Belmarniss takes a shield and a mage armor out of the staff, Foxes Garrus.

Nathyrra turns her ring and ever-so-carefully rolls the rock out of the way. After a few seconds there's a soft crack, and the wizard in front of the closer artillery piece crumples.

The other wizard turns to see what's going on, only to be filled with arrows. He, too, falls.

Garrus crawls out of the crawlspace, followed by the rest of the party. They stay low; the plateau has some artificial cover, probably from Stone Shape, which they're staying behind.

"You doing both artilleries?" asks Belmarniss.

"It would be better if we fired both at once, to catch the maximum number of sleeping drow - but if you don't have any major area-of-effect damage spells, I can take both."

"Got diamond spray, but I didn't know if they had to fire right away."

"They do. Diamond Spray should be fine, it'll take out the guards below and give us a bit of breathing room."

Belmarniss nods and stands ready.

Deekin casts Haste on everyone.

And Nathyrra, after a countdown, casts Chain Lightning on a sleeping drow about five hundred feet away.

The crackling lightning rips through eighteen drow in total. They die in their sleep, except for one who resists the spell, and the origin, who survives if only barely.

Belmarniss does her Diamond Spray at the same moment.

Which shreds some more drow (and duergar) at the bottom of the cliff.

After that, things descend into chaos a bit. There are drow waking up, picking up weapons, and rushing towards the ramp. There are also a handful of drow and duergar who were already up, cleaning weapons or praying or on guard duty, and they're also rushing towards the cliff. Garrus picks some of them off, but there's too many of them for that to keep them away for long.

It's at this point, once a decent chunk of the army has advanced on their position, that Nathyrra casts her second spell: "Transmute Rock to Mud."

Suddenly, two dozen drow sink up to their waists in an enormous pool of mud. The chaos intensifies in their favor; some of the drow are still advancing, but it's slow, since they're having to swim through thick muck. Some of the others, outside the mud, try to take potshots at the party, but with the party taking cover behind the chest-high wall around the plateau, they're not having much luck.

Belmarniss fills the bottleneck with a river of wind.

This combination of effects makes the wait until the artillery recharges almost leisurely. Garrus continues poking over the wall to shoot promising-looking targets, and crossbow bolts plink off his armor, but his timing is unpredictable and he's heavily armored enough that none of them do significant damage.

Once the artillery has recharged, Nathyrra pops off a Delayed Blast Fireball. She doesn't bother delaying the explosion, just blasts the army into ash and the mud into baked clay.

"I think that might have taken out everyone," she says. She casts Clairvoyance to check. "I'm not seeing anyone left alive, and I'm seeing a lot of bodies."

"Rah."

She nods sadly. "I don't enjoy the killing either. Not since I found Eilistraee. I just have to remind myself it's in pursuit of a greater goal."

"Is it evangelism time or do we need to move on?"

"It's not evangelism time just yet. Halaster's being held by a powerful cleric, one of the Valsharess's personal handmaidens. She's got two high-level wizards with her, and eight crossbowers. I think we should-"

Her eyes flick to the empty air on the ramp and widen. "Wait- someone's-"

A voice says "Finger of Death." There's a moment of agony, and Belmarniss...

Wakes up somewhere else.

"Greetings, Sojourner," says a resonant voice. "How may I serve you?"

"You can explain."

"Certainly. What would you like me to explain?"

"Where am I? I've been morbidly curious if I get remanded to Pharasma or locally managed, if I die here. Did I die or is this a weird hallucination spell?"

"This is the Gatehouse, an offshoot of the Fugue Plane, the realm of the dead." He gestures to the many doors lining the walls of the chamber in which they stand. "You are welcome here, Sojourner, as you bear my Relic. And you have not truly perished; I pulled you to this realm at the very moment before your death, and as soon as you are ready I can send you back."

"Your relic? ...weird cursed arrowhead?"

It's hard to tell, but the strange figure seems to be smiling. "The very thing. It is not cursed, in a conventional sense; it is merely bound to you, as I am bound to it, and as this place is bound to me."