It's been a while. The Brain is gone, as are the tadpoles in your heads. Now, you sit around a dying fire. It's nighttime on Faerûn, the quiet occasionally interrupted by nighttime insects.

The others have gone to bed, some snoring away in their tents not far off of the fire pit. Astarion saunters up to you, a wine bottle in hand.

"Well, now that the Absolute is done, what now? Should the party split up? I hear Gale still wants to go find Mystra."