Adventures in the Eastern Provinces

[the Jester]

4/1/2530 S.C.

It’s a nice spring day. The weather is just right- a little overcast, a little windy, warm but not hot. It’s the perfect kind of day, Shifty reflects, for a mark to come into town.

The balls arc in the air, from one hand to the other, then reversing direction. He adds another ball to the mix. Most of the locals have seen it before, but it still gets him a drink or two from time to time- not to mention the occasional coin from visitors. Of course, most of Overland’s traffic comes from Woodcut, which is a small, not-too-wealthy village a little less than 20 miles away. That means that the average visitor doesn’t have much more money than the average local. Things used to be busier, but that was before the river shifted, drying up the creek that the village had used to float logs to Overland. Now the lumberjacks have to haul their timber by wagon, which is slower and more expensive.

Shifty catches all the balls in his small, weathered hands, tucks them into his satchel and bows to the smattering of applause from his regulars. Someone buys him a cheap cup of wine and he sits at the window and sips at it, hoping he will see an opportunity coming his way.

The small gnome strokes his van Dyke beard and nurses his wine for a few moments before he sees a pair of figures crossing the creek on the ferry. The Swift Wagon is at the edge of town, just below the ferry itself. As it is so close to the crossing, the inn attracts a lot of the strangers in town and is therefore a wonderful place to find a mark to steal from. That is why Shifty hangs out here so much. At first, as the figures approach, his interest deflates, for he recognizes them as a pair of locals. But then it is piqued again, for they are battered and bruised! The two figures look like they have been beaten, and both of them look scared and shaken.

Shifty tries to hide his keen interest in them as they sit at the bar. Curly, the man tending said bar, exclaims, “What the hell happened to you two? Here, these are on me!” He pulls the bung from an ale keg and pours each of them a draught.

“We were at the mud baths,” one of them says, “and we were attacked. A group of frog people came and drove most of the people there off!”

“I think they killed the old man that tended the baths, too,” adds the other.

”They beat us- we were lucky to escape alive.”

”Were there other people at the baths?” Curly asked. “What happened to them?”

“I don’t know for sure. They drove us off. But I saw that they captured a couple of other folk.”

“One of them was that woman, what’s her name, Bylla,” the other says.

Curly whistles. “They say that she’s got some property down in Grumbleford. She’s a pretty wealthy landowner, isn’t she?”

Aha, thinks Shifty.

***

The hardest tavern in town is the Silver Fish. Tall-Oh-Gee (but call him Cavemouth) is trying, but he just can’t sucker anyone into arm wrestling him or engaging in a drinking contest. The fact that he is penniless doesn’t help, as he has nothing to wager (and the keeper has already stated that he will not accept a mace as payment).

Maybe the fact that he is an imposing 7’8” tall and nearly 300 pounds of rock-hard, dark grey mottled muscle has something to do with it, but it’s disappointing nonetheless. He could really use a drink. Too bad the townies don’t have any good old fashioned moonshine, but you can’t win them all.

“I’ll drink any of ya under the table,” he challenges again, but again, most of the tavern’s other patrons ignore him. This time, however, one of them responds.

“Ha! I’ll bet you the cost of the drinks that I can outlast ya!” the dwarf sneers.

“Um,” the goliath admits, “I can’t really afford that.”

“Well, then, what do you have to wager?”

“No maces,” the keeper says severely. “I only take coin.”

The goliath scowls. The dwarf laughs. “Here, I’ll buy you a round,” he chuckles.

“My thanks,” Cavemouth replies. He takes the watery beer from the keeper and sips it. Just a sip- he’ll need to make this one last. “I don’t suppose you need anyone to help you brew beer?”

The dwarf laughs again. “Not me,” he answers, “but if you’re looking for work, I know a farmer a few miles outside of town who needs some strong arms to split some wood and do some labor. And if you’re interested in brewing, I know he makes some very good applejack.”

Cavemouth grunts. “Thanks for the beer.” He scowls up at the keeper and stands. I think it’s time to find a new tavern, maybe see if I can find someone who’ll take the bait. He heads out to the street, limbering his arms as he goes. His plate armor clanks around him; his greataxe is strapped to his back. I should try the inn at the edge of town. Maybe I can get some out of towners to wrestle me or something.

He walks north to the edge of town and pushes through the doors into the Swift Wagon. An old gnome, with white hair, a combover and a van Dyke is walking towards the door.* He stops, stares at the huge goliath, and cries, “You’re exactly the kind of person I’m looking for!”

Cavemouth halts, somewhat puzzled.

“There’s a damsel in distress,” says the gnome. “A rich damsel in distress. I need some muscle to rescue her. By the way,” he adds, “I’m Shifty.”

“Call me Cavemouth,” the goliath replies. “All right, you’ve got my interest. Tell me more.”

“Well,” the gnome answers, “it seems that she’s been kidnapped by frog people at the mud baths north of town. I was about to go try to find out more information about them- I know a local sage.”

“All right,” nods Cavemouth. “Sounds good so far. I’m in.”

The two of them proceed across town to the tower of Karlinndan, the local sage and wizard. (Shifty met him once, long ago in the Feywild, before the terrible events that led to the loss of his village, and now Karl sometimes provides him information about interesting items that the gnome has picked up.) Shifty raps at the door, and a few minutes later the party is inside, conversing with a middle-aged eladrin with long hair and spectacles. Books are everywhere in his tower.

“Frog men, eh?” muses the eladrin sage.

“Yeah, and the guys I talked to said that they were repulsive to be around,” Shifty replies. “They used primitive weapons and armor, too.”

“Sounds like you’re dealing with bullywugs. They’re foul little buggers. It is said that they are the creation of primordials rather than gods, and that nature itself is revolted by them. It’s fascinating, really.”

“Well, we need some help to deal with them,” Shifty says, “and there’s a rich damsel in distress involved...”

***

Shifty, Cavemouth and Karl head to the market square, where (so Shifty says) they can probably pick up some more muscle to deal with the bullywugs. They find the person that he is looking for seated on a bench, watching the crowd (or rather, looking for marks, much as Shifty had been doing at the Wagon). Karl cocks an eyebrow at her startling blue color and horns. “Sepia,” he nods to the tiefling. “It has been a while.”

“You two know each other?” asks Shifty.

“We met about a year ago,” the wizard replies. “I was doing some research about tieflings, so naturally, it seemed logical to go to the source.”

“What’s going on?” the tiefling asks, and Shifty explains the situation. “I’m in,” she says, “and if there’s room for one more, I see a friend of mine over there.” She gestures towards a small figure that at the others at first take to be a human child, but then realize is a halfling. She walks over to him. “Good afternoon, Hammhokk,” she says.

“And to you,” the small figure pipes up. “I was just looking to see whether you might have anything going on that you might need help with.”**

“Funny you should ask,” she replies.

***

The newly-assembled party heads out of town, going north along the creek side. It is early afternoon- they figure that they’ll reach the mud baths sometime the next afternoon. They make decent time, trekking along the rough, intermittent trails, moving amongst dry scrubs and brush.

Until, suddenly, parts of the brush come to life and attack.

Small, twig-like creatures that rush in, surrounding the party in waves of almost overwhelming numbers! Cavemouth starts hewing about him with his axe while Sepia and Shifty start fighting back with daggers. But the strange twig monsters leave an itching, burning poison behind in their wounds, and soon Sepia is retreating, trying to keep her distance from her attackers.

Karl fey steps out of a circle of the enemy, and then fires a scorching burst where he had just been, blasting two of the twig blights to pieces. Then, to his horror, he sees two large vines in the brush start to move. One creeps forward and lashes out, impaling Sepia. She screams in pain, almost fainting. The other impales Cavemouth, dealing terrific damage, and then draws back, pulling him with it. “It’s trying to eat me!” he screams, and hacks at it with his axe.

Sepia pulls herself free and tries to back away, but more of the twig blights scratch her and the poison grows worse. She falters, then collapses.

”You can do it!” Hammhokk cries majestically. “You’re my best friend!”

Arcane power courses from the halfling, and some of Sepia’s wounds close up. Her eyes flutter open and she groans in pain.

Shifty dispatches the last of the twig blights tying him up and bounds in to aid his goliath ally, slashing with his dagger. The vine writhes as he cuts it deeply, and then Cavemouth hews it in two with his axe!

Another explosion of fire nearby eliminates two more of the twig blights, allowing Hammhokk to withdraw and pull his bow out. He fires an arrow, but misses the remaining vine. However, the party is now able to focus on it, and in a few moments it dies, cut to pieces.

“What were those things?” wonders Sepia.

“The little ones were twig blights,” Karl states. “The vines, I’m not so sure about.” He picks one up and examines it. “But look, the thorns are hollow.” He looks up at Cavemouth. “These things are bloodsuckers. You’re lucky you broke free of it!”

***

The party rests and sets watches. The night is chilly and clear, and they are undisturbed. While they strike camp, Hammhokk- whose first name is Jexx- comments, “We should reach the mud baths today.”

“Hopefully,” Shifty says, “we can also rescue that damsel in distress.”

About an hour after noon, they do indeed reach the mud baths, immediately encountering a group of the strange creatures known as bullywugs. Ranging in size from about 4’ to about 6’, the strange frog-folk are surrounded by a miasma of foul air that almost makes our heroes gag just to be around them. They prove immediately hostile, hopping to the attack. Behind the mud pits is a large willow tree whose branches reach the ground; another bullywug proves to be lurking back in there. Two of the frog-folk hurl rocks while the others move up to engage our heroes. Two of the three of them fall and hurt themselves while attacking, and the party dispatches them shortly, leaving one alive but unconscious as a captive.

“I don’t see any sign of the damsel,” Sepia says, after the party looks around, “but at least they had a few gold and silver pieces.” The party splits the loot; each of them ends up with 7 gp and 10 sp. It is certainly better than nothing, and for Cavemouth, it is the difference between no money at all and a few coins! He grins happily.

Karl says, “We can ask this fellow where the captive is, once he awakens, and if need be, I have a ritual that will allow me to comprehend his language.”

This proves to be a good thing, because the bullywug proves to be very, very stupid. It doesn’t understand much that the party says, does or pantomimes, but eventually, after a very trying series of agonizingly-slow breakthroughs, the party gets the bullywug to start leading them in the direction that his fellows took their captive.

About 200 yards down their trail, however, there is a complication: next to a large mud pit lays a pair of dead bullywugs, and no sign (at least from a distance) of their captive.

“Do we approach?” wonders Hammhokk.

“We ought to at least check out those bodies, I suppose,” Shifty says.

The group’s captive is clearly distressed. Karl can still understand its croaking, and he tells the others that it doesn’t seem to know what happened. “In fact, it seems to think that we killed its companions, and now we’re going to murder it.”

Hammhokk shrugs. “I’m going to let it go,” he says. “We’ve learned everything that we can from it.” With that, he unties it. “Go on, now. You’re free. Run!”

The bullywug bolts, hopping away, but as the party advances to examine the scene, the brush at the far edge of the mud pit rustles- and a pair of drakes emerges. Immediately, they charge at Cavemouth, working in concert and almost pulling him down before he even has a chance to draw his axe! One of them tears a chunk of his buttock out. Blood gushes and he bellows in pain.

“Uh oh,” says Shifty.

The mud starts to churn, and a pair of muddy figures rises up. They start throwing great big gobs of mud, plastering Sepia and Hammhokk, and the thick muck clings to them, slowing their movements.

The party starts to fight back, but then things get much worse. The ground starts to shake directly underneath Cavemouth, and in a spray of earth, a huge, insect-like creature emerges.

“ANKHEG!!” bellows Hammhokk.

Next Time: Will I TPK the new party so soon??

*Shifty’s player described him as “a fantasy Herb Tarlick.”

**Hammhokk’s player described him as “McCauley Caulkin with a harmonica.”

 

[the Jester]

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Toll-Oh-Gee ("Cavemouth")- goliath fighter 1
Shifty- gnome rogue 1
Jexx Hammhokk- halfling bard 1
Sepia Umber- tiefling rogue 1
Karlinndan- eladrin wizard 1

Sepia is the only female pc at this time.

 

[Brain]

aha, the new story hour! Glad you got your game up and running in your new location.

 

[hippie2049]

Hella OG Cavemouth.

 

[the Jester]

The ankheg gives a shrill screech. Dust and earth are flying through the air around it. Still assailed by the drakes, Cavemouth gives a yell of surprise as the ground beneath him collapses towards the ankheg, and then he screams in pain as its great mandibles close on his leg. He flails his arms in the air as blood sprays everywhere from his wounded thigh.

The mudmen, meanwhile, hurl globs of mud at our heroes. Sepia and Hammhokk struggle to break out of the hardening shells of muck, their movements slowed by its thick weight. Shifty keeps his distance, trying to avoid being a target himself by keeping his friends between himself and the mudmen, and hurls shuriken back at them. They sink into the creatures’ muddy forms, clearly not doing much damage. Of course, he thinks, they’re made of mud. My weapons are only going to sink into them with minimal damage! Time to change targets. He hurls another shuriken, this one at a drake, and catches it in the eye. It howls in pain and springs towards him; its companion follows.

Karl fires a scorching burst at the drakes, distracting them again, and Sepia- finally breaking free of the mud- springs forward and cuts one of the lizard things with her knife. It bares its teeth, growling like a guard dog, and snaps at her, but she spins away, avoiding the blow.

The drakes close on Hammhokk. “Help!” the little halfling cries, trying desperately to free his legs and get some distance- but the mud clinging to him will not relinquish its grip. The halfling shrieks as long, dagger-sharp teeth tear into him from both sides.

Karl grimaces as the beasts dance around the bard. They’re too close to Hammhokk for another scorching burst, he thinks, and aims a magic missile at one of the creatures.

”HELP!” cries Cavemouth hoarsely. He struggles to free himself, but the ankheg’s mandibles grip him ever tighter. The bug-like creature begins backing its way down into its hole- taking Cavemouth with it! “HELP!!” the goliath repeats, even louder.

Sepia rushes in on one side, jabbing the ankheg with her dagger. Shifty hurls shuriken from the other. And although Cavemouth’s struggles cease, the ankheg squeals- and releases him, withdrawing to under the ground!

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” cries Shifty. “Oh, why did I try to save him?? He’s not worth it!”

“No,” Sepia answers. “He’s alive!” She shakes him, trying to bring him around. “Cavemouth! Wake up! We need your help!!”

Hammhokk finally breaks free of the mud and tumbles away from the drakes. “Ha!” he cries, firing an arrow from his shortbow into one of the drakes’ flank. The beast looks momentarily confused, and then refocuses on Sepia. “It was her, not me!” the bard squeals.* Then he spies his unconscious warrior friend- and cries, “Oh no! Wake up, Cavemouth, you can do it! You’re my best friend!”**

The goliath’s grey eyelids flutter- and then open. He groans. Takes a quick look around at the situation- and struggles to his feet, axe in hand. With a roar, he leaps forward, up out of the ankheg hole- and swings, striking a telling blow to one of the drakes. It shakes its head, looking slightly dazed.

The ground erupts again, this time underneath Shifty, but the gnome is too quick, darting away- and in to flank the badly-wounded drake. His dagger slips in to the thing’s neck, and the drake collapses in a great gout of blood.

The ankheg rears up and flows forward, following him. Shifty cries out and flings another shuriken at it, and Sepia stabs it in the side. Bug juice flows out and the thing jerks back, bloodied- and burrows back under the ground.

Hammhokk feels something (a ball of mud, to be exact) slam into the back of his head, and he falls unconscious. Karl starts blasting the mudmen with scorching bursts while Sepia, Shifty and Cavemouth engage the remaining drake. All of our heroes are wounded, as is the drake and one of the mudmen. Karl now turns his attention to the other, noting with satisfaction that his scorching bursts work significantly better than weapon attacks.

Unfortunately, the drake fells Cavemouth again before the two rogues manage to slay it.

“We have to save Hammhokk and Cavemouth!” cries Sepia.

“They’re not worth it!” replies Shifty, but he springs forward to try nonetheless.

Another scorching burst damages both mudmen, but neither one drops. Looking at the shape everyone is in, Karl cries, “Let’s get out of here!”

Shifty reaches Hammhokk and grabs him by the collar. He drags the diminutive bard back a few paces, even as the mudmen keep firing on him. Sepia and Karl, meanwhile, manage to get to their fallen goliath ally.

No way can we lift him, thinks Karl. He and Sepia start shaking and slapping him to bring him around, and after a moment, the goliath’s eyes open yet again. With a groan, he staggers up and looks around.

“I was too late!” cries Shifty, abandoning Hammhokk’s body as another ball of mud strikes him. He staggers away, slowed by the mud already hardening on his body. “Oh no! Why did I try to save him? He wasn’t worth it!!”

Karl shouts, “Go! Everyone, run!!” He fires another scorching burst to cover the party’s retreat and prepares to go help Shifty, but the gnome manages to shake the mud off.

The four remaining would-be heroes run for their lives as mud balls keep pelting them from behind. They don’t slow until they are well out of range.

”Damn it!” curses Karl. “We need reinforcements.”

“Especially a healer,” agrees Shifty. “Maybe some kind of priest.”

Cavemouth snorts. “More muscle will do the trick.” He pauses thoughtfully. “You know, there is a group of mercenaries that encamps not far from here. I have a friend that works with them- maybe he can help us.”

“We need someone, that’s for sure,” replies Sepia.

The party strikes out, heading south along the creek for a mile or two before turning more or less west for a few miles. Before long, a group of tents comes into view- a haphazard collection, disorganized and loose. There are pickets of guards around it, but it is very clear that this group of mercenaries (who are probably really closer to being bandits than a traditional mercenary company) lacks any kind of professional discipline. Then again, thinks Karl, when was the last time there was real work for mercenaries around here?

The party keeps their guard up as they approach the pickets. When the party gets within about twenty yards, the guards raise crossbows and one calls out, “That’s close enough!”

Cavemouth steps forward. “Hail,” he calls, his hands empty and raised.

“What do you want?” the guards’ speaker hollers.

“I am looking for one of my friends,” Cavemouth responds. “Kane. You may have seen me before- I dragged him here one night after, uh, some drinking.”

The guard squints at him for a moment, then says, “Oh, it’s you! Okay, come on in.” He turns and exchanges some words with the other guards, who laugh. Cavemouth lets out a deep breath and the party moves into the messy camp. Garbage litters the paths between the sprawls of tents. Before long, the group reaches a small, grease-stained tent with many patches and tears in it.

“Kane!” calls the goliath. “It’s me, Cavemouth.”

“Ah, big one!” comes a voice from within, and the man inside steps out into the light. He is wearing thick hide armor, replete with sewn cuts. A broadsword is strapped at his side, its pommel well-worn and stained by the salty sweat of a dozen battles. Black hair falls straight to his shoulders. Beneath his heavy brow, dark eyes stare out.

“We have come seeking your aid,” Cavemouth says as the two grip forearms. “Frog men have taken over the mudbaths and kidnapped a wealthy damsel...”

“Bullywugs,” puts in Kane.

“The damsel is rich,” adds Shifty.

“...and we’re trying to rescue her.”

“Is there a reward?” asks the mercenary.

“We hope so,” Sepia quips.

Shifty says, “The woman is rich, and she has a reputation for fair play. We think we can trust that we’ll be rewarded.”

“But there is no guarantee,” adds Sepia.

Kane rubs his chin. Although the party cannot tell, he is attempting the difficult mental feat of calculating how long his money will last. Given the expense of hiring multiple whores in the same night, he is pretty sure that it won’t be too long. Besides, the big one is good in a fight, and he did pull me out of that tavern after I killed a bunch of people before the watch could get me. “Who else goes with you?”

“These folk behind me,” Cavemouth replies.

“You travel with child, a demon and a librarian?” exclaims Kane.*** “No wonder you need a strong arm! Very well, I will help you- for a fair share of the money.”

“Of course,” Shifty says. “We’re also looking for a priest or healer of some kind. Is there, perhaps, someone in your band that might be able to help?”

“We are a free company, not a band,” Kane corrects. Then he shrugs. “There is Shar. She is a priest, but I hold no truck with magic.” Disdainfully, he adds, “We can go to see if she is interested if you wish.”

“Yes,” the other four say in unison.

***

The cult of the Sword Emperor has existed for as long as the Empire has, in its present form. Of course, it predates its present form, but whatever its ancestor was, whatever faiths it held to, are no longer relevant.

The cult is found amongst warriors of all kinds, from brigands to generals. Not all soldiers follow its path, but those who seek true excellence with their skill at arms respect its tenets. To turn the martial into the spiritual- to be one with one’s weapon- to fight. They are values held by those who not only live by the sword, but enjoy living by the sword.

Thus, even such a small mercenary group as the Twin Javelins- who have between fifty and eight swords at any given time- has a small shrine to the Emperor within it. Weapons left as sacrifices in the Sword Emperor’s name hang on lines above a greatsword that has been driven, point first, into the ground. On the ground before it is a circle 30’ in diameter, big enough for a duel between two small groups of fighters, for the challenge is always a distinct possibility in a shrine of the cult.

The party arrives to find the shrine tended by a slight female elf. “Shar,” greets Kane. “This big one is my friend. We are going to kill frog men and rescue rich damsels.”

The elf looks the group over.

”Bullywugs,” explains Shifty, “have captured a wealthy landowner from Gumbleford in the mud baths. If we rescue her, she will reward us.”

“Where there is battle, I follow,” the elf says.

***

Our heroes, their ranks swollen with their two new recruits, head back to the site of their ignominious defeat by the mudmen. Although the bodies of the drakes are still present, along with the corpses of the bullywugs that first drew their attention. Mud is splattered everywhere from the previous fight. But the mudmen do not rise from their pool to attack- at least, not yet.

“Where is this missing woman at?” asks Shar.

”We don’t exactly know,” Sepia replies. “The bullywugs took her, and we think that those bodies there are the ones that had her. Obviously, however, something went wrong when they got to here.”

Shifty suggests, “Let’s analyze the scene. We can try to reconstruct the ambush on the bullywugs as best we can. Maybe we can figure out what happened.”

The party’s battle in the area didn’t spill over to where the bullywug corpses are, so it is relatively easy for the party tell that the bullywugs were attacked by mudmen. They cannot, however, discern the fate of the woman that they allegedly had been carrying.

Then Shifty examines the pool of mud itself. It is recessed into the ground- and as the gnome looks it over, he notices that there is a narrow passage that leads behind the bath into some kind of cave beyond. He alerts his companions, and they spread out and prepare to enter. Cavemouth squirms through first. He reports a slope beyond to another passage big enough for the party to follow.

The others follow Cavemouth into the chamber that he has found, and then the party advances through passage and emerges into a cathedral of mud. Small islands of land dot a lake of hot-looking mud that pops and bubbles. On the far side of the great chamber is a huge stone figure, crudely sculpted into a pregnant Earth Mother type figure with enormous breasts. Before it, between its legs, is a large formation of mud, out of which stick a hand and part of a face.

“There is someone in there!” exclaims Shar, shaken.

“Yeah, but how do we get over there?” wonders Shifty. He eyes the islands, gauging the distance between them, trying to see an easy path. “I could probably make it from island to island, but it would be risky...”

“I wonder how hot the mud is,” says Karl.

”There’s an easy way to find out,” replies Sepia, and she hops in. “As a tiefling,” she explains, “my people are resistant to fire.” She smiles. “It feels nice, actually. I don’t think it would burn you, either. And it feels very restorative.”**** She starts to move forward.

With a shrug, Cavemouth jumps to one of the closer islands. His powerful legs easily clear the distance. The others start to consider their options, and suddenly half a dozen mudmen rise up, out of the pool all around them.

Immediately, it is obvious that something is wrong with most of them. Black goop leaks from them, and they reek of foulness. They are corrupted. Something terrible is going on here, realizes the wizard.

While the two uncorrupted mudmen hang back and throw balls of mud, the corrupted ones swarm in at our heroes.

Next Time: Our heroes fight for their lives in the Mud Cathedral!

*Misdirected mark. I love that power!

**”You’re my best friend” rapidly became Hammhokk’s magnificent word.

***He refers to the gnome (Shifty), tiefling (Sepia) and wizard (Karl).

****Once she was in it for an entire round, I told Sepia that if she was in the mud for an entire round, she could spend a healing surge as a standard action while in it. The healing power of the mud baths!

EDIT: I added the map, since there is no secret stuff on it. The round dots are tree trunks, which give cover to those in a tree square; the letters are various monsters (bullywugs, mudmen, corrupted mudmen, etc).

 

[the Jester]

For the record, the new pcs are:

Shar, elven cleric 1 of the cult of the Sword Emperor
Kane, human fighter 1

Edit: Also, glad to see you guys found this thread! We played for about 14 hours over the last couple of days and had a kick ass time, with several pcs reaching 2nd level by the end of it, so I should have a couple more updates before too long.

 

[the Jester]

The corrupted mudmen swarm towards our heroes, and both Sepia and Cavemouth- who have both advanced- find themselves surrounded and beset. The other two mudmen hang back and hurl gobs of mud at the others. Cavemouth roars and draws his axe, laying about with it, while Sepia fends off the incoming muddy bludgeoning, ducking under some attacks while others land solidly on her. Very quickly, she finds herself staggering on the edge of unconsciousness.

Shar lifts her holy symbol- a stylized representation of a greatsword- and utters a healing word, and Sepia strengthens, straightening again as Kane leaps forward, hacking about with his broadsword. Mud splatters everywhere; the mercenary barbarian shoulders his way forward, and Sepia slips back. Behind them, Shifty hurls shuriken and Shar’s bow sings, while the sound of Karl’s voice rising in the words of a spell precede a burst of ice that creates a frozen area in the mud. Two of the mudmen- one corrupted, and the other ‘normal’ (or at least as normal as a six foot man made of mud can be, anyhow) slip and fall in the icy area.

Cavemouth and Kane work well in tandem; the fighter and barbarian sweep through the near mudmen with brutal efficiency, backed up by their allies’ missile fire. The two prone mudmen struggle back to an upright position, oozing up rather than standing*, but while they do, Shifty leaps towards one of islands in the mud, hoping to close the distance and take advantage of their relative disadvantage. Unfortunately, he misses and slips into the mud, chest deep! “Oh no!” the white-haired gnome cries. “Why did I try that? It wasn’t worth it!”

Kane laughs. “Don’t worry, small one- the big one and I shall destroy these mud demons!”

“Not everything is a demon, you know,” Sepia says, firing another sling bullet at the mudmen who were caught in the icy terrain. A scorching burst hits them both again, and the one that is not corrupted explodes into pieces of clay.

From his position in the mud, Shifty throws another shuriken at the last remaining mudman, and it collapses back into the pool. The party stays on guard for a few moments to ensure that no more enemies will rise up; Shifty pulls himself onto one of the islands. Once it seems that the battle is truly over, the party returns its attention to the mud ball underneath the great Earth Mother figure. There is clearly a person in there. Cautiously, they make their way to it and begin digging the figure out.

“She’s alive,” reports Shar, “and it is definitely a female half-elf.”

“It sounds like Bylla,” says Shifty. He rubs his hands together. “Let’s get her out of here and see if we can bring her around!”

***

The woman is indeed Bylla, the wealthy landowner that the party set out to rescue. They bring her around relatively easily; she is hungry and thirsty, but other than minor effects of deprivation, in good health. She thanks them profusely for their rescue of her, and offers them a great reward if they escort her to her home in Grumbleford.

“Now she was worth it!” declares Shifty.

***

Grumbleford is further south than Overland, and east as well. The County Road runs between Overland and Grumbleford; the party decides that, rather than following the creek back to Overland and then taking the road, they will strike out overland, due south (Overland is several miles to the west), catch the road, follow it to the fork at Governor’s Tower and then take the south fork to Grumbleford. Accompanied by Bylla, the party makes good time. Early in the second afternoon, they find a pair of farmers tending to a small apple orchard and stop briefly. The farmers are obviously nervous at first- a well-armed party of hard-looking folk tends to trigger that kind of reaction from an unarmed, outnumbered group of peasants. Once the group shows no intention of robbing or killing them, the farmers relax and become quite friendly, telling the party that they are only about two miles from the road and giving them a jug of strong applejack.

“Have you seen anything unusual going on in these parts?” asks Shar.

“Well, there was another stranger came through yesterday,” one of the farmers replies.

“What kind of stranger?”

“He said his name was Novak. He said he was studying the Burnt Field.”** The farmer makes a warding gesture with one hand.

This definitely counts as unusual; everyone knows that Burnt Field is an unhealthy place. “I wonder why someone would do that,” muses Karl. “If we see him, we’ll have to ask.”

***

A few hours later, the party reaches the road and turns east on it. Not long after that, they come upon a man dressed in leather armor, with a scimitar at his waist, wearing a garland of leaves. He introduces himself as Novak.

“We heard that you’re investigating the Burnt Field,” says Sepia.

“Yes, this is true,” he says. “And I need some help.” He looks them over. “Frankly, I will pay well.”

“The Burnt Field is cursed,” objects Shifty. “We’ll die if we go in there.”

“Nonsense. I’ve been in there myself- though not all the way to the center.”

“Why are you going in there, anyway?” Karl asks.

“There are some objects inside that could be very dangerous in the wrong hands- and the wrong hands are looking for them.”

“That’s kind of vague,” Shifty says.

“What kind of objects?” asks Sepia.

“Crystals. As I said, I will pay well.”

“We’re already in the middle of something,” replies Shifty. “We need to return this person to her home to get paid for rescuing her.”

“How much time do you have before your enemies get these crystals?” asks Karl. “Maybe we can find you on our way back.”

“There isn’t much time,” Novak states, “but I can wait a few days. But once my agents inform me that the enemy has entered the Black Field, I must move quickly.”

“Your ‘agents’?” asks Shar.

“I am a druid. I have animal spies watching.”

“I see,” says Karl, and Shifty cuts the conversation short with a jerk of the thumb towards Bylla: “One thing at a time.”

***

At Grumbleford, Bylla lets the characters stay at her mansion for the night and pays them the handsome sum of 300 gold pieces for rescuing her. Moreover, she tells them, “I am quite fond of those mud baths. If you can show me evidence that you have driven the bullywugs back, I will pay you again- not as much, but nonetheless a considerable amount.”

This woman is a gold mine! thinks Shifty. 300 gold pieces! That’s the most money I’ve ever earned in one job! I wonder how much she is willing to pay us for taking care of the rest of the bullywugs?

“What kind of evidence?” asks Karl.

“Maybe the chief’s head dress or something,” suggests Shar.

“Perhaps. Mostly, though, no more reports of bullywug attacks there.”

***

That night, at a tavern in town (for of all our heroes, only the bookish Karl accepted Bylla’s offer of shelter for the evening, with the others seeking out the kind of place where they can carouse and fight), Shifty tells the others, “I don’t trust that Novak guy. He’s going to betray us in the end, mark my words.”

“Why do you think that?” asks Shar.

“I don’t know. I just don’t trust him. He looks too much like a druid for him to actually be a druid.”

“That makes no sense.”

Shrug.

***

The group resupplies in town, then heads back north to meet up with Novak. They find him several hours before dark.

“How much are you paying?” demands Shifty.

“I will give each of you twenty gold if you come with me to the center so that I can take the crystals away.”

Some quick arithmetic leads those with their numbers to realize that this is over a hundred gold in total. Obviously, Burnt Field presents certain dangers- death or being cursed- but how often will such a large payment stare them in the face? Sometimes one must seize the opportunity that is presented to him or her- and this, it seems, is one of those times.

Novak passes out black armbands. “Wear these,” he commands. “This will inform my allies that you are on our side.”

“What if we don’t?” asks Kane.

“Then they might attack you. Bears, wolves, that kind of thing.”

Kane pulls his armband on. So do the rest of our heroes, with the exception of Shifty, who palms his and stuffs it in his backpack. Surreptitiously, he mutters to Sepia, “I told you this guy is bad news. Black armbands!”

Meanwhile, Karl asks Novak, “Who exactly are the people you’re trying to stop?”

“They are a renegade group of druids,” claims the druid.*** “We can expect interference from their agents in Burnt Field.”

“Let’s go,” Kane says, and the group begins to make its way into the burned area. It is an area of around 20 miles by 15 miles. The carbonized stubs of trees stab the sky like a field of ragged pikes. The rolling hills are covered in ash and the burnt waste of scrubs. Here and there, a mighty attempt at new growth has managed to produce a sickly mutant tuft of grass or two, but even that is sparse and weak. A few animals live in the zone around the perimeter, but once the party has advanced a few miles, they are eerily alone.

Until they are ambushed by quick successions of stones, slung from two small figures lurking above them in the burnt branches of an especially large dead tree.

Kane, in the lead, is suddenly attacked by a cat-sized drake with a stinger on its tail, which scratches the back of his hand and injects venom into him. And then a pair of wolves dart out from behind the trees.

“Kill them!” bellows Novak, and the party attacks.

I just know this guy is going to betray us, thinks Shifty.

*...but still requiring a move action to right themselves. Hurray for cinematic description!

** Burnt Field, according to local lore, was once an area of rolling meadows, but about 35 years ago, something (supposedly) fell from the sky and burnt it. The fire went out, but nothing grew there. Several groups of people went to check it out, but none returned, and so it has come to be shunned. It is said that those who enter the Burnt Field either never return or are cursed, dying shortly after they come back.

***Pcs checked their Intuition many times during their interactions with Novak, but his superior Bluff of +10 won the day every time- the only time I rolled low for him, I rolled lower for the pcs!

 

[the Jester]

The wolves bound forward, engaging the Kane and Sepia. The halflings in the burnt branches keep firing stones, though at a slower rate.* Shar and Shifty dive behind burnt trunks of their own and start to return fire, the elf with her bow and the gnome with his shuriken; likewise, Karl hangs back and fires spells at the treed slingers. Meanwhile, the drake flits from one hiding place to another, stabbing Kane again with its tail stinger and then vanishing behind a screen of burnt trees. Sepia duels one of the wolves, using the two pairs of brass knuckles that she picked up in Grumbleford.**

Novak steps forward and gestures, and a burst of fungal rot catches both of the halflings. They cough and gag as spores sprout on their skin.

Oh yeah, thinks Shifty, this guy is definitely crooked. Evil rot powers? I’m keeping my eye on you, buddy! He flings another shuriken and it sinks into the eye of one of the wolves, which yelps and tries to withdraw.

“You aren’t going anywhere,” growls Kane, and decapitates it with a sweep of his broadsword. Blood spurts out, leaving a spreading pool in the ash underfoot. Then the barbarian glances at the huge dead tree whose branches support the halfling slingers and smiles.

With a laugh, he rushes to the tree and starts climbing.

Novak moves up on the other wolf, snapping an arm towards it. His arm lengthens and turns woody and thorny, and he rakes his vine strike across the wolf’s forelegs. It yelps, staggering, and Karl finishes it off with a magic missile.

Kane, meanwhile, reaches the first halfling’s branch. He charges with a howling strike and cleaves the halfling’s chest open. It falls to the ground, 20’ below, dead. Immediately he whirls around and charges into the other halfling, bringing his broadsword down into the slinger’s head. Red, grey and white splatter down on the ground below. Kane clambers back down the burnt tree with a grin. “Now where is that drake?”

But it has gone into hiding. Karl says, “It could be anywhere by now.”

“We’ve driven it off,” replies Novak. “That’s good enough for now. And clearly, the enemy already knows that we are here.”

Who is your enemy really? wonders Shifty.

***

The party loots the bodies- finding about 18 gold pieces in mixed coins- and keeps moving deeper into the Burnt Field. Shifty takes the others aside, one by one, and shares his suspicions with them again. “I’m telling you,” he insists, “this guy is going to betray us in the end.”

The ash grows thicker as the party moves along. The group ascends a mound of burnt soil and thick ash and spy an old wagon with some bones near it at the bottom of the slope, partially buried in ash.

“Let’s check it out,” says Shar.

The party descends towards the wagon, slipping and sliding down the ashen slope. When they are about halfway down, a trio of large beetles, glowing red from glands on their back, emerges from the ash.

“Fire beetles!” cries Karl.

The party begins to duel with the beetles, but even as they do, the bones below start to clatter, and three skeletons rise up as well!

“Hah! The dead rise against us!” Kane laughs, thrusting his blade deep into a beetle’s flank. “We will have to kill them all over again!”

Karl blasts two of the skeletons down immediately with a scorching burst, while the others focus on the beetles. Soon the great bugs have been slain, and only one of the skeletons has any staying power- but it is hard to kill. When it finally falls, the party spends a few minutes catching their breath and then searches the area.

Within the ruin of the wagon is a locked chest. Shifty picks the lock, and our heroes are overjoyed to find nearly 200 gold pieces within it! Novak declares, “I am not interested in the treasure. Split it amongst yourselves.”

Never trust a man who claims he doesn’t care about the money, thinks Shifty.

“Over here, in the bones,” calls Shar. “There’s an axe here- look at this!”

The cleric lifts up a formidable-looking greataxe. The party clusters around and admires it for a few moments; Karl says, “It’s a magic axe. We should take it.”

“I will wield it,” offers Kane, and the others assent.*** The burly human takes up the axe and gives it a few practice swings. With a grunt of pleasure, he straps it to his back.

***

Deeper into the eerie burned area. As night falls, the party debates whether to leave the Burnt Field to camp, but in the end Novak vetoes the idea. “It will take over a day to reach the center anyhow,” he points out, “so there is no point in leaving. We’ll have to spend a night here sometime.”

To the party’s surprise, they are undisturbed while they sleep. There are no insect noises, leaving the party in an eerie silence broken only by their own breathing. When Novak’s watch comes, Shifty stays awake too, not trusting the party’s employer not to be up to something while everyone sleeps. But he does nothing other than watch.

The next day consists of trekking through more ash. Finally, late in the afternoon, the party comes to a large crater that stretches almost a mile across. According to Karl’s calculations, they have reached the center.

“Wow,” says Shifty.

Scattered in several areas through the crater are large amounts of strange, silvery material. It is hard to tell what it is at this distance, but bits of it are burnt. It has the look of wreckage. There is also a pair of weird, fleshy, tumorous-looking areas. Each is large- several hundred yards across- and full of strange projections, growths and secretions. Even from here, the party can see bits of these earth tumors moving and writhing, as if alive. Three similar areas are different in that they are a grey color, like dead meat, and show no signs of movement.

“Now that is creepy,” opines Shar.

“What are those things?” Karl demands, pointing at the fleshy areas.

Novak answers, “We call those earth tumors. Now you see some of the danger of the crystals falling into the wrong hands.”

“And the crystals should be in the central wreckage?” asks Shifty.

“They should be,” replies Novak, “but we may have to search the other areas of major wreckage, as well.”

“Oh, I see,” the gnome says. “So the deal is changing. Are you going to pay us more, to compensate?”

”Of course. I will increase your wages. If you stick with me until I have recovered all of the crystals, I will pay you fifty gold each.”

It is pretty hard to argue with that kind of money, so our heroes shoulders their packs and head into the crater.

“I just hope,” Novak adds, “we don’t have to enter the earth tumors.”

***

The party picks its way through the rubble and ash in the crater. No trees still stand here; everything has been flattened, either by the impact or the subsequent fires.

“What happened here?” Karl asks Novak.

The druid regards him for a moment. Then he shrugs and says, “An airship crashed. The crystals powered its engines.”

“An airship...”

Novak nods. “A ship,” he elaborates, “that flew through the air.” He shrugs again. “I really don’t know much more than that about it, personally.”

Shortly, the party approaches the central wreckage. There are piles of the strange silvery stuff, which they can now see is some kind of fabric-like material. But whatever was made of it must have been huge. Now, large swaths of the material lie draped over the landscape, shining with a dull silver sheen under the sun.

“This was a weird-looking ship,” comments Shar.

Roughly central to, and attached to the wreckage by thick silvery lines, is some sort of wooden cabin. Just beyond it, folds of the material have formed a large hump that overlooks the area. “Look!” exclaims Shar. Atop the hump of material are a pair of creatures, clearly lookouts- and equally clearly, they have seen the party. “Is it just me, or does that look like a metal cat the size of a wolf? And does that look like some kind of cat-person, or is it just me?”

“No,” says Shifty, “it’s not just you.”

Next Time: Who is at the center of the wreckage? Will our heroes have to enter the earth tumors? And will Novak betray them??


*Stone rain, of course, is a recharge power, and sadly, I never got it to recharge in this fight.

**I am letting her use them as a rogue weapon, +2 proficiency, 1d4 damage (brutal 1). They are mechanically speaking not quite as good as a dagger- with her rogue abilities, Sepia has an additional +2 to hit with the dagger- but it’s flavorful and the brutal 1 might help. (I don’t think she’s hit with them and rolled a 1 on damage yet, though!)

***Although Cavemouth uses the greataxe, his player missed much of this session. He was there neither for the fight, nor for the treasure, alas.

 

[the Jester]

Thirty-five years ago:

“The others!” cried the technician. “Captain, we’re losing the cage!”

The airship shuddered and lurched as it lost weight. The captain cried out as the loss of her crew hit her.

Another explosion, and the technician said, “That’s two engines aflame, sir!”

The orange furred captain cried, “By Hobbes!” Large gold hoops were through both of her large cat ears. Her tail twitched madly, assisting her in keeping her balance in the shifting gondola as well as serving as a barometer of her agitation. “I would have thought something that has lasted this long might be able to stay in the sky a little longer!”

Wisely, the technician said nothing. He had advised her against taking the vessel out of its ancient dock, but once the captain had figured out how to open the outer doors of the mountaintop redoubt, there was no stopping her.

After all, what better way to spot a hidden mountaintop fortress than from above?

The acrid smell of the burning radiocrystal reached inside the gondola. “Sir,” the technician said hesitantly, “perhaps we should leave. I don’t think we can save-”

She cut him off. “You’re right, of course, Lerrmurr. You were right all along.” Her voice was ravaged by grief. “The crew are dead. Only we remain. We must flee.” The two of them moved close together so that she could sprinkle the fall powder on both of them. “We never should have tried to use this thing. Fifty thousand years is too old.” The deck of the gondola, suspended beneath the vast balloon of the airship, began to tilt alarmingly. The stench of the smoke kept growing stronger, making the technician’s eyes tear up and his head swim. His sensitive nose was burning in the toxic fumes.

The two of them moved to the edge of the gondola and leapt out the window.

They were still several hundred feet up, but it didn’t matter. Their feline reflexes enhanced to the utmost by the fall powder- a product of the same ancient tabaxi empire as the airship- and seconds later they hit the ground, rolled and came to their feet. The technician cried out and stumbled, then lifted one foot off of the ground and balanced on the other with a hiss.

“Are you all right?” the captain asked him.

“Broken,” he replied through gritted teeth.

In the sky behind him, the captain could see the airship getting lower and lower. It was going to crash, probably less than two miles away. They were nowhere near safe. “You have to move,” she said. “The airship is coming down. Hobbes knows what will happen then- we need to get back to our people and get a team to get the radiocrystals back before something terrible happens. We don’t have time to fashion a splint, so you will have to cling to my back.”

With some effort, they hoisted the technician onto his captain’s back, and the captain began to jog away- directly opposite from the airship’s path. Lerrmurr kept his eyes to the back, watching with horror as the ancient Miloxi airship slowly descended until, finally, there was a bloom of violet fire and a flash of burning light, followed by a terrific explosive noise.

Immediately, the meadows behind and around them began to burn. Trees closer to the blast ignited like tinder, and a huge bellow of smoke rose up across the entire horizon behind them. Worse yet, the fire began to spread towards them with appalling speed.

“I’m slowing you down too much!” cried the technician. “You have to drop me!”

His captain ignored him.

Lerrmurr did the only thing he could: he wrenched himself off of the captain, flinging himself to the ground. “Run!” he screamed.

The captain turned and saw the oncoming conflagration. She tried to pick up the technician again, but he resisted her. “Run!” he cried again. “Or we will both die!”

She ran.

Lerrmurr collapsed back and watched the violet-tinged flames approach. Already, the heat was burning his fur. I die, he thought, that this land may live.

The flames closed around him, and he closed his eyes.

To awaken in excruciating pain. He felt as though he was on fire everywhere. His fur was gone, burned out; he could feel the cracked naked flesh of his body weeping pus. But he was alive. He opened his eyes, and found himself on a mat of straw in a hut of human construction.

A male human sat beside him. “You are awake,” the human observed.

Lerrmurr mewed, but could do little more.

The tabaxi technician was not too familiar with human facial expressions, but somehow the smile on the man’s face did not strike him as pleasant.

“Good,” the human said. “There are things we want to know.”

***

The present:

Our heroes move up the draped silvery fabric towards the strange cat-folk at the center of the wreckage. The wolf-sized metal cat lopes towards them, while the feline humanoid instead hurries to the broken cabin, or whatever it is, and opens the door. Another of its kind emerges to join it.

“Stop them!” commands Novak. He gestures and a burst of fungal rot hits the pair of humanoids, while the others move forward to engage. The iron cat bounds forward and leaps to the attack, with the two cat-folk hot on their heels. A fierce melee ensues, with Karl staying back and hurling magical attacks and Novak using the reach that his vine lash gives him while the others fight up close.

After a moment, another of the cat-humanoids emerges from the crashed airship’s cabin. He looks a little bit different from the others- he wears a harness festooned with odd tools, and while the other two look sleek and trim, this one is chunky and less fit. He creates some kind of concealing haze and hangs back, seemingly getting a fix on Shifty and setting up for a single devastating attack.*

He never has a chance.

The party moves too quickly, cutting through cat-folk and cat-construct alike. Kane shatters the iron cheetah, and the two humanoids in the front rank fall moments later. The final one is slain before he has a chance to strike.

“Well done!” exclaims Novak. “With luck, our mission is accomplished!” He sets to searching the fallen cat humanoids. While he does, Cavemouth tries to cut the fabric with his axe, but only succeeds in dulling the blade. Meanwhile, Novak finds that the one with the tool-bedecked harness has a hard case strapped to its side; he opens this and then grins. “The crystals!” he cries. Then his face falls as he examines the contents. “But not all of them.”

“So now what?” asks Shifty.

”We will check out the other areas of wreckage,” replies Novak. “With luck, the missing crystals are in there.”

“And if they’re not?”

“Then we will plunge into the earth tumors.”

***

The eerie, burnt landscape that the party traverses seems almost like an alien world. The blackened stumps seem like weird fingers pointing futilely at the sky. They reach the second area of debris after nearly an hour, their progress often impeded by ankle-deep drifts of ash. Debris is scattered about- mostly the strange silver fabric, but also a few bits of charred metal.

There has obviously been a fight of some kind here- several dead animals are about, as well as the corpse of a huge mutated bear, with a second vestigial head and a pair of wickedly barbed tentacles. I bet that was on Novak’s team, thinks Shifty.

There is no sign of the crystals that the party is seeking, so they move on towards the next area of wreckage. More sheets of the silvery fabric, folded and draped into a hill, and the remains of some kind of cage that must have fallen and shattered. Burned bones were scattered amongst the wreckage.

“Careful,” says Shar, nodding towards the bones. The party keeps a good eye on them, and after a few moments, they animate into a collection of decrepit skeletons. Our heroes de-animate them right back.** Again, however, there is no sign of the hoped-for crystals.

“Damn,” swears Sepia. “I don’t want to go in those things.”

“I will pay you well,” says Novak, “I assure you.”

***

The earth tumor swells like a zit on the land. It is the size of several square city blocks. The air near the tumor is warm and clammy, and smells of odd organic processes, including a rich helping of rotten meat. Weird fleshy growths thrust from the ground like buildings, some of them moving. Other areas have foul yellow crystal formations forming barriers and jagged outcroppings. Some areas of the tumor move.

Sepia shudders. “This is disgusting.”

The party enters the tumor, trying to stay on the ground but rapidly finding no path that will take them further inward without requiring that they mount the tumor itself. Soon the area seems to respond to their presence, with growths and fluids moving to bar their path, until finally they are ejected, battered and fouled by noxious chemicals.***

“Damn, that place is foul,” says Shar.

“We must reach the center and see if the crystals are there,” declares Novak.

Shifty grows more and more uneasy. I just know that this guy is going to turn on us, he thinks. The only question is, when?

The party plunges into the tumor again, fighting through membranous closures and slogging along channels filling with organic soup. This time, the tumor responds quickly, trying to channel them out, but they persist until they finally break into the central area.

In the center is a piece of wreckage: not the silvery fabric that they have seen so much of, but some kind of mangled metal device. A hatch is half-sprung, and a violet radiance emanates from behind it. Yet the entire device is tightly wrapped in fleshy appendages forming a protuberance sprouting mushroom-like from the ground.

The tumor goes crazy as the party tries to cut, pry or trick the device (which Novak calls an “engine”) free of it tumorous housing. The ground starts to ripple, attempting to throw them back; fingers of tough, horny material rise up and try to herd them away. Fissures and furrows, ridges and rises form.

Finally, though, they manage to cut the engine free. Almost immediately, the area around the ‘housing’ dies, turning gray and putrescent.

Novak rushes to the engine and pries the compartment open, retrieves a crystal and places it in the hard case that he took from the cat-person. Closing it securely, he replaces in on his belt.

Then our heroes flee for their lives, trying to outrun the collapse of the earth tumor.

***

After the party makes good their escape, Karl asks, “So you have what you need now, right?”

“Not yet,” Novak replies. “We still don’t have all of it.”

“How much more is there?” demands Shifty.

”There is only one more crystal,” says Novak. “And I am paying you all very well.”

“Fifty gold each, right?”

“Probably more.”

***

There is only one more earth tumor; it seems likely that the party will find another engine within the center. The experience is very similar to their breaching of the first one, with the tumor resisting their intrusion, but their experience in the first one help them know what to expect in this second one. Soon they reach the center and cut the engine free of the organic growths suckling upon it, and the last earth tumor starts to die. They flee ahead of the wave of decay.

Again making it out just ahead of the collapse of the tumor, the party scrambles to a safe distance across the burnt landscape, then pauses to catch their breath.

“Did we get it?” asks Shifty.

“Yes,” Novak answers.

The hair on Shifty’s neck stands up. Now. He’s doing it now.

“And now you must all die.”

Next Time: Novak turns on the party!

*The tabaxi technician’s fixes are a lot like an assassin’s shrouds.

**This was a very easy encounter- only worth 200 xp, and there were 6 pcs present.

***This was a skill challenge- one that the party failed (several times, before all was said and done). Failed checks resulted in lost healing surges.

 

[the Jester]

Our heroes have seen the fungal rot that Novak can create employed on their enemies. The spores take root in flesh, rotting flesh and weakening muscle. Now it happens to them.

An explosive series of movements- our heroes scatter, with several of them rushing towards their erstwhile ally and now betrayer. Coughing and gagging on the thick bloom in the air, Shifty tumbles away from the rest of the party, trying to get some distance to keep himself out of any other area effects that Novak might be able to conjure.

Cavemouth charges the traitor. His axe whistles through the air, and Novak jerks back just in time to avoid a lethal blow. Still, Cavemouth manages to wound him, and an instant later a rock- propelled by Sepia’s slingshot- smacks into the side of the villain’s head. He cries out, staggered, and Shar sinks an arrow into his thigh.

Novak backs away a little, trying to keep enough distance to take advantage of the enhanced reach that his vine lash gives him. Unfortunately for him, Cavemouth presses forward, cutting Novak over and over with blows that the druid barely avoids.

Shifty springs in to flank him. “I knew you were a bad guy!” he cries. “I’m ready for you!” He feints at Novak’s belly; when the druid tries to block it, Shifty sinks a torturous strike hilt-deep in his eye!*

Novak topples over with a scream. He cries out, “The Shadow Circle will destroy you all!” Then he spasms once and moves no more.

“I knew it,” Shifty repeats. “I knew it!”

“Now what?” asks Cavemouth.

“We go home,” says Sepia.

“No, what about the crystals?”

All eyes fix on the hard case holding the strange crystals that is strapped to Novak’s belt.

“I guess we take them,” answers Shifty.

***

When they open the case and examine the crystals, something makes the hair on the back of their necks stand up. Their skin crawls. The very presence of the strange stones seems to provoke an uncomfortable mild nausea.

“We shouldn’t hold onto these for too long,” Sepia opines. “I can talk to my fence and see if we can sell them.”

“They aren’t supposed to fall into the wrong hands. We should be careful getting rid of them.” Shifty frowns. “On the other hand, we probably don’t really want to keep them for very long, either.”

“I’ve got a solution to that,” says Karl. “This is the bag that the sneakier cat guy had. It’s bigger on the inside than it is on the inside.” He demonstrates. “I believe that it’s a bag of holding. And that means that we can probably safely store the stones in here.”

This excellent idea is quickly executed; even so, the party agrees, they need to figure out what to do with the gems.

***

The party stops long enough to decide that Karl should hold the bag, and to give the armor that the head cat guy had been wearing to Shifty. It, too, is magical. Then they resume traveling outward, away from the center of Burnt Field, back towards home. A day and a half of slogging through ashen drifts and moving through the ghostly burnt stakes of the dead forest leads them at last to the road; one more day sees them home to Overland.

The question of the strange jewels remains, however. After some discussion over a couple of tankards of ale at the Silver Fish, the party decides that they must be very discrete when trying to get rid of them, but get rid of them they should.

To that end, Sepia contacts her fence, Wilcox. She dances around the subject perhaps too well, asking him if he has seen or heard of anything unusual lately.

”What kind of unusual?” he asks.

”You know, unusual items, gems, things like that.”

“What do you mean by ‘unusual?’ I see a lot of gems...”

“Something with, uh, unique properties... maybe some kind of powers.”

Wilcox squints at her. “I will keep my ear to the ground for you, but I haven’t heard of anything like that recently.”

“This would be recent. Well, thanks anyway,” the tiefling says, and leaves. When she reports the details of the conversation to her friends, Shifty groans.

“You didn’t learn anything, get a value on the gems, or... or anything!”

“Well, at least he doesn’t know that we have the gems,” she counters.

***

Cavemouth, meanwhile, goes to the local smith and drops his axe off for repairs. (It was damaged when he attempted to cut the strange silvery material in the central crater in Burnt Field.)

“I should have this ready for you by the day after tomorrow,” the smith tells the huge warrior.

“Good,” Cavemouth responds. “Do you have a loaner or something that I can use in the meantime?”

The smith cocks an eyebrow at the goliath. “Well,” he drawls, “I could always sell you a second axe, but I don’t loan my work out. It loses a great deal of its value once it has been used.”

Grumbling, Cavemouth walks away without an axe. The expense of buying a second one just seems too high for a day’s worth of benefit. So the party instead waits until his axe is ready, drinking and whoring with their newfound wealth. An extra two days is nothing, when you’re flush with gold and have no pressing concerns.

***

Wilcox’ door swings open. The fence glances up- he is working on a dwarven pebble puzzle- and raises his eyebrows. “Haven’t seen you in town before,” he says.

Dour-faced like most of his kind, the strange dwarf replies, “I am not from here.”

“Right... well, if you have some merchandise that you need to sell, you’ve come to the right place. Of course, I don’t deal in stolen goods, but I am sure that a member of your honorable race would never bring something like that to me anyway, but good business requires that I tell you that up front.”

“Of course. But you misunderstand me. I am not here to sell; I am looking for something to buy.”

“Ahh, well, look around my shop and feel free to make any inquiries you come up with.”

“I do not think,” the dwarf answers, “you have what I want on the shelf. I doubt whether you have it at all. And yet, if it is in your town- if it comes through your town- I suspect that you may become aware of it.”

“Now you have me intrigued, sir.”

“I am looking for some unusual stones,” the dwarf says.

***

Cavemouth exclaims, “Good as new!” He takes a few practice swings with the greataxe, cleaving through empty air, then turns a broad smile on the smith. “Well done!”

“I always strive to do quality work,” the smith replies.

The two clasp forearms and then the goliath returns to the street, where the rest of the party awaits him. “Good as new!” he repeats enthusiastically.

“Maybe next time you can avoid trying to cut strange cloth in the first place,” Kane says, needling his friend.

“The question is, what do we do now?” asks Karl.

“Well, the answer is obvious!” Shifty proclaims. “We only have one paying job on offer right now. We need to go finish off the bullywugs and drive their tribe away from the mud baths, and then Bylla will pay us again.”

“Good call,” agrees Karl.

“Gold is a powerful argument,” nods Kane.

The party sets out for the mud baths, walking north out of town. As when they made the journey before, they expect it to be a day and a half worth of walking to reach the place. Linden trees, as well as oak and various types of scrub, dot the land and virtually line the edge of the creek that the trail runs alongside. When the sun’s descent in the west starts to touch the ocean, the party stops to make camp. They set up a nice sheltered area to sleep in, build a small fire and have dinner.

Then a voice emerges from the darkness: “May I join you?”

The party looks up to see a dwarf in leather armor with brown robes hanging loosely over it. He bears a garlanded staff.

“Certainly, rock brother!” Cavemouth says.

The dwarf moves up to the edge of the fire and begins to warm his hands. He glances around at all of them, his eyes flinty. “I understand,” the dwarf rumbles, “that you were working with someone named Novak recently.”

“Why, is he a friend of yours?” asks Shifty.

“And how do you know that?” adds Kane.

“You were seen by associates of mine, traveling with him and wearing his black armbands.”

“I never wore his armband,” retorts Shifty. “So what’s your relationship with him? Is he one of your friends?” Surreptitiously, the gnome’s hand falls on the hilt of one of his daggers.

“Hardly,” the dwarf responds. “And I doubt whether he was a friend of yours, either.”

Shifty and Shar exchange a glance. “You’re right about that much,” the elf admits, as Shifty’s hand drops away from the dagger.

“What happened to him?” the dwarf asks.

“He betrayed us, and now he’s dead,” Shifty states. “I put a dagger in his eye.”

The dwarf nods. “Good. And I suspect that you have something that I am interested in taking off of your hands.”

“Really? What would that be?”

“The crystals.”

“Who are you, anyway?” demands Sepia.

“I am called Nom,” the dwarf answers. “And I am a druid, opposed to Novak’s faction.”

“And what do you know about the crystals?” inquires Shar.

“I know that they are very dangerous in the wrong hands. I know that you worked with Novak to retrieve them, and now I believe that you have them. But they are cursed. If you bear them for too long, you will fall under their curse, and eventually it will kill you. Your hair will fall out; your limbs will grow weak; over time, you will grow sores and chancres.”

“Yuck,” opines Sepia.

“We don’t really want that,” admits Shar.

“Give them to me,” Nom says, “and I will ensure that they are properly disposed of.”

“How so?” demands Shifty.

“To be honest, I don’t know the details myself. But believe me, the alternative is a terrible, slow death.” The dwarf sighs. “I am trying to help you.”

“Well, we just had these appraised,” lies Cavemouth, “and we have a very nice offer for them...”

“Believe me, you do not want them to fall into the wrong hands,” Nom sighs. “How much are you being offered?”

“Five gold for the lot of them.”

“I will pay you ten.”

“Give us a minute,” Shifty requests. “We have to talk this over.”

Nom nods, withdrawing from the fire. Keeping one eye on him- We’ve had enough weird druid issues already!- Shifty and the others discuss the situation. They certainly don’t want to die a terrible cursed death; and Nom doesn’t cause Shifty the same kind of discomfort as Novak had. Over Karl’s vociferous objections, the party agrees to Nom’s deal. Coins from the dwarf go into the party’s pockets, and in return, Karl reluctantly empties the jewels from the bag of holding. Nom takes them gingerly, and the party throws in Novak’s hard case.

Gems in the case, case in hand, Nom leaves our heroes to the night.

***

When they reach the mud baths, our heroes find a group of bullywugs lounging about as if they own the place- which, at the moment, they effectively do. But with Kane and Cavemouth leading the charge, Shifty and Sepia (with her new brass knuckles, purchased in Grumbleford) right behind them, and Shar and Karl in the back firing arrows and spells, the frog-men are quickly brought low.

“We need to find the leader,” states Shar. “Kill him, and the rest will crumple.”

“They are cowardly,” acknowledges Kane. “Why, the mere presence of a demon in our ranks might stir them to flight!”**

The party backtracks the bullywugs, this time going well past the site of the mudman ambush where they eventually found Bylla held prisoner. The trail leads them deeper into the mud flats, then into an area where the ground slowly drops into a marsh. The trees gradually change into a mix of cypress, willow and other types that like moister ground. Moss hangs in great wet green sheets from scraggly vines. Strange vapors rise from the ground, and puddles become more and more common. Dryer areas of ground are still soggy; our heroes leave visible footprints in many of the areas they traverse. The bullywugs’ tracks are fortunately equally easy to follow.

Soon a fog rises up, thickening the deeper the group goes into the swamp. The daylight seems to wane; whether it is oncoming night or simply an artifact of the fog is impossible to tell.

Then, slowly resolving from the mist, the party sees a few crude huts. Outside of them- bullywugs!

“We have found what we seek,” announces Kane, and he charges.

Next Time: Dude, where’s my cow?


*Critical hit with combat advantage... this did something like 27 points of damage in one fell swoop.

**Kane, of course, constantly refers to the tiefling Sepia as a ‘demon’, despite her protestations.