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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Lazybones" data-source="post: 1607661" data-attributes="member: 143">Oh, you have no idea *glances at the upcoming plotline and cackles insanely*It's funny, but both as a DM/player and as an author/reader I've always been addicted to close shaves.  My NWN campaign players have learned to accept that they'll often end a major battle with everyone either unconscious or in single-digit HP (I have TWICE had situations where only a single player was fled a battle [everyone else was down], with <5 hit points, multiple bad guys pursuing, and narrowly escaped to return and revive the others.  It's dicey and you have to be careful not to seem heavy-handed, but I think it's fun to stand over the corpse of the BBEG after an epic battle, savoring a hard-won victory with all your spells depleted, all your potions drunk, and blood seeping out of multiple wounds (or maybe it's just fun for me <img src="https://cdn.jsdelivr.net/joypixels/assets/8.0/png/unicode/64/1f609.png" class="smilie smilie--emoji" loading="lazy" width="64" height="64" alt=";)" title="Wink    ;)"  data-smilie="2"data-shortname=";)" /> ).  I do use a fairly generous bleeding/stabilization script so actual deaths aren't as common as you'd think. The Adventure Path modules almost seem set up for this outcome, as the last several mods have repeatedly had situations where they hit players with encounters 2-4 EL higher than their party level (and some cases several of those in succession, with no chance to rest).  And without further ado, your Friday update:* * * * * Chapter 158Zenna ducked her head and slapped at the air as a bug the size of her fist flittered past, its interest in her inconclusive as it survived her barrage and continued on its way.  She bit off a curse and saw Dannel’s grin as he looked back at her from the head of their column.  She fired off a look that bespoke grim consequences if he so much as commented, and he turned and continued down the trail. The trail had been just as rough today as it had been on the day before when they’d first headed inland from the river.  At least there were clear signs that others had come before, although the indicators of traffic that Dannel pointed out were far from reassuring.  The gnolls that they’d encountered were clearly part of a larger group that frequented this region, but thankfully they had not encountered any more following that morning’s battle at the cave.  She looked back covertly at Morgan, bringing up the rear of the column.  The heat and arduous nature of the trek was starting to have some effect on him, she saw.  Or perhaps it was the aftereffect of his injuries suffered that morning.  She’d stabilized him and brought him back to consciousness with a minor healing spell, expecting no thanks and receiving none.  He’d treated the rest of his wounds with his own resources, but Zenna knew from experience that being pummeled to the edge of death’s door and returning was draining, no matter the benefits of healing magic.  They’d all been hurt in the brief melee, except for Mole.  Hodge and Arun were both seriously wounded, and it had taken a number of charges from the healing wands that she and Dannel carried to bring them back to full health.  The wand of acid arrows that she’d bought at Skie’s back in Cauldron was likewise almost depleted, with at most two or three charges left in the device.  They were making as good a time as could be expected through the difficult terrain.  Morgan had protected the two dwarves as well as himself with endure elements, and Zenna had prepared a similar spell for Mole as well.  Dannel... well, the elf hadn’t asked, and she certainly wasn’t going to offer.  Unfortunately the heat didn’t seem to be affecting him all that much, and she was denied the satisfaction of watching him sweat.  She looked up at the sky, or rather at the thick shroud of forest canopy high above.  It was starting to get dark, she thought.  Her body felt like she’d been walking for days since they last rested; while the heat did not touch her, the arduousness of the trail had taken its toll upon her. Dannel, up ahead, apparently agreed, calling a halt and coming back to address them.  “There’s a big tree that’s fallen across the trail, up ahead,” he told them.  “It looks like it might be a secure place to set camp for the night.” “Hopefully more secure than last night’s camp!” Mole piped in.The men quickly and efficiently established a secure camp in the hollow below the fallen log, while Mole drew out various packages of preserved foodstuffs and began preparing the evening meal.  Zenna cleared a small space that wasn’t too overrun by the omnipresent bugs and sank down wearily after dropping her pack down close where she could reach it.  She did not feel guilty for relying on the others to do the work of preparing the camp; they would need to have her well rested on the morrow in order to recover her spells, and while she had a certain durability to her, physically she just wasn’t as well suited to carrying hefty burdens over long distances.  The fact that her backpack weighed less than Arun’s hammer, let alone the heavy shield and suit of full plate that he wore, was all a matter of relativity. The night descended upon them with a startling rapidity, and it was clear that the day’s hike had made an impact upon all of them, for there was little small talk as they ate their meal swiftly and retired to their bedrolls.  Arun took the first watch, his keen dwarven eyes able to pierce the deep darkness of the forest floor without difficulty.  They were starting to get used to the constant noises of the jungle around them, but were all still alert for the subtle differences that could indicate a more serious threat.  They were all cognizant of the fact that they were outsiders here, and there were almost certainly numerous entities in this place besides the gnolls who would treat them as interlopers and respond appropriately. Despite her exhaustion, Zenna found herself unable to sleep.  After spending the better part of an hour tossing in her bedroll, she rose to a sitting position and looked around her.  The darkness held no mysteries for her alien senses, and she could clearly see Arun, sitting like a stone on the edge of their camp.  For all that her heritage protected her from feeling the full force of the heat, her tunic clung to her body, damp with moisture.  This entire place was like a steam bath, she thought as she rose, calculating how long it would take until all of their clothes simply rotted on their bodies.  She walked over to Arun; the dwarf acknowledged her with a nod but did not shift his attention from the jungle depths all around them.  “You should get some rest,” he said, his voice soft so as not to wake the others. “I will, in a few minutes,” Zenna said, although at the moment she felt as though she would never be able to sleep again.  Everything had an odd tinge to it, unreal, a world of grayness in her darkvision contrasting to the vibrant colors that surrounded them in the daylight.  The jungle felt like a living thing, every leaf and branch a claw turned against them.  It was a morbid thought, and one that she tried to dismiss.  Arun’s presence did not help dispel the dark perception of their surroundings.  She knew that the paladin was a good man at heart, a devoted foe against all things evil and dark in the world, his stoic silence seemed almost to reinforce the feeling she felt building in the surrounding jungle.  Normally she respected, even welcomed, his taciturn demeanor, but tonight she needed some talk, anything to drive back the ominous presence in the forest. “Your path has taken some odd twists since you met us, has it not, Arun?”The dwarf grunted, and his shoulders twisted slightly in what Zenna presumed was a shrug.  “My road lies wherever evil is thick,” he said. “Do you ever miss... your homeland?”The dwarf nodded.  “The deep places are a part of us, in the soul of my people.  Though I may be far from the great halls of the gul-dennar, those you call the golden dwarves, each time I close my eyes I can still see the majesty of those long, vaulted chambers, hewn from the living rock by generation upon generation of dwarvenkin.  They say that every stone in every chamber and corridor in the dwarven halls of the the Rift sings with the heart of the dwarf who first drew its form out of the rock.”Zenna thought she detected a note of regret in the dwarf’s voice as he finished, but at the same time she was moved by the obvious passion in his voice.  She was used to seeing that side of him in his actions in battle, but it was a further refinement of her perceptions of him to hear him speak of his home in this way.  She knew that he was an exile, though the details of his story were still nebulous to her; she made a mental note to ask Mole if she’d spoken more with Arun about his past. “What of you, magi?  Does your heart hold room for dreams of your home?”Even though she’d suspected the question was coming, she wasn’t sure how to respond.  In the light of day, settled in herself, she would have had her answer ready, but here, with just the two of them together here, she felt some old feelings she’d long since banished from her heart stir inside her.  Under Arun’s calm, deep look, she somehow could not crush those feelings as she so often had.  She cleared her throat, softly...And as she looked up, froze. There was something there, in the forest, not far from them, drawing closer.  Unlike the vague presence that she’d felt suffusing the wood in an ambiguous sense of menace, this one was clearly something tangible, although her eyes seemed to slide off the details of its form as it drifted closer.  She opened her mouth to shout a warning, but no sound came from her lips as the potency of the thing that approached swept over her like a wave.  Arun sensed it too, and rose in a sudden jerk, before a look of wonder crossed his features and his hammer fell forgotten to his side.</blockquote>

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