Some of the party manage to rest. Shalazar callously sleeps, ignoring the apparent danger they are in. The Drunk Wizard repeatedly tries to explain to Illiaph the complexities of attempting to teleport through the sanctum effect enveloping this building. Halafas apologizes for the difficulty, not knowing that it would be protected in such a way.
The party have to move. If they stay here, they will be discovered eventually. Jamlamin points out the exit on their map and they decide to make a break for it.
The hallways are dark. The oil lamps have burned very low and many of them are out. A screeching groan echoes through the passageway. They make their way cautiously through the temple. They stop short, overhearing a conversation in orcish. Jamlamin listens intently.
"I don't care how long it takes, find them. If they are who you say they are, then they will have the ring. Your pitiful gang has failed enough times. Perhaps you would serve better as ghasts ?"
The party move in closer. Through a portcullis, Dael is surprised to lock eyes with a familiar dwarf. Thozmolim stops for a moment, standing over the gold leafed skeleton of a hobgoblin king. He lowers his hammer and smiles.
The scro shouts out, hurling green lightning at the party. He is dispatched by a well placed headshot by an enraged Dael. She and the party burst Galdan the Gold 's burial chamber demanding to know why Thozmolim was here.
"Ah my friends! I was hoping to meet up with you again. You left me in Illden for so long, I was forced to take on odd jobs."
"What are you doing? I thought you said you didn't want to release the necrosange."
"Release? This is a controlled environment. No ghasts can escape this labyrinth and there are plenty of subjects to work with."
Jamlamin angrily draws his swords at that last comment.
"You think of us as subjects!? You will die for this you filthy dwarf!"
"Subjects. Your kind treated dwarves as slaves, fooling them by offering aid. Is this not what your mercy has wrought?"
"We thought you didn't follow Vis anymore!"
"Lord Vis has perished. Tuck now leads the remnants of their cult, some kind of gang I presume."
"Yeah but Funiku is still around. The god is dead, but the lich lives."
Thozmolim suddenly grows very solemn
"... The master lives? He lives on after his defeat by the trickster king? I must speak with him. I must. He will be pleased with my progress."
"No! What? No! Vis is dead, don't you get it? He's gone! You are free to do whatever you please!"
"I chose to serve my master."
He turns to leave, Illiaph has lost all patience with the deuregar and a streak of violet energy pierces Thozmolim's side. The deuregar raises his hammer, slamming it on the ground. A wave of sickening black erupts form the hammer and washes over the party as ghasts flood from the passageways. The ghasts swarm the party and provide Thozmolim adequate cover for his escape further into the dungeon. He heads down a passageway.
"He's headed for the Katol'íst! The way is shut! That's a dead end."