D&D 5E (IC) Fitz's Folly

Miss Imogen rolls in her sleep. For a moment, she shivers, though the air remains muggy and warm. Her pack is nearby and, in her slumber, she reaches for the Chultan doll afixed to the outside of the pack, which she had been given by the young child. She holds it close as if for comfort. She shivers again.

Chrysagon was right. The burnt-out shrine made for a reasonably easy-to-defend campsite. It had decent sight-lines for the rotating watch, and a partial roof which, when reinforced with a tarp, kept the night's rain off. The campers went undisturbed until the early morning, when a docile herd of tall beasts (hadrosaurs) moved through the outskirts of the camp to drink from the river (generally not a good idea for a humanoid, but the beasts were apparently adapted to whatever diseases the water contained). The creatures were so large and numerous that it caused a little concern in the campsite, but in the end, none of the beasts approached the shrine, and they all hurried back into the jungle after awhile.

Artus Cimber did as he promised. After a small breakfast, he gathered some basic equipment from his canoe and climbed the stairs to the Man-and-Crocodile statue. Qawasha shook his head, but seemed less like he was offended, and more like he thought it was a bad idea. Dragonbait insisted on accompanying Cimber into the statue (silently, but resolutely). Soon a loud crashing noise was heard from within the statue's dark corridor. Then there was silence for a few minutes, then a metallic hammering noise, followed by a longer silence. Finally, Artus Cimber emerged from the statue, straining against the weight of Dragonbait, who was on his back in a piggy-back. Together in such a way, they seemed the spiting image of the statue itself.

"By Ubtao!" laughed Qawasha, "That is amazing! Also, very funny."

Dragonbait hopped of of Cimber's back, apparently embarrassed, and Artus Cimber presented to Miss Imogen his findings. At first, they seemed pretty meagre. He held out a clay jug with a simple zig-zag design in its glaze. It seemed unremarkable as he pulled its stopper and poured water on the ground, but then he replaced the stopper, shook the jug, and said, "Tej!" then he pulled the stopper and poured the famed Chultan fermented honey drink (Tej). He also presented to her four large petrified-looking beans. They were about the size of a hen's egg and carved with strange runes.

"Beans of Many!" Qawasha gasped, "They have many varied effects upon planting. I wonder what these will do..."

Rodrigo's eyebrows rose

"A magical jug? How much water can it create per day? A very useful gift indeed! Well done master Cimber. As far as the beans we'll... have to wait for the best?

Now let us break camp and part ways. May fortune smile on you master Cimber. I'll go free that axebeak now..."

stealth check to free axe beak without it noticing: 1D20+4 = [2]+4 = 6


OOC: ha!

Qawasha called after Rodrigo, "Weed released the bird while you were setting up camp last evening! As far as the beans go, I may be able to figure out what they do by taking a look at the markings on them."

Miss Imogen woke with the dawn, but was not allowed to take a watch. "Rest easy" she had been told, as she adjusted her clothing and straightened her hair. She replaced the Chultan doll on her pack.

No one had spoken yet of the previous day's events. She nudged the fire awake, and began to boil some water, but she just ate an apple, which cleaned her teeth and made her feel fresh. She relished its coolness.

By then, Artus had joined her, as had the others. She kept her gaze down, but she did check to see if he was wearing the ring or not. She hoped he would not be. When he and Dragonbait went into the temple, she began to wipe the others' cups clean, and she was surprised when he emerged with the magical jug.

"Thank you, Mr. Cimber," she said simply. "Yesterday, I spoke true in my apology to you. I hope our paths will cross again." She turned to his companion. "Dragonbait..." But no further words would come.

Artus Cimber was wearing the ring, and he caught Miss Imogen looking at it. He said kindly, "I know you worry that I will be controlled by it as you were before you valiantly fought it off. When I put it on again, it tried; but I have had many years of experience keeping it in check. I am okay, and I will remain so. The reason I wear it is threefold: It is easier not to lose it; Magic cannot find me with it on and can without it and (as you know) people with means are looking for me; and, finally, I admit, I find the abilities it possesses (that I have been able to master) to be very useful. I suppose I should add a fourth: Without wearing it, I would be long dead of old age. It slows my ageing to a glacial pace, no pun intended."

The group gathered their things and returned to the canoes, setting out upriver. Artus Cimber and Dragonbait travelled with them for about an hour, and then finding a tributary that broke off northward, they said farewell and wished the Sticks luck with their important mission.

Harb bade Artus and Dragonbait farewell as they took their leave. As for the rest, he showed no interest in what happened, and resumed his watchful post on their canoe's rudder/oar.

It has been a quiet three days. Miss Imogen had spent most of it in the bow, paddling silently with the eyes of her companions upon her. Her job was simple, and without any real decisionmaking: a basic draw, pulling the canoe slowly upriver. Others did the steering. She was not obliged or expected to interact. And she did not respond even when an observation was made generally to the group. "Deadhead!" someone would call when a water-soaked log was approaching. Or "Alligator," as the case may be.

The smell of rotting vegetation came in waves, mixed with the constant aroma of pollen, as the jungle fought against itself to grow and become ever more lush.

Miss Imogen shivered, unconsiciously.

As the canoe came around the bend, she stopped paddling. The devastation appeared complete, and she instinctively reached for her bow. Her eyes followed to her hand, and she realized she had never restrung it.

Was she a prisoner? Was she still part of the group? Was she perhaps with them, but no longer of them? She did not know.

"Permission to string my bow?" she asked.

If anyone gives her an okay, she will do so; otherwise she will stay ready.

"Yes, be ready. You never know."

Chrysagon kneels in front of the boat, raising his oar with the Gauntlet tabard attached on it as a flag to show to any sentry who's faction he is and avoid friendly fire.