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Johnnys' club slams into the rusty armor of the Fungus Infested Dwarf. The blow causes it to stagger a bit, but what was gross was the sickening crack and squish as if hitting a stick buried in thick wet earth.
This lets the second foe on JOhnny though seemed to capitalize on the opening letting its War Pick slip in and stab the Dwarven Druid.
After the other two falls, Baldrek spins to slam his palm into the stumbling dwarf miner. the connection sizzles and pops causing some of the fungi on the flesh of the dwarf to scream, the air escaping the pockets.
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Johnny Boy reels under the combined assault. His weapon hand comes up and tries to staunch the blood flow from the recently opened wound.
His nature-tuned mined realizes that, like a lone deer sheered away from the herd, he is being overwhelmed by greater numbers. He decides to use this to his advantage while his brother-dwarves kill them.
"Oh so ya like me, boys? Well, I am very pretty, so 'tis understandable quite. What say I play hard t' get?"
Ienmar furiously dashes forward to intercept the threats from closing on Johnny Boy and Amber, and swings his hammer in a military strike.
Standing his ground his face a conflict between satisfaction at the falling enemy, concern for his injured party, and disgust at the smell of the falling fungus dwarves, reloads and aims at the remaining lurching injured target.
Crossbow
Bolt
And is satisfied with his aim, but a bit disappointed that it seemed to find some missing part of the torso and only scored minimal damage.
Krystil fires again, although dismayed at the apparent damage reduction. Maybe she should move on from warrior to something else?
Another volley of attacks go off. Arros sink into the flesh of the fungal possessed dwarf to the right of Johnny, the bolt in the other. Lenmar lets his hammer sing, though what normally would crack and thump, kind of sadly sounded like hitting a wet sack.
Other previous attacks on the one to the right crumpled the false life it had been granted made it fall in a sick thud. After that te other continue to move forward, a shambling mess with wounds slowing it. Still it takes a swing seeking to get at the druidic Dwarf
It misses as the war pick angle seemed to be just wide the angle making it ping off the defense of his opponent.
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"Oh my, things are so much easier when ya don't hafta worry about hitting the other guy," John muses as, freed from thoughts about offense, he is able to see the oncoming blow and put the whole of his effort into leaning back just enough, holding onto his shield just enough, and rolling with the blow just enough to avoid a tragic swing that would certainly have put more holes in him than he normally prefers.
"Ha! Ya daft boot not so easy when the odds don't favor ya, eh? Well now that a great bevy of are dwarves are here, let's put ya down right and proper!"
Krystid takes note of Johnny's strategy. She might need to be more defensive-minded against the frogs, but now is the time for offense.
Amber moves to flank the remaining fungal corpse and sinks her blade into it.
Bal rushes to help, but the interested dwarf is defeated before he can react.
Given there's no immediate threat, he checks the corpses first.
The Dwarven husk falls, the rep3ated Arrows, hammer smashs, and axe blows left its semblance of life expire.
The bodies do not twitch. Instead the smell of nasty waterlogged fetidedness mixes with a decaying body hits the air.
Ienmar drops his bloodsoaked hammer, and stares with heavy eyes at the corpses.
He is quiet for a long while, and then his beard quivers as he shakes. Sorrow bloomed into anger, and then into rage.
"They will pay," he spat angrily, before roaring. "Fer all of this. They 'ave wronged us!"
With a surge of anger, he lunges and picks up his hammer, and then sets out to find and kill those who killed his people--his anger clouding his mind to even the idea of burying his countrymen.
Assuming Baldrek tells them about the spores, Ienmar pauses. The mystery stops his angry steps from continuing.
"Aye, it would be a great honor ta them," Ienmar says. "These tools shall continue their legacy."
He hefts his hammer and grabs the head, wiping it coldly before adding, "And this shall be the end of the legacy of those who did this."
"Well that was not fun. Perhaps we can trail them back to where they came from and route out the source of this abomination"?
Survival to follow the trail.
He then moves to a gnarled oak tree and turns to the others. "I believe they came from up this tree".
Oh note the war picks have hints of rust, but most of those seem new. The armor and shields are quite rusted and full of fungus.
Bal scratches his chin. "It seems the spores bloomed inside them. Must be quite unpleasant."
He approves about reusing the tools. "The fungus seems quite corrosive. Anyone knows the best way to get rid of it? We need to give these brothers a proper farewell." He starts to prepare for the funeral rites.
"Bloomed inside 'em? Remind me not to serve that mushroom in a stew... as for the bodies, might want to cremate them so what's left of 'em don't try to get up again or infest someone else. Mushrooms tend to throw spores to the wind; last thing we need is a new patch o' zombie fungus sproutin' on their graves after some fool walks up to search their pockets."
"Bloomed inside 'em? Remind me not to serve that mushroom in a stew... as for the bodies, might want to cremate them so what's left of 'em don't try to get up again or infest someone else.
"I agree with that disturbing thought. Maybe apply a little fire to the picks and armor too?"
"Though I agree with the principle, brother," Ienmar says gravely to Baldrek. "Some of our kinspeople are still kidnapped and need our help now."
”I beggin’ ye, we can’t stop marchin’,” Ienmar says urgently, trying to convince the rest of his party. ”The womenfolk and children are in danger.”
4 war picks
4 iron shields
a total of 10gp 15sp 30cp
"Damnit, Ienmar's right; we haven't all day for a proper funeral. Just roll the bodies together then; I'll set them alight and hope that's good enough for the gods. Just don't touch 'em barehanded."
Amber reaches into her pack, pulls out a torch and casts a quick cantrip to produce a flame upon her hand, using it to light the torch. Once satisfied it won't go out, she then places it on the pile of dwarf corpses, holding it in place to make sure it catches despite the moisture in the air. With a solemn nod for the lost Dwarven lives, she rolls her burly shoulders and starts off. "Let's see to it there're no more funerals today, aye?"
The road is long and somewhat drier then the swamp. It is an old road, supposedly from one of the many previous empires that ruled this vast land. Now it is next to swampy land. The dwarven bodies still rest in the fetid water or on the road, where they fell.
Ienmar says a quick prayer to Moradin on the bodies, and then sets out. He is an excellent soldier, but a poor guide.
"I can't see a damn thing," he spits as he navigates the swamp. He pauses, seeing the corpses in the water. "By the gods..."
The path is revealed, and most of the feet go down the road. The road has a natural canopy of twisted Trees. another smaller group continues further into the swamp on the far side of the road.
You note now the sun is past noon and you have been following these frogmen for several hours. The bog has slowed you down, but not as much as other races you are dwarves your stubbornness and natural squatness you did better than most. However, you were not as fast as your prey who seemed to not be hindered.
Krystid continues trying to think up a song that will inspire the dwarves.
“A storm is coming,” Ienmar says grimly, picking up the pace. ”And we’re not getting any closer!”
As you travel, you can tell you are getting closure to the storm. Its odd as the frogs stopped croaking and birds stopped chirping. Even the air seemed different as a smell of mildew and mold could be detected on the wind.
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"Oh confound these Frogmen! They run as the very whips of their masters were behind them!"
Then Johnny Boy stops and look all around them. "But soft! Listen to the silence."
He listens to the silence.
"Methinks we are hunted here. There are shapes in the wood and splashes in the bog. Be wary."
Ienmar stops as Johnny Boy pauses. He quickly takes position and raises his hammer in anticipation for combat.
Amber pulls her axe from her belt and ignites her cantrip in the other hand. "Let them bloody come, then. Had about enough slogging through their droppings."
"These trees aren't not just naturally there - how they are and where they are is on purpose."
Krystid, confused, fires an arrow at one of the trees Baldrek pointed out.
The swamp comes alive with the noises of frogs, Large frogs begin to make noises. strangely none of the shapes come to the road. It seems to be a mystical barrier that they can't pass or won't pass.
After a few minutes, the large frogs begin to recede back into the trees. Strangely the trees seem to stop as well. Sounds of lapping mud can still be heard but more keeping away from the eyesight.
Currently, the path is still clear head straight down the road.
Morkham looks around nervously as the information is relayed among the party members. He too feels spooked though he's not sure if it's the attitudes of his stalwart companions or something...else...
He pulls forth his crossbow and looks about nervously.
Perception.
"Let's stay on the road and double-time it. I'm tired of making so little progress through this muck... and if I have to fight I'd prefer solid ground beneath my feet".
"Damned wazzoks," Ienmar says. He braced himself for combat, but the mysterious withdrawal of the foes and their strange behavior vexed him greatly. "What is goin' on 'ere?"
He steps forward angrily onto the road, rage building as he pursues cowardly foes and goes around in circles--all with the thoughts of dying (or dead) women and children pounding in his mind.
As you move further down the road you note it begins to have more trees begive to shadow over the road. Its Aboreal roof is sparse of leaves but strangely some vines hang down. SOme vines begin to grow along the road.
A few frogs can be seen here, often going after insects that crawl along the vines or buzz about seeking flesh or food. It is odd as a frogman lay dead about forty feet from the beginning of this strange natural tunnel. Its spear and shield is still net to its body as are all its pouches.
She points at the frogman. "That has to be a trap."
Ienmar approaches the trap but stops where Krystid points at. He studies it up close, studying the stonework.
He then pulls out from his backpack a crowbar and a length of rope, and takes a number of steps back. He ties the crowbar to the rope, and tosses it at where he reckons the trap trigger is, triggering it safely out of range.