Nalkara, the drugged Empyrean
Live session 13 October 2024
The scene opens with Jaf’ar, still in his giant ape form, poking around and looting the demilich’s remains. Farryn begins repairing Grond, his trusted weapon, while the remnants of the toxic fumes slowly fade. Meanwhile, Malik is invisible, though I can still spot him as bottles start clattering to the floor—Malik’s handiwork as he rapidly investigates the room.
Farryn, curious about the chaos, demands an explanation. I do my best, recounting the events with exaggerated colors and sound effects, though my delivery is a bit intimidated. Suddenly, a green gas begins to spread from a strange bottle Malik accidentally knocked over. The ape, Jaf’ar, acts quickly, guiding us all out of the room. Despite the commotion, I don’t feel bad, just a little thrown off.
Curious, I try climbing up the stacks of cases in the room, discovering a newfound ease in my climbing ability. Meanwhile, Farryn uncovers something truly intriguing: a bottle of wine labeled Halaster’s Brew, 1531. Considering it’s currently 1492, we’re left puzzling over whether it’s from the future. Farryn tucks it away, saying, “We’ll save this for a special occasion.”
Jaf’ar-as-the-ape lifts some other bottles, one labeled Futuristic Frog Marsh. Malik clambers up the ape to reach them, but Jaf’ar drinks one bottle whole, while Malik sips another. Both seem to find it gross.
I take a moment to heal myself as Farryn suggests moving to another room. The giant ape squeezes through the doorway with some effort, eliciting laughs from the group. Once out, Farryn asks, “Why do you all look so bad?”
“Uh, the demilich,” I reply, still feeling the lingering effects of the fight. Malik heals himself, and I drink a healing potion, but I still feel rough.
We head southward, though tensions flare as Malik insults Farryn, leaving him visibly annoyed. Meanwhile, the ape bashes through another door, revealing a glowing portal. Jaf’ar touches it, revealing an image of the past: small stick figures hunting animals. Farryn pretends to attack Jaf’ar, seemingly to trick the figures, but nothing happens. Malik tries directing Farryn and Jaf’ar to interact with the portal, but it remains inert.
We move to another door. Jaf’ar, still an ape, counts down on his fingers before smashing it open. Behind it, we find stairs, but we decide not to go up and instead try another route.
The ape repeats his countdown routine, bashing open another door. This time, we find a room with parchment made from human skin. “Ew!” I can’t help but exclaim, shuddering. The ape gestures for us to follow him to another discovery, but both Farryn and I decide to stay behind. Farryn investigates the tall cases stretching up to the ceiling, while I provide cover with my bow, scanning for threats.
After a short while, we decide to follow Jaf’ar and Malik. In the new room, we find a wand of wonders! I’m thrilled—it’s an item I already own and love. Surrounding the room are busts of Halaster, their eerie presence palpable.
Jaf’ar wanders further into the room, but as he steps forward, the ape form melts away, leaving him as himself, visibly more influenced by Shar. An antimagic field seems to suppress his transformation. He recounts how he’d been teleported to these rooms earlier, during our battle with the demilich.
He describes one room with a bizarre, shifting portrait of Halaster—naked—that moves every minute. “I’ll pass on seeing that,” I say, grimacing. Another room apparently features a massive painting of all of Halaster’s apprentices.
We decide to open another door, and Jaf’ar steps out of the antimagic field, transforming back into the giant ape to bash it open. Inside, we discover moving paintings—scenes of Waterdeep. “What?!” The realization stuns us.
We try interacting with the paintings, hoping they might act as portals, but they remain stubbornly unresponsive.
The chaos starts as it always does—with a mixture of plans, uncertainty, and the ever-present looming madness of Halaster. Jaf’ar is fixated on capturing him, wearing him down, and imprisoning him. I can’t tell if it’s overconfidence or desperation, but I go along with it because… well, what choice do we have? This is it. The endgame.
Farryn finds a secret door while pacing, and I watch as he carefully investigates it. He hands me a flask of drow poison, and I quickly dip five of my arrows, feeling a grim satisfaction at the thought of using them against Halaster. Together, Farryn and I explore the hidden path, uncovering another door and a staircase leading to a room we’ve been in before—one with leather couches and busts of Halaster—but the wand of wonders is conspicuously absent. “Wrong place,” I mutter as we retrace our steps.
Back with the group, we debate our next move. Jaf’ar is certain the big door is our answer, and honestly, I agree. Halaster is likely there. We descend the stairs, preparing ourselves. I cast Conjure Woodland Beings and summon eight invisible pixies, their energy a small comfort in the face of what’s ahead.
Jaf’ar goes in first—and vanishes. “Shit,” I hiss, cursing under my breath. One by one, we enter, only to find ourselves in an eerily similar space. The same rooms, the same layout—but none of the doors are bashed open. It’s like we’re in a warped version of the future.
Farryn searches every room but the lich’s, confirming our suspicions. The painting room with Waterdeep now shows daylight. The naked portrait of Halaster? Still there. A pixie tries Dispel Magic on it, but nothing happens. Malik steps next to one of the paintings, becoming part of it, a ghostly figure etched into the frame. I shudder and follow the others to the secret room, still clutching my bow.
That’s when it happens—a familiar, chilling voice. Halaster. “Prepare yourselves!” he calls from the next room. I swallow hard as Jaf’ar, still a monkey, pushes open the door.
We enter the room, and my heart sinks. In the center stands Arcturia, as grotesque and intimidating as I imagined, and spot a statue of Halaster, casually riding a donkey. It’s surreal, but there’s no time to process the absurdity.
I let loose three arrows in quick succession, each one striking true. The pixies spring into action, trying Polymorph and Confusion—both useless. Entangle works, though, binding Arcturia in place. Jaf’ar-monkey wastes no time, slamming her into the ground. Zeph and Farryn charge in, their attacks landing with satisfying force. Thunder cracks, shaking the room.
Then, the world shifts. Gravity reverses. My stomach lurches as everything, including my pixies, flies upward. I try grabbing onto a couch, but it’s falling too. “Crap, crap, crap!” I mutter as the pixies vanish, leaving me feeling vulnerable.
I scramble to steady myself and fire another shot at Arcturia. Bam. Dust. She’s gone. A wave of relief floods me, but it’s short-lived. Halaster claps, his voice echoing through the chamber.
“You are the last loose end,” he declares with chilling calmness.
Suddenly, glowing runes illuminate the room, forming a circle around the others. My heart skips a beat. “Damn!” I yell, watching them scramble out just in time. I dash to Farryn and climb onto Grond for safety. He uncorks a bottle, and the room becomes heavily obscured with a thick, choking mist.
Then, it happens. Something emerges from the ground—a presence so immense I can feel it. “What is that?!” I shout, my voice shaky. I fire blindly, landing a single hit before a deafening thud shakes the ground. I’m knocked off Grond, hitting the floor hard. Pain blossoms through my side as I hear Jaf’ar’s monkey voice groaning, “Uh oh!” He’s been hit too.
Another thud. This one shakes the floor beneath me. “What the hell is that?” I ask no one in particular, trying to make sense of the sounds around me. Hallaster’s laughter echoes, cruel and mocking.
“Gigantic!” Farryn’s voice cuts through the chaos. “It’s a giant!”
The ground trembles as Farryn moves away, then comes back to pull me onto Grond. My body feels heavy and bruised, but I force myself to heal as we retreat. That’s when Jaf’ar’s voice rings out, sharp and foreboding.
“It’s an empyrean! A celestial child of the gods!”
Hallaster’s giggles grow louder, a maddening symphony of triumph. My hands tighten around my bow, my heart pounding. This fight is far from over.
The air changes—there’s a gust of wind, unnatural and sharp, barreling toward me. I brace myself instinctively, throwing up my arms, but then… something extraordinary happens. Wings—my wings—burst forth, shimmering and metallic, their strength undeniable. For a moment, I’m stunned. Memories of my death flash before me, the metallic dragon’s blessing no longer a fevered dream. It’s real. I’m real.
The attack subsides as I shield myself with the wings. Relief barely has time to settle before gravity reclaims us, and we plummet. My wings slow the descent, but we still hit the ground hard. Pain blooms, but the shock of landing in an antimagic field eclipses it. Halaster’s giggle echoes, maddeningly gleeful.
“Farryn!” I yell, spotting him sprawled on the ground, lethargic from the haste spell’s aftereffects. Grond is down, useless in the antimagic field. I have no choice—I dash back upstairs, hearing a loud crack followed by a thunderous thud. My heart sinks. The empyrean is downstairs—with Farryn.
I sprint back down, practically colliding with Malik on the stairs. There’s no time to waste. Farryn is in danger. I rush into the room, planting myself in front of the celestial to draw its attention.
The empyrean sneers. “Don’t worry, you’re next.”
Before I can react, Jaf’ar’s voice booms from above: “I DRUGGED HIM! GET FARRYN HIS SPELLSCROLL! PATIENCE WANTS TO GET SUMMONED!”
The empyrean pauses, sitting down, hands rubbing together in a strange, almost amused way. His demeanor shifts—drugged and distracted, he seems more curious than aggressive. I glance over my shoulder to see Malik dragging Farryn out of the antimagic field. Relief washes over me as Farryn, still shaky, manages a sly grin. “PATIENCE, GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE!”
Patience arrives in a blur of magic, her commanding presence immediately grounding the chaos. Together, we try to move Grond’s massive hammer out of the antimagic field, looping ropes around it and pulling with everything we’ve got. It’s painstaking, but we manage to drag it into the stairwell, out of reach.
With Grond secured, we regroup and devise a new plan. Patience, ever the diplomat, steps forward to engage the empyrean. His tone is honeyed, respectful. “What is a creature like you doing in a place like this?”
The empyrean, now known as Nalkara, regards her with an air of detached arrogance. “Why do you ask, mortal?”
“Can I know your name, oh celestial?” she presses, her voice soft yet commanding.
“Nalkara,” he replies, the word rolling off his tongue like thunder.
Patience plays her part masterfully, complimenting his divine physique and probing for information. Her flattery is effortless, almost reverent. “What a blessing to behold this. What is going on with your hand?”
“Nothing,” he replies, distracted as he rubs fractals—those bizarre drugs—over his skin. Malik follows my lead, clearly mesmerized by the empyrean.
Patience seizes the moment. “Those are powerful crystals, worthy of your stature. But these small ones pale in comparison to the larger ones we’ve seen below.”
The empyrean perks up, intrigued. “Where is my hammer?”
Patience cleverly describes it, luring him away from the antimagic field. As Nalkara strides off, Jaf’ar is ready. With a swift motion, he traps the empyrean in a force cage. “We’re trying something different,” he announces, pulling out the iron flask.
The first attempt to capture Nalkara fails. The empyrean retaliates with a lightning bolt, but we press the attack. Malik leaps forward, striking with all his might. I fire three arrows, each one finding its mark. Nalkara’s counterattack is devastating—his blow knocks Malik unconscious. Desperation grips me as Jaf’ar attempts the iron flask again.
Nalkara raises his arms, casting a spell that shakes the room. “LET THERE BE FIRE,” he bellows.
A searing wave of heat engulfs us. I feel myself slipping, my body collapsing under the sheer force. Darkness takes me.
Suddenly, light floods my senses. I gasp for air, my wounds healed completely. Malik is dancing, glitter trailing in his wake. His bardic magic pulls me back from the brink. My chest tightens—not from fear, but from sheer gratitude. I’m alive. I can fight.
With renewed vigor, I grab my bow and unleash another volley of arrows. The empyrean is visibly weakening, his celestial form faltering under the relentless assault. Farryn, the ever-unyielding force, steps forward. With a mighty swing of his dwarven thrower, he delivers the final blow.
Nalkara’s form collapses with a thunderous crash, his divine light dimming. Farryn stands tall, the slayer of titans, victorious once again. Halaster’s laughter fades, replaced by an eerie silence.
The room is still filled with debris from our last encounter, and we sift through it carefully, looking for anything Arcturia might have left behind. Among the rubble, we uncover a ring of protection, a wand, a horned ring, and a dagger. It’s a modest haul, but any advantage we can get is worth its weight in gold.
We ascend the stairs, entering a more familiar section of the dungeon. Jaf’ar approaches Mimi the mimic. He kneels, speaking to her as though she’s an old ally. “We’re going to confront Halaster. Stay safe. We’ll come back for you when we’re done.”
Halaster’s voice echoes before we can move further. He’s clapping, his tone as mocking as ever. “Great work! Are you ready for your reward?”
I stop in my tracks, every nerve on edge. Halaster conjures something—a shield. My breath catches. Its surface gleams, white and flawless, and I realize it’s made of a dragon scale. “Who among you will become my new apprentice?” he asks, gesturing between Jaf’ar and Patience.
I barely hear the question. My focus is locked on the shield. I don’t think—I move, darting forward before anyone else can claim it. It’s… perfect.
Farryn tries to reason with Halaster, asking about sharing responsibilities in Undermountain. But Jaf’ar is already examining my new shield. “It’s the Shield of Uven,” he explains, looking impressed. “It makes you immune to cold damage.”
We regroup and head toward the portal room. Halaster is there, waiting. Two scarecrows hang from the sides of the portal, a crow perched ominously on its edge. The air hums with tension.
“This portal will take you wherever you want to go,” Halaster announces. His words are too easy, too tempting. My skin prickles with unease.
He starts rambling about his plans for Waterdeep—great plans, he calls them, though they sound more like the mad ravings of a tyrant. Malik, ever unpredictable, interrupts him. “Dance with me,” he says suddenly.
Halaster pauses, then obliges. They dance a polka, of all things. It’s bizarre, almost comical, but I catch the glint of determination in Malik’s eyes. He’s setting something up.
In the blink of an eye, Malik grapples Halaster, throwing him off balance. Farryn strikes next, landing a hit with booming blade before tackling Halaster to the ground. For a moment, it’s chaos.
“Oh no, Halaster, are you alright?” Jaf’ar mocks, leaning over Halaster with exaggerated concern.
Halaster’s face contorts, a mixture of betrayal and fury. In retaliation, he casts fireball. The explosion is blinding, but I manage to evade the worst of it, thanks to Malik’s earlier efforts. Then, a cage of stone forms around Halaster and Malik, cutting them off from us.
Frustrated and unable to help, I channel my anger into the only thing I can do: I notch an arrow and shoot the crow perched on the portal.
The moment the arrow strikes, the air shatters with a deafening roar. My heart freezes.
An adult white dragon materializes before us, its massive wings unfurling, its eyes burning with rage.
“Holy shit,” I whisper, gripping my new shield tightly. And then I see it: a scale is missing from its chest. The realization slams into me like a thunderbolt. This shield—it’s his scale.
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