifts before my eyes.

She flies upward, her body contorting and expanding as she transforms. In moments, the wizard’s form is replaced by that of an adult green dragon, its massive wings unfurling as it lets out a deafening roar. The mimic pulls me closer, its maw opening wide, ready to devour me. I scream, thrashing wildly in a desperate attempt to free myself.

Then, just as suddenly, the dragon form melts away, and Arcturia stands there once more, a cruel smile playing on her lips. Someone has forced her back into her humanoid shape—whoever it is, they’ve bought me a precious moment of respite. But the mimic is still there, still pulling me toward its gaping mouth.

I can’t break free. I’m stuck. SHIT, SHIT, SHIT!

Just as all seems lost, I feel a sudden force yank me away from the mimic’s grip. It’s Patience, his magic surging around me as he pulls me free. As soon as I’m out, he conjures a slaad—a hulking, toad-like creature—right next to me. The slaad leaps into the fray, a new ally in this chaotic battle.

Arcturia is clearly wounded, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she glares at us with unbridled hatred. Bloodied and battered, she makes a decision. With a flash of light, she takes to the air, retreating. I can see the fear in her eyes—she knows she’s losing.

But before we can give chase, she vanishes. One moment she’s there, the next she’s gone, disappearing into thin air with a final, mocking laugh that echoes through the chamber.

No responses yet

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *