JOURNEY’S END
The Legionnaires, minus Sepoto, and Urol stood examining the ten petrified souls that stood arrayed outside the basilisk’s lair. Many races were represented among them, including a dwarf bearing the symbol of Moradin and wearing plate armor, a similarly armored gnome, bearing the sign of Garl Glittergold, a kobold attired in leathers, a human dressed the same, an ogre wielding a longsword, another human carrying a composite bow, a half-breed orc in robes, a half-elf in adventurer’s garb, a dark elf, hands upraised as if to cast a spell, and lastly, a troglodyte, heavily armored, with a strange image around its neck. All of them were frozen in the middle of some action, posed forever in their last acts of defiance.
“Eenie, meenie, miney, moe,” Anwar muttered to himself.
“Eh? What’s that you say?” Urol said, turning from the stone gnome.
“Oh, I was just speculating on our dilemma,” the bard answered, strolling through the morbid rock garden as if he were an art collector. “It’s a shame we can’t save them all.”
“Yes,” Urol agreed, “but if we can only save two, then that’s at least a small mercy. The gnome and the dwarf seem the most deserving, I think.”
“Really?” Anwar asked, eyes narrowing. “Why would you say that?”
“Well…” Urol paused for a moment, then continued, “They’re holy men. Look at their symbols.”
“I would argue that the troglodyte is a holy man too,” Anwar observed.
“Well, yes,” Urol looked flummoxed, “but he’s….well, he’s a troglodyte! They’re evil!”
“Come now my little friend,” Anwar admonished. “I would expect better from you, one who studies the nature of things. You can’t judge a being simply by virtue of race or circumstances of birth. The troglodyte could be just as noble as the priest of Moradin. For that matter, look at this fellow.” He walked over to the ogre, looking at it in admiration. “What a fine specimen, and just look at the way he wields his weapon, as if he would give his life to save his companions, which he did. And see here,” the bard pointed to a petrified wolf at the ogre’s feet. “From your knowledge of all things natural, do you think such an animal would travel willingly in the company of a cruel master?”
“Well…I suppose not,” Urol conceded.
“Here is how I see things,” Anwar pressed on, “the Jade Ravens are down two members, due to their unfortunate encounter with the bullywugs. They need a strong arm among them, and they need spiritual guidance as well. I say we free the dwarf, as you suggested, but we also free the ogre. What say the rest of you?” He turned to his companions.
Thrisp, for his part, knew the bard was up to something, but so far his schemes had served them well. The beguiler was inclined to follow Anwar’s lead at least for a little while longer. He nodded his agreement.
Basil nodded enthusiastically as well, his sadistic nature intrigued by anything the cunning minstrel suggested.
Marius shrugged noncommittally. He was still preoccupied with consolidating all of the notes he’d gathered on Tamoachan, and he cared little for what became of these unfortunates, or the Jade Ravens for that matter.
Only Samson hesitated. The dragon shaman did not trust Anwar, and he made no efforts to hide that fact. The problem was, he could never find the flaw or the angle in the bard’s plan until it was too late. Finally, he turned away, muttering, “Whatever you think best.”
“It’s settled then!” Anwar said, using his favorite turn of phrase. “Urol, you may proceed.”
“F’zal, watch out!” Lugnut roared as he brought his blade down and struck…nothing. The ogre looked around in confusion. The last thing he remembered was entering the ruins with the rest of the Skullcrushers, and then being surprised when the basilisk came lumbering out of its hiding place. Now he saw the basilisk’s dead body laying nearby, and stone statues of his companions, not to mention the motley assortment of gnomes, a goblin, a red-eyed human and a half-breed elf.
“Before I kill ya, I guess I’d better thank ya fer savin’ m’life,” he growled, raising his sword defensively, and sinking into a crouch.”
“Now, now, there’s no need for violence,” the half-elf said, smiling. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Anwar Rosznar, and these are my traveling partners. We are known as the Legion, and we have an offer for you.”
“I’m listenin’,” Lugnut said, “fer now.”
“I gather that you and your former teammates ran into the same bit of trouble that we did, but as you can see, we have dealt with the basilisk,” Anwar gestured towards the corpse. “Alas, we only have one more application of the magic salve we used to restore you. As it stands, your options seem, shall we say, limited, while we in turn find ourselves in need of a strong arm, and a healer. You see, we are part of an expedition bound for a place called Farshore, a colony on the mythical Isle of Dread. Our ships lay at anchor back in the harbor. If you are willing, we offer you passage in return for your skills. I can promise you plenty of travel, excitement, and gold!”
The ogre seemed to mull this over for a few moments, then relaxed his stance. “Ya got a point. It’s a long walk back ta Mezro, and I can’t pilot a ship m’self, even if I did kill ya and yer crew. I can swing a sword, don’t get me wrong, but I’m a tracker by trade. Ya said ya needed a healer too. How bout Ssithiss over there?” He hooked a thumb towards the troglodyte.
“Yes, well, about that,” Anwar dissembled, “I’m afraid it’s going to be hard enough explaining someone of your…stature to our captain and employer, much less bringing a troglodyte along, not to mention the smell! I believe we’ve decided on that dwarf.”
Lugnut shrugged, “Don’t make no difference ta me. One healer’s as good as another far as I’m concerned, just so long’s they don’t get too preachy.”
“I agree wholeheartedly,” Anwar said. “Urol, you can revive our second guest now.”
The dwarf, Bombur by name, was just as taken aback by his surroundings as Lugnut was, but Anwar’s silver tongue soon won him over as well. Though saddened that his gnome and half-elven companions would have to be left behind, he was nevertheless thankful for his own salvation, and eager to repay his saviors with service. Besides, travel to an unknown land filled with primitives would afford him ample opportunity to spread the tenets of Moradin to the heathen. Lugnut scowled at this. As the group prepared to return to the ships, the ogre looked about as if searching for something.
“Say, ya didn’t happen ta see a wolf around here, did ya?”
Anwar suppressed a smile. Anticipating that the ogre might insist on its restoration, the bard had the others toss the statue into the jungle while Urol was busy examining the local fauna.
“Sorry, no,” he answered. Lugnut shrugged again.
“Don’t matter none. I can always get me another one.” Sure enough, before the group reached the beach, a mangy looking wolf trotted out of the jungle, heeling to the ogre like a whipped cur. Lugnut dubbed him Fang XIII
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Though initially shocked by the appearance of the ogre, Lavinia quickly became delighted by the fact that her lover had gone to such great lengths to replace the Jade Raven’s losses. Tolin and Zan were a bit more dubious, but accepted the offer nonetheless, mainly because of Bombur’s eagerness and honest nature.
The expedition weighed anchor and continued northwest along the Chultan peninsula. Four days out from Tamoachan, Lavinia brought the Blue Nixie alongside the Sea Wyvern. She explained that the next several miles would be among the most dangerous of their journey, as they were approaching waters controlled by Rundeen blockades. She suggested that, in order to minimize their chances of being spotted, the ships should sail around the northernmost tip of the peninsula separately, about a half hour apart. Amella agreed with the plan, and she dropped anchor until the Blue Nixie disappeared from sight, then weighed again and followed her sister ship.
The Sea Wyvern rounded the cape as planned, but the Blue Nixie was nowhere to be seen. Instead, a black-sailed vessel appeared on the horizon, some three hundred yards off their starboard.
“It’s Rundeen!” the watchman called down from the crow’s nest. Amella cursed, but then the crewman called again. “She’s raised a flag of parley!”
“What do you know of the Rundeen?” Anwar asked the Captain as he climbed to the wheel deck.
“I know they call themselves merchants,” Amella spat, “but they’re no better than pirates!”
“Then might I suggest a preemptive strike on our part?” the bard asked calmly.
“Ye haven’t steered me wrong yet,” the Captain said. “What’s yer plan?”
“Keep on your present heading. We’ll draw then in closer, and then we’ll attack.”
“I don’t like it,” Samson said. “Firing on a ship that is offering a truce.”
“It’s a trap!” Basil snapped. “Anyone can see that!”
“I’m afraid I have to agree,” Marius said. “From what I know of the Rundeen, parley isn’t one of their usual tactics.”
“But why destroy them?” the dragon shaman pressed. “We can easily disable them, and they are just as neutralized.”
“Fine,” Anwar conceded. “We’ll try and spare them, but if they fight when we board, we will give no quarter.”
Marius stood at the bow, the wind whipping his long hair back from his face. His gaze was fixed on the approaching caravel, carefully gauging the distance. When he judged the range was right, he said, “Now,” and raised his hands. From his palm flew a pea-sized ball of flame, streaking out across the water towards the Rundeen vessel. Soon, it was lost from sight, but the explosion which engulfed the enemy’s rigging was plainly visible, as was the charred corpse that fell from the lookout. Behind him, Marius could hear his companions making their final preparations. Basil had cast a spell of flight on Sepoto, while Thrisp had wrapped himself, the goliath and Samson in spheres of invisibility and silence. Basil had then cast the same spell of flying upon himself, and rendered himself invisible as well. Still the Rundeen ship came on. The war mage loosed a second Fireball, this one smaller than the first, but just as destructive. One section of the caravel’s rigging collapsed completely. The Rundeen crew fired off a token ballista shot, but the distance was still so great that the bolt went wide by yards.
“Hold your fire,” the seeker heard Basil say. “We’re on our way.”
Sepoto grabbed Thrisp under one arm and Samson under the other, and lifted off the deck, arcing out over open water towards the merchant ship. As he did so, he heard Amella give the command to come about, and the Sea Wyvern turned due south, opening the gap between her and her pursuers. Thinking their prey on the run, the Rundeen struggled to give chase, though the damage inflicted by Marius severely hampered their speed. They had no idea what they were sailing towards.
Unheard and unseen by the crew of the Rundeen vessel, Sepoto deposited Thrisp and Samson on the quarterdeck. Just as the goliath was preparing to neutralize the nearest pirates, he heard a familiar voice coming from behind him, chanting. The crew apparently heard it as well, as they all turned in that direction, and the Captain, standing on the foc’s’le, quickly quaffed an elixir and began shouting orders to prepare to repel borders. If Basil could have seen the look on Sepoto’s face at that moment, the young mage would have seen death there, for it was his casting that had tipped off the enemy sailors. As it was, the crusader channeled his fury at his opponents, flashing into view as he nearly decapitated the two nearest him with his whirling chain. Following Sepoto’s lead, Samson clubbed the sailor next to him, reappearing as the man slumped to the deck. In unison, the remaining seamen raised their crossbows and opened fire at the death-dealing invaders among them. The chaos and close quarters of the situation worked against them, however, and not a single shot scored a hit. At that moment, the Captain leaped in among his men, opened his mouth and belched out a great gout of fire, sending the flames washing over Sepoto and Samson.
By this time, Basil had reached the ship, and despite ruining the element of surprise, managed to redeem himself somewhat in Sepoto’s eyes by taking out a cluster of four sailors with a hail of ice and snow. Sepoto used the distraction to barrel thru another clump of pirates, and close to the Captain. The man took a step backwards, but not fast enough. The goliath shredded his shirt and the flesh beneath with a flick of his chain. Meanwhile, Samson brought his own breath weapon to bear on two more sailors, and when they turned their crossbows on him, Sepoto whirled and caught them both with a double slash, dropping them where they stood. Unfortunately, when his back was turned, the Captain spat fire at him again. The goliath grinned wickedly as he turned slowly back. The Captain’s eyes grew round with fear, and they never closed, even as his head went sailing into the sea.
In the end, only two members of the crew remained alive, and they quickly surrendered after witnessing the brutal fates of their comrades. They explained, on questioning, that their ship, the Purity’s Prow, was a privateer vessel for the Rundeen. They had orders to capture any ships they spotted, and claim their cargo as spoils and their crew as slaves to be taken to Calimport. Their ship had been at sea for months, with little to show for it, and they were forbidden from returning to port until they’d made their quota. Therefore, they’d been desperate when they’d seen the Sea Wyvern, continuing their pursuit even in the face of the magical assault. The Legionnaires ultimately stripped the crippled vessel of anything valuable, then scuttled it, setting it to burn. When the Sea Wyvern returned, they presented the captured pirates to Amella, who assigned them duties as deckhands. The pair seemed quite enthusiastic about the prospect, seeing as how they would be provided decent food and quarters.
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Lavinia had hoped to resupply food stores at Fort Beluarian, but when the expedition arrived there, some nine days after their encounter with the Rundeen, it was obvious that something terrible had happened. The wooden palisade surrounding the fort had been torn apart, and the fort itself had been burned to the ground. It appeared that whatever had happened occurred several months past. The Legionnaires, along with Urol, put ashore to investigate, but found no sign of life or activity. There were signs of a great battle, as evidenced by dried blood stains, the timbers of collapsed buildings, broken weapons in the sand, and hundreds of black-feathered arrows. These Urol identified as the workmanship of lizardfolk. There was nothing further to be learned, and so the ships continued on.
_________________________________________________________
Four days later, the ships arrived at the mouth of the Soshenstar River, where they would again take on water stores. The point where the river met the sea was marked by a magnificent water fall, which cascaded over a cliff to the ocean below. With no beach nearby, it was easy for a ship to sail in fairly close to the falls. There was only room in the harbor for one ship at a time, and so the Sea Wyvern ventured in first, dropping anchor and then sending out a rowboat to fill the barrels. The process would take most of the day, and the passengers and crew took their leisure on deck, enjoying a beautiful, cloudless sky.
Sepoto walked along the quarterdeck, admiring the beauty of the falls. On a whim, he took a copper piece from his purse and tossed it into the water, watching as the ripples expanded outward…and kept expanding. In fact, the smooth surface began to froth and churn as something huge erupted from the depths. Sepoto took several steps back, remembering the flotsam ooze all too well. This was no ooze. It looked reptilian, draconic even, save that instead of one head, it had seven, all hissing and snapping their jaws in unison. The crusader shouted a warning, and the passengers began scrambling for the hatches. The creature’s heads turned to follow the fleeing people, and some of them made as if to grab for them, but Sepoto leaped in front of the monster, hammering at it with his chain. A great wound was torn in the creature’s side, but almost immediately, it began to knit itself back together.
“It’s a hydra!” Marius shouted. “Weapons alone can’t kill it!” The warmage began backing away, also remembering his untimely death, but he wasn’t fast enough. One of the hydra’s snake-like heads struck, biting into his thigh. He pulled himself free, stumbling backwards, the words to a spell on his lips. Instantly, a beam of golden light arced from his hand towards the behemoth, coiling about it like a rope. As it did so, it took on the form of a giant, ghostly serpent, and it wrapped itself tightly about the hydra, constricting all of its heads together.
By this time, Basil and Samson had arrived on deck. The dragon shaman quickly breathed his acidic breath at the hydra, but what little damage he inflicted was quickly healed. Basil fared better with the Fireball spell he lobbed at the beast. At that moment, however, the hydra strained against Marius’ spell, momentarily freeing its heads and bringing all seven to bear on Sepoto. The goliath tried to fend off the attacks, but there were just too many. Five times they slipped through his defenses, opening horrible wounds in his flesh. Sepoto collapsed to one knee. He knew he could not suffer another such assault. Then, a blinding flash of color signaled Thrisp’s arrival. The hydra howled as its sight went dark. This allowed Marius’ serpentine enchantment to regain its hold. A combined barrage of Fireballs by the war mage and Basil sent the monster sinking back into the depths.
“My thanks,” Sepoto gasped. “The only thing I could think of was that the rest of you would try and restore me to life if I died.” He looked pointedly at the goblin dragon shaman. “I assure you, there are fates worse than death.”
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Another six days at sea, and the expedition reached the Maztican village of Renkrue. This was to be the last continental stop before they put out to open sea. Lavinia planned to take on provisions and do some trading with the villagers, and suggested that the crew of the two ships take some shore leave.
Anwar and Thrisp, realizing that they would be dealing with more Mazticans when they reached Farshore, took the opportunity to mingle with the villagers and learn what they could of the local customs and language. It was while they were speaking with one of the village elders, that a young boy came running up, out of breath and chattering rapidly in his native tongue. The elder’s face darkened and became visibly angry. He turned to Anwar and Thrisp, scowling deeply.
“Is there a problem?” Anwar asked.
“One of your people,” the elder snapped, “he try to buy young girl. Offer parents coins and beads for her! You bad people! We no trade with you! Go now!”
Anwar looked at Thrisp and the gnome nodded, “Avner.”
“Please,” Anwar said placatingly, “we apologize deeply for this insult. What is the penalty for such an offense among your people?”
The elder continued to frown. “Man must make payment to family, or else be flogged in square.”
“I see,” Anwar said, suppressing a smile. “Good sir, I promise you, this man will be brought to justice. I will bring him before you tonight. You have my word on it.”
“What’s your plan?” Thrisp asked as they walked back to the Sea Wyvern.
“The less you know, the less you incriminate yourself,” the bard smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle everything.”
Anwar found Avner sulking in his cabin.
“What do you want?” the young noble sneered.
“I heard you got yourself in a bit of trouble this morning.” Anwar answered, grabbing a chair and making himself comfortable.
“What of it?” Avner snapped. “They’re just savages. They’d sell their own mothers for the right price.”
“Don’t get me wrong,” Anwar said, holding up his hands, “I understand perfectly. We’ve been at sea for weeks, and the scenery tends to get…routine, if you know what I mean. Lirith strikes me as a little spitfire, but even the spiciest soup gets cold after awhile.”
Avner stared at him skeptically. “What are you getting at?”
“Well,” Anwar continued, warming to the part, “it’s just that we’re going to be laying over here tonight, and it just so happens that I’ve come upon the location of a…hospitable establishment that caters to the tastes of a gentleman such as yourself.”
“Where is it?” Avner asked doubtfully. “I asked around myself, but everyone looked like I’d just killed their pet.”
“Subtlety, my friend,” Anwar replied. “You have to know whom to ask, and how to pose the question. Let’s just say that, if you’re still interested, I can promise you a night like you’ve never had.”
“What’s in this for you?” Avner asked, suspicion in his eyes.
“Nothing,” Anwar shrugged, “at least not now. When we reach Farshore, however, and you establish yourself in your uncle’s household, you might just remember a friend who did you a service.”
Avner smiled, and Anwar extended his hand, which the noble shook enthusiastically.
Later that night, Anwar and Avner slipped into the village under cover of darkness. The nobleman was dressed in his best finery, and clutched a bottle of wine under his cloak. Anwar led him to the only stone structure in town, built several years back by a Tyrite missionary. It was currently used as the chief’s dwelling and a communal hall, but Avner didn’t know this.
“Here?” he asked. “Isn’t this a bit…conspicuous?”
“It’s not a fixed operation,” Anwar answered. “Due to the somewhat stringent sensibilities of the villagers, these arrangements are made by appointment only when dealing with trade vessels. Don’t worry. You’re in good hands.”
They approached the building, and Anwar opened the door, motioning Avner inside. No sooner had the noble entered, than he was seized by a pair of burly warriors.
“What is the meaning of this?” he cried. “Unhand me! Do you know who I am?”
“Indeed they do,” Anwar chuckled behind him. “It seems that one option for repaying an insult as grave as yours is for the offender to serve as an indentured servant to the family for a period of one year. Consider your sentence a light one. Another option was for them to simply castrate you.”
“You can’t do this!” Avner screamed. “Don’t you think I’ll be missed? My uncle will have your head!”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Anwar said quietly, pulling his cloak over his head, then leaning forward where only Avner could see his face in the shadows. When the nobleman peered within the hood, he saw his own reflection looking back at him. “I believe your uncle will welcome me as a beloved nephew.”
“Nooooo!!” Anwar heard Avner shriek as he turned and disappeared back into the night.
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Over the next few days, Banaby Chisk and Quenge Asper found their master morose and withdrawn, commanding that he not be disturbed. They feared the long voyage was taking its toll, and he was simply overwrought. They honored his wishes, leaving his meals outside his door.
One evening, the Legionnaires were surprised to receive an invitation from Avner, inviting them for a drink in his cabin. When they arrived, they noted that Anwar had not come. Avner invited them in, uncorking a battle of his finest vintage, and pouring each of them a around.
“I suppose you’re all wondering why I’ve asked you here,” he said, but as he seated himself, his features blurred, and Anwar grinned devilishly at them over the lip of his cup.
“Surprise!”
______________________________________________________
The ship sailed on into open sea, navigating the treacherous Pearl Current before passing a bleak rock of an island called Ruja, one week after leaving Renkrue. The island was uninhabited, and the expedition did not stop. It would be the last land they would see for the next two weeks.
Late one night, after weeks of clear weather, the wind began to whip into a frenzy, and by dawn the ships were caught in a full-fledged gale. All through the day, Amella battled the storm, her superior sailing skills keeping the ship from being driven off course. By the next morning, the wind had died, though the skies remained cloudy. Only after assessing their damages did the crew of the Sea Wyvern come to a horrifying realization: the Blue Nixie was nowhere to be seen. Amella reassured her passengers that their sister ship had likely been blown off course, rather than sunk. Lavinia’s instructions had been clear in case of such an eventuality. They were to continue on to Farshore, and rendezvous there. There was no other choice.
As dawn broke on the fourth day after they had lost the Blue Nixie, burning fitfully through the morning fog to light the sea, something seemed strange about the waters below. They seemed almost solid, as if the sea had formed some odd sort of skin. The air seemed dead as well, and the sails hung limp, heavy with moisture from the receding fog. As the mist began to clear, what was unveiled was not the gently rolling vista of the sea, but a wet, green field of weed. The swath of dirty emerald stretched flatly in all directions. To the stern, it extended for perhaps a half mile, beyond which lay the open waters of the mocking ocean. In all other directions, the weed extended to the horizon. Trapped within its vice were dozens of other long-dead ships, their hulls protruding at odd angles, masts askew, sails hanging in tatters. One such ship lay mired only six hundred feet to the port, and it seemed to be in better shape than the others. Perhaps most unnerving, however, was neither the sight nor smell of so much sun-baked seaweed. It was the unnatural silence, for the thick, choking green had robbed the Sea Wyvern even of the strangely comforting sound of water lapping against her hull. It was not a healthy silence. It was the silence of a graveyard.
“It’s a sargasso!” Urol cried, breaking the silence with his exuberance. “But I’ve never seen one so big! A patch a mile across would be unusual.”
“That’s because this is no mere sargasso,” Anwar said softly. “It’s called Journey’s End.”
Amella’s eyes snapped to his. “How do you know of such things?” she hissed, making the sign of the Evil Eye.
“Knowledge and storytelling are my stock in trade,” Anwar replied. “I’ve heard the sailor’s tales. Rumors of a living island that appears from the mists after storms. An island that is said to have a black soul that fuels the hunger of children rumored to live within its green embrace. It’s said to be able to crush ships in its grip, and its children are awful creatures formed of the weed itself, and are said to rise by night to slake their hunger upon any their green mother has caught in her grasp.”
“Stop it!” Amella commanded. “Do you want to start a panic?”
“My apologies, Captain,” the bard said. “I’m merely telling what I know.”
“Do you know how to escape it?” Thrisp asked.
“Alas, no,” Anwar replied. “The stories say there is no escape.” He looked at Amella. “But they are just stories, after all. That ship,” he pointed towards the caravel nearest them. “It looks less damaged than the others. Perhaps it hasn’t been here very long. It may provide some clues as to what we can expect.”
No one had any better ideas, though Marius did try burning the weed around them, to no significant effect. Since it was obvious that a row boat could not traverse the distance to the other ship, Sepoto was lowered down to the surface of the sargasso to test its depth. The goliath found that it supported his weight easily, though the feel of it squelching under his feet was disconcerting. One by one, the other Legionnaires descended, and then set off towards the wreck.
The marooned vessel was strangled with weeds and vines, almost as if immense, green claws held it in their grasp. In many places the caravel, a ship hauntingly similar to the Sea Wyvern, had been torn apart by the vegetation’s rampant growth. A plate near the stern gave the vessel’s name…Rage. The company entered via a large hole leading into the main hold. Once inside, they found that the doors from the deck above had been barred with timbers, but to no avail, as they lay smashed along with a broken ballista. Although once the ship had lower decks, they were completely filled with weeds. Beyond the hold lay the remains of the captain’s cabin, with a large hole in the floor through which the green of the sargasso could be seen. Thrisp immediately spotted a tattered journal laying on the edge of a table across the room. Due to the sunken deck, the journal was precariously perched at the table’s edge.
“Allow me,” Anwar said, rolling up his sleeves. He spoke the words to a minor cantrip, and beckoned towards the book. As he did so, a misty, disembodied hand picked up the journal and brought it to him. The bard began rapidly thumbing through the pages. It seemed to chronicle the tale of a monk named Anhelm and his journey along the northern coast of Chult to visit the native villages. The document told of a fierce storm that drove the Rage far out to sea, but it was the entries on the last few pages that were of greatest interest.
“This foul green land is stained with blight,” Anwar read. “We tried to cut away the weed, but to no avail, and soon had to abandon the tools we had used, their edges dulled to misery…”
“At noon, I ordered Carus and Twaid out onto the weed to explore. How large can such a place be? The crew grows restless…”
“It is dusk. Efforts to destroy the weed have failed. I have explored what I could, but this is all mists and weed. When will Carus and Twaid return? Despite the calm, the night is not still, and I feel eyes watching me…”
“The night brought noises, but no attack, but I fear for my brothers. I heard cries in the night…was it them? I feel something is alive here, but what can it be? Captain Grough claimed the land had a black heart…maybe Carus and Twaid will have some useful information when they return…”
“Afternoon. I have decided to find my brothers, and have taken Ranis and Pale with me. They are good brothers, and will aid me as best they can. We shall find the land’s black heart…”
“We headed east, making good headway as only brothers can. By night we had covered many miles but saw nothing but more of the green…”
“It is night and I can hear life. Something moves at the edge of sight. Why do they not show themselves? I can hear them whisper one word, over and over, ‘Outsiders…’”
“It is afternoon. We have come to a terrible place, a forest of weed grown in mockery of real life, a mire of skeletal ships. How many souls have been lost here? Our supplies grow wan, we must return by morn to the Rage…”
“It is dawn, and we have returned to the Rage too late. The crew are gone and the weed holds her ever fast. Where have they gone…?”
“I can hear them in the day now. They are outside. They are watching. They want me to join them, but I shall not…”
“Ranis and Pale are dead. They came through the mist, yet they were not the same. I knew them by the tatters of clothes draped over the green that took their flesh. What wore their bodies has been vanquished, but I know that these were but the children of what dwells at this land’s heart. I must seek the mother at this heart, for to destroy the mother is to destroy the brood. If only I had…”
“This correlates with what I’ve heard about Journey’s End,” Anwar said once he’d finished reading the narrative. “Whatever sustains this monstrosity dwells at its center. We can’t just sit and wait, or we shall face the same fate as the crew of the Rage. I suggest we tell Amella what we found, and then set out east.”
The others agreed, and the group returned to the Sea Wyvern. Amella was not happy at the prospect of them going off alone, but she could not fail to see that they had little other choice. She said that if they did not return within two days, she would send out a party after them.
“If we have not returned by then,” Sepoto said, “they you should assume we have perished, and you should look to your own souls.”
Shouldering their gear, the company set out. The sargasso stretched for miles around them, and the scenery never changed. Always it was the endless green, broken here and there by the skeletal remains of ships. Finally, as the sun began to set, the group decided to make camp for the night. They would sleep in shifts, with Marius and Basil taking first watch. As the sun sank behind the horizon, Thrisp thought he saw movement in the distance, shapes rising from the green, but then the mists of evening rolled in, obscuring sight in all directions. Thrisp woke the others to tell them what he’d seen, but only Anwar seemed inclined to heed the warning and rouse himself. Together, the three kept their vigil.
Approximately an hour later, though it may have been longer, time losing meaning in the mist-shrouded darkness, Anwar’s keen hearing picked up a sound coming from the gloom. It sounded like footsteps…wet, sloshing, shambling footsteps.
“Wake up!” he shouted, blind panic overcoming him. Quickly, he cast a spell, vanishing from sight. At that moment, four hulking shapes materialized from out of the fog. Their forms could not be made out, though they appeared bipedal, but seemed to be draped in seaweed. In unison, each raised one arm, and as they did so, the weeds around the company began to writhe and twist. One tendril wrapped itself completely around Samson, constricting tightly about him as it did so. A second one struck Sepoto, and only the goliath’s great strength held it at bay, and kept it from choking him. A third snared Basil, though the young mage wriggled, snake-like from its grip.
Marius, gaped in horror at the living vines, but recovered himself quickly, hurling a Fireball into the midst of two of the tendrils. Sepoto couldn’t stand. He was too busy trying to keep the vines off him, but he managed to snap his chain towards Samson, severing the weed holding the dragon shaman.
Thrisp, following Anwar’s lead, wove his own invisibility spell. Then silently, stealthily, he used the shadows to move himself a safe distance from the nightmare vines. Anwar began to move as well, but as he did so, a tendril snaked around his leg, yanking him from his feet before climbing to encircle his torso. He opened his mouth to shout for help, but then the vine was around his neck, squeezing, squeezing, until bright lights burst behind his eyes, and then everything grew dark.
As Samson struggled to his feet, one of the shadowy horrors in the mists raised its arm again, and once more the weeds at his feet came alive, constricting him again. Quickly, the dragon shaman focused his mental energy, willing vigor and health into his limbs as well as those of his allies. He struggled to remain conscious. Unable to free his hands, he did the only thing he could…he breathed his acidic breath on the tendrils around him. Sepoto continued to struggle with his own opponent, but then, to his dismay, he saw Marius become ensnared. It was then that the four things in the fog began to move forward. They appeared to be made completely of seaweed, though here and there tatters of old clothing could be seen. As they came forward, they whispered over and over, “Outsiders.”
Basil was nearly frozen with terror. Anwar and Thrisp had disappeared. Marius and Samson were trapped, and Sepoto was fighting for his life. Only he remained free. Shaking himself from his panic, he concentrated, calling on his magic, and sent another ball of fire into the writhing mass of vines.
Sepoto saw one of the shambling vine horrors approaching, thinking to finish him off while he was still prone.
“Think again!” the crusader snarled, and he summoned all his martial might, hammering at his foe with all the power at his disposal. To his delight and surprise, the creature flew apart, and as it did so, one of the strangling weed vines collapsed, inert again.
“Kill them!” he shouted to his friends. “Destroy them, and the weeds will go as well!”
Samson heard the words of his friend, but they were the last thing he heard. The vine still held him tightly in its grip, and it finally succeeded in cutting off his wind pipe. He sank into the void. Marius, on the other hand, managed to twist himself free. He turned and saw that Basil had managed to put some distance between himself and the melee, but one of the vine horrors was already in pursuit. The seeker wasn’t worried. The wizard could handle himself.
Sepoto was still not free. Again, and again the tendrils beat at him, and again and again he threw them back. A second vine horror was approaching, but as it did, the goliath snaked his chain out and caught it around the legs, pulling it to the ground. The respite was only temporary, however, as the creature slowly regained its feet.
Basil saw the creature approaching. Quickly, he cast a spell of flight upon himself and rose into the air above it. Then he flew back towards his fellows, another spell on his lips. As he neared them, however, one of the tendrils shot towards him, reaching an incredible twenty feet to snare him and pull him from the sky. He landed hard, the wind driven from his lungs, his spell lost. He strained to push himself upright, but the vine wound tight around his throat, and he joined Anwar and Samson in oblivion.
Marius cursed. This wasn’t looking good at all. Still, Sepoto had said to destroy the shamblers, and that was exactly what he intended to do. The little gnome wove his magic, hurling a scorching ray of flames at the nearest horror, setting it alight like a pyre. It collapsed under the barrage, and a second vine went limp. Whirling, he sent another ray into one of the two remaining creatures. This happened to be the same one Sepoto had tripped. Now, as it reeled from the flames, the goliath tore its legs from beneath it again, and this time as it tried to rise, he buried his chain in its head, ripping it free from its body. The vine horror dissolved, and with it went a third tendril. Sepoto surged to his feet, striking at the last moving vine as he did so, snapping it in half.
At that moment, Thrisp reappeared. Clutching an empty flask in his hand, one he’d taken from the captain of the Purity’s Prow, he opened his mouth and spewed a gout of fire at the last vine creature. As he did so, Marius launched another volley of fiery rays. The thing was in flames, lurching this way and that. As it staggered towards him, Thrisp breathed again, and the nightmarish creature dissolved in the flames.
Sweat forms on Jollydoc's brow as half the Legion falls leaving the others to deal with a deadly threat.
