(Cydra) The Year 271 Campaign (Low Magic experiment)

[the Jester]

The fight above was the end of a session. The pcs involved in the next session were:

Sheriff Jorgen- fighter 2/rogue 1
Dahlia the Crazy Hermit- druid 3
Cara Reed- bard 3
Kyle Goldenbow- rogue 2
Sir Cedric- knight 2
Otis Optimus- wizard 2
Cur Sed Seed- ranger 2

Sadly, due to not being able to make it to many games and even then for only short periods, Lazarus is still a 1st-level priest.

Edit: of course, at this point Kyle only has 6 frickin' hit points at full.

Low con, rolled a 1 when leveling up.

 

[the Jester]

Meanwhile (and a few days earlier), back in Whitewater, Fwaigo “Goer” Smith wakes up and has breakfast with his family in preparation for a long day at the forge with his father. On the wall is a crude wooden slat that his father uses as a calendar and makes note of various business transactions and appointments. Goer’s father, Brackburn, spends a few moments hmm’ing over it this morning before finally smacking himself in the forehead.

“What is it, Dad?” asks Goer.

“I knew I forgot something important today!” Brackburn replies, shaking his head. “Blast!” He turns to his son. “Well, lad, I’m going to need you to take care of something for me.”

“What’s that?”

Brackburn explains that, during the autumn, he had made arrangements to purchase some supplies for the smithy from a dwarven merchant with whom he trades every year or so. “But I’ve got to meet with Sir Martin today. He’s been talking about having us produce a fair-sized order of weapons and such. I think, since the incident last fall with Tumenore’s men, that he’s been considering building up something of a local force for protection.”

Goer nods. “That’s a good idea.”

“But the dwarves don’t come to town- they’ve had bad experiences in the past. I’m supposed to meet them most of a day’s journey away... but I have to meet Sir Martin at noon today instead. You’ll have to go to the dwarves in my stead.”

Goer nods again. “I understand.”

So, about an hour later, Goer finds himself driving a rented donkey-pulled cart southwest, along one of the Roaring River’s minor tributaries. The land gradually rises as he heads into the foothills. He is a little nervous about making such a journey on his own, but as the cool, invigorating air washes over him his concerns fall away, and he sings little ditties he has heard in the taverns. The flowers of early spring are to either side of the bare game trail he is following, scenting the air with their perfumes. His voice is neither sweet nor awful, but it is loud enough that he does not notice the buzzing sound until he steers the donkey almost into a four and a half foot long bee!

His singing stops suddenly as the donkey screams, and the giant bee stings it directly in the chest! With a wordless cry, Goer scrambles from the cart to more firm footing, pulling the spear he purchased just this morning (in preparation for this very journey) with him. But the bee, when it pulls back, leaves its stinger behind in the screaming, rearing donkey. The great insect’s entire hind quarters tears in two, and the thing falls to the ground dead.

But there’s more buzzing... and two more bees arise angrily from behind some of the flowering scrub brush around him. Goer goes pale as the two bees buzz towards him, and one splits off to continue harassing the poor donkey! As it stings the animal in the back, the donkey rears again, straining against its harness, and breaks free, tearing the harness apart! Still screaming in pain, the donkey lunges into the water of the creek they have been traveling beside, seeking to sooth the burning pain.

The other bee, meanwhile, darts towards Goer. With a cry, he thrusts at it, jabbing a hole in its thorax, and it wobbles in the air, trying to reach him with its stinger. Goer backpedals, trying to keep some distance between him and it, and jabs it again, this time impaling it completely. Its wings make one last loud buzz, and then it dies.

Wildly, Goer pulls his spear free, looking and listening for any more signs of trouble.

Nothing.

Panting, his face drawn with worry, he hurries to the donkey, spending a minute or two to calm it, and pulls the stingers from its flesh. They are as long as daggers, and a yellowish ichor- clearly the stings’ venom- seeps from the wounds. The donkey is shaking with fear and pain, but Goer packs mud on the wounds and gradually soothes the donkey. After a time he ties the broken harness back together as best he can and soon he and the donkey have resumed their journey. Goer no longer sings; he keeps his eyes and ears open more fully.

At about mid-afternoon he passes a friendly- but somewhat suspicious- fisherman, who offers to share some fish with him but is evasive when asked who his lord is. Goer shrugs and politely declines, stating that he has an appointment that he must keep, and tells the man (who says his name is Sooth) to look him up if he’s ever in Whitewater. He continues along his way.

Evening is rolling in when Goer finally reaches the dwarves. Though they are suspicious of him at first, when he declares that he is Brackburn’s son and that his father had to meet with his lord, the dwarven leader (named Thurbardin) nods sagely. “We dwarves understand duty,” he declares. Still, they require that Goer demonstrate that he is a smith, and as the sun goes down Goer finds himself politely forced to demonstrate his skills with a hammer and tongs using a large flat rock as an improvised anvil. Once he has straightened the bent horseshoes and sharpened the dull blades before him, Thurbardin nods again and the dwarves seem to become much more accepting of him. They transact their business, Goer handing over a bag of coin from his father and receiving an inventory of metals and tools from the dwarven group. Afterwards, they share a bowl of disgusting fish gruel with him, which he gladly eats (being quite hungry after his day’s journey) and then offer him some dwarven ale, which Goer is extremely impressed by. They disdainfully wave his little wooden mug aside and loan him a dwarf-sized stein, which is as large as any drinking vessel Goer has ever seen.

After an amiable evening around the fire, Thurbardin offers to let Goer sleep by their fire. “We’ll keep watch, no fear,” he rumbles.

“Oh, I could take a watch if you want,” Goer offers.

“No need. There are five of us- we have a routine. No need to disturb it.”

With a shrug, Goer goes to sleep, and the night passes without event. In the morning, he packs up and prepares to leave, checking the donkey’s wounds. They are healing but still tender. “Damn giant bugs,” grumbles the squire, shaking his head and thinking of the giant ants in the ruins of Castle Laagos.

Before he leaves, he invites the dwarves to come into Whitewater some time, but Thurbardin snorts. “We’ve had trouble there in the past,” he responds. “The lords of your town didn’t much care for us. Damn Laagos family...”

“Well, they are long gone,” Goer explains, “and the current ruling family is, er, much more reasonable.” Still, the dwarves seem uninterested. Relations between humans and dwarves are fair at the moment, but Thurbardin seems convinced that there is no reason for them to stay that way for long. Goer shrugs. “Well, if you ever change your mind, look me up,” he says with a smile.

***

That evening, back in Whitewater, Goer spends several silver at the Fat Mallard, telling the tale of how the donkey and he fought off a swarm of almost a dozen giant bees. He impresses the other patrons with his tale, and soon he discovers that one of the folk in the tavern is Cara Reed’s little brother, Mane (who is somewhere around 14 or 15 years old). Buying him a drink, Goer asks Mane to tell him about his sister.

“She’s a bitch,” Mane says immediately, and proceeds to rant about his sister in the way only a 14 or 15-year-old little brother can. He rails against his mother, too, but when he starts to mock Sir Cedric Goer warns him off.

“Watch it!” he snaps. “He’s my lord.”

“Oh, of course, of course...” Mane Reed backs away from his affected lithp and becomes immediately more respectful. Goer claps him on the back and buys another ale for him. As the night starts to turn late, the two chat amiably, and Mane mentions that his mother was a member of some order of knights in her younger days called the Order of the Paladin. He doesn’t know much- really, anything- about said order, however.

Eh. Goer calls it a night.

***

A few days of hard work at the forge pass uneventfully for Goer. Apparently Sir Cedric has left town for a little while to work on some sort of goblin problem, but the details are lost on Goer. Then, one morning, Bartholomew, Sir Martin’s footman, summons him to the Whitewater estate. After quickly washing, Goer follows him to the estate. Sir Martin greets him from behind his desk and pulls a book entitled The Natural History of Plants of the Foothills and Mountains from a drawer.

“Fwaigo, last fall you offered to help me with my wife’s illness,” Sir Martin begins. “I have had so many hopes dashed, but I am no quitter. I will never give up!” His face is fierce. “I have recently had something new brought to my attention. There is a flower that grows further up in the mountains that I am told might be able to at least help treat some of the symptoms of the wasting disease that has taken hold of her.” He flips the book open to a dog-eared page and points at a picture. “That one there.”

Sir Martin goes on to explain that his son, the sheriff, and several of their companions have set out to try to deal with whatever has driven the goblins from Goblin Gorge. “We’ve sold them animals to help keep them fed through the winter,” he adds, “and we wish to get them to return to their gorge. Goblin Gorge is halfway to the flowers. I want you to proceed to the gorge, link up with the sheriff and Sir Cedric and the others, and thence- after completing their current mission- go further up the mountains until you can retrieve the flowers in question.”

Goer nods. “Yes, my lord,” he replies. He proceeds to make a few suggestions (“perhaps we should lead the goblins to deal with their own problems”) that are rejected (“it would not be proper for goblins to follow a Whitewater banner”) and ask a few questions (“no, we don’t have any dogs- we had to eat them in the famine of 262... no, I’ve never heard of the Order of the Paladins”) before heading back to town to prepare.

Soon he is back in Whitewater, gathering his gear and making ready to depart. The question of this Order of Paladins still has his curiosity piqued, though, and so he heads to the Old-Timer’s house before leaving. It turns out, according to the Old-Timer, that the Order of the Paladin is a group of knights that protect the weak, defend the downtrodden and generally comport themselves with the highest moral stance they can. Interesting, Goer thinks.

Then he sets out on yet another lone journey, looking for game along the way. I would love to find some venison, he thinks, his mouth watering, but alas, the best he can do is some quail and coneys.

***

“Hey, look- an intact building!” Kyle gestures, and indeed, amongst the rubble and burnt remains of the goblin village there is one structure that still stands. Cautiously, weapons drawn, our heroes move towards it. The stone building, 25’ square, has been touched by flames, and the thatch roof that was once upon it has been burned off, but the building itself is otherwise in good shape. Some kind of white powder is on the ground within and immediately around it.

“Salt,” announces Jorgen after putting a small amount of it on his tongue.

“Durka zishoza!” comes a voice. “Maglube dis durka!”

Our heroes are most surprised to discover a living goblin within the place. She is filthy and covered in soot but seems unharmed. The interior of the building is dominated by a statue of a great, burly-looking goblin with a shield and a club.

“Durka jeehaw! Sherpik del durka Maglube!” the goblin says excitedly.

“Doeth anyone here thpeak Goblin?” asks Sir Cedric.

There is a moment of silence.

“I think Cur does,” Cara says at last.

“And maybe Otis,” adds Kyle. “Crikey! Where are those two when you need them?”

“Durka Zeem del Maglube ix jershova!” the goblin says, and gestures at the big statue. “Maglube durka!”

“How did she survive here?” wonders Cara.

“I wonder if the salt has something to do with it,” Jorgen muses.

“Maybe we should gather some up,” suggests Kyle. Carefully watching the goblin- who manages to communicate via gesture that her name is Zeem and that the statue is Maglube, but nothing else- the group gathers a few pouches of the salt.

“Where do you suppose all the salt came from?” wonders Dahlia.

***

Meanwhile, the two members of the group that speak Goblin have begun their own trek up the river towards the Goblin Gorge. Otis broods as he and Cur travel along the north bank of the Roaring River. According to the lord’s men, Sir Cedric and the sheriff and the others are trying to find and drive out whatever drove the goblins from their homes, he thinks. And it sounds as though whatever it was came from an elf ruin up there! Well, clearly, I shall have to investigate that ruin. Who knows what arcane secrets might remain there? Secrets that perhaps even my old mistress knows nothing of- the secret powers of the lost elves.

I wonder what happened to drive the elves away. Do they still exist somewhere, or are they all dead? If they exist yet, where have they gone? Why? There are many unanswered questions about them. I hope to plumb the depths of the mysteries of the elves, and perhaps Dahlia can aid me with them. I know that she is interested in her elf heritage as well. And she seems to have a crude talent for nature magic. Well, with any luck, we’ll find out something up here... He sighs. Since I have broken with Lady Xastys, I must find a way to discover new spells. The costs of research and scribing spells are almost prohibitive. I must discover the secrets of the elves- I must!

It takes about a day and a half to reach the gorge from Whitewater, and when Otis and Cur do they spy a long fence rising uphill to the north. A wooden fort guards the gate, and the two approach it. Soon they find themselves in negotiations with the leader of this particular group of goblins, whose name turns out to be Glourkin Scrimmercut. Fortunately, both Cur and Otis speak the crude tongue of goblins, so they have no difficulty expressing themselves. They declare that they come in peace to find their friends, and they explain the mission that the others are on.

Glourkin chuckles and tells them that they are on the wrong side of the gorge.

“Surely you have a way to cross over,” Otis says, half a question.

“We knocked out the bridge when the horrible thing came,” Glourkin replies. He goes on to describe the terrifying day when the horrible beast came into the goblin territory across the gorge, slaying and burning and driving out the lucky ones. “It almost made it to the bridge- we had to knock it out with dozens of our own kind still on it!”

Cur is appalled. “Did you at least kill the monster?”

“No- it escaped. As far as we know, it still lurks across the gorge.”

“That’s terrible!” Cur exclaims.

After some negotiations, and paying Glourkin a bribe, the goblins dispatch two scouts to escort Cur and Otis. “They’ll take you to someone who might be able to help you cross over,” declares Glourkin, pocketing the coins he was given. He squints at them. “Good luck to you- but beware! The monster is terrible!” However, our heroes are forced to leave their weapons behind. Glourkin assures them that he will provide them with a single weapon for their journey, but this turns out to be nothing more than a pointed stick. Somehow, they feel as though this is not the most effective weapon they could have been given.

As the two goblins assigned to guide them lead them uphill beyond the line of the fence, Otis and Cur confer, being careful to speak in Kamendan rather than Goblin. “We must find a way to get across the water,” Otis states.

Cur nods. “The goblin seemed to think that heading further upstream and crossing through the valley just past the gorge is our best way. I wonder if they can provide us with a boat?”

“Would you trust a goblin boat?”

“Good point.”

In fact, thinks Otis, I don’t trust these goblins at all. He glances at the two small red-skinned humanoids ahead of him, then at Cur’s pointed stick.

It is fortunate, he thinks, that I am a weapon myself. Soon... but not until they are out of sight of the fort.


Next Time: Goer battles a giant frog! Otis and Cur betray their escort- and land in some serious trouble because of it! The others find a disgusting area like nothing they’ve ever seen, and the source of the strange tracks!

 

[Once a Fool]

Mmm. A thoroughly enjoyable read with lots of low-level goodness. I especially enjoyed the parlay with the goblins.

 

[the Jester]

Mmm. A thoroughly enjoyable read with lots of low-level goodness. I especially enjoyed the parlay with the goblins.

Ahh, glad you're enjoying it! Expect another update in the next couple of hours.

 

[the Jester]

Goblin Gorge: the Cyst

It is disgusting, whatever it is. It is also huge. It looks- and smells- like someone with badly-polluted lungs had coughed up a ball of phlegm as big as a meadow and spat it upon the ground. A whiff of that dizzying, sick smell makes out heroes’ heads swim.

“Those weird tracks seem thicker towards it,” Dahlia gestures, making a face full of distaste. She can’t stop staring at the weird... growth? Cyst?

The closer they get, the worse the stink becomes. The party circles around the cyst through the ruins of the goblin village, and they spy a number of nostril-like openings in the thing, big enough to easily accommodate them. “Do thingth live in there?” Sir Cedric says, aghast. The cyst itself is irregular in shape but well over a thousand feet across. It is not too high off the ground; this must be the strange smear the group saw as they first entered the ruined village. When they nervously approach the cyst, they find themselves entering a layer of stomach-turning foul air once they are within about a dozen feet of it. Moreover, a strange, unearthly sound seems to emanate from it, a weird low warbling screech that sets the party’s hair on end.

“I don’t know about this,” Dahlia mutters, barely able to keep her gorge from rising.

The party retreats for the moment. “Perhapth we thould watch it from up the hill, from a pothithion of conthealment,” suggests Sir Cedric. “We can thee if thomething emergeth. And if not, we can alwayth go invethtigate it tomorrow.”

The others agree that this seems a wise course, and so they retreat up the slope of the hill closest to the alien blemish on the ground. Is that the source of the goblins’ troubles? wonders Cara. What is it? I’ve never heard of anything like it... She shakes her head. I wonder if Mom ever saw anything like this.

***

Meanwhile, on the road to the Goblin Gorge, Goer continues his journey, whistling happily. He gnaws on a piece of jerky as he walks. He kicks a stone along for a time, then leaves it behind as it bounces off the side of his path and into some manzanita. The air is chilly, but not cold; the day is pleasant for walking. I wish I had a horse, thinks Goer, not for the first time.

That evening, as he is setting up camp and debating whether to slow his journey in order to hunt for game on the morrow, he hears a loud ribbit coming from the direction of the river. He glances off into the gloom, seeking the source, and catches a glimpse of movement- large movement. A frog almost as big as Goer himself is hopping towards him. It croaks again, its throat ballooning out.

Goer drops the firewood he is carrying and grabs up his longspear. “There’s dinner right there!” he sings to himself, and he charges forward, skewering the giant frog! It makes a different, agonized noise, and shoots its sticky tongue at Goer. The squire dodges aside, jerking his spear free, and jabs it again, this time directly in the head! The giant frog spasms, trying to jump away, but one more stab and the thing is done.

“All right!” exclaims Goer gleefully. “Frog legs!”

Why, there’s got to be four days’ worth of food on that thing!

***

Night is creeping in, with the sun already behind the mountains. Otis, Cur and the two goblins guiding them are already in deep shadow. We’re well out of sight of the goblin fort, Otis thinks craftily. He sidles up next to Cur and murmurs, “It’s time.” He glances towards the goblins. “Let’s kill them. Their friends will never know, and they’re goblins.” The wizard’s disdain for the humanoids is plain, but fortunately neither of the guides speak Kamendan. Savages, Cur reiterates mentally.

“Do ya have a plan?” Cur mutters back. “They took all my weapons.” He gestures vaguely with the pointed stick the goblins allowed him to take.

“Yes,” Otis replies. “I will put one of them to sleep and you can take his weapon.”

“They’re smaller than me, but I suppose it’s better than a stick,” Cur allows.

And the two put their plan into action. Their two goblin guards scarcely know what hits them; one drops to Otis’ sleep spell, and Cur snatches up his little axe and proceeds immediately to bury it in the other goblin’s neck. Then they easily dispatch the sleeping one.

“We’ll see if we can find this ‘Sooth’ person in the morning,” declares Otis. Cur is busy cleaning off the axe. “We can find somewhere to camp in the meantime.”

Soon, leaving the bloody bodies of their goblin guides behind, the two have settled into the meager concealment of the brush. Both of them are tired from the long day’s journey, and it is not long before both of them are fast asleep.

When the goblins (who were looking for their friends but are now looking for their friends’ murderers) find Otis and Cur, they are still asleep.

***

Several hours earlier, as the sun is just dropping behind the mountains, Cara points down at the cyst. “Look!” she cries. “Something is coming out of it!”

Indeed, there are three ‘somethings’ emerging from within the mucus-like... structure? Boil? They appear more or less humanoid in form, but they are wearing strange armor of brownish resin.

“Perhapth thothe creatureth have the anthers we theek!” declares Sir Cedric.

“They moight be very dangerous,” remarks Kyle.

“Thurely we can overcome any foeth,” Sir Cedric retorts, and he mounts his horse. “Come, I will interthept them on Thunderputh, and you follow along.” With that, the knight is galloping downslope towards the three strange figures.

Sheriff Jorgen calls, “Wait for me, my lord!” Then he, Cara, Dahlia and Kyle are following down the slope of the hill, as fast as their unmounted legs can carry them. Cara quickly takes the lead, outdistancing her armored and encumbered friends.

“You there!” Sir Cedric calls. “Ekthplain yourthelveth!”

The figures turn, and something about the way they move strikes Cedric as profoundly wrong. Then one gestures, and a crackling violet bolt shoots forth, striking Sir Cedric soundly in the chest! There is no pain, but the knight can feel weakness spreading out through his limbs. He groans in surprise. His friends on the hillside, trying to catch up with him, are shocked to see both Thuderpuss and Sir Cedric suddenly collapse in a spray of weird fuchsia and umber motes that comes from another of the figures.

“Cedric!” screams Cara. She pulls out her shortbow.

“Oh no!” Kyle groans.

“Stay away from him!” cries Jorgen.

They are closing in, but the figures are still too far away to reach as they shuffle forward and pick Sir Cedric’s limp form up. Then they start heading towards the cyst with him.

Dahlia casts faerie fire and the fallen knight, as well as his sudden captors, start to glow with an eldritch green light. But they are not discouraged. Cara’s bow shot, on the other hand, flies true. Suddenly one of the pair that are carrying Cedric’s body staggers a bit.

Then the creatures sprout foul, membranous wings. They unfold from the monsters’ backs- for clearly, now, these are no earthly creature- in a shower of grey and yellow fluid.

“Let him go!” Cara screams again, and shoots another arrow. She is still advancing, and the others keep running towards the foul, now winged trio. The one that is not carrying Sir Cedric moves to meet the advancing heroes. It reaches into its armor and pulls out a strange thing that is surely a weapon. It has a black, resinous handle like a dagger; but instead of a blade, a broad, flat whip-like thing extends from it. It is flexible and as long as a shortsword, and the creature begins carving the air with it as it advances towards Cara, its movements oddly wrong. She attempts to tumble away from it, but it slashes her with the edge of the whip dagger. She hisses in pain, then snaps off another arrow at the retreating villains holding her fiancé.

Sir Cedric, meanwhile, is finally starting to come around. He begins struggling weakly just as the others finally arrive, nearly out of breath. He shakes his head to clear it- What’s that smell? he wonders for an instant- and then gasps as he sees a purple cloud take Cara down. She falls, senseless to the ground, just as he had.

But then the sheriff arrives with a great bellow! Jorgen charges one of the two beings holding his lord and runs him through in a single blow! The figure collapses instantly, leaving Sir Cedric half-free, and then the other creature holding him releases him as well. It takes a single step away and then blasts the group with another flash of umber, magenta and yellow motes and vapor. The one with the strange weapon out begins dueling with Kyle. It whips the broad film at the lapidary, drawing a bloody line in his arm. Kyle yelps, but he doesn’t want to back down. Instead, he springs forward- but trips over his own feet and goes sprawling!** “This is so embarrassing,” he groans from the ground.

Sir Cedric wrests his bastard sword free of its baldric, and with a wordless cry of triumph he decapitates one of the strange things in a single blow! Grinning, he turns to the last one- which is advancing on Kyle’s prone form- just in time to see Jorgen take it in the side with a thrust from his blade. The monster jerks and collapses to the ground, destroyed.

Our heroes take a few minutes to regain their breath, to allow their hearts to stop pounding. “That was close,” opines Kyle.

“Nonthenthe!” Cedric snorts. “They were no match for uth! In fact, perhapth we thould enter the nothtril.” He gestures at the entrance from which the creatures had come.

“It’s a big place,” Cara responds. “There are probably more of them.”

“Plus we haven’t seen the fire creature yet,” Kyle points out.

“Well, we certainly can’t just leave them here,” Sheriff Jorgen says. “They have to be connected to whatever the creature that drove the goblins out was. But didn’t Brart say it was fiery? These guys don’t seem fiery.”

“Maybe there’s something else in there.” Kyle gestures at the cyst again.

“We should try to lure them out a few at a time,” suggests Jorgen. “There could be a lot of them in there.”

“Let’s take the bodies and head back up the hill,” Kyle says. “We can examine them at our leisure.”

The others agree, and the plan is executed.

***

A day later, when Cur finally opens his eyes, he can feel blood matting his hair. He groans and shifts, but he is bound at both the ankles and the wrists; his hands are secured behind his back. His head throbs. His vision doubles momentarily before clearing.

“Finally,” a voice grates in Goblin. Cur shifts his eyes to the goblins looming above him. He is in a very uncomfortable position, and he seems to have been tossed into a small boat on top of Otis, whose limp form is below him, also tied up.

“Murderers!” spits one of the goblins.

Glourkin snarls, “We were going to help you, but you killed our friends for no reason! Well, you’ll get some justice now!” He spits as well.

Cur can hear the sounds of water rushing just off to his side. Did they put us in a boat? he wonders. He is dizzy and does not feel so well. They hit us on the head while we slept, he realizes. “Wait,” he croaks to Glourkin. “There must be a misunderstanding...”

“Push them in,” Glourkin commands. Ignoring Cur’s protests, the goblins push, and suddenly Cur can feel the current take them. Yes- clearly, he and Otis are in a boat. But why? There are no goblins piloting us...

Spat! Suddenly a long rope of weird, mucus-like stuff hits the stern of the boat, dropping down from above. What the hell is that? Cur wonders. He can feel Otis shift beneath him and he hears a groan come from the wizard.

Spat! The aft of the boat is hit by a rope of mucus too. There is a peculiar, sick-person smell that comes from the lengths of phlegmy substance. Then, suddenly, the ropes go taut and the boat starts to ascend jerkily. It does not remain too even, but both Cur and Otis manage to prevent themselves from falling into the water. Instead, they are reeled in to the tender clutches of the masters of the south side of Goblin Gorge.

Really, drowning might have been more merciful.

Next Time: The party successfully lures out a larger group of the enemy! Plus, Cur and Otis explore the cyst, if by ‘explore’ you mean ‘are taken helplessly into!’


*Obviously, the term ‘earthly’ is a misnomer on Cydra, but it seemed the best word to get my point across.

**Fumble.

 

[the Jester]

Here's a bonus: the two wavs I looped for the soundtrack whenever the party was too close to the cyst. Bonus points for anyone who knows what the hell they are.

 

[the Jester]

Cur and Otis Enter the Cyst

What are these things?! Cur cries out inwardly as the strange creatures reel them in. His pulse pounds; his lungs burn as the stink of sickness pours in his nostrils. He can see Otis’ eyes rolling. Then the strong fingers of the weird figures are on him, and he is being hauled towards something horrible- a great spread of brownish-yellow stuff on the ground that covers a huge area. It’s like some kind of unnatural vomit, Cur thinks despairingly, and they’re taking me inside of it!!

Indeed.

The freakish creatures’ shambling gait takes them along, out of the light and into the warm moist air within the cyst, redolent with the odor of phlegm and illness. Cur groans deep in his throat, wriggling weakly in a vain attempt to break free. The sun is left behind, the natural light fading as the alien creatures take him into their lair. And then, a moment later, he is dumped unceremoniously onto the seeping floor of the place.

A vent opens on the ground, and a foul burst of vapors gusts out, dulling his mind and making him feel sick and disoriented.

The figures walk away, and Cur struggles with his bonds. But only a few moments later the creatures return, dropping Otis next to him, and then a moment later one of them is bending over Cur. It reaches to the ground next to him and pulls a taffy-like string of brown matter from the floor itself. It stretches like a rope and in only another moment it has been wrapped around the hapless half-orc, reinforcing his bonds. Next to him he sees another of the things do the same to Otis. More vapors burst from the ground. Then one of the creatures touches the wall, and slowly a gap opens in it, almost like a mouth drawing open in a yawn. Cur groans again as his captors pick him up and carry him deeper into the cyst, into a large chamber and through it. He has a vague impression of a clutch of large eggs and some sort of weird crawling thing, and he shudders in the tight grip of the resin-armored monsters carrying him.

Then he sees an unnatural illumination flicking at his eyes from up ahead. Brownish, painful to see, it pours from the walls and floor and ceiling of the chamber they are taking him into, and Cur can feel the weird luminescence itself dulling his mind. His eyes widen as fear slaps down on him, like an elephant sitting on his chest. He gasps. This place is terrible! he cries inwardly.

The chamber reeks of that sickroom smell. A huge pool, almost 30’ in diameter, churns sluggishly with flesh-colored gunk, hissing and bubbling and smoking. Two cages of resinous material in the far corners of the chamber wait, their doors open. They have splayed, seven-pronged feet on them. Cur feels a strong urge to hide in one of the cages, but somehow he keeps his wits enough to realize that doing so might not be in his best interests. But then, it isn’t as if he has a choice.

“What are you going to do to me?” he cries. “What do you want??”

The figures hurl him into one of the cages and turn to leave. He sees the door to the cage start to swing shut of its own accord, but manages to thrust his feet out just in time.

Pain!

The door slams shut on his ankles, and Cur howls in pain. The pressure is immense. But at least he stopped it from shutting him in completely. His ankles have caught the door, but it presses fiercely against them, and already he can tell that if he remains in this position too long they will break like twigs. He hisses in pain and tries to keep his wits about him; maybe if he can slip out...

Then he hears the sound of the figures approaching again, and Otis groaning and struggling. If I can’t break free of them, Cur thinks, I doubt whether you can... He lifts his head to watch, dreading what he will see.

The figures toss Otis into the other cage, and the wizard begins to scream in terror. The cage door slams shut, sealing him in, and their captors leave, apparently- hopefully- failing to notice that Cur has kept his cage from closing completely. (My ankles, he thinks despairingly.)

Then, as Otis shrieks wordlessly, utterly panicked, the cage holding him starts to move. It rises up on its splayed feet and starts to scuttle towards the fleshy pool. “Otis!” screams Cur in horror, but he can do nothing but watch. And then the cage- and Otis- submerge into the pool.

***

Outside and uphill (and a day and a half before), Cara, Kyle, Dahlia, Sir Cedric and Jorgen are examining the bodies of the things they have slain. They are disgusted to find that both the resinous armor and the corpses themselves are softening, almost liquefying, at a rapid rate.

“Thethe thingth are dithguthting,” Sir Cedric states, the distaste plain in his voice.

“But what are they?” wonders Kyle. “I’ve never seen anything like them.”

“I’ve never even heard of anything like them,” Cara adds.

“Well, they certainly aren’t natural,” Dahlia offers.

Nobody has any answers. Maybe if Otis were here, thinks Cara, he might know something about them. She shakes her head slowly. “Let’s get away from the smell,” she suggests.

The group moves several dozen yards from the corpses after pushing them behind the face of the hill. That way, at least they won’t be immediately visible to anything emerging from the cyst. The group’s conversation is muted; they all keep an eye on the cyst below until they drop into sleep, carefully setting watches.

When the morning comes, our heroes examine the corpses again. They are little more than brown stains on the grass now. Dahlia shudders and again thinks about how unnatural these things are.

For several hours the party keeps watch nervously, waiting for the cyst to disgorge more of the creatures. Finally, at about midday, it happens. A group of the creatures, leading a couple of strange quadrupeds- perhaps their alien equivalent of hounds?- emerges. It is almost immediately apparent that they are hunting for something. Probably us, thinks Kyle.

“Let’th get them,” Sir Cedric says, loosening his bastard sword in its baldric. He mounts up and Thunderpuss whinnies.

“But more carefully this time,” Jorgen nods. “I don’t think you should ride out ahead like you did before, my lord, or they might get their filthy hands on you again!” He shudders, picturing the stains on the grass behind the hill.

Kyle studies the group below them, which numbers seven plus the ‘hounds’. “There are more of them this time, too- we should be careful.”

The party moves downhill, and almost immediately the enemy turns to meet them. Cara pulls the bag of salt she harvested from Zeem’s building, intending to try it out as a weapon, and suggests the same to the others. Kyle grins at the idea. The others have their weapons in hand. The enemy, too, draws forth their weapons- more of those weird ribbon-like daggers.

Then the battle is joined as our heroes begin to fire bows and slings. Jorgen’s first shot sinks deep into one of the resin-armored beings’ throat, and it staggers back, clamping a hand around the shaft, and falls twitching to the ground. Only seconds later the confusion of melee ensues. Cara immediately fumbles her bag of salt, dropping and spilling it, and one of the creatures makes jerky passes through the air and causes a shimmering cloud of twirling multicolored gas to appear around Sir Cedric and Cara. The knight cries out and his horse whinnies, but Cara stumbles to a halt, unable to do anything but stand stupefied in the cloud. Dahlia duels one of the monsters, her scimitar forcing the thing to back away a step but then its ribbon-like weapon whipping out and driving her a step back in turn. Her badger, however, rushing forward barking and takes a bite from its calf! Simultaneously Kyle manages to run one of the unnatural hound-things through, but then the being that created the cloud of colorful gas gestures again and his blade begins to vibrate and shake in his hands. He cries out and grips it firmly as it tries to shake itself apart, and after a moment it subsides. Jorgen, meanwhile, brings down another of the creatures, hewing off its left hand.

Things start to look ugly as one of the monsters whips Kyle across the face, knocking him back and wounding him badly. The lapidary reels, and then falls as another one of the creatures slices his arms badly with its ribbon dagger. Another of them fires a purple energy beam and Cedric and drains his strength. But then Cara breaks her fascination with the vapors and stumbles from the cloud, rejoining the battle and stabbing at one of the enemies.

The one that created the cloud and tried to shatter Kyle’s weapon begins to flee. Dahlia rushes after it; her foe has fallen, and she and the badger are ready for another. But the others are still in battle; Sir Cedric slays another of the humanoids, and Jorgen moves to aid him as the other bizarre, hound-like creature moves to flank the knight. Jorgen spears it and it howls in agony as the sheriff’s weapon sends it into its death throes.

Then it is over.

“The leader got away!” Cara curses. She has fired a couple of arrows at it, but now it has re-entered the cyst.

“Kyle!” Sir Cedric cries, rushing to his side. “I will thave you! Let me put my bandageth all over your thucculent body and bind your woundth!” He begins staunching his friend’s wounds. When he is done, the party takes stock of their situation. Most of them are wounded, Kyle is unconscious and Sir Cedric has been weakened. Not too good. They elect to retreat and rest.

“I don’t think it’s safe to just go up the hill,” Dahlia points out. “We should withdraw to the place we camped the night before we got to the gorge.”

The group rapidly agrees, and they retreat.

Next Time: Goer meets up with the party, and we check in on poor Cur and Otis!!

 

[the Jester]

Fwaigo “Goer” Smith huffs as he works his way up the hill in the early morning light. The sun is barely peeking above the eastern horizon. As he crests the ridge, Goblin Gorge comes into view for the first time in his life. He has heard of it, of course; it is infamous in town. Occasional trade happens between Whitewater and the goblins, but usually relations range from tense to hostile.

Goer is shocked to see the southern half of the land above the physical gorge itself- through which the Roaring River runs- is almost completely burnt. The stubs of the goblins’ huts are like burned-out torches, and something odd appears smeared on the ground, but at this distance he cannot identify it. Goblin Gorge is still probably a mile or more away, but Goer feels a deep sense of satisfaction. The place he is seeking is in sight.

Then he pulls his eyes down, to the bottom of the slope before him before the land starts to rise again along the edges of the gorge, and he grins. There are his friends below him, just beginning to stir! It’s a good thing I’m an early riser, he thinks to himself, and starts to scramble downslope towards his friends.

***

Cur groans. His ankles throb. The pressure of the cage door pressing against them- if he can’t free himself, or at least pull his legs free, they will surely snap soon. He glances again at the seething pool of flesh-colored fluid into which Otis, moments ago, was plunged, and shudders.

Then, to his shock, the cage rises from the pool. Otis lies immobile on the floor of it, covered with fleshy stuff the consistency of cottage cheese.

“Otis?” croaks Cur, but there is no response.

The fear that has been running through him since he was dragged into this chamber is exhausting him, but he cannot free himself of it. Cur gasps as he tries to shift his weight against the cage door crushing his ankles. He draws himself near it and tries to use his head and shoulders for leverage against the weird resinous bars of the cage. The cords on his neck bulge as he exerts his strength, somehow drained by the terror of this experience, and slowly he manages to shove his legs further through the gap until the skin and flesh starts to tear. But in a way, this helps; the pain gives him focus, and the blood helps lubricate his efforts. His jaw clenches and he lets out a snarling grunt as he pushes again, and suddenly he’s slipped out of the cage!

He is still bound by the taffy-like straps, though, and when he struggles against them they only seem to pull tighter. After a few gasping minutes, he lets himself collapse for a few moments, breathing deeply and trying to recover his strength, his courage.

But it must be something about this place. He cannot calm himself; his heart pounds in his chest. This place, this cyst on the earth, is awful. He cannot bear it. And poor Otis! What happened to him in the fluid? What must that have been like?

Again, Cur squirms against his bonds, but to no avail. Again, after a few moments he surrenders to the exhaustion. If he cannot break his bonds, he will be helpless if he is found by his captors!

Then his eyes steal across to the base of the cage he is slumped near, and he glances at its splayed feet. Each ends in seven sharply-pointed toes.

Cur hauls his body into position and begins sawing at his bonds on the sharp toes. Soon he has freed himself. His head swims and his ankles throb as he drags himself up. Sweat pours off his brow; it is hot and humid, and he feels ill from all the vapors, the fear tearing through his mind, the pain in his ankles. He stumbles towards Otis, who is moaning on the floor of the cage. “Otis?” Cur whispers, but his only answer is a moan.

Cur tries to break the bars on the doors, to no avail. There is no visible lock; there is no key that he can see anywhere. He grits his teeth in frustration, wondering how he can possibly free his friend- and then he experimentally gives the cage door a simple tug, and it opens easily.

“Come out,” he says softly, beckoning to Otis. Slowly the wizard pulls himself up and stumbles forward. Otis looks like he is on the verge of running; he looks wildly about, searching for escape, and immediately starts staggering towards the exit.

“Wait!” hisses Cur, grabbing Otis’ arm. “There are more of them! Follow my lead- we’ll have to sneak out of here.”

So Cur, shaking with fear and fatigue, limps forward. He can already feel his ankles swelling, and they send waves of agony through him as he puts weight on them. His breath rasps in his throat; all he can do is step carefully and try not to make any noise. Slowly he leads Otis into the large room they passed through on the way in, the room with the clutch of eggs and the crawling thing. The creature is not in evidence, but the eggs are- strange, rubbery-looking things, several of which have burst open. There are nearly two dozen of the intact eggs, each the size of a man; and another seven are burst, with empty husks of horrific creatures with stingers on their tails hanging from them. Only one burst egg has no husk; Cur hopes that that means that there is only one crawling thing.

The two steal past the chamber, skirting it in the shadows of the eggs, and Cur leads them to the part of the wall that opened for their captors. Otis is clearly frightened and wants nothing more than to flee, but he has nowhere to flee to. His eyes bulge in terror as Cur probes the wall. Suddenly, a gap in the wall opens, sphincter-like, and they steal through into the chamber with the vapors.

They step through; there are several exits, but the white- normal- like of day comes from only one of them.

Immediately Otis gives a little yell and rushes out, finally having somewhere to run away to. “Wait!” Cur cries, then curses. What if there are guards? he wonders. He pauses, listening, but hears nothing indicating that Otis has run into trouble. He takes a step towards the exit-

Then, suddenly, the floor gives off another burst of vapors. Nausea and disorientation come swimming through Cur’s head, and he crashes to the floor, unable to take any more.*

Next Time: Will Cur survive? Will Otis find the rest of the party? And what other terrible things lurk inside the cyst??


*The vapors, which had already affected Cur once, did both int and con damage on a failed Fort save; and when Cur failed this one, he took enough damage from con loss that it put him below zero hit points. Then it was just a matter of rolling to stabilize, especially since Otis was frightened and couldn’t go back to help him.

The vapors, by the way, were emitted on a timer- every four rounds. Unfortunately, Cur waited one round too long in the chamber.

 

[the Jester]

Regrouping

“It’s good to see you guys!” Goer exclaims as the party walks along. “Boy, traveling alone makes me nervous. It’s not safe.”

“Tell me about it!” One of Kyle’s hands unconsciously, briefly, moves towards the eye he lost when the blood hawks attacked him and Otis. He has his scars to show for travel, that’s for sure.

The group is returning to Goblin Gorge, somewhat revivified thanks to Dahlia’s goodberries. But it’s spring; there aren’t too many berries to be found at this time of year. Mostly there are just flowers. As they walk, the group tells Goer what they have seen and found so far in the burnt goblin village. When they mention the survivor they found, Zeem, he suggests they talk to her.

“None of us speak their tongue,” Dahlia answers. “Well, except Otis and Cur.”

“Where are they, anyway?” inquires Goer.

“That’s a very good question,” opines Kyle.

“I think we might have an answer, at least to part of that. Look!” Sheriff Jorgen points ahead of them, towards the cyst. Otis is running, screaming, towards them.

“What’s going on with him?” Cara wonders.

“I thall interthept him,” Sir Cedric intones, and Thunderpuss begins galloping towards the wizard. In a few short moments, he reaches Otis. “Otith!” he cries. “Come, mount my horthe before me and I will carry you to thafety! I will hold you in my armth ath we ride to the otherth!”

Otis quickly accedes, and soon they have returned to the rest of the party. Otis is gibbering incoherently: “Agh!! Vapors... eggs... cage... Cur! Aaaaggh! Danger! Cur! Mucus... ahh!”

“Mucuth?” Sir Cedric says, his voice dripping distaste.

“Did he say ‘Cur?’” Dahlia puts in.

“It looked like he was running out of that... place,” ponders Jorgen. “Is... is Cur inside?”

“Aaggh!” Otis shouts.

“Then we mutht rethcue him,” Sir Cedric states, dismounting, and he starts approaching the cyst. Otis draws back, shaking, clutching at Thunderpuss. Fearfully, the others follow the knight.

The stink is horrible.* It makes Goer want to gag. Walking into it is like walking into the breath of illness, warm and moist. He shudders. The passage they enter is wide and dank, and almost immediately it opens into a large chamber. On the floor they can see Cur, unmoving. Without hesitation, Sir Cedric moves forward, grabs him up, and carries him back. Behind him there’s a hissing sound; he whirls in time to see a pulsing, organic-looking rent on the floor open up and emit a cloud of vapors. Fortunately, he moved out of the room just in time.**

The party carries Cur out to the horse and the wizard. Otis seems to be calming down, but Cur is on the very edge of death.

The party discusses the situation. “We are at full thtrength, other than Cur,” Sir Cedric says. “We mutht at leatht ekthplore a little.”

“It’s horrible in there,” groans Otis.

“All the more reason to destroy it,” Cara replies.

“We can’t leave this thing here, so close to town,” Jorgen declares.

The party returns to the cyst. Dahlia nearly retches at the stink; she can barely take it. Otis tells them of the secret door, and while Sir Cedric- for there is another exit from the chamber- the others search the wall, quickly locating it. Then they step through into the egg chamber, and the crawling thing comes into view: a twisted mockery of an insect, with a strange, wicked-looking stinger curled above its back.

Immediately Goer moves up next to Sir Cedric, ready to aid his liege. The thing scuttles forward with surprising speed and its large mouth snaps at him, tearing into his left arm. Blood pours down Goer. “Hey!” he roars, and both he and Sir Cedric begin hacking it with their swords! The creature mindlessly bites Goer again, this time catching his foot as he tries to leap aside, and then tries to sting him- but instead, it stings itself! Meanwhile Cara and Otis manage to land an arrow and a stone, respectively, and Sir Cedric deals it another blow. The thing is weakening, but it manages to sting Goer at last before Otis fells it with another sling stone.

Goer groans. “I don’t feel so well after that,” he admits. He sits for a few moments while the poison runs its course, but manages to avoid any secondary effects. His ears are ringing and he seems to be having a little trouble concentrating, however.***

The party checks out the room. It is very large, stretching out over one hundred feet from end to end, and two passages lead out. One of them, which Otis points out, leads to the room with the cages and the pool. He shudders. There are many eggs that look like they are waiting to hatch into horrible vermin like the one they just slew.

“We should destroy these eggs,” Jorgen says, and the party does so. Dahlia instead keeps watch, listening down the other hallway. The eggs are tough and leathery, but easy enough to destroy, given a little work, and soon the party is half-done. Then-

“Look out!” Dahlia calls a warning. “Another to the left!”

One of the resin-armored figures approaches. It draws to a halt, detecting them, and gestures, surrounding Cara and Sir Cedric with a field of confusion, distracting colors. Both of them manage to shake off the effect. Then a stone from Otis sails out, slapping into the monster’s face! Arrows and more sling stones begin to rain out at the enemy as Sir Cedric and Dahlia move in to engage it! Upon suffering a few blows from them and Cara (who has switched from bow to rapier), the thing sprouts wings- just as our heroes have seen these bizarre things do before- and attempts to escape, but they bring it down with more slashes as it moves away from them.

Quickly they finish smashing the weird eggs. Then they withdraw back outside. “We should talk to the goblin, now that we have someone who can,” Cara suggests, and the party agrees and heads over to the only building that survived the arrival of the fire-thing that our heroes still have not seen.

***

Otis talks to Zeem, and what our heroes learn is this: she is not even a priestess, but this is a temple sacred to Maglube, the Great Goblin Lord. When the terrible fire-thing came, she ran to the temple to pray for protection, and the salt came. But it was too late for the rest of her village; they were destroyed or driven off. When the cyst creatures came, they could not enter the salted earth either. However, Zeem found that she could no longer leave the temple, nor did she need to eat or drink. Maglube had saved her, yet cursed her to remain in the ruins.

Zeem also knows a little bit about the creatures in the cyst. Many of them, according to her, are the weird humanoid-like things. There is also the terrible fire-thing that burned her village, which she doesn’t seem to be able to describe in any detail. But she also tells them of a great bat-like creature.

On a more personal note, Otis also asks her if she knows anything about Glourkin, the goblin who gave himself and Cur to the cyst men, but she only shrugs. “He is north side goblin. I am south side goblin.”

Then our heroes set out to rest and recuperate for a few days.

Next Time: Back into the cyst! Our heroes find the fire-beast at last!!

*The in-game effects of the stink took effect when the characters approached within 10’ of the cyst. If they failed a Fort save, DC 12, they were sickened. Every ten minutes, they got to make a new save; once you made one you got the standard 3e “24 hour immunity” to effects like that. The environment of the cyst was full of messed up environmental badness like that (the vapors, several things in the cage room, etc).

**This was one of those things where Cur was bleeding out and the pcs were racing to save him in time. They would have failed, but he stabilized on his very last chance to do so.

***He took 5 points of wis damage from the sting. The secondary damage would have been fun, but he made his save.

 

[the Jester]

After a few days of recuperation, the heroes of Whitewater return to the destroyed village, and thence to the shrine to Maglube. They speak again to Zeem, this time more specifically about the salt, and she tells them that it seems to ward off the things from the cyst. In fact, Maglube has shown her the rituals necessary to ingrain salt in a few of their weapons.

“It will wear off after a few strikes of the weapon,” she adds, “so be careful not to use it until you need it. Save it for the fire monster.”

Cur and Otis again ask her about the fire monster, and again she struggles to describe it, but cannot. Worriedly, the two report to the rest of the party and the group takes a few moments to decide what weapons to have salted. They choose to salt the longspears of Jorgen and Goer and the sword of Sir Cedric.

Then they return to the cyst, and once more into that unsettling sound, that sickening smell. They have cloths tied across their faces, some soaked in whiskey, to help fend off the stink; even so, it settles thickly into their lungs. They halt before the vapor-emitting chamber and watch for a time as Cedric times the vents; then they hurry through the chamber. This time, instead of penetrating the secret door that leads to the huge egg room, they take the passage that leads from the vapor room. Their path soon splits; our heroes take the left fork, which rapidly spills them into a chamber perhaps 40’ across, within which a slimy, huge maggot squirms.

“A giant worm!” Jorgen cries out in disgust, and suddenly the maggot begins undulating towards him. But he jabs it with his spear, inflicting severe damage on it, then stabs at it again. His weapon sinks deep into the monster, and it begins leaking a bloody pus.

Then the others rush in, Sir Cedric intentionally drawing it attention so that Cara and Kyle don’t suffer as they move in to flank it, and the fight is as good as over. It is Kyle who actually delivers the death blow.

“Perhaps we should search this chamber, my lord,” suggests Goer to Sir Cedric.

“Maybe there’s another secret door,” Dahlia remarks.

“Indeed. Peathantth! Thearth!” Cedric directs.

But as they search, something comes up on them from the passage on the far side of the room. Perhaps it is drawn by the noise of battle; perhaps it can smell the normality so jarringly out of place in the cyst. Regardless, it comes- and Kyle hears it coming. A strange noise approaches, not like footsteps, and it catches his attention. He turns and walks towards the passage that the noise seems to be emerging from, and then he gasps as he catches a glimpse of it.

“EEEEKKKK!!!” he screams.

Goer is nearby, and he turns just in time to see the thing burst into flames; then something whips across his chest, burning and slashing, and then again, and Goer falls to the ground.

Kyle stumbles back, gaping at the fire-thing, and he knows why Zeem could not describe it. It churns and moves very quickly. It looks like a tangle of wire with gobbets of reddish, bloody-looking flesh impaled everywhere along the wire. The bizarre thing is tangled and wickedly sharp-looking. Topping it is the suggestion of a head- a ram’s skull with long wicked horns. Two flaming, wiry whips lash the air around it. And, of course, it is aflame- a roaring aura of fire burning 10’ away from it, threatening to engulf anyone getting too close- and burning Goer.

Cur springs forward, grabbing Goer. He starts to drag his friend away from the horrifying fire monster. Flames lick around him, burning him and Goer both; but he perseveres, withdrawing and thereby saving Goer’s life- at least for the moment.

Otis fires a magic missile at the monster while Cedric and Jorgen draw out their salted weapons and move forward. When the knight lands a blow, the monster’s blood proves to be white-hot liquid fire. Then the flames of its aura die, or rather change, to a violet-brown flicker, and everyone too near it suddenly feels their stomachs lurch. The party groans in nausea.

Kyle starts slinging stones at it, but they are utterly ineffective. Cara briefly tries her bow, but curses as it fails to harm the thing. Then she realizes- Goer’s spear! It has been salted, and it’s just laying there... She darts forward and sweeps it up, then steps in to fight beside her fiancé, Sir Cedric.

The monster, meanwhile, whips Sir Cedric twice, then switches its nausea aura to one of fear. Cur and Cedric both quail, and both flee an instant later. Dahlia and Jorgen, too succumb. Then the terrible creature bursts into flames again, whipping madly at Cara- the only one still in melee.

“Guys?” Cara whines, and then the lashes and the flames are all over her. She screams in pain, then grits her teeth and thrusts, stabbing deep into the monster. She staggers and stabs, trying to dodge and keep moving, but unfortunately, the monster is too fast, too deadly; and although she deals a few telling wounds to it, it brings her down in seconds.

“Cara!” shouts Sir Cedric.

The others are back- the fear lasted only a moment, and now Cur leaps forward, cloaked by a mage armor cast by Otis, to pick up the fallen salted spear. Dahlia creates water directly above the monster, splashing it and raising a cloud of steam, while Jorgen charges forward into the flames, running the monster through with his salted spear. It writhes and comes apart, shattering into lengths of limp wire. Its flaming aura dies.

Our heroes quickly draw back and bandage their bleeding friends. Then, once they are confident no one is in imminent danger of dying, most of the conscious members of the group move to search the room the fire beast came from.

“What if there are more of them?” mutters Dahlia.

“That could be trouble,” Kyle remarks.

“Why don’t you go scout ahead?” she suggests. “You’re pretty sneaky.”

“...okay.” I wish I didn’t have so much trouble turning down dares, he thinks as he heads nervously down the passage. It is short, however, and shortly leads to a chamber dominated by a flesh-colored rise that is almost a small hill within the chamber. A thin wall of white fire surrounds it. Kyle reports back, and Cur, Dahlia and Otis join him in the chamber. They find passage through the flames surprisingly easy; they burn, but barely hot enough to cause injury. However, they also sap the strength of people leaping through them.

There is nothing of note atop the rise, but there are signs that the fire creature has been here. Also, the rise is starting to shrink. In fact-

“Hey,” Kyle says, “is it just me, or does this whole place look like it’s... softening?”

The party hurries back to their friends, where they confirm that, yes, the entire cyst seems to be starting to liquefy. As quickly as they can, they haul their unconscious friends back outside, and then from a distance they watch as the cyst slowly melts down into a huge slick of yellow-brown oily stuff. By the next day, all that remains is a stain on the land and a faint sick aroma. Though they do not know it, no natural plant will grow on this spot again for decades.

The cyst is destroyed.

Next Time: Finding foothills in the flowers! Cara has an important realization! And our heroes begin preparing to go to the elf-ruins!