[Introduction] Prologue: Sojourning in the Swamp

[AlphaZ]

Alessa Eyes fading back into their normal (yet unusual) red, Alessa seems to shrink as she returns to reality. Hurriedly she picks up her knife, eyeing the elf warily as she moves to the hall behind him. Bastien finished the job unexpected with the sacrifice of a mop, eliciting a conflicted grin from the carnival girl. She looks down on the slumpen form of the hag and the stress that had tensed her being so long she'd forgotten it wasn't part of her began to melt out through her limbs and well up in her eyes. "Are you the one who was after me?" She wonders, equal parts afraid and desperate to hope. But it seems... off. Had she really been here for her? Such thoughts are hardly born before they're shoved violently under the floorboards by Elovhen's absurd request. "I absolutely won't!" She protests incredulously. He's trying to save it?? She knew he was addled by something, but surely he didn't still have some kind of romantic intentions with this monster. Did he not understand? Part of her starts to well up with magic again, ready to end this once and for all. But there would be no hiding it this time, here in front of Bastien. She holds it down, trapped in her stomach, and pushes past the mad elf. If he wants to save this thing, she will be far away when he does. Far away from this cursed place full of traps and wizards and evil and fools. Far away from everything. "Bastien!" She calls, already moving towards the bar and grabbing her sack. But there is the fey with it's own sack. "What do you have?" She asks timidly, afraid of the answer. "Maybe this isn't over yet..."   HP: 10/10, AC: 12, Saves: -1/2/2/1/2/6 Spells [1/1], Misty Step [1/1], Wild talent [d6/1] Action: none Bonus Action: none Notes: Conditions: none Hands: daggers and sack

[DaniLore]

Results

Guests of the Muck Palace Reminded that the Half-hand is first and foremost a stranger to these lands, Pepin does his best to answer his questions that, to him, seem rather mundane. translated as "My Mother"Mon Mere is in reference to his Mother, so very near and dear. Vhoodans are practitioners of the Vhoodoo faith. The Souragniens of the swamp worship the Loa as deities, though only a select few are granted the power to communicate with them. Eager to pry more information out of the tight-lipped frog, Heim pelted Beem with a flurry of questions. "Tell us more of Big Tuktuk, Beem. What is he? A Bullywug like you? A two-legs? He treat ya well? Think he would heal our friend who's sick with the deadfire blot thing? How should we talk to th' guy?" Blinking absentmindedly, their guide's gullet tremulously undulated back and forth whilst in thought. "Gwaa! Tings were better with Lord Bipluploop, fleshy legs gave us foods and we had round bellies. TukTuk has biggest belly now...Tuktuk no like bad joojoo, but you have da good stuff, so all should be fine..." Saying this softly, soothing his own doubts perhaps, Beem dove under the water again, to guide their lilypad toward the ramshackle ruin. Meek and silent until this, Lena held onto Ida's arm, a smidge unsettled to say the least. "Where are the people?Où sont les gens?" Raising a brow, that fact seemed to be gnawing at Pepin as well. "Hmm. The Billy Bog has always been an important trading post in the South, though, clearly things have changed since my Papa's day...Lena is right, there should be swamp folk here as well, no? I wonder, did Monsieur Chickenbone turn zhem all away?" Exchanging a few words with each other, Pepin's frown only deepened. "Lena is concerned for her brother, Marcel...this place is far from what I expected, honestly. Don't you feel it? The way they stare at us, you would think we are dead men walking--o-or floating!" Indeed, amid an eerie calm, wide stares, black and bulbous, watched the strangers slowly drift by, following their inevitable trajectory. Then, the moment passes, as Beem reemerged with a gasp. Again, the air is rife with the chorus of croaks and the cheerful buzz of insects. The battle song of the swift dragonfly and ravenous mosquito. Hastily climbing back onto the lilypad, it's only a matter of time before they reach the fort's embankment. Ahead of them, the fort was abuzz like a hornet's nest, as shrill horns crying from the parapets spurred a gathering throng of curious guards, clad in old shabby helmets and armor far too loose for their flimsy frames. A hodgepodge of guards bumble from the dark recesses, forming a clumsy line, carrying sharp fishing spears in their webbed hands. Smaller, much swifter bullywugs scrambled behind the scenes, dropping their nets and hurrying about their tasks now that it appeared there were guests on the way. Bouncing back onto his gangly legs, Beem snatched up the bag of macabre toys and puffed out his chest, as he would have the illustrious honor of introducing them to the grandiose Lord of Muck. "Gwa-ha! Look, they all come to say hi! You can trust Beem! Beem will do the talky-talk!" OOC Can you trust Beem? Should you let him do the talky-talk? Here's one last round to pry for info!

Out of the Bag Reduced to a bloody and broken heap at his feet, Bastien stares at the felled hag with ruffled uncertainty as Bouki's furry lips rhythmically munch away, stripping more meat off the bone. With the foe summarily down, the white horror proceeded to furiously thump the floorboards with her foot, signaling their victory to any and all that can decipher bunny-womps. "Is she dead?Est-elle morte ?" Leaving the accursed doll, for the moment, in Ptolemew's expert paws, Elovhen hastened to the narrow corridor to check on the hag's status--to gauge whether she can be of use, obviously. "Well she's not going to last long. I think Solene will be eager to get some answers out of that thing. Bastien can you go and keep an eye on Longears? He's carrying something very important." "Oui..." Eager to put some space between the monster and himself, dead or not, Bastien wastes no time squeezing his muscled frame back through the kitchen's door. As for Bouki, she ambled over the broken hag with a wet squish, with mind to rejoin her furry, far less violent, counterpart. Spurning Elovhen's request for bandages, and not wanting to raise suspicions, Alessa follows suite, quick to leave the incident behind her, brushing aside the dreadful rear of paranoia as she tried to focus on something else. Outside, Alessa found Bastien sitting at the bar, staring down the bottom of his glass. A goofy smile rises at the sight of Alessa, mixed with relief as well to see her unharmed. The oaf is not so happy to see Bouki, however, blood smattered and waving about the hag's arm like a half-masticated scepter. In good spirits, Bouki waddled over to her brother and playfully prodded him with Bertnsella's limb, inciting a clumsy swat. As wholesome as their reunion was, Alessa's gaze honed onto the bag in the grey Loa's arms. "What do you have?" Eyeing Alessa with her dagger-red gaze, Bouki gave her a warning thump for even daring to bring up the sack in the first place, but LongEars didn't shy away. Deciding that she could be trusted, the droopy-eared Loa checked the surrounding commons with a glance before edging a step closer to one of the tables. Gently placing the burlap sack onto its side, something clearly bucked and struggled within. The Loa's rat-like fingers clawed at the tie, loosening it just enough for something smell to squeeze through. As one would expect, the creature inside popped its head out to have a look. A long, slender pair of ears perk at the sight of Alessa as she is met with round, glassy green eyes. The narrow face of a brown-tufted hare pokes from the bag, before pushing free of the sack entirely. Longears looks on with worry, fidgeting as he peered around for possible threats. The sound of footsteps draws the Loa's focus, as a figure begins to descend the stairs. Wearing a flat expression, a familiar face slowly made her way down from the second floor. "How curious...did you hear all that commotion?" Her chipper tone somewhat subdued, Gennifer's focus appeared aloft elsewhere. "It seems to have ended...oh bother, we really mustn't be disturbed." Turning to face the door, Gennifer walked out onto the porch. Raising from his seat at the bar, Bastien lumbered to Alessa's side. Furrowing his bushy brows, the giant squinted at the bunny, unsure what to make of it. "It looks funnyÇa a l'air drôle..."

Only in Souragne: Round 2 Tearing into the familiar's hide with beastly tenacity, devoid of mercy it would seem, Beob thrust his gauntlet into Grisselgall's warm innards and proceeded to bathe in his blood. Smearing it across his face, the bandages of his arms and chest dyed and drenched a bright crimson, Beob reveled in the primal urge to hack, slash, and rend. Yet, this curious madness fueled by bloodlust quelled as quickly as it was born...coming to as one would wake from a stuporous dream. Covered in blood, bile, and black ickor, fear took root, seeing as there were others witness to this uncivilized behavior. Compatriots. Newfound friends. They all face this threat together. This obstacle in their way. ”Sara! Theo LeGrange! Look out - it’s that toad… It looks wounded!” Truly, that was an understatement if there ever was. Slumping to the ground on the brink of death, regurgitating up a stream of bloody juices, the cutting sting of Beob's sword had burrowed to the familiar's very core. Aware of the encroaching cold from his massive internal injuries, the Toad's bulging eyes rolled back as it vainly urped a dreary croak, finding this outcome so very hard to accept. Truly, it was the sting of failure! Master had promised such sweet, tender morsels, free for the devouring! Had Master succeeded, he would've swallowed them down one by one whilst they blissfully slumbered. Yet, infuriatingly, there were naught but pests to be found at this place, nasty, mean, and foul tasting! Pests with teeth, swinging their sharp little sticks! Look what a mess they've made of Grisselgall! "Yes, friend. You did well. But the frog is unimportant...Tis that hag inside we want!" Having wasted enough time on this riff raff, Kosara marched up to the quivering mass of gelatinous toad and promptly whacked it between the eyes, ending the familiar's wretched existence with a squishy, heavy splat. With more pressing matters to attend to, the witch's patience had all but reached it's end. There's a hag somewhere nearby, that's for certain! No doubt, holed up in this rickety old tavern! Overcome with relief, Theo flashed a broad smile at the paladin, truly filled with admiration. "Never have I seen one so ferocious with a blade, truly you are a blessing in disguise, mon ami!" Glancing back at the witch, Theo paused, wondering what Fate had in store for them. "If a hag awaits us inside, best we be on guard...but I only know of one hag in Souragne." Leaving the carcass where it lay as you quickly approach the tavern, it's very foundation appears to totter on stilts over the dark shallows of a pond. A flimsy walkway leads to a porch, and from atop a wooden post you hear the unpleasant creak of a lopsided sign swaying in the breeze. It reads: Vespers Last Call. Scrawled below it, presumably with a knife, No Blots. Just as the trio reach the stair to the porch, the front door opens with a loud clack as a young woman smoothly steps out to greet you. Youthful with wavy brown hair, keenly she places herself in front of you, resting a gloved hand upon the hilt of a silvered rapier. Basking in the shadows, the corners of her mouth lift ever slightly as a hawkish gaze skewers the strangers, so very late to the party...taking note of their complete and utter oddness as well, splattered with so much blood and muck. "Can I help you? Sadly, we are closed for the night..." OOC   Friends HP AC Conditions Beob 13/13 18 --- Kosara 9/9 13 --- Theo 26/26 15 --- ? ? ? --- Foes Ini AC Conditions Monster Toad 6 14 -64dmg, disadvantage, DEAD Status: Offensive Combat Order: Party --> NPC --> Foe OOC: Congrats on a flawless victory! Oh fractious day!

Unfinished Business Face to face with a new obstacles, though far less imposing than a dark wizard or a dough-filled wish-beast...Understandably, Haas didn't want to take any chances. Who knows where this might lead? Readying his sword, the wildling slowly edged away from the group, moving to flank...careful to not make any sudden moves, though strategizing should be fair game. "What's the play? Looks like a Nox Regni to me. One that needs to be reminded of its not-aliveness, however... violence might awaken others and create more delays." Frozen, Larissa scowled at the despicable thing before them...inundated with past haunts. She could feel Nikol's earnest glance and hear his inquiry. "A puppet?" Stricken with disbelief, Larissa lost focus. "This is far worse than I imagined...how is this possible?" Seething, there was no doubt about it. Pommeled by uncertainty, she could hardly believe her eyes. Gods, what have you done? Holding out his pistol, uncomfortable insights left Odie with a hell of a bad aftertaste. Itching to pull the trigger and blow this blight back to the Mists, Stefan took the initiative--postponing the gunman's violent escapades, at least momentarily. “Hold fast, everyone...But be ready.” Stepping forward, Stefan boldly called out to accursed thing. “What do you want?” "To maim us, I would gather...but perhaps a punchline is forthcoming." "Evil surrounds us." Ler warned, his voice weighing heavy with dread. In all his years, he had never felt such evil...strangely enough, aside from one measly skel, there were no enemies in sight. Elias had his shield at the ready, with Laurie watching their flank. The echo of Stefan's voice carried across the lonesome glen. After a long pause, the smoldering blue cinder glaring back seemed to bristle with sentience. Jangling one limb after another, the moss-addled skeleton then made a deep flourishing bow, ending with a suave hand extended to the Captain. Taken aback by the skel's garish display, a bitter laugh exhaled from Larissa. "You vile abomination, I won't grant you the satisfaction!" Her voice shaking with ire, Larissa's stoic face cracked with pure, unmitigated loathing and disgust. A lifetime worth of pain leapt to the surface, incited without a word. "No more games. No more gambles with lives but yours and mine!" Unsheathing her sword, Larissa leveled the weapon at the undead creature before them. "No longer am I that same witless girl, fooled by a serpent's tongue! She died on the La Demoiselle du Musarde!"

[Humble Athena]

Nikol Nik clicked his tongue. "I was wrong." He commented, glancing back towards the macabre figure in their path. "That isn't just a puppet; it's a distraction. Just end the wretched thing." He pointed up towards the more distant stream of lights. "I don't know what those are, but I'm fairly certain that the puppetmaster has something more interesting planned."

[ArcZero]

Character Elovhen "Quasid" Nenlith Level 1 Wizard AC: 17,HP: 7/7,PP: 11

Armor, Saves and Skills SAVES STR -1 DEX +4 CON +1 INT +6 WIS +3 CHA +2 SKILLS Arcana +6, Deception +4, History +6, Persuasion +4, Sleight of Hand +6 No Armor Currently Attacks and Ongoing Effects WEAPONS Dagger (Main Hand) +6 to hit, 1d4+4 piercing damage Dagger (Off-Hand) +6 to hit, 1d4 piercing damage *Dual Wielding largely doesn't complicate spellcasting due to War Caster BOONS Mage Armor BANES Spells (Italics are prepared choices) Cantrips Booming Blade, Mage Hand, Minor Illusion 1st Level Spells 0/2 Available Shield, Mage Armor, Find Familiar, Silent Image, Id Insinuation, Protection from Good and Evil Abilities Arcane Recovery 1/1 Available Read Minds 0/2 Available Darkvision 60 feet, Telepathy 60 feet Spellcasting, Devour Minds, War Caster (1st level feat), False Identity, Symbiotic Being (Undercommon and Deep Speech, Persuasion Proficiency)

Links Half-Illithid, Half-Elf Race Build Your Own Bladesong Bladesinger

Soothsayer Surgeon II Elovhen, Midjourney Bouki chomps and Bastien stomps, but it is Alessa's refusal that leaves the elf whomped. With a befuddled palm in the air, he's about to say, "I'm trying to save a life here," but he... isn't. It is just information that may help them and give Solene some closure or vengeance. Who is to say what will become of her after that? Thus, he deflatedly lets her go without a word. The corridor clears blessedly quickly and he tries to stymie the bleeding. Ptolemew's dainty head dips into the hallway, a look of concern on her brow. If he considers the recent events for too long, he may have another episode, so he looks away and gets to work. Bandages do little, but he's nowhere near done applying them. Perhaps a tourniquet on each arm? A simple strip of cloth and a stick to twist, then affix. It is a new medical practice that he'd learned at the medical salon in Lamordia. Or atleast that's the balderdash that he will tell the others if it comes to light. Ptolemew When he looks back up, he catches Ptolemew's gaze again. She looks curious but... compassionate? The elf gets to his feet to fetch a pair of spoons from the kitchen to use as his makeshift tourniquet levers. The cat follows his movement all the way back down the hallway. Just as she begins to speak telepathically, <Mas-> Elovhen speaks out loud to interrupt. He says brusquely, "We've been over this, Ptolemew. I'm not doing it." He's worked very hard to regain his body and he's not going to go throwing that away so easily. The cat continues to look placidly at him, like she knows better than him what he needs. So Elovhen adds, "No. Nope, no. No." To add emphasis, Elovhen Minor Illusionsnaps a finger and waves his left hand while applying pressure with his right. An illusory medical curtain pops up in front of him, obscuring him from view by any down the hallway. Not particularly happy to beat away his own companion like this, he lets out a huff of air and says, "There, peace. Focus." The crestfallen cat waits for a dozen moments of silence and medical aid to pass between them before adding, <Thou knowest OOC: Old English version of "I".ic canne still speaketh to thee.> Elovhen roars back with an audible, "Oh bugger off!" Given everything that has unfolded, Elovhen cannot engage with the hag's blood loss without considering the magic at work. His mind clear as can be, he tepidly OOC: Dani advised me that it would be a Wisdom save. Dice Wisdom save: 1d20+3 (19)+3 Total = 22 tries to access that strange well of knowledge in his head. Normally his entire head is a murky mass of thoughts from unknown origins, but his current clarity makes it feel different than normal. It is more like going from a brightly lit room that is resplendently clean to a dark, rickety hallway with half the building torn away as the result of a great storm perhaps. Puddles of brackish water, floorboards squelching with water damage. Not a pleasant sensation, so he hopes to find what he came for and leave this part of his mind. Are there any magical malladies harming the hag? A different way that he should bandage magical wounds from eldritch blasts and sonic magic? How can he possibly manage the dozen stab wounds?

[MoldyNolds]

Haas There were still many pieces missing to the puzzle in Haas' mind. Too many to make out the fine details of the situation. Who or what Misroi was and its relation to Larissa...? Unclear. Why it seemed to be asking her to dance...? Unclear. The true nature of those lights that seem to have been present for most of their journey through the swamp? Unclear. But Haas could see enough of the picture to name his next target. Larissa and Nikol regarded it with open hostility and no one else, save perhaps Stefan, seemed to be giving it the benefit of the doubt. "That isn't just a puppet; it's a distraction. Just end the wretched thing." That was all the direction Haas needed. Springing from the skeleton's flank, gigantic cleaver still held down and to one side, the blood hunter charged headlong to engage it! Gathering the whispering madness in his mind, he summoned the will to Spirit Whispers: You learn the Message cantrip if you don't already know it, and require no components to cast it. When you cast the spell, the messages are delivered by one of your whispering spirits rather than you or the target's voice. Your spellcasting ability for this spell is Wisdom (your choice when you gain this Dark Gift).direct the voices into whatever mind lay inside that blue flame... "Whoever you are, this pack will not be manipulated!" "They will track their prey and no force in this Dread Realm or the next will stop them!" "Stay out of their way or suffer the wrath of the Blood Hunter!" Hoping his Whispers would intimidate, or at the very least distract, Haas closed the distance as quickly as possible. Swinging the blade in an upward arc he brought it across his body, hoping to cleave the mossy undead through its midsection! At the end of its arc he switched dominant hands and twirled the blade, now holding it up over the left side of his head, ready to make the same cut in the opposite direction.

Mechanics Haas charges the skeleton, intending to attack! Haas casts Message into the mind behind the blue flame... if there is one! Greatsword Attack: 22 to-hit for 8 damage!

Haas, Level 1 Human Blood Hunter Character Sheet Link Hit Points: 15/15 | d10Hit Dice: 1/1 | AC: While wearing scale mail armor.16 | Speed: 30 feet | Hemocraft DC: 13 | Hemocraft Die: d4 Proficiency Bonus: +2 | Initiative: +2 | Passive Skills: Perception (13) | Investigation (11) | Insight (15) Effects: Consuming the bread demon +2 modifier on Survival checks vs tracking outsiders and aberrations.Dread Die Features & Traits: Haunted One Background Those who look into your eyes can see that you have faced unimaginable horror and that you are no stranger to darkness. Though they might fear you, commoners will extend you every courtesy and do their utmost to help you. Unless you have shown yourself to be a danger to them, they will even take up arms to fight alongside you, should you find yourself facing an enemy alone.Heart of Darkness | You have advantage on Wisdom (Perception) checks that rely on smell.Keen Smell | You have advantage on Wisdom (Survival) checks to track fey, fiends, or undead, as well as on Intelligence checks to recall information about such creatures.Hunter's Bane | You know one blood curse of your choice, detailed in the “Blood Curses” section at the end of the class description. You learn one additional blood curse of your choice at 6th, 10th, 14th, and 18th level. Each time you learn a new blood curse, you can also choose one of the blood curses you know and replace it with another blood curse. Each time you use your Blood Maledict feature, you choose which curse to invoke from the curses you know. While invoking a blood curse, but before it affects the target, you can choose to amplify the curse by taking necrotic damage equal to one roll of your hemocraft die. This damage can’t be reduced in any way. An amplified curse gains an additional effect, noted in the curse’s description. Creatures that do not have blood are immune to blood curses unless you have amplified the curse. Once you use this feature, you must finish a short or long rest before you can use it again. You can use Blood Maledict twice between rests starting at 6th level, three times starting at 13th level, and four times starting at 17th level.Blood Maledict: 1/1 | Blood Curses: As a bonus action, you mark a creature that you can see within 30 feet of you. Until the end of your turn, whenever you hit the cursed creature with a weapon for which you have an active crimson rite, you roll an additional hemocraft die when determining the extra damage from the rite. Amplify. The next attack roll you make against the target before the end of your turn has advantage.Curse of the Marked | Feats: Your hit point maximum increases by an amount equal to twice your level when you gain this feat. Whenever you gain a level thereafter, your hit point maximum increases by an additional 2 hit points.Tough | Dark Gifts: You are haunted by spiritual beings, whether the souls of the departed or entities from another plane. Their voices endlessly whisper, taunt, or cajole, sometimes rising to unearthly howls. Only you can perceive the spirits, unless you allow them to speak through you. The spirits are intangible and invisible; anyone who can see invisible creatures sees only fleeting glimpses of these spirits as they haunt you. Spirit Whispers: You learn the Message cantrip if you don't already know it, and require no components to cast it. When you cast the spell, the messages are delivered by one of your whispering spirits rather than you or the target's voice. Your spellcasting ability for this spell is Wisdom (your choice when you gain this Dark Gift). Sudden Cacophony (1/1): When you are hit by an attack roll, you can use your reaction to channel your haunting spirits, letting their voices howl through you. If the attacker isn't deafened, add your proficiency bonus to your AC against that attack, potentially causing it to miss. Once this trait causes an attack to miss, you can't use the trait again until you finish a long rest. Voices from Beyond (1/1): Immediately after you make an attack roll, an ability check, or a saving throw and roll a 1 on the d20, the haunting voices grow too loud to ignore. Roll on the Voices from Beyond table to determine the effect of these voices. Once one of these effects occurs, none of these haunting voices manifest again until you finish a short or long rest. You have disadvantage on the next attack roll, ability check, or saving throw you make. You are deafened by the voices for 1 minute. You are frightened of the creature closest to you, other than yourself, until the end of your next turn. If multiple creatures are closest, the DM chooses which creature you are frightened of. Within the next 10 minutes, you can ask your spirits about the results of a specific course of action that you plan to take within the next 30 minutes. You can receive an omen as if you had cast the Augury spell. The omen manifests as whisperings from your spirits perceptible only to you. Gathering Whispers Gear: +5 to-hit | 2d6+3 slashing damage Martial, Heavy, Two-handedGreatsword | +3 to-hit | 1d8+1 piercing damage | Range: 80/320 Simple, Ammunition, Loading, Two-handedLight Crossbow | Medium Armor | AC +4 | Disadvantage on Stealh checksScale Mail | "It's the only thing left that ties me to wherever I came from... from... before." After a moment, he clarified. "My coat. Underclothes ripped to shreds. Boots were boiled down to fill my belly. Weapons and provisions I scavenged when and where I could in the Gravelands. But this coat..." Looking down, he took a moment to appraise it himself. It was obvious the coat was quite fine, at one time. Tailored from the midnight black leather of an unknown animal, much of it surprisingly remained blemish-free. The seams at the epaulets had begun separate; the thread appeared to have been clumsily replaced with sinew. The edges of the collar and lapel had worn smooth and frayed in spots. There was a makeshift belt wrapped around his left arm at the elbow where it appeared the sleeve was barely attached anymore. But the leather itself, while weathered, appeared to be oiled and fairly clean, especially considering the man was mucking about the swamp in bare feet. All in, it was still a striking accent to the fierce warrior that wore it. "I know it meant something. To my former self." "And so it means something to me" was how he wanted to finish that thought, but he couldn't seem to say the words out loud.Once-Fine Coat | Alchemist's Supplies, Bedroll, Mess Kit, Hemp Rope (50 feet), Tinderbox, Torch (10), WaterskinPack | Crowbar, Hammer, Holy Water, Manacles, Steel Mirror, Wooden Stake (9), Tinderbox, Torch (2)Chest | 130 gold piecesCoin Pouch Ability Scores & Saving Throws: +3 | +3STR 16 | +2 | +4DEX 14 | +3 | +3CON 17 | +1 | +3INT 13 | +3 | +3WIS 17 | +2 | +2CHA 14 Skill Proficiencies: Arcana (+3) | Athletics (+5) | Insight (+5) | Religion (+3) | Survival (+5) | Light Armor, Medium Armor, Shields, Martial Weapons, Simple Weapons, Alchemist's SuppliesOther Proficiencies | Common, Primoridal, Sylvan, UndercommonLanguages

[case]

Stefan Belasco Everyone had held when he’d called out, even Odie, Stef noted, though he caught the glint in the gunslinger’s eye. Evil surrounds us, Ler said, and Stef took that to heart. He was running on the assumption that what had come back really was Ler, at least until proven otherwise. Since it was Ler, and Ler had the ability to sense such things - in addition to many other abilities, it seemed - then it was a warning they needed to pay attention to. They were surrounded. His very human eyes saw nothing around them, no enemies other than the skeleton. But other things were here, invisible perhaps, or some other form of evil suffused the very air. His nostrils flared and he listened hard, stretching out with senses other than sight. The skeleton did not answer, but instead held out an arm in a grim invitation. It wanted Larissa, it seemed, but something about that seemed to shake her, and Stef didn’t like it one bit. Nik called the skeleton a distraction. Nik knew about such things, about what monsters did, what tactics they used. His father had taught him. “No,” he called out. “You don’t get to take her. You can leave, or you can - ” Suddenly Haas leaped forward, lunging at the skeleton. “...yeah, that,” he finished, and drew one of his knives.   Stat Block Stefan Belasco HP: 6/9 | AC 14 | PP: 20 | PI: 21 | Prof: +2 | Status: Normal HD: 1/d8 | Feats/Traits: +1 to INT Can read lips of creatures speaking a known language +5 to Passive Perception +5 to Passive InvestigationObservant Feat | Deal +1d6 damage if attacking with AdvantageSneak Attack | Languages: Common, Mordentish, Thieves’ Cant

[AlphaZ]

Alessa That's it? Unsure of what she had been expecting, a simple rabbit in a sack didn't seem worth all the trouble. Was it a friend of theirs? Family maybe? Is that how these "Loa" work? Bastien speaks up, and Alessa simply pats him on his big arm. Addressing the inhuman creature that had seen fit to show her the contents of the sack, she simply nods and smiles. "I am glad you found your rabbit." She says, unsure of what else to say in this situation. Looking over her shoulder, her worries have not evaporated and she still feels compelled to leave. The inscrutable Loa, the amorous mad-drunk elf, the strange prophetic slug girl upstairs, and the eccentric wizard that couldn't be bothered. She would simply leave them all behind to swirl their various flavors of surreal insanity together until someone else got shot by a cannon. She wouldn't be around for it. Or for the sheriff. Or for all those other would-be heroes dragging back the shredded remains of Neomie. No, she'd had quite enough of it all. She would take her chances with the mist. But her eyes drift back to Bastien. Would she just leave him here with all of that? Or drag him somewhere far from his home, perhaps never to return? "Home." She'd almost forgotten. It's still out there somewhere. She got so wrapped up in taverns and wizards and hags... "Bastien, go fetch us a bag of food from the kitchen? It's time for us to leave, and the road is long." At least this way he could make his own choice. Not that it would matter much.   HP: 10/10, AC: 12, Saves: -1/2/2/1/2/6 Spells [1/1], Misty Step [1/1], Wild talent [d6/1] Action: put away knives, shoulder pack Bonus Action: none Notes: Conditions: none Hands: none

[DaniLore]

Results *****Drool inexplicably trickles from your lips despite nothing about this being particularly appetizing. The hag lies before your feet, on the brink of Death, but a little voice tells you there's time. Time for what? You hunger for something, though at first you do not know entirely what. The opportunity affords you a chance to explore this feeling, a desire to dig deep into the unknown. At first you envision the act, as one would approach a crustacean, freshly prepared. Do you attack the claw first, unleashing all your power to pry free the succulent meat? Or, do you meticulously, methodically take your time...if to liberate as much as you can? The path is before you, with no fancy tools but a knife and your bare hands. Going about this task with childlike enthusiasm, in no time at all the scene is drowned in viscous red. Your hands take on this hue, resolved as you are to follow this dark curiosity down the endless spiral, to the very root of instinct. There, Quasid is waiting, watching, savoring every moment along with you...as you taste the prize for the first time, suddenly it all begins to fall into place. Knowledge. The universe is your oyster, screaming to be cracked open and slurped up! As you engorge yourself on the once-hag, the pitiful Bertsnella, Quasid wriggles joyously, as psionic waves of information translate from the squelching juices and tattered hunks of matter. You see the face of Meliskella, a hag far more imposing than this little fly, draped in brazen red. Catching snippets of images, places you have yet to fathom or understand, a massive tree erupts to mind, burnt, abused, and mangled with jagged cuts. Seeing through Bertsnella's eyes, there is nothing but an awash sense of loathing for this place...countless acts of violence pass before you, a parade of slaughter with incomprehensible glee, as little by little the tree is adorned with Death...but vengeance will not be so simple. On the banks of the bayou, dismay arises as the bough of a dazzling ship breaks through the whirling mist, carrying with it the threat of upheaval at this, the eleventh hour! Though this may feel impossibly wrong as flashes of horror torment your psyche, taken by desperation, you cannot stop yourself from devouring every last morsel. Each bite tickles at more, though Quasid greedily snatches what truths fly through your meager grasp. Fairly certain that you can pry back much that has been hoarded, Quasid will not willingly share, as his agenda naturally runs counter to yours. **** OOC Congrats on your first brain (I think?) Bertsnella's knowledge transference was a complete success! As Quasid's host, you are privy to the enemy's insights and secrets, and Elovhen now has a or the Mystery Modifier, if anyone asks +4 modifier when searching for specific information. Simply add it to any roll. Quasid, of course, is hoarding this knowledge for the glory of the Godbrain and has no intent to share it with you, a lowly husk destined to be shed on Awakening. That said, no matter how many brains you eat, the modifier will not increase, but simply broaden the scope of the information that you can uncover. That said, it wouldn't be entirely fair without some risk! Quasid will make a counter roll to protect the goods. On a fail, Elovhen takes 1d4 psychic damage and can RP that however you like! Sounds like fun to me

A Flimsy Distraction Seeing through this poorly constructed charade, clearly the aim here was to unsettle them. Revealing this fact with all the bluntness of a brick wall, little got passed Nikol in the way of tricks. With that, Haas didn't hold back his fury, tossing out telepathic threats at the faceless power behind the strings, before soundly sundering them home. With a single mighty swing, Haas felt the blade slam against brittle bone, cleaving through it entirely. In the deafening absence of a snarl, scream, or witty snark, the skeleton's spine snapped in half as its torso chucked backwards through the air. Clattering into a ditch with a wet thud, the clunky cadaver limply rolled to the bottom before settling once more into the muck. Looking on with mixed emotions, breathing ragged as anger flooded over, The Captain's glare remained fixed on the felled skeleton, her voice awash with tension. "I should have confronted him long ago...so many died for this horrid welcome, and I fear many more will follow...this began because of me." Scowling, Larissa could barely stomach it, but those present had a right to know. Their lives are in danger, just by being by her side. Just by proximity alone. "Misroi is the Lord of the Swamp...in Souragne, he is Sovereign of the Dead. Long ago, he took me under his wing. He knows my weakness and I his. It is called The Danse of the Dead."

[Humble Athena]

Nikol Nik glanced over at Larissa with growing frustration and impatience, carefully held back behind gritted teeth. "Thank you for telling us, but what does that even mean? What do we have to look out for? How do we deal with this bastard? How do we protect you, and get Noemie back?"

[ElderOblex]

Heim @Mona Finden Heim tried not to groan at Pepin's foreboding admission. Far from expected? Village full of mal-fed frog monsters? Not great. What's this Muck Lord's deal, though? Did he eat all the swamp people? It seemed likely the bullywugs ate them, since they weren't getting enough food... Heim Insight? Dice Roll: 1d20+1 (13)+1 Total = 14 wondered if Beem would try to eat them, if push came to shove. "Whad'd'ya mean 'good stuff'? Th' toy Ida made for ya? Tuktuk like toys?" Heim didn't expect an answer. Armed with unease and a growing sense of concern, the hin looked for something any decent outlaw was expected to do: Perception, requesting Pepin's cautious Help Dice Roll: 2d20+1kh1 (20, 11 (keeping 20) )+1 Total = 21 an exit plan, and weaknesses one could exploit in a pinch. To the local boy whom he elbowed softly, he whispered: "If you know how we could get outta here quick should things go sideways, now's the time to tell us," Heim asked, looking to Ida to see if she was paying attention.

OOC   Vilheim Elric Strann'yaztal, “Heim Halfhand” | HP: 7/7 | AC: 14 | Charisma, DC15, +7Spell Slots Left: 2/2 | Perception: 11 Insight: 11 Investigation: 10Passives | Common Halfling PrimordialLanguages   Initiative: Bonus: Action: Movement: Reaction: Object Interaction: Status: -1 to checksExhaustion 1

[MoldyNolds]

Haas Clearly expecting more of a battle, the blood hunter's shoulders heaved with heavy, adrenaline-laden breaths for several moments, cleaver still held high. Once it became apparent that the lone skeleton would not rise immediately, nor would any of its counterparts that lay strewn across the open grave site, Haas slowly lowered his blade, letting the tip rest in the muck once more. Turning back to regard the rest of the crew the barefooted, animal-masked warrior gave a casual shrug in response to Larissa and Nikol. The mention of "Dance of the Dead" was a curious one. Haas had assumed the bow and hand-offering was an invitation to dance... Although he also assumed, like much of his experience in Souragne, there was much cultural information that he was not privy to. "Our situation remains largely unchanged. We continue the hunt for Noemie. Save her if she is still alive. Then return to this place of civilization and figure out our next move. And kill anything that gets in our way. The only difference is now we know the name of our enemy; Misroi." He paused for a breath, looking at everyone for emphasis. "And now he knows that we are not to be trifled with..." After another moment of silence Haas' mask turned directly toward Larissa. He cocked his head to emphasize his confusion on one point. "Your weakness is... dancing?"

Haas, Level 1 Human Blood Hunter Character Sheet Link Hit Points: 15/15 | d10Hit Dice: 1/1 | AC: While wearing scale mail armor.16 | Speed: 30 feet | Hemocraft DC: 13 | Hemocraft Die: d4 Proficiency Bonus: +2 | Initiative: +2 | Passive Skills: Perception (13) | Investigation (11) | Insight (15) Effects: Consuming the bread demon +2 modifier on Survival checks vs tracking outsiders and aberrations.Dread Die Features & Traits: Haunted One Background Those who look into your eyes can see that you have faced unimaginable horror and that you are no stranger to darkness. Though they might fear you, commoners will extend you every courtesy and do their utmost to help you. Unless you have shown yourself to be a danger to them, they will even take up arms to fight alongside you, should you find yourself facing an enemy alone.Heart of Darkness | You have advantage on Wisdom (Perception) checks that rely on smell.Keen Smell | You have advantage on Wisdom (Survival) checks to track fey, fiends, or undead, as well as on Intelligence checks to recall information about such creatures.Hunter's Bane | You know one blood curse of your choice, detailed in the “Blood Curses” section at the end of the class description. You learn one additional blood curse of your choice at 6th, 10th, 14th, and 18th level. Each time you learn a new blood curse, you can also choose one of the blood curses you know and replace it with another blood curse. Each time you use your Blood Maledict feature, you choose which curse to invoke from the curses you know. While invoking a blood curse, but before it affects the target, you can choose to amplify the curse by taking necrotic damage equal to one roll of your hemocraft die. This damage can’t be reduced in any way. An amplified curse gains an additional effect, noted in the curse’s description. Creatures that do not have blood are immune to blood curses unless you have amplified the curse. Once you use this feature, you must finish a short or long rest before you can use it again. You can use Blood Maledict twice between rests starting at 6th level, three times starting at 13th level, and four times starting at 17th level.Blood Maledict: 1/1 | Blood Curses: As a bonus action, you mark a creature that you can see within 30 feet of you. Until the end of your turn, whenever you hit the cursed creature with a weapon for which you have an active crimson rite, you roll an additional hemocraft die when determining the extra damage from the rite. Amplify. The next attack roll you make against the target before the end of your turn has advantage.Curse of the Marked | Feats: Your hit point maximum increases by an amount equal to twice your level when you gain this feat. Whenever you gain a level thereafter, your hit point maximum increases by an additional 2 hit points.Tough | Dark Gifts: You are haunted by spiritual beings, whether the souls of the departed or entities from another plane. Their voices endlessly whisper, taunt, or cajole, sometimes rising to unearthly howls. Only you can perceive the spirits, unless you allow them to speak through you. The spirits are intangible and invisible; anyone who can see invisible creatures sees only fleeting glimpses of these spirits as they haunt you. Spirit Whispers: You learn the Message cantrip if you don't already know it, and require no components to cast it. When you cast the spell, the messages are delivered by one of your whispering spirits rather than you or the target's voice. Your spellcasting ability for this spell is Wisdom (your choice when you gain this Dark Gift). Sudden Cacophony (1/1): When you are hit by an attack roll, you can use your reaction to channel your haunting spirits, letting their voices howl through you. If the attacker isn't deafened, add your proficiency bonus to your AC against that attack, potentially causing it to miss. Once this trait causes an attack to miss, you can't use the trait again until you finish a long rest. Voices from Beyond (1/1): Immediately after you make an attack roll, an ability check, or a saving throw and roll a 1 on the d20, the haunting voices grow too loud to ignore. Roll on the Voices from Beyond table to determine the effect of these voices. Once one of these effects occurs, none of these haunting voices manifest again until you finish a short or long rest. You have disadvantage on the next attack roll, ability check, or saving throw you make. You are deafened by the voices for 1 minute. You are frightened of the creature closest to you, other than yourself, until the end of your next turn. If multiple creatures are closest, the DM chooses which creature you are frightened of. Within the next 10 minutes, you can ask your spirits about the results of a specific course of action that you plan to take within the next 30 minutes. You can receive an omen as if you had cast the Augury spell. The omen manifests as whisperings from your spirits perceptible only to you. Gathering Whispers Gear: +5 to-hit | 2d6+3 slashing damage Martial, Heavy, Two-handedGreatsword | +3 to-hit | 1d8+1 piercing damage | Range: 80/320 Simple, Ammunition, Loading, Two-handedLight Crossbow | Medium Armor | AC +4 | Disadvantage on Stealh checksScale Mail | "It's the only thing left that ties me to wherever I came from... from... before." After a moment, he clarified. "My coat. Underclothes ripped to shreds. Boots were boiled down to fill my belly. Weapons and provisions I scavenged when and where I could in the Gravelands. But this coat..." Looking down, he took a moment to appraise it himself. It was obvious the coat was quite fine, at one time. Tailored from the midnight black leather of an unknown animal, much of it surprisingly remained blemish-free. The seams at the epaulets had begun separate; the thread appeared to have been clumsily replaced with sinew. The edges of the collar and lapel had worn smooth and frayed in spots. There was a makeshift belt wrapped around his left arm at the elbow where it appeared the sleeve was barely attached anymore. But the leather itself, while weathered, appeared to be oiled and fairly clean, especially considering the man was mucking about the swamp in bare feet. All in, it was still a striking accent to the fierce warrior that wore it. "I know it meant something. To my former self." "And so it means something to me" was how he wanted to finish that thought, but he couldn't seem to say the words out loud.Once-Fine Coat | Alchemist's Supplies, Bedroll, Mess Kit, Hemp Rope (50 feet), Tinderbox, Torch (10), WaterskinPack | Crowbar, Hammer, Holy Water, Manacles, Steel Mirror, Wooden Stake (9), Tinderbox, Torch (2)Chest | 130 gold piecesCoin Pouch Ability Scores & Saving Throws: +3 | +3STR 16 | +2 | +4DEX 14 | +3 | +3CON 17 | +1 | +3INT 13 | +3 | +3WIS 17 | +2 | +2CHA 14 Skill Proficiencies: Arcana (+3) | Athletics (+5) | Insight (+5) | Religion (+3) | Survival (+5) | Light Armor, Medium Armor, Shields, Martial Weapons, Simple Weapons, Alchemist's SuppliesOther Proficiencies | Common, Primoridal, Sylvan, UndercommonLanguages

[case]

Stefan Belasco And then it was over, just like that. Haas struck and cut through the skeleton with one vicious sweep. It fell to the muck in a heap of disparate bones, like the magic holding the skeleton together had been cut as well. Stef watched the bones sink into the mud, then nodded and turned to Haas. “Good work,” he told Haas. “A good catch,” he added, to Nik. He surveyed the area around them once more. “Ler? Do you still sense the evil?” It would tell them something about what the creature had been. Maybe. There was still too much they didn’t know.   Stat Block Stefan Belasco HP: 6/9 | AC 14 | PP: 20 | PI: 21 | Prof: +2 | Status: Normal HD: 1/d8 | Feats/Traits: +1 to INT Can read lips of creatures speaking a known language +5 to Passive Perception +5 to Passive InvestigationObservant Feat | Deal +1d6 damage if attacking with AdvantageSneak Attack | Languages: Common, Mordentish, Thieves’ Cant

[ArcZero]

Character Elovhen "Quasid" Nenlith Level 1 Wizard AC: 17,HP: 7/7,PP: 11

Armor, Saves and Skills SAVES STR -1 DEX +4 CON +1 INT +6 WIS +3 CHA +2 SKILLS Arcana +6, Deception +4, History +6, Persuasion +4, Sleight of Hand +6 No Armor Currently Attacks and Ongoing Effects WEAPONS Dagger (Main Hand) +6 to hit, 1d4+4 piercing damage Dagger (Off-Hand) +6 to hit, 1d4 piercing damage *Dual Wielding largely doesn't complicate spellcasting due to War Caster BOONS Mage Armor BANES Spells (Italics are prepared choices) Cantrips Booming Blade, Mage Hand, Minor Illusion 1st Level Spells 0/2 Available Shield, Mage Armor, Find Familiar, Silent Image, Id Insinuation, Protection from Good and Evil Abilities Arcane Recovery 1/1 Available Read Minds 0/2 Available Darkvision 60 feet, Telepathy 60 feet Spellcasting, Devour Minds, War Caster (1st level feat), False Identity, Symbiotic Being (Undercommon and Deep Speech, Persuasion Proficiency)

Links Half-Illithid, Half-Elf Race Build Your Own Bladesong Bladesinger

Soothsayer Surgeon III Elovhen manages to slow the hag's blood loss, but it seems to happen at the wrong moment. Like her blood loss had stopped before he was done wrapping her torso. He thinks, "That shouldn't be possible..." Creeped out by the turn of events, he takes a step back and notices the hag's color turning far more sickly, so he clearly isn't through the woods yet. Despite his best efforts, the hag's life force seems to be slipping away.   *****In reality, it is Elovhen's curiosity that proves to be his undoing. In seeking out this arcane knowledge, he is left indisposed at the perfect time for the Fizzlenob to see its goal achieved: ensuring the foolish elven host doesn't starve to death before Quasid can be born! Visions of morbid physiology are visited upon Elovhen's mind's eye: undeniable power, knowledge and, most importantly, nourishment. He sees horrifyingly detailed techniques for snaking into a sleeping victim's nostrils or breaking the neck to sup from the The opening at the base of the skull that connects the brain to the spinal collumnforamen magnum. As repulsive as the visions may be, his strictly logical mind cannot deny the efficacy of such a meal. Under the unusual control of his mental faculties, there is a deep well of hunger that must be filled. The third technique, to enter through the ear canal seems the least unsightly to him and a scene plays out in his mind of how he could go about devouring this hag's brain through her ear in excruciating detail. Swept up in the vision, he isn't able to stop himself until it is complete to the last dreg.***** During these critical moments Elovhen is busy searching his mind for arcane knowledge and happens upon a psionic link with the dying creature. The vision of the hag's mistress and a great tree come to mind: Originally Posted by DaniLore You see the face of Meliskella, a hag far more imposing than this little fly, draped in brazen red. Catching snippets of images, places you have yet to fathom or understand, a massive tree erupts to mind, burnt, abused, and mangled with jagged cuts. Seeing through Bertsnella's eyes, there is nothing but an awash sense of loathing for this place...countless acts of violence pass before you, a parade of slaughter with incomprehensible glee, as little by little the tree is adorned with Death...but vengeance will not be so simple. On the banks of the bayou, dismay arises as the bough of a dazzling ship breaks through the whirling mist, carrying with it the threat of upheaval at this, the eleventh hour! Elovhen, Midjourney A vision so real as to make him question the remoteness of his mental world enthralls him. He sees through the hag's eyes and witnesses a great tree. As powerful as the hag Meliskella may be, there is also a malevolent presence to this environment. As if the tree wants these sacrifices. Or perhaps the hag's vileness is so strong as to warp the laws of nature. The way that the tree is defiled, burned and slashed soon makes it clear how wrong he is. This is a great, unforgivable desecration of nature. Despite having no memory of growing up in forests or the like as an elf, some deep part of Elovhen is disgusted at what he sees. Ancient, ancestral loathing bubbles up until his clarity of thought puts a damper on these fleeting emotions. Mythic Forest Strange. For but a moment, he feels like someone else entirely. A vision within this vision. Just the barest flicker of a mythic forest. An army of valiant elves stretching across the horizon and a monstrous horde trampling beautific holy trees in an all too similar manner to what these hags have done. He mentally sputters, "What in the bloody hells was that?!" This additional information is as jarring as it is brief. The entire experience leaves Elovhen reeling, desperate to come back to himself. There he finds the hag Bertsnella lifeless before him.   ***** Elovhen finds his head latched to the side of the hag's skull as a few tentacles are still retracting into his throat. Despite seeming too large to fit, they furl smoothly into his slightly-thicker-than-average neck. All of this is too much. "It wasn't a vision! The bastard Fizzlenob tricked me! Oh dear gods!" The fiend had forced him into doing the very feeding he had refused to do with the black-haired girl. His recollection of that trauma is already fading from memory. Appendages he didn't know he had had just done their vile deed and worse yet, Elovhen felt satisfied with the meal despite himself. Heave as he may, no gray matter comes up, only stomach acid. It seems that his hefty meal went somewhere very different than his stomach, or even more disturbingly, has already been absorbed into his body with nothing to purge. Despite all of the disgust and wrongness he feels, the power and clarity from this act is palpable. He can even feel satisfaction in Ptolemew and the tiny spectre of the Fizzlenob's presence. He realizes, "This is what they wanted and they have had their way." Ashamed, Elovhen gives himself some time to distance his feelings from what he will need to do. ***** Perhaps the wounds are simply too much or this Meliskella has some kind of hold on the junior hag. Either way, he feels like quite the fool for trying to play doctor and the raw sensations are too much for even his clinical mindset. With an audible, "OHH ACK-huuurg-," the poor elf heaves and heaves until stomach acid comes up, not a single bite of food to be found. As the blood vessels in his face prickle and lurch, he stumbles off of his hands and knees to look upon the messy scene. Blood, bile and a very dead hag coat the end of the hallway behind his little medical curtain. Luckily, no one shall be the wiser if he can just get this cleaned up. Such medical situations are easily explained to the lay person, that she "lost the will to live" or other nonsensical explanations.   ***** To make things worse, Elovhen can think of only a few ways to disguise his unwilling deed: ditch the body in the swamp or disguise it with perfumes, makeup and prosthetics. This is a rather valuable specimen and hurling it into the swamp is likely to make him look more suspicious, not to mention what evils the swamp may do with a reanimateable hag. The skull is mostly intact, aside from some fleshy bits here and there, as well as needing a new ear. Once the mess is manageable, he will pull out his disguise kit and see to making this hag's death seem much more mundane.***** Feigned expertise is what Elovhen does best and he just needs to patch over this mistake. Looking at the dead hag makes him still feel queasy, so he tries to compartmentalize his thoughts, "Get cleaned up, clean this up." Reluctantly, he gets to work, making liberal use of his Mage's Hand to collect the nastier bits in a bucket or two.

[Snicker]

Ida Blieckhaus www.artstation.com/artwork/LAK1w Ida Blieckhaus | Character sheet | Application | Personality I value stoicism and hide my emotions from everyone, including myself. I speak of necessary sacrifices and the greater good, but when push comes to shove, my conscience gets the better of me. Corpses don't bother me, and I think nothing of performing autopsies on my opponents or pocketing body parts for my own purposes. Ideals Knowledge: The pursuit of knowledge is virtuous in itself. Realization of Potential: I must prove that the knowledge gained by Ludendorf University is worth what was sacrificed to attain it. Bonds I'm torn between the humble integrity of my family and the amoral intellectualism of the life I chose. I lost my father years ago, but I still see him in guilty visions and recurring dreams. Flaws I have a superiority complex over where I came from and what I've accomplished, which masks an inferiority complex over where I came from and what I've accomplished. I'm a skeptic and don't believe in the power of rituals, religion, superstition, or spirits. Character traits | AC: 16 | HP: 8 / 10 | Hit dice: 0 / 1d8 | Insight: 11 Investigation: 15 Perception: 13Passive senses | Prepared spells: Alarm, Cure Wounds, Snare Spell slots: 1st: 2 / 2 Must use artisan's tools or thieves' tools as focus for spellcastingSpellcasting | Ship's Passage Healer Magical Tinkering: 0 / 3Features | None Passed death saves: 0 / 3 Failed death saves: 0 / 3Conditions | Common Gnomish SylvanLanguages Ida's jumpsuit was sealskin leather: it kept warmth in and foreign moisture out, protecting her from Lamordia's damp chill and particularly from caustic fluids in the laboratory. It was also supple enough to feel Lena's grip on her upper arm, and Ida glanced at her as she asked her question. "Zhey are zhe people," she answered quietly, then looked at the decaying wooden buildings around them, stripped to their frames, like the skeletons of enormous alien beasts. Meanwhile, bullywugs watched them from lilypads with strange, bulging eyes. Trying to make the motion look casual, she rested her harpoon on her shoulder, but was really reassuring herself with its weight. I should have cut her arm off and been done with it. Too late for that. Ida took a deep breath and straightened her posture. This was definitely dangerous - but emotions and blind gut reactions would only make it worse. Her advantage over these bullywugs was her intelligence and scientific training. The best thing she could do now was watch, learn, and analyze. "Zhe fleshy-legs, zhey are like us?" Ida asked when Beem reemerged, motioning towards her own legs. "Why did zhey leave? What happened to Lord biplip - biblub - Bip-Lup-Loop?" She watched the figures move about the fort, armour and helmets shifting about on the bullywugs' bodies. She made a note of it, then tried not to think about it. "Why did zhe fleshy-legs give you food? If zhis works, I could ask more to come. I know zhere are ozhers who could fill your bellies, if zhey had reason." We need Beem to introduce us, she thought, but I'll watch for a chance to interject. I can talky-talk too.

[DaniLore]

Results

A Need for Stratagem With each passing moment, your time for talking amongst yourselves grows short, as a small troop of gangly frogmen already await the visitors at the embankment. Clad in rusty armor two sizes too big for their boney frames, many of them restlessly mull about, carrying sharpened spears. The once calm night air erupts with a torrent of boisterous croaks as froggy questions are pelt from afar. Melodious trills rumble from Beem's throat, easily swatting down their doubts like pesky gnats...though, it would seem his clumsy articulations have done little to ease your burden of mind. Straight ahead loomed the shambling husk of a broken down fortress, repurposed with narrow, ramshackle walkawys that bridge off high above into precarious networks that bounce and sway at the slightest sign of weight. These reed-like bridges, fit for acrobats, connected to the battlements of the outer fence, a far sturdier structure, and undoubtedly frequented by patrols on the regular. Searching for a way to navigate this mess, Heim pressed with more questions. "Whad'd'ya mean 'good stuff'? Th' toy Ida made for ya? Tuktuk like toys?" Elbowing Pepin and whispering a little something-something in his ear, Pepin nodded as he took a vigilant survey of the area. "Gwa, you has da stuff opposite of bad stuff!" Beem croaked, hugging the squishy sack to his chest. "La Magie! Just like Big Boss, Gwa-rah! Tuktuk ates our god, you see, but they was bad yum yums!" Shaking his head, Beem lowered his voice and fell into a crouch so low, Heim could look down at him for once. "It was all a means trick, you see! You see? Gwa! Skelly told him ta do it, now she tell'im Tuktuk 'do this'n that, or else boOm-belly-bOom!'" "Zhe fleshy-legs, zhey are like us? Why did zhey leave? What happened to Lord biplip - biblub - Bip-Lup-Loop? Why did zhe fleshy-legs give you food? If zhis works, I could ask more to come. I know zhere are ozhers who could fill your bellies, if zhey had reason." Nodding at Ida's first question, humans really do have meaty legs. "Lord Bip got eats by Grodagud. All ze fleshies that fought Skelly were turned into dead-legs by Bigga Swamp Lord...ze rest she made into jingle-jangles. Bouncing, clearly tensed up, the prospect of food was always a pleasant distraction from an otherwise awful reality. "Beem will take you to Muck Lord, we do the talky-talk and hope Tuktuk laugh big at meat toys! If not, not so good for you, me, we. Gwa!" Gritting his jaw, Pepin tensed as the little squirt finally sputtered something useful--though it was far from good news. Clutching her arms, Lena visibly paled at the implications. The bog had always been quiet, so who could have guessed such a savage thing had befallen the people here? The hopes of many would be irrevocably dashed. "Skelly? You mean ze hag,Meliskella?!" Pepin hissed, hit with a sudden pang of regret. "It can't be...why didn't Chickenbone stop him?! Didn't anyone try to knock some sense into Tuktuk!" Turning to Ida and Heim, the boy gave an apologetic glance. Coming here had been the wrong move... "Knock knock who? Ever since Big Boss go Crazybone, it's been nothin' but BIG bad and MORE bad!" Sighing, hopelessly stymied, their guide had never looked so lost. "So, whatever happened, it got him first...it was HER, I'm certain of it!" Aware that their time for discussion was swiftly coming to an end, Pepin relented, knowing he could get in big trouble for coughing up secrets. "Listen, things are very complicated and you're foreign to Souragne; but, If we are to survive, I suppose we must trust each other so...truth is, there is a sacred power beneath ze Bog here. Mon Mere calls it a Fane. Normally, it is guarded by Loa and Vhoodans...but years ago, after a failed revolt, ze Seigneur's wanted to take a foothold in ze swamp, so zey built a prison to the south and an outpost here. Zheir plans were ultimately thwarted, and ze Fane has since been protected by ze Bullywugs after they moved in. I've never met Chickenbone, but my Papa trusted him with keeping the peace...however, of late, an evil hag invaded our swamp and turned everything topsy-turvy! What evil befell Chickenbone and this place is no doubt her work!" Seething, Pepin wished he had trusted his gut and begged Ez to come...perhaps, she will search for them eventually, should they take too long? "Regardless of what she did to Chickenbone, he's ze only one that can truly fix this." Lost Things II Something about the dark refuge before you niggles at reminisce...this ominous dread feels one and the same as when you wandered toward the cold tower, crowned with jagged glass. Though not one to be easily phased, as you approached the lone tower, your ears caught disembodied screams carried on the wind--originating from the bowels of that place. Instinct screamed at you to flee hard and far. This is no place for a Hinn. Yet, something else tickled before you could spin on your heels. A murky moat surrounded the tower with the structure only accessible via a high drawbridge. Casting a tall shadow over the swamp, there didn't appear to be civilization remotely around. Yet, Heim caught sight of a handful of commonfolk wallowing in the muck on their knees as cold rain poured down, many plainly quivering from the chill. Oddly enough, they appeared to be groveling to no one in particular, wailing to the sky, "Mercy! Have Mercy!Miséricorde! Aies pitié!" Lined up in a row, you sense they may be waiting for something special...as there was nothing remotely holding them there. Who in their right mind would choose to wait around in a place so scary and rotten? Easy as it would've been to dart into the endless swamp, the notion posed a daunting problem...who knows what dangers he may face out there, wandering aimlessly about? It may be safer to coax one of these locals to come with, or offer him directions at the very least. Introducing himself with a friendly smile, Heim remembered doing just that, inquiring after a middle aged woman. Filthy, ragged and weakly clutching at her shawl, the woman glared at him wide-eyed...blindsided by his foreign tongue. Swiftly checking to the right, passed the line of lamenters, toward the embankment, you notice too that there are the telltale signs of a beaten path, though heavily swallowed by dilapidation. Is that where they had come from. Reaching out, the woman caught Heim by the wrist, her desperation all to frighteningly palpable through her grip. Though her strange speech addled his ears, oddly enough the gist of it seemed to weave in his head. "GO! You must go, little one! He comes! Don't let him see you!ALLER! Tu dois y aller, petit ! Il vient! Ne le laisse pas te voir!" Before you could make good on the lady's heartfelt request, a sound of clattering chains and heavy, rhythmic knocking took you be surprise. With little warning, the drawbridge began to drop, accompanied by a bout of vicious howls confined from the other side. Even so, despite this there was time enough to scramble...and he would've too, if not for the sound of hooves, clopping from the other direction. Gasping as the blood further drained from her cheeks, the woman quickly drew Heim close beside her. "Don't make a sound. Don't even look!Ne faites pas de bruit. Ne regarde même pas!" That said, how can you not? Curiosity is in your very nature, after all. As the clopping drew closer, you see a horse trotting forward from the path, a monstrous creature, tall as it was with rippling muscles. As the last dying light of dusk slipped through the obscurity, you see that this is no ordinary horse...and neither was its rider. The smell hits you first, like a rancid wall to the senses. Through the rain, you finally make out the hideous gouging wounds riddled across the horse, with a sizable hole burrowed through its neck. Braying with an eerie smolder behind its eyes, much of the horse's snout had sloughed to the bone as shallow breaths gusted from its rotten maw into the cold fog. As for the rider...the glisten of silver buttons catch your eye, glinting from dapper blue military coat. The cries around you only seem to intensify as the commoners call out to the rider, begging for mercy. Face obscured by shadows and a primly triangular, feathered hat, the gentleman doesn't even stop as he spurred the steed to pick up the pace. Sweeping by the disheveled riff raff by the gate, the horse and rider tromped across the old drawbridge, dragging something behind them. To everyone's dismay, the thing following in their wake is the fresh corpse of a robust man, dragged to death it would seem, with a lassoed rope snuggly wrapped around his neck. OOC Take it from here, if you will. What would Heim do in this situation?

A Final Warning With so much at stake, and having come this far for Noemie, Nikol couldn't disguise the aggravation laced on his voice. How could Larissa be so aloof at a time like this? Why couldn't she just spit out the facts instead of going round in pitiful circles? What was she so afraid of? Why, she had summoned eight vicious badgers from the wilderness to fight by her side. Admittedly, he'd never seen anyone do that before. His own father made due with less, so how could something as mundane as dancing be her greatest weakness? Sucking back the urge to shake the woman by the shoulders to snap her back to reality, the best he could do was be blunt with his words. "Thank you for telling us, but what does that even mean? What do we have to look out for? How do we deal with this bastard? How do we protect you, and get Noemie back?" Shivering, Larissa lost her composure, grappling with burning shame "Forgive me...Forgive me..." Glancing from the sunken foe to the pale-haired Captain, Haas may have been just as confused as everyone else, but he couldn't help but feel strangely idyllic about their circumstances. Each foe they brought low made them stronger, and at least they were headed in the right direction. Having someplace to go, even if it's straight into a trap, is better than having no direction or no hope at all. Then, after they kick some bones and save Noemie, there will be a warm bed and warm food waiting for them back at the tavern. Their foe would have to do far better than this if he wished to scare them. That said, Misroi remained an enigma. How could a simple invitation to dance drive Larissa to the brink of desperation? Even now, she had the wild eyes of a cornered rat. "Your weakness is... dancing?" Watching her ever carefully, Elias raised a brow, suspecting as Ler did that this Misroi was not your average dancing partner. Thinking back to his time on Cyre1313, the inexplicable evil of that place would be forever etched onto his psyche. The very thought that this swamp hell could well be a dream troubled Elias even now, tainting his every waking hour with dread. He'd rather die for good than go back to that endless, aimless existence. The Last Passenger held all the secrets and the keys, and the rest of them could do nothing but wait an eternity for a destination that would never arrive. Having vowed to himself never to step foot on a machine with wheels again, maybe Ghost Lady had the same fear of dancing? Speaking softly to herself, mumbling fevered apiologies to past haunts, Larissa's mind was summarily doffed for the moment. Sharp as ever, Stefan caught sight of something in the distance. That said, he inquired of the paladin first, “Ler? Do you still sense the evil?” Caught off guard by the rogue's question, it took Ler a moment to decipher precisely what he felt...in short, yes. Yeah, oddly enough, there isn't a source. It comes and goes, like a fading apparition." "What?" Turning to face Ler, the Captain furrowed her brow. "Well, it moves. Rather quickly too." Ler replied, rubbing at a niggling migraine along his brow. "Mind, I'm no expert on evilness, but sometimes it's in a tree, and I get the sense that it's watching...and then it dissipates and pops up in a different tree...there isn't a strong sense of 'OH, there it is!' Instead, the bugger is split up into little evils, making it near impossible to pinpoint." Bewildered, slow realization crossed the Captain's face. "So that's why...why the Loa are silent?" Regaining her calm, albeit it was pitifully frail, Larissa first addressed Nikol. "Misroi isn't like any creature you have faced before, the Maiden said he was born of corruption...his power rivals her own, though I have no idea what he is or where he came from. For certain, we are dealing with a spirit--but Misroi is no Loa. Just as he promised long ago, I fear Misroi finally did the impossible." Closing her eyes, Larissa loathed even saying the truth out loud. "He figured out a way to steal their powers--there must be many more Fanes under his control." Letting the gravity of this sink in, Larissa looked on the verge of tears. "Simply, there is no way to safely deal with him. Have you ever tried to fight a god, directly?" "So what, you're saying it's impossible? Says who?" Elias scoffed, tenacious as ever. "After the weirdness we've come across tonight, I'd like to see the musty ol' Swamp Lord try and kill us with a few sad skels." Glancing down at her hand, Larissa calmly shook her head. "I assure you, Misroi won't have to lift a finger...He intends for me to kill you. In fact, in taking Noemie, that was undoubtedly the aim all along. Unfortunately, you've been dragged onto the board as mere pawns, to be discarded at will. Tests of mettle are his favorite..." Lifting up the sleeve of her right arm, the Captain showed them a unique mark on her arm. A featureless black mark akin to a serpent seeped deep into her flesh, slithering up to the very crook of her forearm "Long ago, I embraced the evil inside me...I had all the best intentions, truly, as I would've walked across fire for my friends. The enemy was simply too strong. So, I endeavored to fight fire with fire...but instead the very gift I thought would free us all turned out to be a force of destruction." "Dancing may seem innocent to you, but it is how I channel the brunt of my power...when overwhelmed, I quickly lose myself. " Frowning, Larissa couldn't begin to express the wells of guilt accumulated over the years. "Afterward, oft my crew are the one's who suffer...This was his ploy from the very beginning. Misroi swayed me with lies and twisted my desire to protect into a curse that only harms. I can't tell you how many have fallen to the Danse. It will forever be a thorn in my side. Ultimately, it cost me everyone that I held dear...." Grimacing for a moment, Larissa sullenly gazed out across the field of bones and dashed dreams. You should be wary of me, for I do not refute that I'm a monster. However, Misroi is on a whole different level. If we are to fight toe to toe, there's a good chance I will fall into the Danse. There will be little warning. If you see me...transform into something hideous, it will already be too late. Giving them one last look at her mark, which shockingly began to coil on itself before their eyes, it was indeed a living symbol of a curse. "If you see the serpent in my hand, close your eyes, even if you must fight blind. This is a courtesy provided to all my crew members...and I promise you it isn't a silly jape." Deathly serious as her stone cold eyes pass from one of you to the next, just as she had many times before, Larissa hoped these brave ones would take it to heart. "Anyone who witnesses me Danse will have their souls ripped from their body. Thereon, you are sadly beyond hope. Nothing in this world will be able to bring you back." Pausing at the severity of that, unfortunately it was a fact no one could escape. It was the price of victory. "If you wish to continue, leave Misroi to me. I will sooner be swallowed up than give in, but it's not something I can readily control. Should you survive, consider yourself part of my crew--if you so desire. After this, I will keep nothing hidden from you..."