"The military leader in our city to the south of your mountains said something the same," Nme'an admits.
He then looks out over the calm water with a frown. "Perhaps you are right here as well..." the knight says. After thinking for a moment, he readies his bow and fires a single arrow as far as he can straight at the distant tower while carefully observing arcing path towards the calm water.
Mot grabs some of the wood and attempts to mimic Themps actions enhancing the boat.
Nme'an's arrow vanishes under flat surface of the lake, and the distant ripple spreads and dissipates. Nothing else disturbs the waters, and the holy warrior finds no lurking evil intent as far as his senses reach.
From the start of Themp's endeavor, it takes two hours for the city-slicker, with the help of the druidess and the Urlghain warrior, to piece together a better boat. The twin-hulled watercraft floats evenly when tested on the edge of the lake, and seems buoyant enough to support the weight of all of Thaleniel's champions and their equipment. Though it does not have a sail, the catamaran is complete with four oars -two of which were made by the crafty scoundrel. By the time they are finished with the project, the cloudy grey sky casts faint shadows that indicate midday to be a few hours away.
With a sigh, Olp clambers onto the boat with his spear and shield slung over his back. He seems uneasy about his balance and crawls low to the deck until he braces himself into a seated position.
Mot enthusiastically hops into the small boat and grabs an oar before settling himself into one of the front seats and making as ready as he can.
Nme'an climbs aboard the boat and moves to the side opposite Olp.
"Well, here goes nothing!", exclaims Themp as he hops onto the boat. "Hey, Red, could you keep on the lookout for any threats? I think I might be too distracted with the rowing by the time we reach the tower."
As he is done helping Beorae hop on, he checks everything one last time, makes sure everyone is as secured as they can be and sets on rowing.
Beorae follows the others onto the “boat” and directs Shark to lie down between the rogue and the paladin. ”Sure thing,” she replies to Themp, quickly braiding her hair back to keep it out of the way. She grabs hold of an oar and helps the crew push off. She keeps an eye out for anything of interest while they begin their crossing.
Mot, Nme’an, Themp, and Beorae climb into the catamaran, taking up an oar and a seat. Near the rear of watercraft, the original side of the rowboat where Mot sits, rests a tiny barrel. It is definitely not empty, it feels as though it is half full. The lid is sealed to protect against the elements, but made to come open again with a bit of effort. With a strong push, hulls scrape free of the beach and float freely over the waters.
The rowers begin with a terrific pace and coordinated movements, and the catamaran glides easily over the Stillwater Lake. Themp offers timely advice here and there, his friends pay him heed. Oars dip quietly and create churning furrows before lifting and beginning again. An unexpected splash in the water, independent from the boat and a fair distance away, breaks the concentration of the rowers, even though both Themp and Beorae see the tailfin of a harmless trout before the splasher flops below the surface.
Perhaps, like Olp, the champions of Thaleniel feel an unease as they continue over the quiet lake. Or perhaps their minds wander, or their concentration is never fully regained. Whatever the cause, the four continue to row slightly out of synchronization, and their progress is a little slower than when they started. Still, in about ten minutes time, the group finds themselves just over halfway between the cottage and the looming tower of Ithalgol’s Keep.
Mot tucks into the manual labor with gusto.
As he's rowing, the Urlghain notices the curious box. Without thinking he kicks at it, trying to open the container to discover it's contents.
Irritated, he kicks again...
Shark just hunkers down in the boat, uncertain about this watery crossing.
---
With his second kick, Mot foot knocks the little barrel onto its side and pops the lid open. Onto the deck spills a handful of ...salt?
The crew moves in unison, under the direction of Themp, eventually working up to the speed they started with, and minute by minute, they inch toward the island at the center of the lake.
Finally, they are close enough to see the matted, overgrown grass that rings the dark stone that makes the sheer flat walls of the tower. The watercraft is just under one hundred feet away, and the rowers pull their oars through the water a few times before realizing they are making very little progress, in any at all. Shark seems to act annoyed and tries to pace through the tight quarters of the boat.
While some in the group urge their companions to row harder, or resynchronize and work together, Beorae notices her furry friend bristle and move away from his spot on the boat. With a disregard to the other rowers, Shark pads over the cramped quarters while never taking his eyes and ears away from where he sat moments ago. The druidess sees his nostrils flare, and follows his alarmed gaze to the boards the connect the two hulls of the catamaran.
For all the wet surfaces, she at first only sees glistening boards and the beams supporting them underneath. Two fat rings around one of the beams contract, or tighten, in an unusual way. In a split-second she recognizes them as a two, slimy seaweed-green tentacles gripping the boat, pulled taut and vanishing below the depths shadowed by their watercraft!
Nme'an notices that progress has slowed and rows harder.
Mot reaches into the salt container, seeing if there's anything buried in this one.
Still rowing, Themp notices some shuffling by his side. He turns just in time to see Mot fumbling over a big jar of salt all over his seat.
Salt? Why would he keep salt on this boat?
-----
Beorae's eyes are locked on the flexing tentacles for a moment before she considers the obvious. "Salt!" she exclaims while grabbing a handful of the stuff. "That's why he has it! A creature has the boat. Should we use the salt?" she half-asks, half-commands. She doesn't wait for an answer before flinging the salt at the tentacles wrapped around the boat.
Themp and Nme’an pull their oars with gusto, but to no avail. Perhaps the boat is stuck on something? Beorae frantically reaches between Olp and Shark to grasp a handful of salt on the deck around Mot’s feet. Just as she cries out that something has taken hold of the boat, Themp and Nme’an hear a gentle splash to their side.
A slimy, rubbery tentacle, deep green with blotches of brown, snakes over the hull and tightens around the wood! It is followed up by another, on the other side of the catamaran, between Mot and Olp, which also wraps around the top of the boat and back into the water. The surface between the twin hulls churns, before bursting with more muscular green arms!
Two arms flail blindly and Nme’an is able to duck under one of them. But the third swoops and strikes Beorae in the gut! As soon as it does, the remainder of the long tentacle quickly coils around her torso!
The body all of these tentacles must be attached to is still obscured by the churning waters, but the attentive suspect the creature to be beneath the surface, just in front of the boat.
The sticky slime coating these tentacles is quite similar to slugs, snails, and other mollusc creatures of the deep. Maybe the druidess is onto something! Salt might harm its sensitive skin.
This particular type of slime is known to dissolve on contact with strong concentrations of salt. However, the creatures that secrete such a slime use it to glide effortlessly through freshwater, and when thickly coated over the unique skin of such water creatures, it acts as an accelerant to their natural ability to recover from wounds. On this creature, the brown blotches are most definitely scar tissue.
Depending on the number of limbs and anatomy of this water creature, it is possible that it no longer has the free appendages to swim against the progress of the rowers.
At the risk of losing his second bludgeoning instrument to deep water, Nme'an draws his Masterwork Warhammer and swings it at the base of the tentacle gripping Beorae.
for
Mot's eyes widen as he sees the myriad tentacles launch out of the water, but the Highland warrior doesn't hesitate in fear. Instead he attempts to bolt to his feet, drawing his family's shining greatsword in the process!
Balancing easily on the shuddering Catamaran the bardic berserker starts to try to walk over Shark and Beorae to the end of the boat, but after a moments irritation at the futility of it, leaps overboard into the thrashing waters!
The head of the half-elf’s warhammer whacks the base of the tentacle against the hard wooden side of the boat. The rubbery limb seems to resist the blunt force somewhat, but even so, the green skin darkens to black and brown blotches. Beorae feels the grip around her body slacken and the limp tentacle flops off of the deck and down into the deep.
Olp growls a curse in his native tongue and slides the shortspear from the pack on his back. It jabs at the closest tentacle -one wrapped around the boat.
The spearhead misses and the small red-scaled warrior recoils for another attack.
Beorae slowly opens her eyes, until now unaware that she had closed them when Nme’an swung his warhammer in her direction. ”Thanks…” she breathes, as she assesses the situation.
Beorae looks over her shoulder at the nearing shoreline, then considers that the creature might not be able to hold the boat and resist their paddling at the same time. And certainly not if there’s salt involved… But if the ship breaks before then… ”Mot! Help me get the barrel up front!,” Beorae shouts, unaware that the giant of a man had jumped into the lake while her eyes were closed. ”Mot? MOT!! Why are you in the water?! Themp, help me salt this thing!" The druidess flings the salt at the creature and picks up another handful.
Meanwhile, Shark growls and prepares to attack the next appendage that makes its way onto the boat.
In no time, all hell breaks loose. Giant tentacles shoot out of the water towards them, grabbing Beorae in the process. Mot heroically cannonballs into the lake, while Nme'an frees the druid.
Before he can draw his bow, Beorae shouts Themp her orders.
"Yes, ma'am!"
The city dweller quickly hops over to the barrel, grabs a handful and flings it overboard.
Beorae’s handful of salt sizzles when it makes contact with the slimy tentacles. The salt from Themp’s hand likewise scatters and burns at the glistening, rolling arms.
Shark snaps at a nearby tentacle but misses.
The water under the catamaran roils as some of the tentacles uncoil from around the ship and whip about violently!
All but Themp find themselves ducking and dodging powerful swings. The swimming Highlander suddenly feels an arm strike the submerged part of him, and tightly coil around his form and drag him through the water! Likewise the Knight Lieutenant feels a hard wallop to his side, and with alarming speed the rubbery limb snakes around his midsection and squeezes! The druidess and the grey tiger manage to keep away from the tentacles that assail them.
Then the surface of the water breaks! A single, enormous eye with three dancing pupils lies at the center of the writhing mass of deep green tentacles. The jumbling eyes quiver with an unearthly malice that is all too comprehending to belong to a simple-minded beast. Below the bizarre optic undulates rings upon rings of teeth that lead to a shuddering, stretchy maw with oozing slime!
Beorae grabs the barrel with both hands and shouts, ”Shark, defend me!” while dragging it forward on the “deck” of the boat. At the last moment, she tips it forward so that the salt pours out onto the middle of the creature, hoping to hit is eyes and mouth.
"Dinnae woory!" Mot calls out as his head pokes above water, "Ah'll nae let hem get awaaay!" The word is drawn from his mouth to a comical length as he is wrapped by a massive tentacle and pulled through the water.
Moments later the big Highlander bursts back up through the waves, visibly struggling to break free!
Nme'an winds up for a repeat performance of his massive strike...
...but misses.
"At least now I have something to shoot..." mumbles Themp, slightly off-put by the hideous sight. He immediately draws his bow and fires at the creature's eye.
Olp scrapes up the last of the salt spilled by the Highlander and throws it at the tentacled horror.
Shark chomps down on a passing tentacle but it pulls away before his teeth can tear it off.
A tale Beorae heard, one told by the eldest of elvish crones, described a terrible water creature of seven arms and three eyes. A cruel creation by a cruel god, they called it. Hateful, hungry, and horrifying, these were the words followed by the monster of the deep. Said to know the secrets of the Underdark, to delve the fatally cold waters below the bedrock, and find its way to any lake or spring, and drag down whatever air-breather it could find, to show the victim a nightmarish fate worse than drowning. It could smell fear, and reveled in the taste of fearful flesh. Reckless, restless, and ravenous, these were the words the inspired many a hero to seek it out and slay it. None yet have, and the abomination has survived a thousand spears and gnashed its teeth against a thousand skulls. Tales follow this sea creature, of alien mind and purpose, that understands tongues older than elves and trees. It wanders alone, ever devious and devouring, said to be birthed from the darkest corners of the deep, where mere memories of light are banished and madness comes tumbling in.
It is the silent strength of undercurrents. It is chill of waters from the deep. It is the brush felt on a swimmer’s leg. It is the Quons’Maki, first and the last of the nonfish.
A foul odor wafts up to Beorae as the poured salt burns loudly against the eye and green skin of the sea monster. Barks and gurgles belch out amid the thrashing as the eye develops black and brown spots, and the creature recoils when Themp’s arrow hits home.
The guttural belches and barks could be incoherent babble ...or an obscure language quite unlike anything designed for human mouths…
Heavily burned and blinded, the green tentacles tighten their grip on both Mot and Nme'an as the bizarre monster rolls back below the churning surface. The two warriors find themselves dragged down with it! Mot's hairy head vanishes below the water, and Nme'an gets pulled overboard, rocking the catamaran as he goes! The two of them feel the cold, strong grip of the tentacles and the water surging over their bodies as the monster makes a downward swim.
The boat recovers, and Themp and Beorae cannot see their traveling companions from Thaleniel!
As the tentacle tightens it's hold, Mots eyes start to cloud as the plague of fury begins to take hold of his blood. His muscles strain and pull against the creatures form, striving to break free of it's hold.
Beorae shouts as Mot goes under and Nme’an is dragged overboard in full plate. The druidess leans back in the boat for stability and begins to call upon the forces of Nature to aid her companions. Her heart racing and fearful for her friends’ lives, she says the druidic chants quickly and with desperate intent.
Shark, still defending Beorae, is ready to lunge.
Nme'an can hardly comprehend what happened. One moment he had defended one of the more vulnerable members of the party with one of the mightiest blows he had ever delivered... And the next... There was a weighty splash and everything went dim.
Realizing the creature had apparently pulled him off the boat, Nme'an struggles against the grasping tentacle...
...but can hardly move.
"Crap! Where are they?!" exclaims, Themp, at loss.
He frantically searches the water for any sign of his companions.
Mot and Nme’an wrestle against the tentacles wrapped around them, but they are unable to break free. The other slimy arms of the creature pump the freshwater and descend deeper, pulling the two further from the surface. Themp’s eyes catch the glint of Nme’an’s armor as the half-elf is pulled deeper into the lake, and for now, he is able to discern the dark shape growing smaller by the second.
Mots eyes roll wildly in his head as his one free hand scrabbles about on his belt searching for a smaller weapon. The meaty glove wraps around a smooth cylindrical object and he pulls it free only to find that instead of a dagger, he is holding one of his potions from the Gnomes. Without thinking, the savage Highlander shoves the potion, bottle and all, into his mouth and with a sickening crunch, begins chewing!
Nme'an struggles but does not get free.
Underneath the surface, the currents of water nearby twist and whorl, seemingly at their own volition. In a moment, a small water elemental appears and races toward the creature holding Mot and Nme’an! With a brutal impact, the elemental slams into the tentacles holding onto the paladin.
---
”I need to learn to summon larger elementals…” Beorae muses, massaging her forearms briefly. ”Themp, get us to shore if you can.” Not waiting for a reply, she instantly goes back into a summoning chant, although to the trained ear, this one is a little different than the last.
"Aye, aye, ma'am!"
Themp promptly picks a row. "Olp, help me move this thing!" he shouts at the kobold.
Olp hops to, dropping his spear on the deck and grasping an oar. The small muscles under his red scales tense as he pulls.
The boat makes a small about of progress toward the shore, but the two rowers have not yet coordinated their efforts.
Nme’an feels an unexpected slam against the slimy arm that is wrapped around him. The impact seems to cause a little bit of brownish bruising but the tentacle does not relent. The Knight Lieutenant also sees his comrade grow double in size underwater, and their assailant slows and struggles to keep hold of the expanding Highlander.
The slimy green creature from the deep manages to maintain its grasp on the two air-breathers, all while swiping out at the aggressive water spirit, but its efforts to do so distract it from swimming too much deeper.
Seeing as struggling against the meaty tentacle is getting him nowhere, Nme'an removes one hand from his Warhammer and instead grips the evil creature's slimy appendage. A sudden stream of heated bubbles burst forth from the point of contact and race for the surface as the Knight Lieutenant lets loose a point blank Fire Bolt.
for
Cursing under his breath, Themp tries catching up with Olp.
The druidess completes her chant, and there are no obvious changes to those above the surface of the water. But Mot and Nme’an see three triangular shapes bobbing towards them and the tentacled monster at an astonishing speed. In seconds, the two recognize the shapes as dolphins! The small pod spreads slightly to different targets as they reach the point of impact, nose first. One charges the arm that wrestles with the huge Highlander, another slams against the Knight Lieutenant’s restraints, and the third goes for the bulbous head of the abomination itself.
The water spirit adds to the barrage and slams against Nme'an's tentacle, but it does not break him free.
No bubbles escape its wriggling rows of teeth, but everything surrounding the slimy creature can feel it shudder and squeal at the burns and bashes sustained amid the forces of nature swarming to the aid of its prey.
Up above, the half-elf takes up an oar and begins to row.
The water roils around him as the massive warrior struggles to break free of the creatures grasp!
While still managing a hold on the enlarged and enraged Casns, the monster’s three hateful pupils hone on the source of its burns, and for a moment, an unearthly gaze bores into Nme'an's eyes. Then the Knight Lieutenant sees the circular, tooth-lined maw stretching toward him! Meanwhile, the creature’s flailing arms attempt to beat back the dolphins and water elemental.
Though tightly bound, the submerged half-elf jerks his shoulders and head away from a swift chomp that misses by mere inches. A tentacle manages to whip out and strike the elusive water spirit, and another green arm smacks a dolphin off-course. However it dares not pull these creatures into its grip for all the trouble caused by its two prizes from the boat.
Sensing an opportunity, being so close to the creature's head, Nme'an says a brief prayer and takes a swing at the monster's eye.
for
Mot writhes in fury under the press of the ever deepening waters. His off hand tries to bring sword to bear, but the grip of the abomination holding him under is irrefutable. Once again the Highlander is left to scramble about on his belt, this time though, his had finds hilt of dagger. With a furious tearing he pulls the blade free, now the size of a short sword as the monster of a man glares at the monster of a fish dragging them down.
The water elemental once again strikes at the creature.
The dolphins take the elemental’s lead and lunge at the central body of their foe, ignoring the tentacles for now.
Up above the water’s surface, Beorae tries to help Themp get the boat safely to shore. ”We need to help them down there, but I don’t have any great ideas. There should be an elemental and dolphins, and I think I hurt it badly with the salt, but I think it can regenerate when it’s underwater.”
Nme’an’s warhammer bludgeons deep into the white of the monster’s eye, burying deep into the jelly-like tissue as black spots spread over the thrice-pupiled organ.
Mot’s dagger plunges hilt deep into the rubbery, muscular flesh, and the green slimy body is buffeted by water and dolphin noses alike. The two warriors feel the grip around them suddenly release, but then Nme’an sees the rows of teeth snapping at him blindly and savagely!
It’s attempts fruitless, the badly wounded tentacle beast pumps seven tentacles and makes an escape, leaving the big man and the half-elf to fend for themselves below the surface. Deeper it dives into the murk of the lake, leaving thick trails of black blood.
Olp rows with Themp and Beorae but together they make a lot of splashes and little progress.