The Archmetamagician: The Weave Collapses Again

According to Valera, the Underdark forces invading Baldur’s Gate were mainly divided into four groups: drow elves, Duergar, deep gnomes, and Kuo-toa.

The drow were the strongest faction, but the major houses each had their own agendas, making unified action difficult.

That changed somewhat after one of the Matron Mothers became a Chosen of Lolth, though the improvement was limited to the drow themselves.

Once every major race had its own Chosen, the old balance of power shattered. Old grudges and new hatreds erupted all at once. Each race rallied around its Chosen and did everything possible to wipe out their former allies.

The gods of different races were nowhere near as harmonious as people imagined.

And these Underdark races had been mortal enemies to begin with, divided between the two camps of Toril and Abeir.

The drow who worshipped Eilistraee were clearly the exception. They had come to the surface for one reason only: their longing for life beneath the open sky and moonlight.

Even knowing that surface dwellers would most likely never accept them, they still pressed forward without hesitation.

These refugees fled into the Deathlands northeast of Baldur’s Gate. The region was remote, dangerous, and almost completely uninhabited, yet the drow refused to leave them alone. The hatred between the two groups was even greater than the ancient feud between the drow and the surface elves.

”How many drow are hunting you, and how strong are they?” Anser asked.

”About one or two hundred. That Chosen Matron Mother is leading them personally. She can track us no matter where we go. No matter how we run, she always catches up. Even when my sister and I fight together, we’re no match for her.” Confusion appeared on Valera’s face.

”How many people do you have?”

”We started with five or six hundred. Later, we split up while fleeing, and more people got separated along the way. Now there are only a little over forty with me.”

Anser was somewhat disappointed. Could such a small group really stand against Lolth?

His original plan had been to use one Chosen against another—support Eilistraee’s faction, intensify the internal divisions among the drow, and force them to focus on their own conflicts.

From the bigger picture, that would be far more beneficial to humanity.

That was probably one of Jiandar’s goals as well.

Anser already had a grudge against the Underdark races, and the temptation of hunting Chosen was hard to ignore. As long as the danger wasn’t too great, he was willing to earn a nice chunk of experience points.

The enemy of his enemy wasn’t necessarily his friend, but they were certainly someone who could be used.

Valera seemed to notice their doubts and hurriedly added, ”The drow have been oppressed by the Matron Mothers for generations. Many of them have long since grown resentful. They yearn to sing and dance freely beneath the moonlight...”

Anser raised an eyebrow and suddenly understood why Eilistraee was so hated.

Dancing and singing naked beneath the moonlight at every opportunity, luring away ”lost” drow warriors and freeing them from Lolth’s control...

Her followers were practically recruited through poaching. She was directly undermining Lolth’s foundation. Anyone in Lolth’s position would hate her guts.

Anser exchanged a glance with Jiandar. Silently, both of them raised Eilistraee’s importance another notch.

”How exactly do you want us to help you?” Jiandar asked, scrutinizing Valera.

He had lived at the Traveler’s Rest for years and had known Delira for a long time. They had dealt with each other before, though they were hardly friends. He had never heard that she had a pale-skinned sister.

From his observations, Valera looked harmless, but she might actually be more cunning than her sister.

And being a Chosen seemed to support that conclusion. After all, no matter how devout a fool might be, the gods rarely favored idiots.

”I don’t know. Are you far from the Deathlands? We’re on the north bank of the River Chionthar, about two hundred kilometers from Baldur’s Gate.” Valera had a map of Faerûn, but she wasn’t familiar with the actual terrain.

Anser narrowed his eyes and began calculating.

That location wasn’t far from Durlag. At his current flying speed, he could reach it within four hours.

But there was no way he would go alone.

If Valera’s information was wrong—or worse, if this was a trap—he might end up wasting his only Twist of Fate card.

”Do you have a precise location? Are there any major settlements nearby?” Jiandar asked.

”We don’t dare venture too deep into the Deathlands. We’ve been following the River Chionthar eastward the whole time. According to the map, the Fortress of the Morninglord is just across the river from us, and a day’s travel farther east is... the Eye of Hell.” Valera carefully recalled the details.

The Eye of Hell was the massive crater left behind after the holy city of Elturel fell into Avernus. Its depths were immeasurable. Tainted by the power of Hell, the surrounding land remained barren to this day.

Ordinary people had no clear understanding of where Hell actually was. After hearing fragments of old stories, they came to believe the crater led directly to Hell itself, and thus named it the Eye of Hell.

The Fortress of the Morninglord to the west had once served as Elturel’s gateway. It too had been destroyed in a disaster. The stones of its outer walls had turned black, as though scorched by infernal flames, and the entire area reeked of sulfur.

No one knew what had happened there. Many believed the catastrophe was somehow connected to the disappearance of the holy city.

”How much longer can you hold out?”

”I don’t know. The sooner, the better.”

”I’ll report the situation to headquarters. If the Acting President approves the operation, we’ll provide support tomorrow at eleven in the morning. The rendezvous point will be on the opposite bank from the Fortress of the Morninglord. Fireworks will be the signal,” Jiandar instructed.

”Can’t you come tonight?” Valera pleaded.

Jiandar firmly shook his head while signaling Anser with his eyes not to speak.

”Alright. I’ll wait for you.” Valera took out a magical contract and placed it on the table.

But Jiandar didn’t even glance at it. Instead, he pointed toward the door.

”I think we can trust each other’s word on this. Head back first. I’ll do everything I can to make it happen.”

With tears welling in her eyes, Valera looked toward Anser. Seeing him staring absentmindedly into his teacup, completely unmoved, she had no choice but to get up and leave.

”You have to come...” she whispered again while gripping the doorframe before stepping outside.

Anser said nothing.

After closing the door, he returned to his seat across from Jiandar and asked in confusion, ”Why didn’t you ask for anything in return?”

”I don’t believe a group of homeless drow can offer the Magic Research Society much of value,” Jiandar replied with a faint smile. ”We won’t make demands, and we won’t make any guarantees either.

”Our objective is simply to keep this Chosen alive and let them continue fighting.”

It was a speculative move.

Not only would it allow them to establish ties with a Chosen aligned with the goodly gods, but it would also give them an opportunity to assess the strength of Chosen firsthand.

”I understand. Can I participate?” Anser wanted to learn more about the Magic Research Society himself and hopefully harvest a decent amount of experience points in the process.

”Of course. Arrive early tomorrow. Headquarters will open a portal directly to the Fortress of the Morninglord. The area is relatively safe. If I remember correctly, there are also several small towns nearby...”

After discussing a few more details, the two activated their conduits and returned to Faerûn.

As for the affairs here, the specially contracted ghosts would handle them.

When Anser returned to Fort Jacqueline, it was still early.

Iris was quite surprised that he had come back so quickly.

”I just bought a few potions and exchanged some intelligence with Wizard Jiandar from the Magic Research Society...” Anser dropped onto the seat beside her and recounted everything he had learned.

”Drow elves?” Iris’s expression changed slightly. ”You’re really going? What about Rock of Bral?”

In her view, any force capable of occupying Baldur’s Gate had to be formidable. They had already offended one Chosen. Provoking Lolth’s Chosen as well didn’t seem wise.

”Rock of Bral takes priority, but I don’t expect much progress on Evan’s side,” Anser said.

Anything involving both a Chosen and a royal family made it difficult to find powerful allies. Everyone had their own concerns. Who would be willing to pick a side so easily?

Perhaps only after Chosen started dying one after another would the aura surrounding them finally be broken.