Monsters of the Misty Marshes

Game Master NotEspi

The outskirts of Deadbridge are surrounded by the twisted, brooding expanse of the Echo Woods. The trees here stand gnarled and ancient, their roots sinking deep into the cold earth, as if they are part of some forgotten, darker world. At night, the air is thick with whispers — perhaps the wind, perhaps something more. The cries of beasts echo from the depths of the woods, a constant reminder of the wild, untamed nature that lies just beyond the door.

To the south, Deadbridge is a distant silhouette against the horizon, a once-thriving town now shadowed by its own reputation. It is a place where traders and travelers linger, but few dare to stay too long. The Sellen River flows lazily by, its banks lined with the occasional barge or weary merchant, trying to make their way through the land's perilous territories. The town, like the river, seems to move with the current—slow, uncertain, and full of secrets.

As travelers make their way along the river, they avoid the stretch of land near the Echo Woods, their path veering wide, wary of what lies just out of sight. The forests are full of stories—of those who enter and never return, of creatures lurking in the shadows, and of whispered legends that refuse to die.

The long, cold nights settle in quickly. The wind howls through the woods, and the howls of distant beasts fill the night, their eerie calls drifting across the land. The air grows heavy with dread, and the quiet rustle of the leaves carries an unnatural weight. In this isolation, those who dare live here are not just survivors—they are watchers, waiting for something, anything, to break the stillness. The night is long, and the darkness is endless.

Near the edge of the Echo Woods, just shy of the cave where the undead rest during the day, sits an old, crumbling house. Within it lives a trio of peculiar souls: a vampire who once crafted wood with care but now roams the night, haunted by his insatiable thirst; a zombie, the remains of a farmhand who still clings to fractured memories and craves fleeting moments of life; and a werewolf, a halfling healer by day, hiding his savage nature beneath the guise of a gentle faith. Together, they endure in isolation, strange companions bound by the curse of their existence.

Tammian watches the sun set. The fading light filtering through the trees. He looks up into the sky at the three quarter full moon already well above the treeline. Several more days and he will have to put up an 'out gathering herbs' sign on the door in case anyone comes by.

But for the evening, the only visitors he is expecting are his two companions from the cave nearby. He goes to the back door and lights the lamp there to welcome them.

Aramil peeks out of the cave. Seeing that the sun has set for now he confidently steps out and takes a breath of the forest air.

Spotting Tammian at the back door, he strides over and greets his companion with a toothy grin. Hello wolf boy, have any new books for me? Those ones you picked up last week were so, very dull.

You all look at your humble homestead from the entrance of the cave. The freshly waning moon casts a dim silver light across the rugged clearing around your home, illuminating a grim scene. The faint smell of iron lingers in the crisp night air. Near the modest animal enclosure, the aftermath of a savage attack sprawls before you: wooden posts splintered, blood dark against the frosted grass, and the remains of goats torn apart, their bodies mangled by vicious force. If there were any survivors, they did not wait for the attacker to finish off their cohabitants and ran off instead.

The Echo Woods seem darker tonight, the shadows deeper. From the distance comes a low, mournful howl, resonating like an unspoken warning. The trio watches silently, their pale faces reflecting a blend of resignation and unease. They know the forest well, and they know its predators—but this? This feels different. Something stirs in the night, unseen but felt, and for a moment even the wind seems to still, heavy with anticipation.

A grim thought crosses Tammian's mind, but his cage and shackles are not damaged, nor broken. Clearly, he was in the cave last night, bound by sturdy chains, behind heavy metal bars. But the scene does seem familiar.

Suddenly, faint orange lights flicker to life in the distance, just beyond the southern tree line. The trio squints against the shadows and smoke-hazed glow, the unmistakable flicker of torches revealing their approach. As the lights draw closer, shapes emerge—two or three dozen figures, their silhouettes cutting through the night like grim specters. The men move in formation, their steps deliberate, weapons glinting faintly in the moonlight.

The group’s intent is clear even before they reach the outskirts of the clearing. They are heading straight for the homestead. And while they are only small specks of light for now, the dim orange glow grows stronger and stronger as they move ever closer. They will be stepping on your property in a few minutes. They will enter the ravaged enclosure. They will step onto the blood-soaked mud. They will see the carnage.

The authorities of Deadbridge are already suspicious of your little farm - a reclusive halfling doctor living all alone on the edge of the pernicious woods. Clearly, something happened in the city last night. Something vile. The mob comes for justice. Will the question you first, or will they burn everything to the ground before speaking a word?

Tamm runs over to the goat pen. Then notices the approaching figures in the torchlight. "Great. Everyone hates courts until they are on the wrong end of a mob lynching."

He waves the other two and Messages them, 'Take cover in the trees. I'll probably end up there with you as well shortly. This may get spicy pretty quick.'

Tamm steps in front of the goat pen and waits for the villagers to get within hearing range.

'Of couse. *Sigh* Well, this was nice while it lasted.'

Stealth: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (5) + 12 = 17
Aramil slinks off into the woods, though his chosen hiding place may be a little exposed.

Just posting today's spell list, for when it becomes relevant.

Stealth: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (7) + 9 = 16
Harper also goes to find somewhere to hide.
But his hiding place isn't any better.

The mob halts at the edge of the property, their torches casting wavering shadows across the blood-streaked ground. Their murmurs are tense, a mix of fear and anger, but they do not advance. Instead, three soldiers step forward, their chainmail glinting in the torchlight. The men carry themselves with the quiet confidence of authority, swords sheathed but close at hand.

The leader, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a weathered face and sharp, scrutinizing eyes, stops near the ruined goat enclosure. His voice carries across the still night.

"Tammian Foxfoot!" the man cries out, looking about. "Anybody here?" After a brief pause, he cries out for Tammian once more.

Behind him, the other two soldiers stand vigilant. One, younger and clean-shaven, grips the hilt of his blade nervously, his eyes darting toward the darkened woods. The other, older with a scar tracing his jawline, remains stoic, his expression unreadable. Their boots crunch on the frost as they spread out slightly, maintaining a cautious stance. "Maybe it got him as well." the leader addresses the other two soldiers. "Look at the ground."

They all start scanning the blood-soaked mud, goat parts, and splintered wood. The young soldier gasps, gripping his torch with white knuckles. The scarred man murmurs something under his breath.

The rest of the mob stays back, their torches bobbing like fireflies in the gloom, but their presence is an unmistakable warning. The clearing feels charged, the tension crackling in the cold air as the soldiers wait for an answer.

Tammian chuckles a bit at the terrible eyesight of humans, suddenly not nearly as worried about the ability of his friends to remain hidden in the bushes.

"Yeah, I'm over here," Tamm calls out. "Checking on what is left of my goats. Which isn't much."

He leaves his shield hanging on his back and his staff stored as well. He walks over to the soldiers with his hands held out in front of him empty and stops just within the ring of torchlight. "Do you know what came through here?"

The tall officer sighs as if the sight of Tammian offers him relief. "Ah… there he is. he says, minding his steps as he walks slowly through the enclosure. The torchlight dances across his face as he halts just ten feet away. His voice remains even but firm.

"Your guess is as good as mine. he mutters, gesturing toward the shattered enclosure, "But to the business at hand. There was an attack last night. The scene was similar to this. Just…" he hesitates, his eyes narrowing. "Not goats."

The weight of his words hangs in the air, the unspoken truth gnawing at the edges of the conversation. After a beat, the officer straightens, focusing on Tammian. "It seems it came from the woods. And since we were headed this way, the Marquis asked that we check on this property and deliver this."

From within his cloak, he produces a leather scroll case and extends it toward Tammian. His gloved hand lingers for a moment as though hesitant to let go, before finally offering it completely. The officer releases the container, nodding curtly before turning back toward the assembled mob. "Stay safe.", the soldiers retreat, their heavy boots crunching the frozen ground. The younger soldier glances back nervously at the demolished enclosure before quickening his pace to catch up. The scarred veteran gives no such reaction, his gaze fixed firmly ahead.

The mob follows, their torches fading into the night as they march northward toward the edge of the Echo Woods. Their departure is as terse as their arrival, leaving only the cold silence behind.

Tamm takes the letter and watches as the mob and soldiers leave.

He conjures up a light to read the letter by. His own Halfling eyesight isn't all that much better than that of the Humans. Certainly not good enough to read well by just moonlight.

He reads through the letter, and walks over to the treeline where Aramil and Harper are. "Someone is impersonating me," he says with a frown as he hands over the letter so that they can read it too. "But," he says with a sharp grin, "that means you may be eating the good stuff here shortly."

Tammian partially shifts. His nose and mouth lengthening and growing large teeth, silver fur sprouting everywhere. "Let's go hunting. Something killed my goats. They're going to replace them with their own hide."

Aramil takes the letter and reads it over. "So we're playing detective now? That sounds like it could be fun." He passes the letter back to Tamm. Although. I'm not sure I like the marquis knowing about us. It could be fuel for extortion.

Tamm shrugs. "It's his funeral, I guess." He goes over to the goat enclosure again and sniffs around, trying to get a scent of who or what came by besides himself, and his goats.

"We will have to pick up the trail ourselves. Somewhere in the village. Probably best to not be seen doing it though."

Rolls needed?

Alright. Harper says after he finishes reading the letter. Lead the way, Tammian.

You collectively set out to investigate the demolished enclosure, the milky light of the waning moon casting long, eerie shadows across the landscape. The crisp chill of the night air bites at your skin, carrying with it the pungent, iron-heavy scent of blood. The enclosure is a gruesome scene: trampled mud mixed with gore stretches in every direction. The dismembered bodies of goats lie scattered like grotesque puzzle pieces, their forms barely recognizable. Only the occasional horned skull, half-sunk into the red-soaked muck, hints at their former identity. The overpowering stench of death makes it difficult to breathe.

The surrounding Echo Woods loom menacingly, their twisted branches silhouetted against the pale sky. A faint rustling echoes through the trees—whether from the night wind or something more sinister, it is impossible to say. The ground is littered with snapped wooden posts and torn wire, remnants of the enclosure, further evidence of the creature’s ferocity.

Finding any clues amidst the carnage is no small task. Each step squelches in the sodden earth as you comb through the destruction, your breaths fogging in the chill. After nearly thirty minutes of methodical searching, you uncover several unsettling pieces of evidence:

First, a series of deep footprints stand out in the mud. They resemble wolf tracks but are unnervingly large, each print spanning nearly twice the width of your hand. The sheer depth and size of the impressions suggest a creature weighing between 800 to 1,100 pounds. Whatever passed through here was not only enormous but moving with tremendous force.

On one of the splintered wooden posts, you find an unusual substance smeared across the jagged edge of a nail. It is not blood or mud, but a thick, oozy black ichor. A closer inspection reveals clumps of coarse, dark fur tangled in the nail. The substance exudes a faintly acrid scent, and the way it clings to the wood suggests it came from a deep wound—perhaps inflicted when the creature forced its way through the barrier.

Lastly, and most disturbingly, you notice that at least three of the goats appear to have been skinned—not with a blade, but in some unnatural manner. Their hides remain intact, but their bodies are hollow, as though their insides were consumed without any external slicing. The grotesque remains stand as chilling evidence of the creature's unnatural feeding habits, leaving you with more questions than answers.

Piecing it all together, you note the trail of tracks leading away from the homestead. The attackers seem to have originated from the direction of Deadbridge, stopping here to wreak havoc before continuing into the dense, foreboding treeline of the Echo Woods.

The scene is unnervingly quiet now, save for the occasional distant howl from the woods. The oppressive stillness weighs heavily, each discovery heightening the sense that this is only the beginning of something far darker.

Tamm holds up one of the empty goat skins. "Huh. Haven't seen that trick before." He tosses it aside.

"From the look of the prints, it seems like they came here after going through town. I thought it was the other way around." Tamm looks into the woods opposite where the townsfolk left. "So I guess we don't need to stop by town after all."

"Right." Aramil casts Mystic Armor on himself, just in case. "Those are certainly some eviscerated goats." He starts digging through the carnage, occasionally licking his lips at the blood scent.

After about half an hour he turns to his companions. "Hmm... I can't make heads or tails about any of this. So, where do we go from here?"

"So, where do we go from here?"

"Into the woods. The big one at least should be easy enough to track." Tamm heads that direction.

okay let's go kill a monster

Aramil folows along, behind Tammian "Ah. So you've found the trail? Fabulous."

You follow the faint trail into the Echo Woods, but the path grows harder to read with every step. The mob of men that came before you has trampled the forest floor, their boots scuffing and scattering the clawed, heavy footprints you’re trying to track. Torn earth and crushed leaves leave little to guide you, and frustration begins to settle in.

The sky darkens as thick clouds crawl over the moon, stealing the silver light that had lit your way. The canopy above looms heavy and oppressive, plunging the woods into deeper shadows. Without the moonlight, even Tammian’s sharp eyes and keen nose struggle to pick out details in the gloom.

A gust of wind carries the stench of the mob: sweat, burning pitch, and the acrid tang of fear. The overpowering smell drowns out the faint scent of the beast, making it nearly impossible to separate the trail from the chaos. Tendrils of mist curl low along the ground, swirling around your legs and swallowing the faint signs you’ve been chasing.

You come across scattered remnants of the mob's passage—discarded boots stuck in deep patches of mud, their leather streaked with muck and torn where the wearers must have wrestled free. A snapped pitchfork leans against a tree, its handle covered in handprints darkened with sweat and grime. It seems even the mob’s determination faltered in this terrain, their disarray adding to the mess of clues you’re trying to untangle.

The woods seem alive, shifting with unseen movements. Distant voices from the mob filter through the trees, warped and distorted by the thick undergrowth. The sound is both too close and too far away, making it impossible to judge their position. The noise drowns out the subtle rustling of animals or the crack of twigs, leaving only an eerie, disorienting quiet in its wake.

You’re faced with a choice: press on blindly, risking losing the trail entirely, or slow your pace, trusting instinct to guide you. As you hesitate, the forest seems to hold its breath, its darkened paths full of hidden secrets waiting to be uncovered—or unleashed.

If you are following the trail, I would like each of you to do either a perception, survival, or nature roll. One roll per player, and each of these could provide different clues.

There is also another decision to make. Clearly, the men from Deadbridge are at least partially ruining the tracks you found back at your home. So the question is whether you would like to follow them (if they even are on the right track), overtake them, or even join up with them.

Survival: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (1) + 12 = 13

Tamm grumbles as they follow the trail. "Feels more like I am just following the mob than following the attackers. I haven't seen any signs from anything other than these villagers since we left the house."

perseption: 1d20 + 15 ⇒ (12) + 15 = 27
"I'll see what I can find." Harper says. Then he begins looking around.

Perception: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (18) + 10 = 28

"I think I see something." Aramil points out some tracks. "You're right, Tamm. The big guy is a lot easier to trail once you point him out."

"OK. Let's see if we can get ahead of this other troop tromping through the forest. We'll try to pick up the trail again once we have some fresh tracks."

"Quick and quiet. Let's go."

As you trudge deeper into the forest, following the uneven trail left by the mob, you begin to notice something unsettling: fewer figures move in the group ahead. You count, recount, and confirm—three or four men seem to have vanished. Their absence gnaws at your instincts, a whisper of danger carried on the cold wind.

The realization is compounded when your surroundings come into sharper focus. What you first thought to be strands of moss, frost, or snow clinging to trees and the forest floor reveals itself to be something far more sinister: spider silk. The threads glisten faintly in the dim light, stretching between branches, looping around trunks, and trailing through the underbrush. Above your heads, the strands form a gossamer canopy that seems to thrum faintly with tension, a silent warning from the forest itself.

Looking closer, the silk appears dense in places, thick enough to suggest more than a passing presence. A strand trails across the ground, taut and sticky, faintly trembling with some unseen movement. Whatever spun this web is large, patient, and very much alive.

At the edge of the mob, the answer to the missing men becomes grotesquely clear. A man struggles as his foot sticks to an invisible strand stretched across the ground. Before he can react, the air around him seems to ripple, and six skeletal legs materialize out of nothingness, encircling his torso with deadly precision. He vanishes in an instant, leaving behind only a boot sucked free in the struggle and a torch that hisses in the mud as its flame dies.

Did you see that? Harper whispers something's picking them off. And I don't think it's picky.

"Mmmm?" Tamm answers. "No. See what?"

"Picking them off, huh. You are good at grabbing things. Let's go grab it the next time it tries that."

Tamm shifts back to halfling form and sneaks into the torchlight of the villagers.

Seeing if I get backup from the others before doing anything stupid provocative.

Harper follows Tammian.

"Normally I would avoid the giant spider's lair."

Aramil trails behind Tammian, just out of the torchlight. "Do try to avoid the silk string."

Stealth: 1d20 + 15 ⇒ (13) + 15 = 28

"Do try to avoid the silk string."

"That would take all the fun out of it."

"Harper, you are good at grabbing things," Tamm comments while getting his shield set and gripped properly. "Grab that spider when it shows up."

Tamm sneaks up to just behind the trailing members of the town mob and stomps on the next web tripwire that he can find.

"Oh? I suppose that works as well." Aramil gets ready to blast a spider when it shows up.

With the crowd ahead of you being seemingly oblivious to the happenings behind them, Tammian slams his foot on the silvery thread on the floor. In an instant, a large arachnid appears in a puff of ethereal strands and attempts to wrap its feet around the halfling.

OKay, this could be quite interesting. Tammian, I will need a fortitude save, please.

At the same time, two bipedal creatures with talons on their feet, set of six eyes on their face, and a single two-foot claw on each hand climb down from the surrounding trees. They do not make a sound, and keep moving along the silvery webbing on the trunks in what seems like an attempt to surround you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~Arachnid Ambush~~
Turn 1

Conditions: Due to thick webbing and roots, all of the map is considered difficult terrain.

Tammil - Need a Fort save
Aramil
Spider
Bipeds
Harper

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fortitude: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (13) + 10 = 23

"OK. Let's dance." Tammian brings his shield up to ward away any further attacks, and casts a couple quick spells.

One hardens his own body. The other draws energy from this spider.

◆ Raise Shield, ◆ Armor of Bones, ◆ Soul Siphon

Soul Siphon: Basic fortitude save vs 4d4 void damage, with some Drained condition on failure results. Tamm +temp HP equal to the HP lost.
Void damage: 4d4 ⇒ (3, 3, 2, 3) = 11

Armor of Bones: resistance 4 to cold, electricity, fire, piercing, and slashing damage.

Aramil blasts the spider. Then raises a shield of his own.

"So our spider brought friends. All the more fun for us to play with, right?."

Force Barrage ◆◆, Shield ◆

Fort vs Soul Siphon DC 15: 1d20 + 14 ⇒ (19) + 14 = 33

Your DC is only 15? That doesn't sound right. Please double check. TY!

The spider wraps its legs around Tammian before being attacked by Tammian's life-draining magics. And as he does, Aramil and Harper see the spider whisk Tammian away -somewhere- in a puff of ether.

Tammian, on the other hand, blinks and finds himself in the same forest, but with the mist encroaching in an even more aggressive manner. He does see his companions, but it's as if watching clouds of smoke in their shape. Their familiar contours are there, they move, but they make no sound. There is, however, the threat of the spider wrapped around Tammian's torso. The spider hisses menacingly and attempts to bite while maintaining its hold, but the Tammian blocks the mandibles with his shield.

Fangs: 1d20 + 17 ⇒ (7) + 17 = 241d10 + 9 ⇒ (1) + 9 = 10 I think the shield give you a +2, so that should be a miss.

Meanwhile, back in the forest, the bipeds scuttle along the webbing with the grace of its maker, and move to attack Amaril and Harper, approaching with their fangs bared.

Biped, Amaril: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (16) + 13 = 291d8 + 8 ⇒ (1) + 8 = 9
Biped, Harper: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (16) + 13 = 291d8 + 8 ⇒ (8) + 8 = 16

Amaril, do you want to use shield block as a reaction?

They bit into you, one each, and you feel the burn of the wound as they inject something through their incisors.

I will need a fortitude saving throw from both, please.

~~Arachnid Ambush~~
Turn 1+2

Conditions: Due to thick webbing and roots, all of the map is considered difficult terrain.

Tammil
Aramil / -14 HP - Need a Fortitude save roll
Spider / -16 HP
Bipeds
Harper - -16 HP - Need a Fortitude save roll

Aramil watches in shock as the spider vanishes with his companion. "Crap! Where'd the spider go with Tamm?"

Yeah, I'll use shield block now.

He then readies himself as one of the bipeds scuttles toward him Rrgh. I guess we can't worry about that now. We'll need to rescue ourselves first."

He directs his shield to absorb the hit. The spell fizzles out as a result.

fortitude: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (19) + 10 = 29

fort: 1d20 + 15 ⇒ (2) + 15 = 17
Harper draws his sword and trys to grab the thing that bit him
First action. Draw sword
Second action. Combat grab on the thing that just bit him.
Combat grab ■

commandgrab: 1d20 + 17 ⇒ (19) + 17 = 36
If that works 4 damage.

I'll decide what to do based off if I grab the enemy or not

Tamm keeps his shield between him and the fangs of this strange spider. "Put this thing back where you found me or so help you..." he mumbles to himself as he looks around and pulls out his staff.

◆ Raise Shield, ◆ Recall Knowledge on the area (plane), ◆ Draw weapon

Just roll the relevant Recall Knowledge skill for me. It is easier for me that way than to guess which one is right.

On a success.
Bite attackroll: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (9) + 12 = 21
damage: 1d8 + 4 ⇒ (3) + 4 = 7

On failure.
Sword attack attackroll: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (8) + 13 = 21
damage: 2d8 + 7 ⇒ (6, 8) + 7 = 21

Aramil tries to step away from the thing next to him, but his foot is caught in the webbing. Instead he fires off another force bolt at point blank range.

"Move it Harper, they've got you surrounded." He casts a spell at Harper, causing his body to go into overdrive.

◆ Force Bolt: The target automatically takes 2d4+2 damage.
Force Bolt: 2d4 + 2 ⇒ (4, 4) + 2 = 10

◆◆ Haste: For the next minute Harper has an extra action that he can use to stride or strike.

Harper, you can't really do combat grab as your first attack, since it has the Press trait.

Actions with this trait allow you to follow up earlier attacks. An action with the press trait can be used only if you are currently affected by a multiple attack penalty. You can’t use a press action when it’s not your turn, even if you use the Ready activity.

Some actions with the press trait also grant an effect on a failure. The effects that are added on a failure don’t apply on a critical failure. If your press action succeeds, you can choose to apply the failure effect instead. (For example, you may wish to do this when an attack deals no damage due to resistance.)

I'll let it slide for now, but for future reference, it is a follow up attack. Also, why just 4 damage on combat grab? That's a regular attack roll your damage for the attack. Either sword, claw or bite. The follow up is a hit as well. Roll damage for combat grab and I will add them up after.

damage: 1d4 + 4 ⇒ (2) + 4 = 6

Aramil's shield breaks but negates the damage completely. No idea why I gave you 14 damage previously. Must have been a mindfart. So 0, since the shield has a hardness of 10 and that is more than the actual damage dealt. Then he weaves two spells into existence, once to boost Harper and one to pummel Edward Clawhands standing nearby.

Harper, pulls out his blade and strikes the other biped and puts the other biped into a rear naked choke as the creature thrashes to set itself free. He also takes a nice bite out of the creature, but the inside of his veins thrum with poison.

Poison Damage: 1d6 ⇒ 4

Harper will take 4 poison damage and be off-guard for one round.

Tammian, the mists around you coalesce into shapes similar to humanoids. While they don't seem to interfere at this point, they seem to be watching you in eerie silence as you battle the spider. This is definitely the ethereal plane - a realm that overlaps all inner planes of existence and is sometimes used to travel between them.

You may ask me two questions about the place, which I will answer to the best of my ability.

The spider, however, continues the attempts to strike you as it hisses aggressively.

◆ Strike, ◆ Grab,

Fangs: 1d20 + 17 ⇒ (18) + 17 = 35
1d10 + 2 + 7 ⇒ (10) + 2 + 7 = 19

Grab, Athletics: 1d20 + 14 ⇒ (1) + 14 = 15

Since that is a crit fail, you can choose between having it grappled instead or throwing it on the ground prone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Meanwhile, on the material plane, the bipedal creature in Harper's rear choke struggles to break free, hissing and screeching for air.

Escape, Athletics vs DC 26: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (11) + 11 = 22
Escape, Athletics vs DC 26 MAP-4: 1d20 + 11 - 4 ⇒ (15) + 11 - 4 = 22
Escape, Athletics vs DC 26 MAP-8: 1d20 + 11 - 8 ⇒ (12) + 11 - 8 = 15

The other creature attempts to help by wildly slashing into Harper. One dripping incisor bite and two slashes with its massive claws.

Bite: 1d20 + 13 + 2 ⇒ (14) + 13 + 2 = 291d8 + 2 + 6 ⇒ (7) + 2 + 6 = 15 + poison
Claw: 1d20 + 13 - 4 + 2 ⇒ (1) + 13 - 4 + 2 = 121d8 + 2 + 6 ⇒ (6) + 2 + 6 = 14
Claw: 1d20 + 13 - 8 + 2 ⇒ (1) + 13 - 8 + 2 = 81d8 + 2 + 6 ⇒ (6) + 2 + 6 = 14

But only strikes once. Again, the poisons burn your flesh as it bites into you.

Waiting for Tammian to pick between grappling the creature or forcing it to land prone, then the spider will have 1 more action depending on what Tammian decides, and you will go afterwards.

~~Arachnid Ambush~~
Turn 2+3

Conditions: Due to thick webbing and roots, all of the map is considered difficult terrain.

Tammian / -38 HP
Aramil
Spider / -21 HP / 1 action remaining
Biped 1 / -10 HP
Biped 2 / -23 HP, grabbed
Harper / -20 HP, off-guard, quickened until end of round 12 - Need a Fortitude Save again. TY.

After being tossed to the floor after a failed attempt to grab Tammian, the spider stands up with its last action.

~~Arachnid Ambush~~
Turn 2+3

Conditions: Due to thick webbing and roots, all of the map is considered difficult terrain.

Tammian / -38 HP
Aramil
Spider / -21 HP
Biped 1 / -10 HP
Biped 2 / -23 HP, grabbed
Harper / -20 HP, off-guard, quickened until end of round 12 - Need a Fortitude Save again. TY.

You're all up

Tammian looks nervously at the vague humanoid apparitions starting to gather. Enough so that he nearly misses noticing the spider grabbing at him. He moves instinctively and finds that he is strangely almost weightless here. He blocks the spider's bite with his shield, and with the instinctive thoughts brought on by being attacked by an enormous spider, he quickly repositions himself and shoves back against the spider.

"Definitely the ethereal plane," he grumbles to himself. "Wonderful." He looks back and forth between the spider standing back up again and the phantoms staring back at him.

How long can I survive the environment (aside from the creatures trying to kill me)? Do I know any ways of returning myself to the primary plane?

With shield raised, my AC would be 25. Also using shield block to drop damage by 7 points. And have resistance 4 to piercing and slashing. Oh, and the Temp HP from previous spell, which I don't remember the amount of.

fort: 1d20 + 15 ⇒ (1) + 15 = 16

Harper attempts to bite the biped he grabbed, and then let's go of it so he can use his extra action to stride so he is flanking biped 1 with Aramil he then attempts to slash it and then assumes a defensive posture.

Action 1 bite
attackroll: 1d20 + 17 ⇒ (14) + 17 = 31
damage: 1d8 + 7 ⇒ (8) + 7 = 15

Bonus action stride to across biped 1 from Aramil

Action 2 sword attack
attackroll: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (10) + 13 = 23
damage: 2d8 + 7 ⇒ (1, 8) + 7 = 16

Action 3 dueling parry

Use hero point
fort: 1d20 + 15 ⇒ (5) + 15 = 20