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When the fog is creeping,
And the moon is low;
When the town is sleeping,
Gauntlight starts to glow!
That’s when she arises
For her midnight lunch.
Naughty kids are prizes
For her teeth to crunch.
But if you obey me,
And obey the rules;
You’re safe from Belcorra;
She just eats the fools!
So warns a popular nursery rhyme among the parents in the town of Otari, as they often sing the melodious but unsettling poem to their children at night to encourage good behavior. As a result, everyone who grows up in Otari has a healthy mix of fear, respect, and curiosity for the old ruins out in Fogfen and the strange lighthouse that stands at the swamp’s heart.
As they grow older, townsfolk learn what’s more often accepted as truth: that the heroic founders of Otari had slain the wicked sorcerer Belcorra many years ago. For a time, thrill-seekers explored the ruins around the lighthouse called Gauntlight, but today, common knowledge holds that the place has become a haven for pests—no longer a source of active danger or significant treasure after being completely picked over. Nearly 500 years has passed since Belcorra’s defeat after all, and in that time, she has only posed a menace to Otari through sinister rhymes.
Or so the citizens of Otari believe...
Part 1: Ruins of Gauntlight
Chapter 1: A Light in the Fog
26 Arodus, 4721 AR
"The lighthouse is glowing," Wrin Sivinxi says. She points to the northwest, where the distant shape of Gauntlight can be seen looming over the trees of Fogfen.
The curio merchant has called you together outside her shop, Wrin's Wonders, this night to express her concerns. The shop consists of a ring of what appear to be standing stones arranged in a 60-foot-diameter circle surrounding a 15-foot-high dome of wooden beams covered with triangular pieces of canvas. Closer inspection of the standing “stones” reveals that they are also made of wood frames and canvas, cleverly painted to resemble granite. The area between the central dome and the surrounding circle is a collection of other dome-shaped tents used to store the shop’s wares. When it’s not raining, the fabric of hese domes is pulled aside so shoppers can admire what’s for sale in the light of the sun—or the moon, for that matter, as Wrin’s Wonders is always open.
Wrin herself is a tiefling, and her ancestry is hard to miss. Eyes devoid of pupils, small ram horns curling around her elven ears, a thin tail, and fingertips that sparkle with motes of glittering lights leave no doubt that she is touched by supernatural forces. Yet her quick smile and welcoming attitude have always helped her to secure friendships during her travels, as well as for the past 4 years that she's operated her shop here in Otari.
"Nobody else can see it from here. Nobody else possesses my spirit sight. But I have seen the glow the past several nights, and I worry what it might portend."
The tiefling turns to several star charts spread out on a nearby table. "I have read the stars, and they have told me that you are the right ones to explore the ruins of Gauntlight and protect Otari from whatever might be behind the menacing glow. I will do what I can to guide you on your way. Look to the Cosmic Caravan for protection, my friends. I know I can count on you!"
Toska wagged his tail in anticipation as Wrin went over why she had called him, and apparently others there tonight. His chilly blue eyes and milky white scales stood in contrast to the studded black duster covering most of him, of which various weapons, tools, and bags covering it. At three feet tall what stood out the most was the five foot long sword he rested on his shoulder, the blade pointing up. It and his other equipment didn't seem to be bothering him in the slightest as he listened to the Tiefling proprietor.
He was glad to be outside her shop rather than in, as much as he liked working for her he always felt that leaving the roofs off was just inviting something to swoop or fall down and land on your head. Or steal something. Like ravens, always stealing shiny... his thoughts trailed off as his eyes glanced over more closely to everyone present.
A Goblin, a bird, a tall Goblin? No, they're called Orcs, right? And an elf without horns. Lost in his thoughts he takes her heedance literally and looks up upon the stars as she blesses the group present. The ruins have gotten Wrin spooked.... so someone must be doing something in there now. Someone who has or found something very interesting. And valuable hopefully. It better be worth the bad dreams it's been giving her.
"You can count on us, Gumdrop!" he declares without hesitation in a scratchy voice, knowing absolutely nothing about these other people she had called together.
Huddled down in a crouched position beneath black-blue puffed-up feathers, Tu Clang Wan ("Wan - it rhymes with moron") bends his neck back in a way that humanoid necks don't go, taking in the night sky, then shivering violently. An unexpected urbane voice comes tumbling out of an owl-like black beak.
"Verily, I have a fondness for your soothsaying, Wrin - s'truth! Alas, since I sailed latitude north of the Impossible Lands nigh on two and twain harvest moons past, I have found the night sky to not be compatible with my avian constitution. This nocturnal air - it gives me an indelicate sensation in my gullet." He hacks decidedly indelicately. "But I distract from the matter at hand - your vision! I must know, sweet Wrin, did you specifically espy a mechanical presence ---" the emphasis on this word is heavy as Wan turns his neck to look completely behind himself at the darkened six-foot-tall contraption standing in a powered-down state --- "exploring this place, the so-called Gauntlight tower?"
They made for an odd pairing - the quirky elf tiefling and the affected tengu iconoclast - but their stout friendship (forged quickly when Wrin talked a few Crook's Nook regulars out of plucking Wan's feathers a few months back when the tengu first arrived in Otari) rang true. The tengu appreciated Wrin's visionary abilities and her eclectic collection; the tiefling expressed her awe at Wan's indomitable mind and wealth of worldly experiences. When they sat down to talking over cups of tea, days often passed them by - pleasant days. Apart from Wrin, only the busy-body goblin named Akkaboo ranked as effortless and preferred company in the tengu's beady and unflinching eyes since his inauspicious arrival from Absalom.
I would be back in that cosmopolitan Shangri-la in a wing-beat, Wan thinks ruefully. Only a matter of a few thousand gold pieces...
Wan shivers again irritably and squawks a raucously unpleasant noise. "Zounds! I must have a cuppa. Something warm to ward away these chilblains. Please, Wrin, tell me that the stars tell you that we may pause and brew some stewed leaves, sweetling."
I caught ‘cuppa’, Toska thinks to himself as he parses the Tengu’s flowing speech.
"I did not see a mechanical presence, Wan, just what seems to be a spiritual one," Wrin says to the tengu. "But I have only spied it from afar. I...don't do well in confined spaces. That's why I need you to travel to Gauntlight and do the exploring bit!"
The tiefling ducks inside the central tent and emerges again with a freshly boiled pot of tea, pouring cups for each of you who wants one.
”Thank you,” Toska says as he takes a cup, blowing over it several times to cool it somewhat. He didn’t care for hot drinks, but the stimulant would be a boon for their coming trek.
That and he never turned down free food and drink.
A small goblin accepts the offered cup as well, pouring its contents straight down her gullet before fanning her mouth with great excitement and sprinting out of the tent.
Mazul idly toys with a dagger as she listens to Wrin talk. Her red eyes, (just a few shades brighter than her long auburn hair), gleam with anticipation at the thought of exploring Gauntlight. Sure, the place has been picked clean over the years...but then so were all the other ruins she's explored. Sometimes you get lucky and find a dusty old corner that's been overlooked, and Mazul hasn't given up hope of finding her fortune in one.
She recognizes the other invitees from seeing them around town. Even as close to Absalom as Otari is, tengus and kobolds aren't exactly common. Goblins are, but Akkaboo is unforgettable. And she's heard Wrin gushing about her newest recruit in the ways of the Cosmic Caravan enough to recognize Zin as well.
"Did the stars happen to say anything about what kind of trouble we might be facing?" Her tone is flippant, but she's genuinely curious. "Because I have to admit that weird spiritual glowing no one else can see isn't exactly my area of expertise. Are we talking ghosts? I can handle ghosts, done it before," (she hasn't), "but I prefer dangers I can see coming."
She doesn't particularly like tea, but she takes a cup anyway. If nothing else it makes for a good hand warmer.
”Unfortunately, the stars usually aren’t so... specific with their portents,” Wrin tells Mazul apologetically. ”You had better be prepared for anything.”
”I’ll take ghosts over fiends... or was it the other way around?” Toska thinks aloud.
"Eh, it was worth a shot." The worst thing about Wrin's Wonders is the lack of any solid walls to casually lean against. Mazul makes do by leaning against one of the 'standing stones,' even though Wrin would have her head if she accidentally broke it.
"I'd prefer fiends myself. If it breathes, I can stab it." She tilts her head to one side, clearly thinking. "Although I've stabbed a few things that don't breathe. At least I don't think zombies breathe. Do they? I was a bit too busy stabbing them to check. Anyway!" She switches subjects with her usual dizzying speed. "I've got tools to handle the inevitable death traps, a mace for skeletons, and a sword for anything else that wants to eat, maim, or otherwise inconvenience me. What do you all do? I mean," (she gestures towards Zin), "Wrin's told me you're into the whole mystical mumbo-jumbo worship the stars thing. Not that there's anything wrong with that, obviously, no offense intended. And you," (this time gesturing to Toska), "have a huge-ass sword and look like you know how to use it. Although seriously, that thing would be big for me, how do you even lift it?"
Sitting within the room in the lightest clothing is an elf carrying a bow and a single curved blade. Stark black hair and light blue eyes Zin listens as Wrin explains the situation. He looks around to the motley crew that was brought together. Most he had seen around town and gotten to know slightly.
His body stiffens slightly as he is pulled from his thoughts at the mention of the Guantlight being lit. He tries to pull some sense from it as his eyes wander to the stars as does Wrins.
Though Wrin gets little from the stars Zin always seems to get a bit more as they seem to speak to him. He closes his eyes and listens, calming his breathing and within moments the whispers from beyond the stars echo though his mind with each beat of his heart, just as they always had.
Thump
Thump..thump
Thump
Ī̶̮̹̬̰̻̞̘̄̃ͮͭ̋̏́ͅṇ̮̰̜̹̠̩̗̟̫̦̯̞̜͙̱̩̻̋̑͌̾ͧ̿ͯ̊̋͑̅̋̍͢͡v̵̓̇͐̓̿ͫ҉̸̵̨̣͎͈̻̤̫̖̞oͤ̓ ̩̘̮͓̟̟̜̦̬̰͚̪̗̄͊̂̄̌ͤͦ̍̏ͨ̒̕ͅk̋ͮ̓͒͏̸̸̙̤̩̮̮̦̞̫͉̦̟̙͎̼͈ï̔̄ͦ͗ͫͯͮ҉̴̟̲̬̭̝̗̗͎̹̦̞̳̣ͅn ̴̷̙̻̟̝̜͗̍ͦͪ͐͊ͬ̍̔͂̄̇̈́̐̇̊̓̕͜͡g̈ͬ̾͑̊ͦ͐ͯ͒̏͌̔͛ͪ̇ͧͪ҉̵̷̤̭͇͎͈̜͇̣̹̪͍̩͍͓͘͞ ͔̘̦̲̞̗̅ͬ̔͂̃̀̈́͆̄͌̌̅̋̄ͣ͂͘͘t̴̨̻̖̣̙͕̣̠̖̦̻̠͕͖̟̯̪ͥ͑̓ͪ͒̈́̌̚h̷̘̰̯̫̏͛̇͐ͤͮ̀̎͛̇͋̀̕͘ͅė̂ ͂͑͑̎ͭͣͪ̎ͯ̎ͭͪ̅͛͝͏͢҉҉̯̯̖̥͉̳͎̗̙̪̠̭ ̢͖̲̤͈̺̬̿ͣͣ͋́͜͡f̷͍͕͔̼̰͚̘͓̼̙ͯ̓̋̔̿̑ͩ̈́ͮ̋ͫͭ̚͟e̶̷̴̢͓̹̪̯̎ͪͮͅe̯͔ͭ̆̎ͦ̉ͬͥͭ̎͗̄͆ͫͩ͂ͭͨ́͠ ̻̘̭͔̲̩͙̩̬͍̳l̨̛̒ͨ͊̒̀͒̈́ͥ́ͤ҉̩̲̬͕̥̬͈̫̩̞̱̗̗̞͓͔ͅͅi̱̭̠̤͖͍̙̋̓̋ͬ̔̋ͩ̓́̓́͟͝nͥͯ̑̈́̈́͆͗̊́̿ ̨͇̠̣͈͍̙̝͓̳̘̣̱̲̠͞g̅̈́͆̏ͭ̃̓ͬͨ̄̑̽̑ͣ̃ͩͧ͡҉̧̣̣̙̩͚̣̠̹̱͚̱̤̭̖̣̟͘͡ ̴̵̳̭̘̖̙͉̖̫̼̖̒̎̒̏̐̇͂̋ͨ͆̚ơ̫̝͔ͦ̎̍̇́ͯͣ̋͠f͇̬̲̣̼̩͖ͥ̄͗͗̆̎ͮ̏͗̉ͫ̐̐ͭ̃ͤ͋̆̆̕͞͝ ̥̘̟͚͕̠̲̞̭͎̫̖̣̹̹̦̼͕͊͌͑̌ͮ͋̒̏̉̈͘͢͝c̶̨̭͖̱̭͕̭̮͖̞̳̲̥̙͉̓ͧ̓̄̀̃͛̊͢͟͡ͅh̾ͯͦ͂̑̿͆͆̇̽̌̎̿̂ ̄̎ͣ҉́҉̹͕͎̗̺̣̰̯̰̝̞̳͈̹̦̞̪̞ͅa̶̷̴͓͙̺͎̝ͪ̎ͣ̈́̏͋ͣ̿͗ͪ̂͂̐̾ͤ̚̚ͅǫ̶̷̥̺͖̦͋̀ͭ̓̀s͗ͫ̋̿͋͒̓͑ͯ ̶̛͇̺͚̦̰̪̦̦͔͕͓͖̳̲̿͡.̥̘̲̤͈̞̮̱̟̼͚͍͐ͨ͒ͬ̆́
̴̨̆ͥ́̓̒ͮͥ̃͋̿ͨ̑̿̈́́͒̓́ͬ͘͡͏̭͉͍̬̪“̴̠̦̮̻̱͖͈̻̝̪͓͖̥̣͙̂̾̎͂̊̔̈́̒ͤ͊̔̓̀͗̋̏̑ͬ͘ͅB͌̽̽͒̾̂̊̃ ̛͙̝̟͔͕̜͓̤͍͇̼̖͉͖͔̘͍ͨ͗̂̈ͥ́̚ͅę͖̰͉͚̤͓͓͓̙͎͎͙ͧͩ̊ͪ̓̚͜w̴̷̶̲̥͉̩̳͕͂ͫ̉̒̕͢ͅa͆ͨ̆̀̑̂̏̾̂ͬ ̧̢̩̹̼̬̩̎̆̕͟r̶̭̙̜̻̰̮̫̘̫ͮ̔͛̽ͪ̂ͦ̓ͨ̎͐̀͂͛̕e̛͈̱̲̫͈̘̜̞͚͉̘ͭ͛̋ͤ͊͒̇̅̓̐̊́́͘͝ ̵̷̟̲̖͚̖͎̲͚͙̱̺͚̦͚̜̒̇͋ͣ̅͒̇ͦt̸̨̬͇̦͉̠͎͚̪̻̮̫͈̜̝̺̐̈́͌̈̃̄͢͠͝ͅh̸̡̯̲͔̫͑ͨͥ͒̾̌̋͆͆̐́ͨͤ̚͝ ̯̜̩̟̬̮̩͚͖ͅa̧̧̡͍̗̦̺͈̬̹̐̎͒̎̓̌ͬͬt̷̶̡̞̬̬̠͈͉̩͚͕̘̺͋̒͆ͭ̑ͪ̂͌̒ͨ̚,̴̧̛̟̰̭͚̖̙̐ͥ̃̓ͩͥͪ͢͡ ̷̵̴̧͕͍͖͖͉͕̗͉̱̼͓̇̓ͥ̒ͭ̿̍̆̎ͧ̀̃̉͆w̶̡̑̅ͥͦ̌ͥ̆ͮ̒ͤ̋̂҉͈̲̮̰̹̗͔͓̖͈͚̦̠͙̦͈͎͓h̿̆́̏͏̧̡̛͖̜̕ ͍͉̘̞͙̫̥̩̠̬eͪ̔͛ͬͪ͗ͥ̿̋̿͒ͭ͏̸̷̵̡͉̱̮͓͎̩̗̦̯n̴ͬ̄̏ͭͨͩ͒̃̾̒̐̀̈̋̓͐̎͟҉̖͓͉̺̖̗̥͇̝͖͇̤̗̜̬̖̀ ͣ̾̇͑̆̑͊̋ͦ͛ͭ͏̟͙͓̪͔̳̻̫̥͉͕͙̟̠͚̜̜̖͝f̶̯̹̞̣͙͈̦̻̲̺ͧ̄̄̅͊̃̅͒ị̢̠̫̥̪̻̠̩̍͒̾̐̂ͯͪͮ̊̃ͦ̎͋ͅ ͎̮͈̩̞̮̮͈̬ͅgͩ͂ͧ͂̏̔̎ͫ̑̈ͦ͒̂̏̏̃̚͏͉̫̪̝̻̤̰̦̠͟h̴̠̮̱̺͇̺̮̠͚ͤ͐̓̓͂͆̂̉̾ͧ͐̎ͮ͗ͩͤ̚͘t́̾ͬ̇ͣ̚ ̴̛͔̻̭̩̗̺̤̬̰͍̪̗́̀͡ͅi̧̛̻͍͉͎̜͉̟̪̳͔͎͎̪̙͉̣ͥ͗̄̅ͭ̔́̾̂̔͂͂̽̃͗͑̿̕͡n̢͎̠͋̉̈͆̍́ͬ͊̅̓̄́̎̂͞ ͖̗̪̠̮͔̰͚̣̫̼̙ͅͅģ̢̨̩͕̦͇̻̭̣̭͙̖̥̙̥̦͓̞͓̑̂͋ͫ͗̎̈́̈́̏͋̾ͅ ̨̡̧͚̤̗̳͕̘̖̟͐͊̿̆ͨ̂̃ͦ̔̃̉͑̐m̶̢̹͈̣͖͂̓̀̓̆ͪͧͧ̒͗͠͞o̵̷̪̖͓͌ͦ̅̒͋̈͑ͤ͑̽̓̐̃͗͆͠͠n̷ͦͤ́̊̑̏͜ ̶̡̱͚̖̲̤̱̤̩s̷̸̨̝̞͍̭̜̳̺̩̮̫͔̭̓̔ͯͪ͑̀̌̚͞ṫ̺͓̜̮̗̫̜̜̔̊͐̀̂̄́͜ȩ̤̪͉̱ͯ̄ͥ̄͋ͥ̄ͦ͊ͣ̋̃̇̃͌͘ ̘͔͔̞͔͔̻r̵̡͉̫̺̣͇̫̬̣͚̟̭̜̳͔̲̝͔̂͛̐̋́̒̓̔̂̆̇͞s̨̧̿ͨ̓ͮ̈́ͣ̔̿̓ͧ͌̍͟҉̝͍̱͈̰̝͖̗̳͉̖̞,ͣͣ̀͊͗̚ ̢͉̞̟͆̓͡ͅ ̛̹̖̝̲̙̣̗̳̟͈̘̜̰̬̳ͥ͋ͪ̇͐͊͊͛̉ͤͭͧ́͋͠ͅ
̴̛̛͎̣̟̩̺̠̭͖̝̙͍̥̉̓̑͋̆̒ͤ̈̃̉̆̅͑̃̏͜ͅẙ̢̹̥̣̞͔̆͗̇̓͝͡͝o̱̦͚̥͉͙̳͑́̋ͥ̉̑͌ͣ̈̊̈́̚͢͜͠͠u̾̇̄ ̨̡̘̲͕̙̗̻̲̠̦͇͍̻̯͇̜̰ͦ̎͞ ̶̸̛̭̼̱̣͕̰̦̖̦ͯ̐͛ͯ̏̅̅̎̓̈́ͦ̑ͬ̎ͤ̚͞ŷ̵̯̳̝̠͔͒͊͂ͧ̃ͯ̃́̿̑͑̐̐ͯͫ͘͢ö̶̡̰̫ͥͮ̔̓͗̍̆͗͌̉̀͗̇͌͜ ̰̬͇̼ŭ̶̢̺̲̞̹͍̗̼̦̩̟̝̗͈̐̊ͩͭ͋͛ͩ̍ͮ̊̆̒ͪ̀͟ͅr̛̫̟͓̘͔̖̭͈͖͚͂͊͂͊̈́ͫ̏̏ͧ̔ͪͣ̏͊ͪ́͠͞ͅs̢ͯ̿͌ͮ̈́ ̶̭͇̫̳̘̼̯e̢̡̠͔̠̝̗͎̥̳̝͍̖̠ͧ̓ͯͬ͐͗ͨͨ̐̓̿̆̉͒ͤ͟ͅl̢̧̢͔̩͙̠͖̖̩̠͓̫̬ͨ͗̎ͨͯ̐̆͋̈̍̾ͭͯ̈́̈͊ͥ̚͠ͅ ̝f̜̤̟̣̮̹̦̪̞͉̒̍ͦ̑̀͛̅ͣ̎ͮͥ̿ͬ̒ͫͯͨ̈́̓́͢ ̸͓̳̣͕̤̩̮̟̬͇̪̫͎̞̯͉͇ͧͫ̾̅̎ͯͦͥ̓̍̆́ͪ͑̈́̀͘͡ͅḑ̡̬̯̞̟̯̝̹͔͎̹̲̝͖͇͉̜̹̯̑̆̇͌̄ͩ̅̾̎̕͟ȏͭ́̎̍ ̷̻̻͍̫̱̭̠̗͚̼̤̱̰̜͉͙̩̰̋ͫ͗́̚͠͠ ̡̥̙̳̝̮̘͕̱̺̻̥̟̥͎̯̥͎ͪ̂͐̌̑͜ͅn̷̨̛̗̲̟̹̻̻̞̲̳͙̝͎͖̠̪̼̩ͤ́̆ͬ̉̒͑̿ͩͅoͫ̋͋ͫ̒ͧ̈́ͯ̍̌ͧ͛͗̔̔͆ͯͮ ̴̣̼̼̣̹̤͞t̷̶͈̖̰̫̹͎̲ͦ̉ͪ̓ͬͭ͋̓ͭͣ̊͋ͭ̊̽́͘͠ ̷̗̝͉͎̬̹̳͓̑̏͗̒̆̀̕b̵̵̴̦̗͓̦̙̠̘̗̭̪̹̭ͩ͒̌ͦ̋̃ͮ̎̅͑͌͂̓͐ͧ͊̿̐̍͢͜e̸̛͓͉͕͂̉̅̋͂ͪ̄ͤ͐ͬ̒ͬ̏ͪ͒͜ ̞̘͔c̸͈̪͍͇̞̻ͫ̒̈͐́͟o̷̢͎̖̪̠͚͇̘̬͕̥͈̪̠̘͔͔̊̆̉͋̃͛ͧ̊̉m̸̧͉̣͇̼̟̱̤̏̊͑ͮͥ̈͗ͭ̒͆͛̃ͩ̔ͯ̌́͠͡ͅ ̲͉̺̯͈eͬ͗͑ͥͪͧ̓͂̄ͮ̓̔͌͒̄ͦ͆̒̚҉̣͍̯̪̺͇̳͕͔̟̹̮͕̦̮͟͟͠͝ͅ ̷̨̛͙͉͎̞̠̠̫͙͉̘̘̫͈͓̞̯ͤ̈́̈̌ͥ͂͘͝ả͆̔̆̑ͩͬ̓ͪ͏̴͇̣̤͕̗̘̯̻̱̙̟̕͢͜ ̨̡̛̹͕͙̭̝͉̯̖͍̪̻̣͓̘̗̈́͗̃̍̅ͥͬ̄̓͐̓͂͗͜m̶̛̥̙̦̠͍̯͔͖̥̰͕̜̖̮̀ͦ̋̏̐ͤ̋̈͛́ͩ͞ͅo̅ͥͦͣ͒̆̐͆ͯ́̈͛ ̒҉̡̲̩̞͓̭̝̞̕͢͟n͖̦̻̺͊ͧ̌ͩ́ͣͥ́̄̎̇̏͊̉́s̸̡̺̬̰͉̰͇̞͍͕ͣͦ̎ͦ͗ͣ̿ͧ̋̓̀̉̇ͅt̐͂̀̔̈̽͊͊̊͒ͪ̋ͯͮ͗ ̫̜͓͕̯̜̏͂̀ͣ̀eͪͯ̍ͮ͂͌͗̒̃ͨ̉ͥ̐̇̀̚͜҉̨̺̟̘̤̥̰̥̪̙̣r̢̯̳̼̪̼͕̫̖̟̞͕͚̰̊͐ͮ̎ͨ̊̚͡ͅ.̎̋͂̈̌̃ͫ̇͟ ̧̧̹̱̟̮͇͎̥̺͓̻͈.̭̪̳͈̝̻̜̰͙͍̥̺̦͎̜ͥͦ̅͑͘͜.̢̯̠͉̦̮̝̖̞̝̼͙̠̺̺̫̣̿̋̽̔̋̽͋ͤͬͦ̾ͨͦ̏̌̍͒̂ ̢̛̭̺̠̠̮̟̼̭͎̦̖̟͔̤̬͍̯͊̊̎͋ͮ́͠
̫̫͔̥̦̮̝̝̮̤͔̠̺̦ͪ̇͋̍̎ͯ̆̌̏͌ͤ̂ͦ͑̏ͩ̓͘͡ͅf̷̶̥̰̙̲͔̩͍ͦͦ̂̄ͬͣͬ̍́ͣ̉͛̄͜ớ̸̧̍̾́͗͑̑̑ͯ͆̈́̌̚ ̨͚̰̼͎̖̪̙ͅr̶̵̄ͨͬ̅ͨ̓ͥ̀̊̒͒̿̉̓͆ͦ̚҉̬̮̻̲͈ ̴͍̝̟̥̺̹̞̱̞͎̠͔̭͓̪̙̣̔ͧ̂̇͐̎̉ͤ̈́͒̀̎͢͟͠͡w̅̈ͮͧ͒̂̆ͥ̔̈́ͭ͒ͤ̓̌̌ͯ̚͏͏҉̥̦̭̫͎̣̙͈̬̱̼̹̠h̐̉͛͛́ ̝̖͓̰̭̉ͪ͊͠ͅē̝̟̳͈͚̘͍̝͍͚͇̭͆͐̉̽̎̍̑́̚͘͝n̢̥̲̗̖̹̬̜̠͖̺̰͙ͮ̔ͤ̑ͨ̓͛ͭ́͡͞ͅͅ ̴̵̦̭̲̯̭͓͎͔̜͇͙ͭ̑̓ͭ̆́̑y̌ͣͦ̾ͮ̐ͤ̿̐ͤ͢҉̣̳̟̹̟̪̟̩̘̻̲͉ͅó̴̶̟̺͇͈̩̮̐̅̎̉͊̍ͨͫͬ̋̐ͬͤͥ̀ͤ́͜͞ ̦̭̰̥̩̩̭͔͙͍̞͚uͪ̈ͥ͊ͦͫ̐̃̈́̆̒ͤ͆ͯͪ̚̚̚҉̨͔̟̮͕̙̱͇̺̰̗̻̖̪̗̖̕ ̸̣̦̞̪̟̥̒̍̾͊̇͗͒ͭ̆̾̎͆̂̀͜ġ̸͌̑ͥͫͧ̎ͥ̌͑͂̇̈́̈́̑̂̚͘҉̢̢̝̝̞͉̜a̅̅ͬ͒̾̈̆ͯ͛͐̓̔ͤ̇ͧͯ̃̓̇͏͞͏͈͔ ̰̱̰̰̦̩̬̳̯̯̥ͅẕ̸̳̪̹ͪͧ̍̀̑̾̆͊͒͗́̚͘͜ē̮̙̪̮̻͈̖̥̙͙͎̰̺̩̥̠̟̤̉̉͊̐̕͜ ̧̮̗̻͚̤͖̩͔͖̣̻̰͙̓͒̅̌͐͛̽̍ͣ̌̾̓̿ͧ̚̚̚̚͞l̵̶̢̖͎̪͚̝̠̗̟̪̝͈̒̇͊̀͂̏̃͒̎̆́͆̔̀̇̐̚̚͠ŏͪ͑͂ͨ̆͋ ̴̠̦̪͍̮̘̺͚̬̼̹̗͙̖̂̓̈́͗̀̀̕͡ͅn͉͕͖̤̠̺̮̥͙͙͍̞͔̱͌ͣ̆ͪ̃͗̆ͫͤ̄͊͊͛̆̈́̌̀̚g͑̌ͧ͊ͯ̎ͧ͋̿͛̍͆̑̐̒͐̚ ̟͔͉̳͔̦̫̭͝ͅ ̴͓̱̘͇̝̗̥̭̹͇̠̥͒͌ͭ͂ͪ̓̋͐͝i̧̳̪͎̣̞̥̲̲̱̞̎̑̍͆̏ͫ̈́ͩ͆̄͒̀͠n͑̋̃̑̒͐̄̑̓̇ͨ̓ͩͤ̚͟͜͝҉͈̯̮̝͚̙̹̗ ̲̟̗̫̳̟̱̟t͛̍ͧ̆ͩ̓̌͑̾̿̿͋ͥ̂ͯͫ̚͘҉̵҉͖͓̦̹͔͎͙̭̠͖̜̞̭o̸̴̴̠̝̠̼͙̫̮͍͍̲̤̝͍̮̱̪̤̊́̀ͣͥ͗ͨ̅ͥ̕͠ ̸̲͚͉̺̜̭͙̹̍̔ͦͬ̇ͩ̇̇̽͑̍ͯ̈́̂͑̇́t̍̄ͫͩ͊̈͒̈́͗ͩ̇͌̀͂̂̈́̿͐ͯ҉̸̢̩̰͙̺͈͚͢͟h̷̓ͧͬͬ̑͊͑́̈́̍̄̾ͨ҉̳̺ ̯̮̖͇͚͓͎̤̻ȩ̶̶̥̥͇̼̩̭̘̟̯͇̘̖̮̙̫̪͓̞̎̒̌ͩ͋ͩͫ͐͆̽̄͘͡ͅ ̵͇͚̜̜̤̞͙̱̩̭̲̼̘̮̳͉̲̙ͬͩ̋̀̄̋͌ͨ͊͋̆̓ͫ̍̈͡a̢̖̫̰̖̠͚͗ͨͯͫ̈̀͗̓̌̆̈̎͌̓́b̶̢̻̟̘̥̻̻̌ͭ͒͋͌̇͠͡ ̗̗̣̖̼̟̻͇ŷ̴̴̻͚̺͖͓̦͔ͤ͑͗ͯ̄ͦ̄̈̃s̀ͦ̀ͩ͛̔ͬ̆̄̏̃ͪ̇̊ͥͦ̀̚҉̶̘̝̤̮̦̤̳͔̣̯̜͔̖̺̘̟̼̖̀ͅs̆̾̌͂̇ ̵̣͍̙͖̫̹̝̘̫̙̆͐͌ͥ͂͋̊̏̅̃ͮ̈͛̓͟.̶̵̛̠̘̫͖̳̑ͨ̾̎̎͒̇ͯͪ̊ͣͣ͒̋̍͛͋̄̚͟͢ ̷̪̤̗̥̞̖̟̙̙̞̠̺͇̖̯͈̗̈͗̍̿̍̿̃ͧͧͣ̍̿̀͟
̨ͥ͌͂̆ͩ̒͗̉͛̔̅͑̿̾͛̒̒ͣͯ͏̀҉̨̼͓͉͍͓̯̗͖̹̳̬͕͎͖͇ͅT̴̝̙̜͕̦̬̖̖̯͈ͪ̈́̌́̐ͥ̏͘h͊ͪ́ͦ͆͌͆̒͛̍͐͆̀̌ ̢̤̬͍̹̮̳̟̯͈̐͒͘͜e̶̢̠̺͔̥̬̞͎̓͆̾ͤ͐͟ ̷̡͖̞͇̘̹̝̘̰̫ͭ͐ͦ̐̎̔͡a̴̛̭̭̞̞̺̼̼͊̉ͫ̒ͤ̒ͦ̆ͧ́̈ͮ̆̎͗ͪ̚͘̕ͅḅ̷̖͙͕̮͚̤̱̩̈́̌̋̿ͭ̌̋̓ͯͩ̚͜ÿ̎ͩ ̡̧͙͎͇͙̰̩̲̰̹̼̲͙͚̫͖͚̿͆̈̎̒̑̓̾̒ͦ̀ͅs̵̩̙̰͈̱ͤ̎̇ͩ͐͌ͨͦ̓͆̊ͧ͊͠͠š̜̻͖̫͚̯̗͇̝̹ͮ̉͑͊ͣ͌͂͋́͠͠ ̗̥̳ ̢̨̨͉̼̮̰̖̠̌̄̅̅̓͗̔͘ǵ̌ͣͯ̿ͨͮ͂̃ͨ́̓͋͊́̆̏ͬ̚͠͏̜͙̼̣a̒ͮ̎ͥ́̃̽̒̔̈́͒̋҉̸͎̤̟͍͔̩̫̬̫́ͅzͥͭͫ͂̿ ͇̗͔̲͉̮͓̘͟ͅĕͬ̓͂́͊̓͑̂͂ͬ̒ͧ̎̿͏̡̩͍̼͇̟̞͕̕ş̸̵̛͚̟̘̜̝̹͖̭̻̩̼̬̫͓̤͑ͪ͂ͬ̌ͯͧ͗ͧ̋̂̑ͮ̑ͧͣͬ̌͜ ̡̜̮̜̘̮̲͕̜̻͔̝ͣ̾̀̆̚͞a̎ͨ͊ͮ͆ͯ͞͞͞҉̴̱̤̹̟̫̲̱̬͙̙̭͉l̯̣̖͇͓̹̙͙̞̳͓̥̤ͥ͊ͤ͛ͨͩ͗̽͑͆ͣͣͧ͑ͦͬ͂̽̀ ̭̮s̴̸̶̢͕͓̟̳͚̗̩̬͎̼͙̦̼̹̤ͭͯ̔̎̂ͮ͑ͣ̏ǫ̢̤̩̮̖̜̬̰̜̜̬͓̭̙̟̜͔̤̓̇̂̏̾ͣ͌ͦ̂ͨ̆͞͞͞ͅ ̡̗̣͙̠̳̘͙̞̫̖̫̖̙͓̳̙̍͛̓̇̂̐͛͑ͥ̔̅̏ͫͣͯ̆ͤ͛ͦ͠͞i̡̯̖͈̣̟̗̜̝̟̥͔͎͚ͬ̈ͮ̂̈̆͑̏͛͗̆̄̅̿̄ͩ̀͘͡n͛̉ ̸̘̹̺̺͇̠ͫ̅ͦͨͩ̂͌͘͜t̷̶̉̉̋ͧͩ͂͌͆̊̈͂̒́ͨ̆́͑͏̭̻̯̣͕̼̤̤̤̬̥̞͎̥͡ͅŏ̪̫̜̉͑͆̇̈̆̓ͪ̈́̓ͦ̔͑ͮ͛̍͘ ̰̜̙̳̗̹̺̬͙̟ ̶̻̥͈̠͉̮̺͖̻͎̤̼̝̠͉̙͗̏͒͊ͬͧ̅͒͞y̧̤͎̹͙̯̟̪̯͕̬͕͚̥̖̑ͧͤ͛̈͐ͤ̀͠o̷̴̢ͦ̓͛ͮ̈̋͆̉̎ͦ͏͇̤͖̭̰̬ͅuͫ ̡̛̘̖̜͔̲̖̎̀̒ͣ̓̚͠.̶̷ͤ̎͒ͥ̾̽̋̅ͪͩ̊͐ͨ̑҉̣͓͙̙̙͙͚̖̯͎ͅ”̸̷̤͎̗̟̫̟͇̤̼̯̥͚͆̋̇ͭ̊̄̀̚ͅ
********
He shakes his head to clear the whispers from above before they drive him to madness. He had been following them for decades now and they have led only to Wrin. They seem strongest here near Otari and the Cosmic Caravan has cleared them up slightly, or so he believes. "Why now? What could possibly have lit the light and why would they?" He muses to himself
”Dragon blood,” Toska responds as if that obviously explained and answered it completely.
With a start, the tengu stands up to his full five-foot-height, craning his neck to peer at the half-orc, elf, and goblin near the periphery of the circle of standing stone facsimiles, almost as if he had not an idea that there was anyone else present besides the albino kobold and the tiefling.
"Akkaboo?! Have you been skulking there the entire time without announcing your presence? You knave! I was speaking to Wrin about you just the other day - I was speaking about him, do you remember, Wrin? - and your trouble with the belladonna, and I said to Wrin, I did, if anyone in this yokel-infested place were to be able to sort out the origin of a belladonna poisoning, it would be Akkaboo."
The lanky owl-faced tengu with skinny legs turns to Mazul. "It is Mazul, is it not? I have a way with words and names, though no real interest in remembering them - they just stick with me." Wan gestures elaborately with his orange-lined, winged arms. "You may say 'cursed' but I would counter 'why so melodramatic'?" ** The mirthless and affected laughter does little to colour the conversation.
"More to the purpose of your enquiry, I am a vessel, my dear orcish one." The tengu walks purposefully in a tight circle as he holds out both of his arms. "This," Wan says in a hushed whisper, "is my prized companion, Proto. Version 3.8, mind you." He side-glances Wrin. "I made a few cosmetic upgrades just this past weekend on the rear panels; only a touch different!"
It is a medium-sized suit of medium armor, standing bereft of a wearer. It appears intriguingly-different to anything that you've seen before, and also vaguely-impractical.
"This is what I do, sweet orc-ling. I channel Proto to life!"
More questions are likely raised by the brief presentation than answered.
”... so you’re a smith?” Toska asks as he looks over the armor.
Zin looks at Proto in admiration, the thought on how it could possibly work makes his head spin. "How does one upgrade armor?"
Mazul nods at Toska's explanation, apparently taking it at face value. Orc ancestry manifests itself in many different ways. She's got the physique, coloration, and eyesight of her orc kindred, while her brother Nuuth is barely distinguishable from a human. Maybe a kobold's draconic ancestry manifests in similarly varied ways? "Have you considered arm wrestling? You could probably make a fortune challenging all those big burly lumberjacks to a friendly contest."
As Wan gives his speech her eyebrows steadily climb up to her hairline. "It is Mazul, yes. Usually I'd ask a person to at least buy me dinner before starting with the pet names." The corners of her mouth are twitching, and it's clear she's more amused than anything else. Sweet orcling; I'll have to remember that one. "So is the armor a...what are they called again?" She wracks her brain for the word. "Construct! That's it. Is the armor actually armor, or is it a construct?" She eyes the suit appreciatively. "It looks impressive either way."
Toska taps his chin at the rogue's suggestion. "You don't think I'd have too much of an advantage over the softskins? And that's without accounting for the elbow spurs."
He then nods in agreement in her faux-offense taken "I bought Gumdrop sweets before I started calling her that."
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"Of course you'd have an advantage. That's the point!" If Mazul knew Toska better, (and he was a bit taller), she'd throw a friendly arm around his shoulders. As things stand she just gestures wildly. "People won't believe a short guy like you could beat them. You'd get to challenge stereotypes about kobolds being scrawny little things while also earning some cash! I made some money that way when I first came here, a lot of them didn't think a girl could win a strength contest, half-orc or no. To be fair, sometimes I couldn't, the muscles aren't entirely what they used to be."
Akkaboo rushes back into the tent-shop as quickly as she'd left seconds ago. "Thowwy - it'th vewy nithe to meet ooo aww," she says quickly. Her speech sounds as if she's speaking around some large object in the middle of her mouth, and anyone peering closely into her large mouth might notice a large block of ice encasing her tongue. Moving over to stand next to the tengu, she continues, "You can caww me Awwaboo! Wan, awe thethe aww fwiendth of youwth?"
Tu Clang Wan glances from the nigh-unintelligible goblin on his left to his right shoulder where Mazul stands admiring Proto.
"No dear girl, I wouldn't call Mazul a friend, though the night is young and still very COLD," Wan again ruffles his feathers and grips tighter to the mug of tea. "I would describe her as more of a casual acquaintance, as random well-muscled people go......Mazul, this is Akkaboo, relatively new to town, fleeing blah-blah-blah in her past......Akkaboo, this is Mazul, paragon of the village's scintillating arm-wrestling scene. The thing about Proto is," Wan's wanton jettison of the previous conversation disorients as he moves closer to his suit of armor, "that I've not clearly unlocked all the potential hidden behind those pouldrons and greaves. A construct, sweet child, nay! - I wear Proto and act as a vessel for his boundless potential to shine through. We are a meat pie and, where I am the spiced lamb filling, Proto is the flaky, buttery pastry shell."
Wan turns his attention to Toska. "I deign not my efforts, frost-kissed dragonkin, that of sheer mail-smithing. I consider myself an artist, a composer of a single technological symphony. Proto is my yet-incomplete magnum opus, but with the proper attention, investment, and --- let's be frank --- a fat load of coin, I should be able to see my epiphanies manifest to their fullest!"
Wan cocks his bird-head to the side and eyes the pale elf up and down for a lascivious moment before replying to his question with a single, emphatic word: "Carefully."
Again, the answers seem to raise more questions.
Wrin smiles at your banter. Once your introductions are complete, the tiefling nods "I wish you luck on your expedition, my friends! Stay safe!"
The next morning, after making your preparations, you depart Otari and venture into the Fogfens. It's a twenty-minute walk through the marsh to reach the ruins of Gauntlight Keep. The sound of frogs and mosquitos mixes with water sloshing against muddy shores, all muffled by the ever-present mists that linger in the aptly named Fogfen. As the mists clear, a shadow looms from the cloying swamp vapors—a sprawling ruin of stone and wood squats atop an island in the soggy marsh. The upper floors have largely collapsed, leaving only the stone walls of the ground floor intact. Above these ruins towers an out-of-place monument—a colossal lighthouse whose painted walls and iron-cased crown have resisted the corrosive effects of the surrounding swamp.
"Now that is curious," quips Wan, his voice somewhat transmuted into a basso profundo within the cavernous headpiece (shaped like a clockwork raven's head) as part of Proto. The irony of sloshing through the Fogfens with a six-foot-tall armoured suit of tengu-driven mech-ware and having it declare the lighthouse to be curious seems lost on Wan. "It would stand to reason that the alkaline nature of these wetlands should corrode the metals used to construct that tower, unless enchantments lurk about."
With a soft jangling of metal and a few clicks of calibration, Proto-Wan brandishes the strange staff topped with a pointed metal circle ensnaring several smaller rings that he's been using to clear fallen reeds, branches, and swarms of midges along the way. ("A khakkara, sweetling. An agent of love-taps from my nest of origin.") He then looks around, the armoured head-piece moving a full half-circle in rotation to look behind him in a similar fashion to Wan sans Proto.
"Enchantments?" Akkaboo sneezes loudly and looks around with bright red eyes. She doesn't seem to mind the mud and muck from the swam coating her legs, nor the early hour of the group's departure from Otari. "I'll look!"
Zin seems to flit through the forest with barely a sound as his elven grace allows him to barely snap a twig. Though something seems off, he seems almost too light, even for an elf as he glides across the surface with each step.
"So this is the guantlight. I have heard of it around town but never dared set sights on it." Zin says from the shadows of a large tree. He was more accustomed to the night than he was during the day. His features look drawn and tired.
He nods to the front doors with a smile. "Should we knock?"
AC 16
HP 14/14 | +0 Temp HP
Hero Points 1/3
Focus Points 2/2
Curse Stage:
Spells (1) 2/2 |
This isn't Mazul's first trek through the swamp, although it's always been one of her least favorite parts of exploring. Fortunately an orc (or half-orc's) skin is just slightly tougher than that of humans, so most mosquitos find easier prey elsewhere.
She does occasionally grimace at the mud coating her lower legs and seeping into her boots. That's going to take forever to wash out.
"I've not been here either. Too..." Spooky, she almost says, then catches herself. "...Likely to have already been picked clean. Anyway, let me go first. Most of these old ruins have a trap or two lurking about just waiting to fire arrows at some poor unsuspecting explorer's head."
She eyes the doors with a bit more trepidation than she'd anticipated, then goes to open them. No time like the present.
Swaths of mildew and mold cover the damp surfaces of this watchtower, appearing as green and black smears on the dull stone walls. The doorframes in the walls to the north and south rotted long ago, while a few collapsed chairs lie on the floor amid small heaps of foul‐smelling gray lumps. Thick sheets of dusty cobwebs hang from above, obscuring any view of the ceiling.
As you look around the room, you hear high-pitched voices calling out in Undercommon.
Wan and Mazul spots a slipshod network of soggy ropes and planks in the space above the cobwebs. Concealed there are three small blue humanoid creatures, peering down at you with wide grins.
Mazul also notices a 3-foot-diameter hole in the ceiling in the northwest corner of the room.
Mazul looks down at the floor, then up at the creatures with a wide grin of her own.
Under her breath, she tells the others, "Up there. Above the cobwebs. Don't know yet if they're friendly or not."
She's encountered her fair share of dungeon denizens, (it's what led her to learn Undercommon in the first place). Some of them are actually friendly. Some just want to be left alone. Some are trying to lure you into a trap. It's always a gamble, but it never hurts to try politeness first.
The creatures call back down.
Zin peers up at where Mazul is pointing to see if he can get a decent view of the creatures. "What are they saying?" He whispers.
Zin recognizes the creatures as gremlins known as mitflits. Mitflits, also known as mites, are self-loathing and pitiful cowards, easily bullied into servitude by other creatures or even slightly more powerful mitflit leaders. They tame insects, spiders, and other such creatures to serve as faithful allies. Mitflits have lost most of their ancestral gremlin magic, leaving these incomplete beings full of doubt and insecurity.
Zin whispers underneath his breath. "Miflits, brush past. they should leave us alone."
"They're trying to trick us into eating their 'pixie mud'. Probably their idea of a prank."
Mazul prefers not fighting when she doesn't have to. That doesn't mean she's willing to literally eat mud just to appease some gremlins.
Even in a different language, Wan's words seem to be needlessly-complex and somehow melodramatic as he gestures about with his jingly-jangly cudgel.
"Of course you'd have an advantage. That's the point!" If Mazul knew Toska better, (and he was a bit taller), she'd throw a friendly arm around his shoulders. As things stand she just gestures wildly. "People won't believe a short guy like you could beat them. You'd get to challenge stereotypes about kobolds being scrawny little things while also earning some cash! I made some money that way when I first came here, a lot of them didn't think a girl could win a strength contest, half-orc or no. To be fair, sometimes I couldn't, the muscles aren't entirely what they used to be."
Toska's eyes widen in realization before looking up at Mazul,"You are more clever than you let on."
Wan turns his attention to Toska. "I deign not my efforts, frost-kissed dragonkin, that of sheer mail-smithing. I consider myself an artist, a composer of a single technological symphony. Proto is my yet-incomplete magnum opus, but with the proper attention, investment, and --- let's be frank --- a fat load of coin, I should be able to see my epiphanies manifest to their fullest!"
Toska stares at Proto. Smith. Got it.
~~~
"Wrong scales for this," Toska grumbles aloud as the ragtag group makes their way through the fen, though other than having to more or less swim through certain parts compared to his long legged compatriots he didn't complaim for much, the mosquitos couldn't bother him, and he made notes of where all the frog songs were coming from in case he got hungry later. "No undead around thankfully, you can still hear everything alive going about their lives. Undead around, everything's quiet cause everything's dead or gone."
He was about to ask, again, why a lighthouse was built in the middle of the swamp when they reached their destination and Mazul, then the others, began conversing with the occupants in a language he didn't know. He arches a brow when she reveals their "master plan" to get them to eat mud. "I think I rather be dealing with undead."
The mitflits grumble and stick their tongues out at you.
The three gremlins scramble up out of the hole in the roof, disappearing from sight.
Given a minute to search the room, you discover a peridot bead worth 2 gp, along with a chipped mitflit tooth, in one of the little stinky piles.
”We’ve committed a faux pass haven’t we?” Toska thinks aloud before scurrying about the room, letting a suppressed shriek of delight upon spotting the tiny shiny sphere. Picking it up he gets a furtive look on his face before shaking his head and holding it up for group, palm open for them all to see. ”We have acquired treasure. This venture is already providing results.”
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Mazul shakes her head as the creatures depart. "If not eating mud is a faux pas, it's a faux pas I'm happy to make. At least they left us alone for now. They say we should leave and we'll be sorry if they see us again, but I think it's just bravado." She's somewhat of an expert in that. "Nice find with the bead. If something like that was still in the entrance, there's probably even better stuff ahead!" At least she hopes there is. The sort of minor items she usually finds wouldn't go far if spread five ways.
"The miflits also said there are 'big scary bugs' up ahead. Might be a lie, but I'd keep weapons close. Actually..." She looks up at the cobwebs for a second, then rummages through her backpack and pulls out a torch. "I don't keep these around for the light. Pro tip: spiders, at least the normal sized ones, don't care about daggers. They do care about fire."
Lit torch in hand, she moves on to the next room.
Mazul leads the way to the north. A wooden drawbridge, its timbers gray with age and decay, spans the 20-foot gap between the outbuilding and sprawling ruin on the island. Rusty iron chains hang from the ruin’s northern wall to the drawbridge’s southern side.
A nasty-smelling chunk of meat lies on the shore of a muddy pond to the east. The meat has attracted the attention of an odd-looking beast, a froglike creature with mighty tusks. Large pustules on the creature's back drip a sticky resin-like slime. Upon spotting you, the creature croaks and moves to attack!
A pustule on the beast's back bursts open as it squirts rancid slime at Mazul. The rogue dodges away from the foul substance. The beast then hops up onto the drawbridge and bites her with its tusks!
Zin unsheathes his curved blade. "Best to be ready then." The torchlight gleams off of his light blue eyes. "Don't worry about those miflits. They scare easily."
He brings his fist up and opens it. A small orb that glows like a torch springs to the four corners of the room. Each looks like a small star as it bobs in the air. "This should help us see."
Upon seeing the frog-like creature Zin freezes in place as he is startled to see something so soon. The short-lived miniature stars wink out of existence just as soon as they arrived. He leaps past Wan as he slices at it's back with his curved blade before quickly retreating back to relative safety.
AC 16
HP 14/14 | +0 Temp HP
Hero Points 1/3
Focus Points 2/2
Curse Stage:
Spells (1) 2/2 |
Keeping an eye on the ceiling, Akkaboo carefully scrapes some of this "magic pixie mud" into her bag before looking up at the largest toad she's ever seen. "Eeek!" she shrieks, almost losing her footing due to her wild arm movements. "What is it!"
With so many people in the way, Akkaboo doesn't dare try to hit the froggie with fire or ice or acid. What if someone got hit on accident! Instead, she rubs her hands together vigorously. "You be socked, you be shocked!" she yells, and a small spark leaps from her hands to the amphibian.
As the mitflits promise vengeance and move to leave, Wan harrumphs.
"That is simply inhospitable rudeness," he chirps. "They wouldn't even tell me as to what they were indicating was the pixie mud! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO MAKE A CHOICE?" he calls out at the retreating forms.
When Mazul indicates a need for weapons and lights a torch, Wan jangles his khakkara at her. "I am indebted to you for your illuminating insight."
As the frog-like thing bites into Mazul, Wan squawks. "Proto, it is time for a field test!" A whirring noise, as if a small fan rotating at a high velocity, can be heard as Proto-Wan steps up to swing at the thing!
You have a bevy of smaller devices affixed to your body and gear, from muscle stimulators to concussive pistons. When necessary, you can throw them into overdrive to assist you in combat.
OVERDRIVE [one-action]
INVENTOR MANIPULATE
You add greater power to your attacks by throwing an array of small gadgets and gizmos into overdrive. Attempt a Crafting check with a standard DC for your level.
"AWWWWWWK-HA!" Wan squawks loudly as he swings.
"Ow!" Mazul deeply regrets her choice to dodge into the creature rather than away when it slices her side open. Teeth gritted, she takes advantage of Wan's rather large distraction to get behind the creature.
Dropping the torch at her feet, she pulls out her shortsword and swings it at the oversized (and tusked) frog.
Toska blinks a few times as everyone starts introducing various lights to the darkness. ”Yeah, fire good.” At least that was a good trade-off he thought.
”Oh hey, a Slurk. We use them as mounts and guards... wonder if there’s other Kobolds here?” Toska thinks aloud before the Slurk in question begins fulfilling the latter part of that description. ”Oi! No eating our scout, we need her!” The rest of what he was saying devolves into gibberish growling as he hops towards the creature with his sword raised.
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Akkaboo recognizes the creature as a slurk! By flexing its skin, a slurk can burst the pustules on its back in the direction of intruders, covering its foes in sticky goo and severely limiting their ability to withstand the monster’s other attacks, including the effects of its other secretion. Glands along the slurk’s ventral side excrete an incredibly slippery and fetid grease, which protects the slurk from the immobilizing effects of its own back slime but also has the added benefit of making it extremely difficult to grapple and capture.
The slurk shudders as the goblin zaps it with lightning. Toska and Mazul miss, but Zin and Wan land solid blows.
The creature turns its tusks on Wan! It manages to land three hits, ripping through the tengu’s armor and laying him low!
Gasping when he sees the armored bird fall, Toska snarls as a soul biting cold envelops his sword.
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”RAWWWWRK——-“
Proto-Wan goes down.
Mazul's eyes widen as Wan collapses. The throbbing wound in her side is a reminder of just how sharp those tusks are, but she didn't expect them to make it through Proto.
She gets the beast's attention by flourishing her sword to one side before quickly slashing at the other. The small buckler attached to her arm suddenly seems insufficient, but she still tries to keep it between herself and the slurk.
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Toska and Mazul both land solid strikes, and the slurk falls!
The corpse of a dead kobold lies on the nearby pond’s north bank. The gear on the kobold’s body is mostly ruined with the exception of 4 gp in one rotten belt pouch and a spike snare bundled securely in a little backpack.