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Prickles squeaks and rolls his eyes, then lifts one paw to point insistently. Fíriel chuckles. "He said 'Next we go to the next place!'," she explains, shaking her head wryly.
Jametor asks Haiten to show him what she can of the area where the flare went, if possible.
Haiten guides Jametor to the a section of the map that quickly hardens and comes into focus.
"The only important site that direction is the Rotstone Hollows. I told you everything I know about the area yesterday. Is that enough detail to enable your magic?"
Jametor nods, studying the section of the map again and thinking back to Haiten's description of the area.
"That reminds me... What is a charda?"
"The charda are four-armed scaled humanoids, not much taller than you halflings but fierce and cruel enough to rival any demon. I do not believe they are native to the Darklands but their bodies adapted to this lightless place generations ago - going as far as making the blood that pumps through their veins similar to the black blood of the earth that can be found naturally elsewhere in these caverns. If you encounter the charda at the Rotstone Hollows, be prepared for the fight of your life", Shaiten warns.
Jametor looks at the rest of his group and when all members are ready he will have them link arms and will cast his greater teleportation spell.
Randall solemnly nods at the warning before linking arms with Firiel for the dimensional hop.
Fíriel smiles at Randall and squeezes his arm slightly before offering her other arm to Xiddik.
Here we go again...
Rather than squat down to link arms with the halflings and the kobold, Asht'el takes Jametor's other arm and braces himself for the transition.
Xiddik blinks and puts her arm in the crook of Firiel's elbow.
With the usual **whoosh** and **pop** the party is whisked from the Shrine of Bound Earth across the lightless expanse of the Land of Black Blood to the 'doorstep' of the Rotstone Hollows as visualized by the shrine's geniekin keeper.
The doorstep in this case being a seemingly endless plane of reeking brown-orange mud only broken up by the presence of three ruined leaning towers rising out of the muck. The mud and slime spattered about the towers seem almost to be reaching up out of the surrounding mudflats as if trying to drag them further down. A funnel-shaped depression in the mud sits in the middle of the ruins — something at the depression’s bottom glints like polished silver.
"Ew, don't think we are walking there. Please say we aren't walking there."
Fíriel makes a face. "I wish I could... unfortunately it looks like that's the way we have to go, doesn't it?"
"Unfortunately, I did not prepare the proper spell so we will need to clean up our clothes the old fashioned way." Jametor says.
"Not to worry, I can clean us up afterwards," Asht'el says as he studies the mucky expanse before them, "I'm not sure I'd go in there otherwise." On reflection, the ifrit adds, "I might be able to save us the trip, though..."
In preparation for exploring the ruins, which will surely be as safe as houses, Asht'el imbues his many crossbow bolts with magic. He then lays a hand on Njord and casts a pair of spells on him, just in case.
Jametor casts fly on himself and Asht'el.
Randall woefully looks at the men of magic as they float up from the ground.
He looks around for something he can use to probe the mud before he tries to step on it, fearing something akin to quicksand.
Randall finds a length of splintered bone nearby to prod the stinking mud. After some preliminary checks he determines that the immediate area looks safe enough.
Asht'el says, "Njord, hold on to me, would you? In case this thing tries to suck me in or something." He then makes a fist before his face and concentrates on it a moment, then opens his hand and extends it towards the glittering object, his gaze focused intensely on it. He then reaches out with his power, reaching the glittering thing in an instant and attempting to grab hold of it.
Randal sighs, "I guess we're walking. Mind your step, though - it's deep enough to suck entire buildings in. That can't be good for us."
After a minute of difficult trekking through the sucking mud, Asht tries his hand, magically, at lifting at whatever silvery thing is buried near the distant towers.
The sorcerer feels the silvery thing resist his will before disappearing beneath the mud. Immediately afterward a very large shape begins rapidly moving beneath the mud directly toward the party.
Asht'el quietly says, "Oops" before casting a spell to give the party greater speed in the fight sure to come. He then lifts off the mucky ground and flies into the air.
"Nononononono!" Randall looks around for something to climb away from the mud...
Xiddik begins playing her ocarina, eyeing the shape as it draws near. Her tune starts to grow almost ominous, like an orchestra about to hit its cymbals.
Prickles grabs a wand and taps Fíriel with it while his mistress studies the battlefield and tries to decide what to do. After a momentary pause, she brings a bundle of giant icy snowflakes into existence near her head, and covers Randall's blade with a sparkling layer of frost.
The burrowed shape gains more speed as it moves closer to the party.
Randall moves a bit to one side. "Whatever it is, we can't let it hit us all at once."
Xiddik darts fifteen feet to the right, careful to keep everyone roughly within thirty feet of herself, if possible, and maintains her readied spell and encouraging tune.
Njord moves into position to intercept the large tunneling shape.
After several tense seconds the mysterious shape finally closes on the heroes. It leaps into the air to attack as it emerges from the mud - a hideous cross of giant insect and some kind of bottom-dwelling fish. The creature gives a keening wail as it bears down on Njord with jutting silvery mandibles the size of longswords.
Xiddik whistles several sharp notes that seem to echo one another, creating a disturbing resonant effect reminiscent of a string quartet.
readying an action to hit the creature with Lesser Confusion if it comes in range! That's a DC 15 Will save or be Confused for one round. Note that its range is only about 45 feet.
Thankful for the invisibility granted by the ifrit, Randall tries to make his first shot count.