An Encounter at Shaman's Fall - 04/05/20

On a beautiful Monday morning, the cold mannered colossal, Lauthok gathered up a scouting party to check out Shaman's Fall, at least the remains, to maybe get a foothold in the swampy swamps and the groovy mangrove forest. I, Aegon, mentioned that the target of the last excursion, The Freezer would be worth checking, and when he got to the multiple barrels still full with ale, Grok, the tortle was already on board, so after a brief argument, the party of Lauthok, Grok, June and Aegon ventured out that way. The travel wasn't eventful, although June did warn the unknowing me of Grok's apparent drinking problem, so we agreed to only take the barrels back to Geistholm on the way back. When we arrived, June found the sign of The Freezer in the dirt, emblazoned with a moon and a rod, and it turned out to be formerly known as The Merry Mage. Taking a peek inside the shaft quickly turned to horror, as a sticky, apparently ALIVE orange substance started to creep up, sizzling through the hatch, eating through the metal as if it was butter. It took the shifting form of an enormous Ochre Jelly, turned its non-existent, hungry eyes on us, and the battle was already on! We managed to identify it in time to know that slashing at it, as well as lightning would only allow it to replicate, and with some expert fire-throwing and whacking, we took it down. A bottle full of succulent ochre jam and a handful of gold coins pocketed later, we hopped down into the Not-So-Merry-Anymore Mage, to discover that as suspected, the ice has already mostly melted in the absence of the Dank Diamond, but its mystical aura left two serrated shortswords with strong icy magical properties. We scooped up the 6 remaining intact barrels of ale, readied them for transport at the remains of the ladder, then proceeded to head due east, in the direction of our original goal, Shaman's Fall. (Map could use correction)

Shaman's Fall was largely undisturbed, huts untouched, the central fire out cold, and all Lauthok could find in his traps was a dead viper. However, our respite was short lived, as two frogmen snuck within earshot from the east, apparently trying to hide from something. That something was a humongous, fungus covered ogre flailing wildly, which trampled into view, and proceeded to hit the everlasting shit out of one frogman with the other. Went as quickly as you'd guess. Grok started to lure the ogre north with sounds of other ogres conjured, but June quickly intervened, probably saving TENS OF THOUSANDS of froglets from very splattery deaths. Okay, maybe not that many. I have honestly no idea how many of them are around the area. We decided to fight the, uh, thing, so Grok used the village sling-swing to shoot one of the frog-blob thingies at him to take his attention, then started bombarding him from afar. The frog, unfortunately, wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, and his tongue-lash only managed to get some of the shroomage off the ogre's body, which turned his insides into two not very friendly looking mushroom men (Lil Bastads ©️ Grok), which were SPLAT born at the swing of the ogre's club. A skilled midwife, that's for sure, but i think i'd go with the traditional method if i was a woman. They communicated with each other in gestures and clicks, but via psychic means, we gathered that they are a sort of hive mind, wanting to assimilate everything into fungal unity, kind of like Grok's religion, only somewhat more forceful and much less pleasant in their ways. We finally blasted the ogre down, turning our attention to its newfound allies, only to see his body erupting into half a dozen more of these creatures in a puff of spores.

They quickly overwhelmed us, cutting me down with their sharp claws in an instant, my cosmic form quickly waning, my body going cold. In the chaos of Firebolts and Eldritch Blasts blazing, the tortle cleric quickly gave a helping hand, reviving me with one hand, smacking living fungi in the face with the other. Grok's rage was imminent, more so from harm coming to his allies than the booze, as we all fought with our lives hanging by a thread. June's fire seemed to draw their ire to her, and with half of them lying dead on the ground, even poisoned by the spores emanating from their dead bodies, the rest of the party rushed in to her aid. Their claws and rocks flying from slings seemed to penetrate even the hard skin and shell of the goliath and the tortle, but our victory was imminent. That is, until the body of an unburnt shrooman on the ground twitched, sprung back to life, just to deliver a precise killing blow to me. Grok was quick to react, calling on his god's power, and a spiritual link manifested between the all of us, each taking share in the pain to lessen the blow, thus saving their companion. They somehow managed to beat the remainder of the enemies into charred smithereens, until only one remained. With the bonfire now blazing, every single party member on the verge of exhaustion and death, the tortle grit his teeth, grabbed the slippery Lil' Bastad, tossed him right at the bonfire, and with the help of a firebolt, it was scorched to death. Unfortunately, the spores still took hold of him, and it was a race for his life. Lauthok quickly emptied a healing potion into his mouth, we gave him every piece of help we could, and yet the poison raged on, taking more and more of his life energy, turning his beautifully polished shell into sponge.(edited)

June, withstanding the excruciating pain, reached in there, used her powers to burn it out, until there was no infestation left, only the blackened remains of the exoskeleton, and a broken tortle inside. He was alive, but a piece of him died then and there.

He lay there, revived, still motionless. Words ment nothing to him. He was inconsolable. He suddenly started raving about his connection to his shell, it being the manifestation of his belief, the icon of his religion, and how the three of us couldn't possibly understand it. He was absolutely right. Yet we couldn't let him throw his life away because of it. Lauthok argued that his quest was not done, i tried to convince him to not give up, as nothing is irreparable, but June simply asked him to pray to his god, which is what he chose to do. He prayed for what seemed like an eternity, but when he was done, we could all see his shoulders raise a bit, his breathing calm down. He swore to give up drinking, we all swore to support each other, and we left merrier than i thought we ever would. As it was already quite late, we had to hurry home, so the barrels were left in the freezer, and we began to pace south. With darkness quickly falling, about a mile from the Magister's Step, howling tore into the night sky, a pair of glowing eyes started approaching from the mangrove forest, which (at the light of several spells) we identified as the eyes of a 6 foot tall wolf with a humanlike face, and the party just booked it. We fortunately managed to make it, and the Step seemed like a barrier that kept these horrifying, cursed fae-like creatures outside, so they turned back. Oh yeah, there were three more of them chasing us, did i mention that part? AND THE FACE OF A HUMAN? Never again, please.