The frog tries to jerk Chum closer. The slimy tongue drags the half-elf through the muck, into biting range.
The big frog reeled Chum towards itself like a harpooned sturgeon. I feared it would see if he tasted like the half-elf's namesake in a moment if I didn't do something. I took aim with my pistol loaded with fresh shot and hoped this bullet would be as true as my first.
Chum doesn't really fight the frog's pull, knowing that he would need to be closer to use the dagger. Here's hoping my assessment was correct.
He lashes out with the dagger, which seems to throb slightly as it nears its target, almost like it was drawn to strike on its own.
Artevious' bullet pierces the frog's hide and it spasms with pain. Still, though, it continues to draw Chum in.
This is a fatal mistake.
The weapon strikes with a fierceness and fury that seems impossible from such a small and simple blade (not to mention a small but simple wielder). Massive wounds open from tiny slices, and the frog's blood quickly stains the quicksand red. In seconds, it is floating in the mire alongside its mate.
With the frogs dead, there is nothing to distract Conchobhar from reaching the branch overhead where the rope is tied. With some effort due to the bad leverage, he manages to swing the rope toward where Eleuterio disappeared beneath the sand; it plops into the mire. He then produces a small oil vial and smears it over the rope, which suddenly quivers and jerks, before darting into the quicksand and looping itself securely around the drowning paladin.
With the rope's help and Chum's aid, Eleuterio manages to make it across the mire without further incident, and the enchanted rope also carries Owlbear (somewhat fearfully) and Conchobhar across as well, leaving you all safe and only somewhat muddy on the far side.
Well then! I said as I reloaded my pistol with a fresh shot. Quite the adventurous escapade! But no one's the worse for it, so I'd call that a success! Chin up, Eleuterio! You're on the proper side of the surface, and on solid ground, no less. Chum, nice job with that dagger. You certainly showed him who's for dinner!
I paused at that, surprised at my own words. I wondered if the large frogs would make a good meal, considering that the small ones usually do. Speaking of, what say we haul one of those out and have it ready for meal time? Considering it will soon be time to rest during the hot part of the day, we might as well roast ourselves a couple of good-sized frog legs!
As everyone stops to catch their breath after almost losing Eleuterio, I stare out over the bog, and quickly lose myself in thought. Sorry, father. I'll get a new one when I get back to the mainland...
Chum is quite surprised at his success and he stares at the dagger before cutting himself loose from the tongue and returning to aid the paladin.
"That was your investment in action, Evril. Money well spent."
Casting a spell to produce water, he tries to get the worst of the mud off of himself and offers the same to Eleuterio. With a grin, "Next time, hold onto the rope longer, OK?"
Eleuterio struggles in vain to reach the surface in the silty sandy mud, but the weight of his armor is too great. Suddenly, he feels something wrap around his ankle and jerk him up towards the surface. He gasps for breath as he is saved from such an ignoble death by a slithering length of cordage.
"I shall take your suggestion under advisement, Master Seaborn. It seems quite sound," he deadpans, holding a straight face as long as he could muster, then returning the man's smirk and even throwing out a wink. He nods for a quick bath of conjured water, and wipes the worst of the sludge off his shaved head and out of his beard. He then turns to Conchobar. "I understand your quick thinking saved me, and I wish to thank you for that. If I recall, you've been trying to woo the axe maiden we carry aboard the Promise. When we return with our missing crew, I'll have a private word with her about your role here in rescuing a third crewman from certain death. After all, we wouldn't want your heroism overlooked, would we?"
"Quite so!" Conchobhar beams. "Ah, the fairest Rose of the sea. I'll look to reap the rewards of your fine words, sir Reis, on our return." He grins, rather lewdly, and for a moment his expression seems lost in contemplation of something far other than your surroundings.
After getting yourselves settled and, as best you can, cleaned off (aided in this by Conchobhar's liberal use of prestidigitation), you set off along the til once more. As before, Chum's sharp eyes catch the marks of barefoot tracks along the muddy path.
Perhaps another hour's travel through the woods takes you to where a huge tree stands in the middle of a clearing in the swamp, draped with some sort of huge tent. A terrible stench fills the air, a fetid odor of cheap perfume and rotting flesh. Lurid, painted faces cover both the tree trunk and tent, and both are decorated with rotting humanoid body parts and carpets of squirming insects.
From within the tent, you hear voices - they sound like two or three human women, laughing and talking.
Chum gives the others a concerned look, suddenly unsure if he wants to know what they've been following.
I wasn't quite sure what to think. The stench repulsed me, and the decor was quite horrid. But the lilting feminine voices from inside seemed counter to the nightmarish scene outside. I cautioned myself to not be distracted by a pretty face in the midst of such grisly decorations. Sometimes evil tried to lure men in.
I exchanged glances with my comrades. I hoped they would exhibit similar caution.
Eleuterio cast his gaze towards the tent, looking with his second sight as much as with his normal senses.
We should check this tent out. Based on the decor, I wonder at the true nature of these ladies we'll find within. We should be cautious, but also cognizant that they could have information we desire.
None to certainly, Chum nods, "Sure. Hail them from here or approach, Captain?"
"If we approach, I caution against showing our full strength, Captain. Perhaps a few of us approach, and the rest cover that group and lend ranged support, should these women turn out to be less than friendly."
Right, then, I agreed with Eleuterio. You, me and, say, Owlbear, shall approach, with Evril, Chum and Conchobar waiting in the wings, as it were. You've got that magic cutlass and my pistol works best at conversational distance, should it come to that. Chum's got the lightning, and Conchobar has the verse. Evril, you have a ranged weapon, do you not? If not, join us as we greet these wenches.
The orders thusly given, I strode several paces until I was roughly twenty feet from the tent, then I called out, I say, you ladies in the tent. Would you have a word with a weary sailor? I hope you would have some information regarding certain denizens of this island, and we have many means with which to repay such providence.
As the captain outlines his plan, Chum starts to say something, but thinks better of it and says nothing.
The laughter cuts off as if severed by a knife's blade. After a brief pause, three women step leisurely around the tattered remnants of the tent. Each was clearly once a beautiful specimen of her kind - two humans, one elf - but they have fallen far from such a lofty state. Now they are rotting corpses, in bloodstained and gore-spattered rags that were once gowns of exquisite silk. Their fingers taper to vicious-looking claws, and sharklike teeth fill mouths far too small to hold them.
"A word with a weary sailor?" asks the one in the middle in a Chelish accent. "Oh, I imagine we could spare more than that." She licks her lips grotesquely, but only takes a half-step forward before the one on her right stops her with a hand on her shoulder.
"Now, now, Latizha," the second one says. "You are being rude. I think he wants to - what's the word? Purvey? Partake?"
"Parley," replies the elf on the other side, her smile stretching beyond natural width. "Tell me, good sir - do you believe in ghost stories...?"
It was all I could do to not retch in their presence. The ladies -- and I use that term loosely-- were as ghoulish as their surroundings. But words could often get one out of trouble just as they could get one in, so I offered the foul harridans my most charming smile nonetheless.
Parley! You have the right of it, milady. Indeed, ghost stories -- they can quicken the pulse nicely, can they not? But I am hoping to avoid writing a new ghost story, as it were. A pair of our crew have been taken by the grindylows of this island, and we are keen on wresting them from their squiggly clutches. If you know of their whereabouts, would you be inclined to share that information?
Eleuterio stiffens at once as the women reveal themselves, and his hand goes for his blade. "Ghouls, Captain!", he says, drawing his blade. "They'll sooner crack our bones and feast on our marrow than aid us!"
Owlbear gives a kind of squeak of fright at Leu's revelation (he just looked rather disgusted before), while Conchobhar looks utterly revolted. (Chum hears him murmur, "Such a waste...")
Conchobhar, safely clear of immediate danger, begins singing a hearty shanty that seems to dispel some of Owlbear's fear. He steps up protectively next to Artevious, his tree-branch-turned-club at the ready.
It would have been a dicey proposition, to match words and wits with the vile undead who stood before us. I had deigned to try it, however, in an effort to preserve our scarce resources for the inevitable fight with the grindylows.
Eleuterio, however, seemed familiar with their exact type of undead nature, and warned us of trying to parlay with them. I suppose ending their foul existence would be the heroic thing to do in these circumstances.
Seeing as how keeping our distance might be in order, I drew my pistol and took aim, not at the torso, but at the hip.
After the thundering crack of my pistol, I offered, There will be no marrow-eating this day!
Chum will move toward the three ghouls, drawing his cudgel. Once he has the angle he needs to avoid the other men and is in range, he will 'throw' lightning at the one with the Chelish accent.
Upon Eleuterio's pronouncement, I leapt forward, not wanting to give the undead fiends even a moment more to spread their vile words.
As lightning and lead flies towards the ghoulish women, Eleuterio advances, a snarl upon his lips. "Die again, you horrid things!" He slashes at the untouched third, slashing a vicious strike at her midsection. "Don't let them strike you, they'll paralyze any without the blood of elves in their veins!"
Charging the uninjured one.
Chum's lightning scorches one, while Artevious' bullet blows the hip entirely off of a second, knocking her down, and Eleuterio's blade cuts into a third. Evril seizes an opportunity and stabs the fallen one, and the unholy light of undeath fades from her eyes, leaving her a simple corpse once more.
The remaining two screech in fury and attack. Eleuterio's foe slashes at him with claws and teeth, while the one still smoking from the lightning strike leaps toward Evril.
A pair of vicious claw rakes tear Evril's arms, while one gets even through Eleuterio's armor, and he feels a horrible chill pushing through him, stilling his muscles.
Chum moves into melee carefully, avoiding giving an easy attack, but looking for a flank with either of his friends in melee.
"A lucky strike, witch," Eleuterio calls as he shakes some feeling back into his arm. "But it will take more than that to hinder Iomedae's servant!" He slashes at the ghoulish woman again, aiming at her neck to cleave her head from her shoulders.
Unfortunately, the undead wenches were not cowed by our early and swift show of martial prowess. I drew my rapier and advanced, as Conchobar's tune lifted my spirit.
Eleuterio's blade hacks down the second ghoul, leaving only the slightly-smoking Latizha still up. Chum circles her and stabs, but finds no opening in her defenses; Artevious has more luck, although the undead flesh of the ghoul seems to take but little hurt from his rapier's point.
Conchobhar makes a disgusted expression as he readies his shortbow, muttering, "Ah, that is has come to this," as he points the weapon at the ghoul and releases the string.
A master archer the gnome is not - the arrow flies well over the head of his target, disappearing into the spreading branches of the massive oak.
As Artevious advances, so too does Owlbear, and he swings his makeshift club toward the ghoul with a massive grunt.
The ghoul seems to pick up on Owlbear's blind left eye and tries to dodge into his blind spot. She is too slow, however, and the heavy tree branch crashes down on her head. Like a puppet with cut strings, the once-more-dead body slumps to the ground, motionless.
Still disturbed enough by the women that he won't look directly at them, Chum moves toward their tent, looking for anything that might yield information about their haunted isle.
Among the piles of revealing clothing inside the tent are a leather hip flask depicting a crocodile, three very sharp, oft-used daggers (one of which looks to be masterwork), a chest containing six flasks of alchemist’s fire, two barrels of very cheap perfume, a wedding dress inlaid with pearls and set with three tiny rubies, a whalebone corset set with mother-of-pearl inlays, a dozen silver hatpins set with tiny obsidians, a number of additional scattered gems, 56 gp, and 97 sp.
Well struck! Nice work, lads. Putting these foul wenches to their final rest!
But it looked as though both Eleuterio and Evril both received new wounds to add to their list. Quite the shame. But, considering what they probably intended for us, much preferable to the alternative.
I checked the tent after Chum had begun inspecting the ghoulish women's belongings. They seemed to have quite the nice array of treasures. Certainly not items that our august company would see fit to wear, but they would bring quite a nice bit of coin in more civilized areas. And as I thought about it, my father would keep a few sets of nice feminine attire on hand in case a rescued lass needed something more fitting. It happened quite often, as a matter of fact, though I daresay he would have avoided keeping a wedding dress on hand.
A fine bit of treasure you've found, Mr. Seaborn! Let's load these up and take them with us. We're still pirates, after all!
"Agreed, save the barrels. They'll slow us down, and speed is of the essence. We can get them on our way back to the ship."
I'm not sure if the perfume is worth coming back for, but we *may* be able to use the barrels for carrying water. Either way, I suggest setting them to drain. If nothing else, it will make our return here a bit easier on the nose."
"It's perfume," Eleuterio said with an audible sigh. "How valuable could it be?!?"
Quite right, friend.