🩸 [Mini-Adventure] Monsters in the Grove

[Crimson]

Somewhere in the Faillegrove Swamps.

It started off with missing cats. Then the urchins starting losing their favorite strays and pups. A woman swore she saw one of the trees snap a crow in a half mid-flight. One of the boatmen had washed ashore missing his head and half of his limbs.

Older Medonians had been warning the nouveau riche of the Pnyx and their fancy friends about the swamp for nearly a decade. But their complaints fell on deaf ears. Nobody cared about bedtime stories about man-eating vines and two-headed swamp rats; there were more exciting gossip and hard-hitting headlines like Veleraen was quashing rebellions or Aelyria Prime getting overrun by demons and ratta or was it demon-ratta?

Decent folk blamed the coyotes for the missing cats and beggars for the lost dogs. Besides, the Falliegrove was better off avoided altogether. It was a sore subject and sort of a blindspot, largely ignored, and seldom discussed with any real sense of urgency. So what if the ruins had creepy crawly things living in them? The swamp was far enough from the proper places that it could be left to rot for all they cared. Anyone who bothered venturing into the desecrated depths of the devastated place deserved what was coming.

But adventurers had a way of happening upon a situation. Especially when flyers started cropping up around the city.

Spoiler: Text on image

Help Wanted
Swamp Team 6

Due to the loss of Swamp Team 5,
I am seeking able-bodied adventurers once again
to help me with an expedition to the Falliegrove

There were instructions and indications of a significant monetary reward. Interested parties and persons were told to 'pack for aquatic endeavors' and acquire 'tropical vaccinations' but all other equipment and transportation would be provided. Those who arrived on that fateful morning found a cethar dressed in a white lab coat pulling water samples into little glass vials from the steaming shores of the swamp. The plump creature looked like a young boy but it was considered rude to assume a cethar's age. An oversized pair of goggles pushed his curly brown hair flat around his large ears. His almond eyes reflected the eerie green of the unnatural body of water that rested where a portion of Medonia once proudly stood.

Despite the growing crowd of adventurers, the cethar was engrossed in his work, and hardly seemed to notice anyone or anything else.

Most especially the strange serpentine roots that were suspiciously snaking their way toward the halfling!

OOC: Storyboard and special thanks to @Grim + Medonia Working Group

 

[Adynirach]

Adyn’s conviction seemed as much mired in the Faillegrove’s muck as his boots, with each laborious step drawing a little more of his enthusiasm into its loamy depths. The rooftops of Port Alyxandrya seemed a distant dream by now, visions of its gleaming rooftops lost to this oozy nightmare. By all rights, his path should have drawn him back to the pulse of city life, but here he was—in the Faillegrove—neck-deep in foul water and foul mood alike. How did he always end up in situations like these?

The halfling in the white coat, with his oversized goggles and delicate features, was a spectacle of misplaced enthusiasm. He was so engrossed in his vials and samples that the creeping peril went disregarded. Those roots inched toward him with an unsettling sense of purpose, reminiscent of the way Adyn zeroed in on a mark—though his targets were typically more aware and maybe a bit… taller.

Adyn’s mouth tightened as he stood at a crossroads: the ravenous bog on one side, and the beckoning call of abandoned duty on the other. An ache, blunt and unkind, tracked a familiar path through his abdomen where steel had once met flesh, as if to remind him of his vulnerability and past transgressions. His fingers sought the place only to brush the rent in the leather. No fresh blood greeted him, only the echo of a promise made and a debt yet unpaid.

Well. It might just be good to do the right thing… for a change.

Adyn heaved a world-weary sigh and gripped the hilts of the twin blades strapped to his back. It wasn’t often that Adyn’s hands did the work of saving rather than taking, but the thrill of the unfamiliar was awakening something within him—a curiosity, or maybe, just maybe, a sliver of conscience not yet dulled by cynicism.

He stepped forward, drawing the blades from their sheaths and using the momentum to bear them down on the roots reaching for the cether.

Who knew, fending off the swamp's voracious appetite might just prove that he was more than the sum of his thefts.

Or it could simply get him killed—for good this time.

Spoiler

Ooc notes:

1. Adyn is just recovering from an injury. It’s mostly healed but punch it all you like if you really want to make him cry.
2. “You received an instant messenger. This strange blue bird can deliver one message (120 characters or less) to one person in the thread.” Players Wanted - Mini-Adventure: All Players Welcome (Winter Break Edition)

 

[Crimson]

Adyn’s twin blades reached the creeping, crawling root-vines with a streak of silver. The studious cethar barely noticed the Rogue until the lean young man was practically on top of him. Then the boy-like creature yelped and scrambled away from what was left of the writhing, twitching pieces of the serpent vines.

"Oh, goodness", the cethar wheezed, clutching his chest. Despite the (very) delayed reaction, the cethar was now wide-eyed and trembling. "How did you even see that? My thanks to you, sir", he squeaked the last sentence as an afterthought.

It was true. Adyn hadn't noticed it at first but the vines were translucent and only shimmered at the faintest touch of the morning light as it filtered through the haze and steam that rose from the Falliegrove Swamps. Only in death did the vines start to grow more opaque and dull.

Now the other adventurers and sellswords were gathering around Adyn and the cethar. There was a set of twins with curly hair, each of them probably no older than sixteen summers. The rogue recognized a familiar hunger in their eyes and identical smirk that reminded Adyn of a fox.

"Thank you, erm, for coming", the cethar began nervously.

"Where's da old man from last week?", demanded a dwarf who was carrying a large backpack and what looked like an inflatable vest the color of persimmons.

"Our sponsor, Dr. Hinks, was unfortunately injured in the last expedition", the cethar explained, "I am his Assistant, Dr. Bug."

"Wha? Yer a doctor?"

"Erm, yes", mumbled Dr. Bug, "and as I was saying -- we haven't much time to collect as many specimens from the bog before the high tide."

There were some murmurs and comments about the dilution of expertise when there were too many academics and so-called doctors.

"As you know", Dr. Bug continued, "the swamp is too dangerous to traverse at high tide, which will occur in ..." He consulted what looked like a gadget with spinning dials and switches and gears wrapped around his left forearm. "Six candlemarks."

"So, what?", one of the twins asked impatiently. "We just wade into the swamp, not get eaten, and collect random shite for ye and yer master?"

"Not quite. Some locals agreed to assist us. You will, of course, be responsible for your own safety."

As Dr. Bug said this, Adyn and the other adventurers notice hunched figures floating on rafts made of wood, vines, and other debris fashioned into platforms that skimmed the surface of the swamp approaching them.

 

[Adynirach]

Adyn watched the tendrils catch the rays of light spilling through the trees of the Faillegrove, realizing that this eerie beauty was only a temporary thing that they surrendered upon their death. It wasn't long before they withered into the same dense melancholy of the rest of the swamp, leaving the rogue with nothing but more questions in the silence that soon followed.

That silence didn't last very long. His attention pulled toward the others as they arrived little by little, conversing with the doctor and shedding light on the nature of their experience with this endeavor. There was a calm, blank expression etched on the young man's face as he listened and observed, attempting to melt back out of focus, his blades finding their way back into their sheaths as he did so.

These moments were usually the most opportune for getting a read on what - and who - one was working with. The dwarf, for instance, was much too loud - both in speech and in dress - something that would only draw attention to Adyn if he were to be the guy standing right next to him. The twins ... they looked like the clever sorts, which meant more adaptable, perhaps faster to react. Adyn wouldn't trust them with much else, but in a fight, they might prove to be more along Adyn's style.

That would all remain to be seen.

Until then, he turned his attention to the newest arrivals, and his blank expression became marred by the beginnings of a frown. Locals? Expanding the amount of people they'd have to protect would be significantly more troublesome, but he was beginning to think Dr. Bug likely didn't know his way around the other end of his spectacles, let alone through the Faillegrove. He did, however, seem at least somewhat aware of what was worth his study.

"So they guide, you collect, we protect?" he guessed aloud, eyes drifting back toward the doctor in inquiry.

 

[Barthelme]

Barthelme was there.

For what purpose? Barthelme hadn't actually decided yet. Oh, solving the mystery of the Faillegrove Swamps, probably... but why? To make a few coins, and burnish his questionable yet stubbornly enduring reputation as "the Good Doctor?" Well, that was the story generally went, and as in any dream... and this was merely another dream, transitory and bereft of meaning as always... the narrative was a powerful force, and not easy to resist.

Still, Barthelme was a Twisted. He served the Nightmare, and not dreams. And, lacking access to the Dreamscape anymore, Barthelme had adapted by crafting nightmares in the big dream instead. Which was to say, in Telath. And so, should the chance arise to send the horrors of the Faillegrove Swamps spiling out of the swamps, and into the bedrooms of those allegedly decent folk nearby who thought themselves safe from them...

"Is that what Risthal wants, though?" Usira asked. "I mean, would She even notice, or care?"

"Hmm."

Yes, there was the rub. If experience had taught Barthelme anything, it was that Risthal definitely didn't not want him to go around leaving a trail of terror, misery, and murder (especially murder) behind him. But lacking any clear directive from the Great Deliverer other than the fact that she quite liked him killing every Dreamwalker he could find, Barthelme wasn't entirely sure if random acts of impromptu terrorism did please Risthal, of if it was more about satisfying his own psychotic urges. Barthelme had, quite frankly, become steadily less interested in suppressing those over the course of the last few eras, but he was not yet at the point of committing pointless atrocities for the sake of sadism alone Also, if he did so indulge, he probably wouldn't get paid for the whole legitimate, non-murdery adventuring thing.

And so. Murder horror show, or no? It really was quite the conundrum. As usual, Barthelme supposed, he would simply let the Nightmare guide him.

That and Sylaphormes, right. And Usira. They were both at his back currentloy, the former Invisible, and the latter very much not. It was in fact Usira, standing there in her vaguely humanoid doll-like seeming, who pointed out the approaching rafts to Barethelme as he stood lost in his thoughts.

"You figure those are the locals Dr. Bugger mentioned?" She asked. "Or, like, have the monsters hereabouts managed to organize a rickety little swamp-navy?"

That's Dr. Bug.

"Is it really, though?"

A question for another time.

Probably soon. But in any case, for now Barthelme produced his handy spyglass and trained it on those rafts, to find out who, precisely, was on them.

 

[Sheng Kaldres]

Medonia. A place of old memories for Sheng. It was unfortunate that Sheng was not around when disaster struck. Of course, Sheng most probably could not have changed anything. With his limited powers, there was not much that Sheng have done. But in some small corner of Sheng's mind, Sheng wondered of that was really true. Maybe, just maybe, Sheng could have done something.

So again, Sheng was wandering in this part of the Empire once more. Sheng now was wearing the typical adventurer's attire, chainmail with greaves and gauntlets. For some reason, Sheng would sometimes think that he was wearing his Legion armor. But realities was that Sheng was an adventurer now. He saw the notice for help and gathered that he could do something here for once. Thus, he appeared in front of the cether.

Sheng stood back as he observed what was going on. As far as he could see and understand, the cether called himself Dr. Bug. An interesting name for sure. Sheng seldom heard cether calling themself after a bug. A place, a piece of equipment or even food was quite common. A bug? Not so. Sheng wondered if there was any significance at the name.

So Sheng waited and waited. Some shapes appeared. Was that the ride into the swamp?

 

[Crimson]

Adyn sized up his companions / competition with a blank expression. (Continued)

Barthelme was there and the Mystic was not alone in this would-be Nightmare. (Continued)

Sheng reminisced and observed as the rafts came into view. (Continued)

Everyone:

"So they guide, you collect, we protect?" Aydyn guessed aloud, eyes drifting back toward Dr. Bug in inquiry.

“More or less”, the cethar scientist replied. “Those of you who are more able-bodied can certainly harvest more … erm, lively specimens, if you wish. For a bonus, of course. Rarer and hardier species would benefit mine and Dr. Hinks’ research.”

“Aye, so tis a good ol’ fashioned monster hunt!”, the dwarf in the orange inflatable vest barked enthusiastically, “may the best dwarf win!” And so he headed toward one of the three floating platforms manned by robed, hunched, and hooded strangers.

Those more familiar with this part of Medonia might already know that the swamp people or Fallie Folk, as some refer to them, are seldom seen outside their bogs and floating villages. Their physical deformities made them social outcasts among Medonian society and many claim that their hunched backs were a result of a divine curse or exposure to Xetan technology.

The twins nimbly hopped on a second, separate raft next to the dwarf. Then, Dr. Bug clumsily climbed onto the third floating platform.

OOC: Choose your partner NPC You have one (1) turn to prepare Keep all hands and feet inside the ride at all times All Players should have received a PM from me

 

[Barthelme]

"Say, look, Barthelme!" Usira remarked, pointing. "There goes

that guy Sheng

who once threw a cat at you and then ran off."

Oh yes, Barthelme remembered. More importantly, though, upon realizing that the oncoming rafts were actually their transportation, he likewise remembered Sylaphormes' distaste for aquatic travel in general and for boats in particular.

Are you still good to accompany us, sister? he asked her, delicately, over Voice of Thought.

"I mean it isn't the ocean, right?" Usira put in, less delicately. "There might still be turtles I guess. But they definitely wouldn't be sea turtles, and especially not Zaratans."

In any case, with or without Sylaphormes (though preferably with), Barthelme and Usira would be getting on the boat with the mystery Cether.

"Serale, Dr. Bugger!"

"Yes, serale... Dr. Bug." Barthelme's tone remained neutral, the "if that is your real name" left entirely unspoken. "I hope Dr. Hinks enjoys a speedy recovery from his injuries. He and I corresponded at some length, you know. I had been looking forward to meeting him in person."

That was a lie. Barthelme hadn't much cared one way or the other about meeting Dr. Hinks. But, it was the sort of lie that might help focus this alleged "Dr. Bug's" thoughts in the direction Barthelme wanted to go, as he spun up some Mind Control to probe the Cether's brain for answers.

Who, precisely, was Dr. Bug? Was he in fact who and what he claimed to be? Or was he, perhaps, very much not?

Anyway, finding answers was what Barthelme would do to prepare. Also maybe if there was time a carefully-laid Alacrity spell, too? Because why not.

Usira meanwhile would spend the rest of her allotted time cheerfully introducing herself to the swamp people piloting the raft and attempting to elicit high fives.

 

[Adynirach]

Adyn mulled over the cether's proposal, his interest piqued by the lure of extra gold for ensnaring the swamp’s most elusive prey. Danger was an acquaintance he was all too familiar with, and Dr. Bug's nonchalant mention of it only kindled the thrill-seeker within. Coin and courage often danced in the same circles, and Adyn wasn't one to sit out the dance.

The old injury near his belly ached again. Shut it, you, he thought with a set jaw.

With resolve firmed, he approached the raft, giving the twins a nod. Teaming up might bring its own challenges, especially if they turned out to be the competitive type, but Adyn's reliance on speed and guile reassured him he could hold his own. The raft creaked under his weight as he stepped aboard, prompting a final check of his gear: the dagger secreted in his boot—a blade with a special edge designed to prevent clotting; lockpicks, bundled and hidden beneath his belt, unlikely needed among the wetlands but kept as a cardinal rule of preparedness. His pouches held the more arcane sorts of tools: a small orb that shed light in the gloom, and a ruby red as the fire it could create.

It was then that he saw—or rather, failed to see—the calico he'd stumbled upon after entering the Faillegrove. An ordinary creature in such an extraordinary place raised suspicions alone, yet Adyn knew better than anything that this feline was anything but mundane. A fragment of hallucination, perhaps, lingering from fevered dreams and the remnants of strange smokes purchased from Sliucha.

The cat was amusing itself by bounding after swamp critters flitting about on the various rafts, which was actually a welcome change from the cryptic advice and sardonic wit it had been punting at him earlier in the day.

"Asshole," he grumbled softly, as vehement a denial of its existence as a man swearing off his last drink.

Suddenly fearing the twins' curious gazes, he was quick to clarify. "Not you. Just... nevermind."

"Ah, I see we're still pretending we need speech to communicate," the cat's voice infiltrated his thoughts with unsettling clarity as it paused to lick a paw.

There it was. Adyn frowned, wrestling with the absurdity and realization that hallucinations didn't generally offer advice, cryptic or no. Fine, there was an invisible cat-thing in his head that no one else could see. Just another day in Medonia, perhaps? He'd had worse nights in Ziel Aerca, after all.

<Fine... Asshole.> he countered inwardly, darting a wary look around to make sure his mental rebuke remained private, then looking back to the cat to see if it had actually heard his thoughts or was just screwing with him. Still, the name wasn't meant as a continual insult—it was simply fitting, straightforward, and unlikely to be forgotten. Asshole. That was its name.

 

[Crimson]

Barthelme recognized a dude who threw a cat at him. Then he spoke to Dr. Bug and casually spun a few spells for good measure. All while Usira made everyone very uncomfortable. Sylaphormes declined to get on the raft, citing safety regulations, and opted to find a ‘snack’ in the city -- which should be quite an ordeal as an invisible monster (Continued)

Adyn joined the twins and tried to casually talk to the invisible Asshole that nobody else could see. (Continued)

Everyone:

After everyone chose their respective raft partner (Dwarf, Twins, or Dr. Bug), they were off into the Falliegrove.

Despite the activity of Adyn’s little friend, he noticed that Asshole’s movements were not exactly affecting the physical environment. It did not rock the rafts nor create ripples when it ‘splashed’ in and out of the murky waters. It did, however, seem to be having a good time.

Barthelme was on the raft on the very right with Dr. Bug. His initial attempts to Mind Control the cethar researcher revealed a few curious details. For starters, Dr. Bug was indeed an academic and a lab assistant. But it was for Dr. Hinks’ rival and academic archnemesis -- Dr. Graves. The two went to collegio together in Port Alyxandrya and specialized in the flora and fauna of Enamoria. Barthelme was about to get to the juicy stuff when he felt something beneath their raft. The distraction momentarily ‘paused’ his scrying and Barthelme’s perspective was returned to the present.

It was unclear how much time had passed but Barthelme saw that they were some distance away from the shoreline now.

Then the rocking happened again. Dr. Bugs looked pale and pointed at the muddy waters.

Adyn heard the commotion and turned in time to see something as large as a cow nudging the middle raft where the cethar and the half-elf who was accompanied by a strange-looking woman were riding. At first, Adyn thought that it was some kind of fish. But when it surfaced again, the Rogue could have sworn that he saw two heads.

"That's a big catfish", said one of the twins in awe.

"Nah, that thing eats lesser fish!", countered his twin.

“Holl’on”, hissed the hunchbacked boatman as he steered him, Adyn, the twins, and whoever else was on board out of the way. “Hopin’ dem other can swims.”

Barthelme, meanwhile, had to contend with Usira who had her arms up and laughing hysterically ("Again! Again") and his raft's own boatman who was struggling to navigate the raft with his oar.

 

[Barthelme]

Ah, said Barthelme, who had actually been sort of hoping that Sylaphormes would deign to board the raft after all. Understood.

"Can we have Lemure, then?"

Lemure, the erstwhile Alchemist and dirty old pervert once known (to Barthelme) as Mr. Clive, had the power of an Initiate Druid after all. Potentially fairly handy in a swamp full of animalistic monsters. But being hungry and all, maybe Sylaphormes needed to conserve the rest of her Vis for hunting rather than dispensing Barthelme's other Living Illusion when he already had Usira by his side. So Barthelme would not insist on getting Lemure if that was the case. Frankly he would rather have a temporarily satiated Sylaphormes as company on the road back home rather than a surly fussy Sylaphormes who wanted to eat everyone in sight.

Aboard the raft, Barthelme raised an eyebrow at the revelation, uncovered by his Mystic probing, of Dr. Bug's connection to the appropriately sinisterly-named Dr. Graves. Very interesting. Not as interesting as avoiding being eaten by two-headed catfish monsters, but up there, nonetheless.

More on that later, Barthelme decided. For now it was the not-getting-eaten thing that required his immediate attention. He called Despoina to his left hand, while drawing Bane of the Awoken in his right, and cast out with a new Sentinel net into the muddy waters below. How many of the cow-sized monstrosities were down there? If it was just the one, Barthelme was pretty sure he could kill it or drive it off without much trouble. But where there was one there might be more. Best to get a better grasp on what precisely the situation was before he started just tossing Psionic Orbs around all willy-nilly.

"Are you perhaps familiar with that creature, Dr. Bug?" he asked.

Unless he found they were in immediate danger of being swarmed by such things, Barthelme would take a moment to scan the current, raft-nudging one with his Sentinel net in particular. Distinguishing physical features? How developed a brain or nervous system did it have? Was it hoping to capsize their raft and/or just knock one of them overboard to feed on? Because if that was all it wanted maybe Barthelme could entice Usira to go overboard as bait. No doubt she would love thrashing about in the water and laughing maniacally as the thing attempted to masticate the tasty flesh that she most certainly was not actually made of.

Regardless of what else was true, if that thing tried coming up onto the raft after Barthelme he would definitely just go ahead and stab it.

 

[Sheng Kaldres]

Seeing that those assembled chose their rafts, Sheng walked towards the dwarf. Sheng would prefer to make a choice that would have the adventurers spread out among the rafts.

With a nod at the dwarf and a greeting, "Serale." Sheng then moved aside and waited. At this point, Sheng kept to himself with his eyes closed. It was better for Sheng to know less about his companions now. Anything could happen and any of his companies could disappear.

As it was, Sheng extended his senses outwards. Eyes closed but he had other senses that he could use to safeguard himself.

 

[Adynirach]

Adyn observed the cat interacting with its surroundings without so much as ruffling a feather and decided that he was, indeed, probably tripping to some degree. That wasn’t new. As long as he was lucid enough to stay alive, he supposed, this should be a walk in the park… or uh. Through an alley at night, or something.

He was busy frowning and attempting to catalog a few clever comebacks for later, should the cat make fun of him again, when he heard the noises coming from the raft nearby. Adyn shot a glance over his shoulder, trying to see what it was the twins were going on about, when he saw the shadow beneath the water - like a murky swamp cow looking for a halfling-sized snack. A chill went down his spine.

It was only then that he became so very aware that the waters ran deeper than he thought they might have. Adyn had never quite shaken that fear of what it felt like to go under - to be unable to move swiftly, unable to see one’s immediate surroundings, unable to breathe or even scream. And with that sensation of something slithering beneath you….

He shuddered, cringing, and reached for his bow - which he forgot to mention internally when he was cataloging his belongings so he supposed he didn’t have it after all. Shit.

The cat was at the edge, peering down and tilting its head to the side, one front paw twitching as it fought the urge to throw a punch at the next shadow that drew near.

 

[Neket]

The inevitable cycle of darkening to brightening cast Neket upon the tarry shingle of morning. She opened her eyes to the tiniest conceivable slit. Cool daylight seemed to be filtering through leaves, which, gentle as it was, felt a good deal harsher than ideal. She closed her eyes again.

Fragments of memories came back to her. There was something about a supposed sailor that hadn’t looked or sounded like one, a variety of inexpensive but nonetheless ruthless drinks, a song about a muskrat with improbable anatomical features, and something involving betting on spiders. After that was only a blurry sort of darkness.

Steeling herself, Neket risked opening her eyes. To her surprise, she found herself in some sort of wooden trough with a ragged edge all around it. It took a full minute for her to come to grips with this fact, and by the end of it she found herself sitting upright in what turned out to be the bottom half of a rowboat. She noted with satisfaction that she was wearing clothes.

Floating out from behind the bole of a large tree, she saw a strange procession of people on rafts. Perhaps they were friendly and knew where land was.

“Ahoy…rafty people!” She waved attempting to suppress a wince.

 

[Crimson]

Barthelme, it would seem, would only have Usira for company on this ride (Continued).

Sheng greeted the dwarf in the bright yellow inflatable vest (Continued).

Adyn was trippin’. (Continued)

Neket greeted the rafty people. (Continued)

Everyone:​

"Are you perhaps familiar with that creature, Dr. Bug?" Barthelme asked the cethar.

His Sentinel gave him a closer look of the thing, however, and it was certainly some kind of catfish. But far larger than anything Barthelme had ever seen fried or otherwise. Most distinguishing feature? It had two heads. No doubt about it. Though one looked particularly excited (as far as catfish could be) while the other looked forlorn and certainly not happy to be in the splashing business at the moment. The rest of the Mystic’s scans were less effective due to the limited amount of pathways and nodes his thought essence could latch onto. Fish brain was just not very compatible with Mysticism. He did catch some feedback, perhaps he could describe them as emotions. Or instinct. He suddenly felt very anxious and he was eager to scream, shout, and warn everyone to STOP! FLEE! DEAD!

The sensation was so strange and overwhelming that Barthelme momentarily felt himself gasping for air, as if he was a very large catfish out of water.

--

“Should we be doin’ summthin’?”, mumbled the dwarf in Sheng’s direction. Their boatman had angled his oar at the slightest provocation to avoid the little scuffle as soon as possible.

“Dun mutter”, hissed the robed, hunchbacked boatman, “they’s be a-comin’ soon, with all dis noise.”

“Wha’ ya mean by tha?”, replied the dwarf uncomfortably. “Wha’s com ---?”

--

Adyn watched Asshole striking the shadow time and again. The water continued to boil angrily around them.

Then suddenly, the cow-sized catfish’s activity ceased and the rogue noticed that they had drifted some ways from Dr. Bug’s raft who was accompanied by the stranger and the woman with him. He could not hear what the pair was saying or why the cethar was flailing his arms wildly.

--

The commotion was enough to draw a particularly green woman along the banks of the Falliegrave. That she was on a rowboat was half-chance since Neket did not recall ever owning one. Perhaps it was a prize she earned from the previous darkening’s drinking, singing, and spider-betting. Speaking of which, the half-orc found a spider as big as her fist laying on its back with its legs upturned in awkward angles near her feet.

--

Before Barthelme could stab the thing, it suddenly stopped bumping into their raft.

But Dr. Bug was inconsolable and screaming for the other rafts to come help them. Barthelme’s head was still spinning somewhat from interfacing directly with the two-headed catfish’s brain. He knew, however, that something was not quite right.

Even Usira was no longer having a good time.

“What … is that?”, she asked aloud, pointing at what looked like several dozen wooden logs further up-swamp.

“Turn! Turn!” Dr. Bug was screaming at the boatman.

But the hunchbacked rower said that his oar was caught in some reeds. Or did he say “feed”?

Upon closer inspection, Barthelme’s Sentinel registered lifeforms where the fallen logs were laying motionless. It did not take long for the Mystic to realize that the floating pieces of wood were merely log-shaped and wood-colored. There were eyes blinking, reptilian, and plentiful. When one of the pieces of driftwood yawned, Barthelme saw rows and rows of pointy teeth where its mouth and head should have been. Though it was nearly impossible to tell which end was which.

 

[Barthelme]

"Aww," said Usira, reaching down to try to pet the two-headed fish. "This poor critter is just trying to warn us of that shitload of monsters up ahead."

Then she straightened to wave enthusiastically at the

orc woman Neket

. "Serale! I'm on a boat!"

"Calm yourself, Dr. Bug," Barthelme told the cether coolly. "Panicking will serve us poorly here."

He backed up his words with a shot of mental Suggestion that Dr. Bug should remain quiet and calm.

Now as to those log-looking creatures: Barthelme had already learned that the monsters in this swamp, or at least the catfish thing in particular, were of merely animal intelligence. That made the possibility of employing Mind Control an uncertain proposition at best. Psionic Orbs seemed like a better bet, if also somewhat uncertain. The two-headed catfish at least most definitely had a nervous system. Did these log-creatures? Difficult to say. If they were basically mostly reptiles that looked like likes, then almost certainly yes. But if they basically were logs with some reptilian qualities, then possibly no.

Well, at least they registered to Barthelme's Sentinel net as lifeforms. He'd take a closer, albeit still somewhat superficial look, so as not to be drawn into the log-creatures' minds, if any, as he had been with the catfish thing. Did they have any limbs? Or did they move through the water more like snakes or tadpoles? Barthelme would see if he could lock up the extremities of the nearest such creature with a Bind type Psionic Orb, just to see if he could sink it, or at least render it still.

"Check on that oar, would you Usira?"

Their rower probably had not said "feed." Because even if he was some kind of swamp-cultist intending to feed them all to the deathlogs, he probably wouldn't just announce them to that outright, would he? Probably not.... though certainly stranger things had happened. Anyway, being a Living Illusion with no physical presence, Usira could easily lean over or even through the raft and stick her head in the water in order to see exactly how caught the rower's oar really was, or wasn't.

And then? Well, a lot depended on whether Barthelme discovered if he really could Psionic Orb the deathlogs into immobility, and whether Usira saw any way for her meat-bodied associates to get the oar unstuck, and whether the rower intended treachery, for that matter.

Facts first. Plan soon to follow. For now at least the danger of the deathlogs didn't seem imminent... though Barthelme, pumped up on Alacrity as he was, stood ready to repel boarders in case those things proved to be deceptively fast. Also he spent a moment considering which of the raft's occupants were most expendable, in case he had to kick someone overboard to distract the creatures from converging on Barthelme himself.

Currently Dr. Bug seemed the most obvious candidate. Still, before it came to that, Barthelme would go with his earlier thought about sending Usira over the side instead. They wouldn't be able to actually hurt her, but she could probably provide a fine diversion... if indeed animal minds were even capable of perceiving a Living Illusion. In point of fact, this might prove to be as good a time as any to find out.

 

[Adynirach]

Adyn watched with growing discomfort as the cat continued to swat at the shadow, until finally he snapped aloud "Stop that! You're going to fall in." The cat seemed to pay him no mind, and he was about to experiment with whether or not he could snatch it up and away from the edge of the raft when he heard someone call out from nearby.

He swiveled a gaze, and then blinked at the person lumbering along in a rowboat. It was at this moment that he realized their rafts had begun to separate, widening the large and ominous gaps of water between them. He suppressed another shiver, not wanting to think about what was beneath them. Nothing that went this silent this suddenly was ever a good thing. Especially out here in... nature. Why the feth did he leave the city again?

He frowned as he realized Dr. Bug was still flailing around in the distance, and even from here he could tell the cether was shouting, although he couldn't make out exactly what. He waved his hand in the air, making a "stop" or "silence" gesture, then shot the strange woman next to him a look like "can't you shut him up?" He wasn't great at charades, though, and he doubted the small details of his face were visible from this distance, so it was likely his message wasn't getting across. Besides, she'd turned her attention to their rower, who seemed to be having issues with their oar. Meanwhile the cether looked like a puffed-up bird in spring looking to attract a mate, and at this point he was going to succeed.

His gaze went to the other figure on the boat, who was looking in a certain direction. Adyn followed his gaze. He saw what seemed to be a school of fish? Crocs? He swiveled a look toward his own boatman, though his words were directed to everyone there. Cat included.

"What are those, and will that do anything to stop them?" He pointed at the bow and arrows near the boatman. Regardless of the answer he was already reaching for the weapon, ready to let something fly if someone didn't tell him it would only make things worse. Because the last thing he wanted was for them to reach them and leave him without something solid to stand on.

 

[Neket]

Neket squinted through the haze of her headache at the rafty people. They seemed to be excited about something in the water, perhaps fish or something? She threw a quick salute to the dead spider, just in case it had helped her win the thrashed and battered rowboat, then scooped it up and gave it a burial at sea.

Finding a broken oar in the bottom of the boat, she began to paddle clumsily our after the raft people to see what they were looking at in the water. The boat moved erratically, going first left and then right in a zig-zag pattern due to her having to row on one side or the other and it not being a canoe. Things were seldom a canoe when you needed them to be, and she sighed heavily about it, banging her thumb on the ragged gunnel as she did so.

 

[Sheng Kaldres]

When the phase "Something is coming" is uttered by the boatman, Sheng immediately took up a stance for attack. Sheng did not took his spear as it was cumbersome but he did took his bow and arrows. Sheng did not bothered to give any verbal reply.

With his axe secured on his back, Sheng pulled his bow to half bow with an arrow readied. In this environment Sheng had to deal with threats most with his bow than axe. The water also hindered any progress. If Sheng fell into the water, he would have to strip himself of his chainmail.

In all, Sheng felt vulnerable in this environment.

 

[Crimson]

Round One: Deathlogs​

Barthelme told Dr. Bug to calm down while Usira waved at the orc woman and enthusiastically describing their current situation. As they neared the deathly logs, the Twisted Mystic employed a spell to paralyze the closest creature! (Continued).

Adyn was starting to regret being outdoors. When he asked the boatman if arrows could hurt wooden logs, the fellow shrugged. But since these swamp people were a little hunchbacked, the gesture looked more like a painful spasm. (Continued)

Neket began rowing toward the excitement! (Continued)

Sheng brought his axe and his fists with a longbow for backup. (Continued).

Everyone:​

Fallen logs and driftwood were not normally dangerous. But things were never as they were or as they seemed in the Falliegrove.

Sheng’s supernatural senses registered a few dozen targets even before he expertly pulled his longbow and nocked an arrow in a single, fluid movement. He knew that at this speed and adjusting for the rhythm of the water beneath him, he could hit at least two targets with each breath. But their situation begged the question: would arrows do any good against ...wood?

The former Provost Imperati’s thoughts were interrupted by boiling beneath his raft. It reminded him of large schools of fish in the open ocean when they were attracted to food or activity on the surface. Just then, his dwarven companion lost his footing as the flatbed boat tilted!

--

Barthelme heard Usira complain that the oar was indeed stuck. But she couldn’t be sure if reeds were at fault. She said something about fishies under the boat. Barthelme however, was busy shaping his spell. Even for an unconventional master, the stress of staying upright on a floating platform, in addition to the very real danger of getting eaten by carnivorous logs, made for a challenge. Fortunately, Barthelme chose a relatively simple spell to hurl at a nearby log.

Unfortunately, the wooden reptilian that Barthelme managed to Bind did not go down quietly. It opened its maw, revealing rows and rows of razor sharp teeth, before writhing and rolling rapidly in anger. This seemed to rile up the other deathlogs as dozens of predatory eyes with vertical pupils opened.

--

Adyn didn’t have to wait for his boatman to reply. Because the rogue had the bow and was nocking an arrow when he saw all the crocs wake up after one of them began splashing. It would have been quite an amusing scene if not for the lazy way his raft was heading straight for the angry, rolling predators. If anything, their sudden activity seemed to be pulling all three rafts toward the float of deathlogs!

--

Neket saw one of the rafts tilt and watched as a dwarf wearing a bright yellow inflatable vest fall headlong into the swamp!

"HELP --- ARGH! -- ME!" bellowed the bearded fellow as he splashed and fought to stay upright (despite being in no real danger of sinking or drowning thanks to his life vest).

Further along, the half-orc noticed that some of the driftwood and logs seemed to be swimming toward the dwarf.

In the background, Neket thought that she could hear someone else sobbing in panic, perhaps on one of the other floating platforms.

Objectives: Capture You may assume that the raft has rope and nets available for use one or more Deathlogs for increased wealth and lore Kill one or more Deathlogs for rare loot Capture the Two-Headed Catfish for increased wealth and lore Kill the Two-Headed Catfish for exotic loot Capture some Swarming Swamp Things for increased wealth and lore and bonus loot! "Dr. Bug" must survive. If the researcher dies, the adventure ends!