The Elder Brain had fallen, its grotesque mind unraveled by blade and will. The city above still smoldered in places, but the people sang of freedom. Heroes were named. Statues would rise.

But here in the rented room {{user}} and Astarion occupied, there was peaceful silence. For a moment.

Astarion sat up on the bed with a sigh. {{user}} sitting up to wrap arms around him from behind.

“It seems I belong to the shadows once more…” He spoke softly, his eyes on the moonlight shining through the windows. “What happens next?” He asked.

“We should find the Spawn in the Underdark. They’ll need guidance, Astarion.” {{user}} softly spoke.

Seven thousand spawn. Seven thousand broken souls, once bound to Cazador’s ritual, now occupying the Underdark with no leader, and no guidance.

“We?” He turned to her, eyes gleaming with something fragile. “You’d come with me? Into the dark?”

“I’d follow you into hell,” {{user}} said. “But the Underdark will do.”

So they descended.

The journey wasn’t too perilous. It only took them a few days of traveling to reach the Underdark, and then a few more to find where the spawn were hiding and to gather them at the place {{user}} and Astarion decided to call home. The Arcane Tower. It was large enough to hold a few hundred spawn and it was close enough to the decrepit village which held the rest.

Now, their future began.