Out of the Abyss IC

[purepolarpanzer]

Borthan Zuek Half-Drow Ranger AC: 16 HP: 6/29 PP: 14 PIv: 9 PIs: 14 Conditions: Concentrating on: Bort finished the stretcher, giving Jimjar a nod of appreciation at his assistance. Then he puts his back into rolling the meaty quaggoth onto it, knowing that he would be the most difficult to carry unassisted. When Faedryl called him over, he didn't miss that she'd started with an insult, switched to his name, and then added a "please" to the mix. Someone was starting to learn how to be polite. Either that or she was learning to manipulate those she saw as lessers. Either way, it was a welcome change. He didn't like getting reminded of his mixed bloodline, as he didn't like having anything in common with the spider kissers. Someone grab each end of this. I'd do it, but I'm going to be the one looking for food for all you wet rats, and we'll be a lot slower if I have to set this big furball down and pick him up every time I spot some edible moss. He stood up and walked over to the Melad, his face decidedly neutral, moving up beside her. I don't know drow territory all that well. I spent most of my life avoiding it. He lifted his hand and pointed in a seemingly random direction. North is that way, though. You got any idea where we are, fat... Faedryl? The corner of his mouth twitched in a sarcastic direction as he intentionally adjusted away from an insult, just as she had.

Derendil Quaggoth Barbarian/Abjurer AC: 17 HP: 5/26 PP: 10 PIv: 12 PIs: 10 Conditions: Mage Armor (8 hrs), Arcane Ward (0hp/8hp) Concentrating on: Derendil, helpless and silent, fully understands and appreciates his fellow prisoner's efforts to make hauling him easier. He must remember to thank them when this infernal venom had run it's course. It would have been easier and perhaps smarter (in a cruel sense) to leave him for the ooze or the drow jailors.

[Amnestic]

Faedryl Melad Drow Hexblade/Evoker AC: 17 HP: 13/22 PP: 12 PIv: 14 PIs: 12 Sanity: 11 Conditions: -- Concentrating: -- Eighth Day, Escape Her nostrils flare, almost imperceptibly, at Borthan's thinly veiled sass. She was trying. Why wasn't that enough? She bites back a sarcastic comment (even if it was very witty and cutting, in her opinion) and instead opts for simple information. "Vaguely. If north is that way then..." she scrapes her memory for details of an area tread perhaps once in her youth and little else. "this way is probably best," she points into the gloom to the northwest, down a small thin trailpath. It would branch, soon enough, if her memory was correct, and hopefully allow them to lose pursuers.

Sarith Kzerkarit Drow Fighter/Rogue AC: 16 HP: 8/23 PP: 14 PIv: 11 PIs: 10 Sanity: 8 Conditions: Exhaustion (1) Concentrating: -- Eighth Day, Escape She'd chosen correctly, for now at least. If called upon he would offer his honest input - his knowledge of the surroundings was no doubt more intimate than anyone else here - but if they were satisfied to be running around in the dark aimlessly then so be it, he'd not interfere. Almost as if she'd read his mind, he hears her speak up again. "Sarith, if you recall any safe places to rest that won't be checked, let us know." He silently tuts. Did her strange magics extend into his skull as well? 'Us' as well. Not 'me'. He hadn't missed that choice of word. "As you say," is his noncommittal response as he moves up the group to take a more frontline position where his knowledge would be best suited.

[Spore]

Stool Myconid Druid AC: 15 (bucket armor + shield) HP: 5/28 PP: 15 PIv: 9 PIs: 13 San: 12 Conditions: Shillelagh (8 rds.) Concentration: - Hobbling after the others, Stool nonetheless seemed glad enough to have escaped with most of his parts still attached. It invades Faedryl's mind with the words. Will not leave, cannot leave friend. But dark elf shaman will be alert now. Need new plan. The small myconid turns to Borthan. Come come, I will show, you will decide if eating. The tiny string of sticky hyphae extend and try to drag the half-drow hunter along. Spoiler Show Survival check of 13, so Stool will follow Borthan and tries to find humanfoods.

[RandomWombat]

With everyone gathered at the shore and moving out of reach of the ooze, plans begin to form, with Borthan and Faedryl swiftly puzzling out their location. Ront, despite his massive size, can only barely manage to walk at this point and so Dworic takes hold of one end of the rope stretcher carrying Derendil. Jimjar ends up needing to help Eldeth with the other, but between the two of them they manage.

"I hear the pulley system squeaking," Topsy warns, her keen ears twitching as she glances behind them.

Spoiler: Survival

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With Borthan pointing out north with uncanny precision, Faedryl is able to figure out roughly where they are. Velkynvelve was not a major outpost by any means, but she is aware of the quadrant of the Underdark in which it is located.

Spoiler: Southwest

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The direction that the scuffling flight of demons was flying, southwest would take them to Gracklstugh, the duergar territories. However, it is also the direction of the drow lift and the aforementioned demons, making it a risky proposition.

Spoiler: Northwest

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This passage should lead in the direction of the Darklake, a huge body of water encompassing many tunnel systems. The kuo-toa hold control of ferry services, with the only other naval powers being the dwarves of Gracklstugh and the drow of Menzoberranzan.

There should be offshoot tunnels further that way that could also bring them further west, towards Gracklstugh.

Spoiler: Northeast

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The last passage leads around the east side of Darklake towards Menzoberranzan and Blingdenstone, the fallen remnants of the svirfneblin capital - which paid the price of opposing the drow. Given the supply problems at the outpost, this path is probably blocked at some point.

With Faedryl's guidance, the group begins making their way northwest into the tunnels, leaving the cavern behind. Along the way, Borthan and Stool have a chance to watch the walls for edible mosses and fungi.

Ront trails at the back of the group, mounting fatigue making the orc's escape a struggle. Near Faedryl, Topsy glances back at him and comments, "The big one is starting to slow us down."

[Amnestic]

Faedryl Melad Drow Hexblade/Evoker AC: 17 HP: 13/22 PP: 12 PIv: 14 PIs: 12 Sanity: 11 Conditions: -- Concentrating: -- Eighth Day, Escape "That is a problem." Her voice is flat. She doesn't look at Topsy, her eyes are set on the surroundings, looking for side tunnels, gaps in the area, anything that could serve as a place to rest. "What's your solution?" She didn't need to guess, really. 'Leave him behind as bait' was almost certainly the answer, but if it was, she'd have them say it first. She wouldn't put the words in their mouths. If they had qualms about it, hoping the big bad drow would suggest it instead, she wouldn't play that game. She needed all the muscle she could get, slow or otherwise.

Spoiler: OOC

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Should she see any loose earth she'll use Mold Earth to create blockages behind them in the passage. She'll also be turning a few bits of stone periodically - once every ten minutes or so - into difficult terrain, to slow pursuit ever so slightly.

[Spore]

Stool Myconid Druid AC: 15 (bucket armor + shield) HP: 5/28 PP: 15 PIv: 9 PIs: 13 San: 12 Conditions: - Concentration: - No, big strong orc is needed. Large friend is scared, that why he so angry. Help him, respect him, and he will help us. We need rest. We need hide, not run. Stool makes clearly mentally to anyone. He then turns to Ront. You are strong orc, need to push on a bit. We feed you, you protect us. Deal? The tiny battered mushroom extends his "hand" once again, but the gesture is just a ritual for him. The fact that the myconid even just enters an area where the orc could grab and crush the tiny fungus is the larger shows of trust.

[purepolarpanzer]

Borthan Zuek Half-Drow Ranger AC: 16 HP: 6/29 PP: 14 PIv: 9 PIs: 14 Conditions: Concentrating on: Borthan is near the front of the group scraping some moss off the wall of the passage when he hears the others taking note of Ront's fatigue. Not that many would know that, since Borthan was completely invisible in darkness. At least to those utilizing darkvision. He slowed his pace, letting the others pass by him with the occasional Scuse me. Pardon me. To avoid them running directly into him. He had hated eating dusk mushrooms and ground up minerals for an entire year to get this ability, and he regretted it a bit when he was navigating other people in the dark, but it was inarguably useful for his work. Unless Ront was listening very carefully, he wouldn't notice Borthan sliding up beside him at all. Until Strong Shadow spoke. We're not going to leave you behind. But that means one of two things- either we stop too early and get caught by our pursuers, or I tie you up in a harness and drag you. Like a baby. A big, weak, useless baby. Are you a baby, Ront? Or are you a big strong orc who can bust his hump for a few more miles? Borthan would wait for a response, and assuming the orc didn't just give in, he would snake his way around his new companions back towards the front of the group. With his voice seeming to come from nowhere, he spoke so everyone could hear. No one gets left behind. I don't care if I have to push, drag, carry, or curse to keep you moving, but we're all getting out of here. Then he returned to foraging, finding a particularly juicy snail on the wall that was the size of his fist.

[RandomWombat]

Twitching her fingers and compulsively cracking her knuckles, Topsy looks back over her shoulder at the lumbering orc. "Obvious solution is to go as fast as we can and leave him to make it or not. Likely what any orc tribe would do," she twitches back to facing ahead. She and her brother both seem to be suffering from some kind of hyperactivity, as Turvy is fidgeting as well.

"If that upsets anyone's delicate sensibilities... I suggest we split up first chance the tunnel splits. Force them to decide between two trails. Understaffed now. Won't be able to follow both," the other twin perks up and cuts in, finishing for his sister. Though whether it's exactly what she had isn't clear, she doesn't correct or undermine his idea.


As they make their way, Faedryl leaves scattered stone and mounds of loose earth behind them, an annoying, petty interference. It would have slowed them down as much as the presumed pursuers - were they not already moving more slowly to allow Ront to keep up.

The orc's thoughts are light, floaty and sleepy as they drift over the psychic spores to Stool. I ain't scared, he denies immediately. He blinks, his eyes almost failing to force themselves open as he staggers forward, leaning ahead to keep momentum up. In spite of his denial, he jumps a little when Borthan appears next to him. "Ngh, Not baby. Keep going. Keep..." his voice fades as he starts to run out of breath, focusing it on keeping himself going just as he said. It's clear the orc has no intention of stopping or giving in, but he's certainly not going to be going any faster without help.

"This fellow isn't exactly featherweight either, but we're not complaining," Jimjar chips in brightly, still helping the dwarves haul Derendil along. The poison is slowly beginning to fade, but right now all the quaggoth can manage is moving his arms a bit, enough to stretch his fingers or scratch himself, maybe even get out a few words. It's like his skin is made of lead.

Shuushar is likewise carrying Buppido on his back, no easy feat even with the mad dwarf's size. Buppido's eyes are darting around watchfully at the shadows around them even as his body remains inert.


Eventually, they do come upon a branch in the path. It's too early for the path to split west towards Gracklstugh, Faedryl knows. So both branches ought to lead to somewhere along the shore of the Darklake.

[Spore]

Stool Myconid Druid AC: 15 (bucket armor + shield) HP: 5/28 PP: 15 PIv: 9 PIs: 13 San: 12 Conditions: - Concentration: - We take short rest. Catch breath, then orc rides lizard-stool. If I can carry fishman, I can carry orc. Stool states.Plus we get back energy, need for emergency fight.

[Amnestic]

Faedryl Melad Drow Hexblade/Evoker AC: 17 HP: 13/22 PP: 12 PIv: 14 PIs: 12 Sanity: 11 Conditions: -- Concentrating: -- Eighth Day, Escape "By my estimate," her voice is measured as she speaks, "we killed roughly half of the outpost's guards and quaggoths, meaning they're staffed by perhaps a dozen and a half, plus the two priestesses. Their armoury is cut off, and they have at least one injured individual needing tending." The gnome had got her taking now. What was just mental calculations were now being given voice. "They can't leave the outpost unattended. I expect at least one priestess will stay behind, plus perhaps half of their remaining quaggoths and drow, to begin repairs and damage assessment. Which means we're being pursued by one priestess at most, plus approximately six to ten others, perhaps with a few giant spiders. Minimum pursuing force is therefore seven individuals, and a maximum estimate of fourteen or so, once spiders are included." She was talking a lot to get to her eventual point. "We number thirteen in total, but two are out of action and almost all of us are injured, exhausted, or both. Together, we maybe outnumber them. Separate, we're outnumbered, guaranteed. If we split, half of us will die. Stay together, we likely outnumber them still, have a chance of picking a fight on our terms, and probably all come out alive." Jimjar was the gambling one. The twins perhaps less so. Perhaps their cowardice would make them see the logic of strength in numbers. "We come to a split, I can magic up the impression that we did separate, without needing to do so." It would mean she couldn't slow terrain behind them anymore, but it was worth it if it got the pursuers to follow an entire separate branch and leave them alone. "We can't rest now." Even if she desperately wanted one herself. That extra spells would be crucial. "We need to find someplace we can conceal, or we'll be caught unprepared." When she reaches the intersection, her hesitation is nonexistent. No sense worrying about which direction they pick when she doesn't know either's final destination. "We go right." Her decision is snappy, confident and assured, despite her lack of knowledge. When in doubt go with your gut instinct, and if it doesn't pay off, so be it. Deal with that if it happens.

Spoiler: OOC

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Assuming they all do follow Faedryl, she casts Mold Earth on the left branch, creating patterns of scraped boots and dirt, as if they'd taken that path as well.

[RandomWombat]

From the looks on the faces of the two gnomes, they seem to be running calculations in their heads. Gauging the odds of survival staying with the group for strength, or gambling that they will vanish in the group that is not chased. Neither twin spares the other so much as a glance or a signal, at least none that Faedryl can detect.

"Fine. This seems like a decent plan," Topsy at last voices her approval, following Faedryl while she masks their travel by creating false tracks. With the drow likely close on their tail, no one seems eager to take Stool's suggestion to stop and rest just yet.

Further now from the established supply routes of the drow, the road-tunnels become narrower and ill maintained. Sporadically, small crevices and tunnels branch off. From from Borthan is able to snag a few small cave-dwelling lizards for extra protein, creatures lurking in the dark not as predators but to avoid them. In the same crevice, Borthan finds what attracted the small critter there: a barrelstalk mushroom, a large barrel-like fungus that absorbs moisture from its surroundings and stores it inside succulent flesh. Not unlike a cactus, but with the added benefit of no prickles. There is no means to tap the fungus and store water for later, but a stab of a dagger allows each member of the motley crew to drink from it and quench their thirst, before Borthan carves up the flesh for them to eat as they travel.

The group ends up having to fall into a column formation - moving two-by-two and, occasionally, single file. Often through pitch darkness, and over terrain that is rough and cracked, even without Faedryl's magical assistance. There are no ideal places to conceal themselves as a whole here in the cramped paths, but the Underdark denizens among them are well aware that these tunnels can carry on for days. And they definitely do not have the energy to walk for days without cease.

Presently in a passage where they can move two by two, the group's travels are lit in eerie shades of blue by inedible, bio-luminescent fungi that grow in patches along the walls. The damn air and walls, and the soft white noise of water ahead, announce that they are nearing a stream or river. And soon the ones at the fore of the group see the dark, pure running water twenty feet below a cliff ahead. The broad crevice is wide and far, stretching either direction into the darkness. In fact, they are the crevice in the wall of a much larger cavern here. Eerily giving them a feeling of switching places with the lizard wrapped in bloody cloth in Borthan's grip.

Stretching across the underground river is a bridge of wood and rope, hanging between their tunnel and another on the opposite side.

Spoiler: OOC

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Please establish two marching orders: one single file, and one two by two.

[Amnestic]

Faedryl Melad Drow Hexblade/Evoker AC: 17 HP: 13/22 PP: 12 PIv: 14 PIs: 12 Sanity: 11 Conditions: -- Concentrating: -- Eighth Day, Escape Times like this she wished her familiar was still available, and not temporarily banished from reality. Ryld'aer would have served as an admirable scout, and chances were few underdark denizens would care to attack every bat that flapped their way. It didn't serve her anything to worry about what might have been, she needed to focus on what was. Including this bridge. It would occur to them all no doubt - the question of if it could hold them. Especially the larger ones like Bort, or those carrying another person. They had little in the way of choice - make a stand here, attempt a crossing, or trust the water. If she was right the current would carry them to Darklake, and wash away any trail that they had. It would also carry them potentially far from her spellbook, and there was no guarantee the water was any safer than the drow patrol on their trail. "We need to be careful crossing," she says, trying to guess - or remember - how strong these structures usually were. "An errant step and you're gone."

Spoiler: OOC

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(1d20+4)[7] Intelligence check to see how sturdy the bridge is? Maybe get an extra +2 if I can go Perception (Intelligence)? :D

[purepolarpanzer]

Borthan Zuek Half-Drow Ranger AC: 16 HP: 6/29 PP: 14 PIv: 9 PIs: 14 Conditions: Concentrating on: Borthan scans the bridge, trying to spot any damage or weakness that he can make out. Safe thing to do would be to cross one at a time, with each person putting on a harness, making their way across, taking off the harness, and then we all drag it back for the next person. That way we only put one person's weight on it. That said, that method would also be slower than death. We might lose time on our pursuers, or, worse yet, they may catch up to us. He looks to the others to get their opinion on how to cross.

Spoiler: OOC

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Rolled a 21 in the discord for survival or perception to see what kind of weight this bridge can hold.

[Spore]

Stool Myconid Druid AC: 15 (bucket armor + shield) HP: 5/28 PP: 15 PIv: 9 PIs: 13 San: 12 Conditions: - Concentration: - Maybe cross quickly, then cut bridge? the small fungus quickly adds. Makes harder to help pale elf.

[RandomWombat]

"I agree with the mushroom. Cutting the bridge would allow us to take a rest without the drow getting to us, unless they sprout wings."

"Or... we could rest on the other side and..." Turvy is interrupted with a squeak as his sister elbows him. "Speak up." "Er, right. Someone could be ready to cut it, if they try to cross? That way we don't waste the bridge... if we don't have to."

"Maybe they already went the wrong way!" it's clear from the sparkle on Jimjar's eyes as he peers over the group that he's looking for anyone who might want to make a wager on that.

Derendil and Buppido are beginning to get more movement back in their limbs. It seems the spider venom will soon clear out of their system, and they are able to talk now, though Buppido has nothing to say on the matter of the bridge. The dwarves are likewise guarded and silent, and Ront is too tired to care what the plan is.

Spoiler: Perception

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Spoiler: DC 10

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The bridge looks sturdy. It's been maintained, probably by the nearby outpost.

Spoiler: DC 15

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These kinds of bridges are able to handle enough weight that they should be fine as long as they spread out. Whoever is carrying the stretcher will be the most strain on the bridge, and should probably go across on their own.

Spoiler: DC 20

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Though it has been maintained, there is one board on the bridge near this side that looks like it needs to be replaced, the wood has started to develop cracks that are hard to notice without a keen eye. If someone heavy stepped on it, it might snap.

[purepolarpanzer]

Borthan Zuek Half-Drow Ranger AC: 16 HP: 6/29 PP: 14 PIv: 9 PIs: 14 Conditions: Concentrating on: Without a word, Borthan climbs onto the bridge. He moves forward with confidence that the bridge is sound, moving up to one particular board and kneeling down before it. Drawing Kronyn's shortsword, he admires the craftsmanship for a few seconds before turning the weapon and bringing it down like a hammer, pommel first. He did this with a smile, gleaning some small joy from using his tormentor's prize weapon as a bludgeoning tool. It doesn't take much effort to smash through the weakened board, sending the pieces falling down into the water before. Then he realizes the problem with their marching order. With him invisible, if he moved in formation with the others people would be CONSTANTLY bumping into him. Don't step there. 'Taint safe. Then he took a large step over the missing board and took point, meaning to cross the bridge. Even weakened as he was, it made the most sense to him. Besides, he'd hardly be missed with no one being able to see him.

Derendil Quaggoth Barbarian/Abjurer AC: 17 HP: 5/26 PP: 10 PIv: 12 PIs: 10 Conditions: Mage Armor (8 hrs), Arcane Ward (0hp/8hp) Concentrating on: Derendil strained against the rapidly faltering venom in his system, finally finding himself able to speak, with effort. Without thinking about it he begins to speak in elven, each word requiring a bit more effort than normal. I am in your debt. All of you. When I am returned to my true form and my nobility is restored, I will gift each of you a boon for saving my life. Then, realizing again what a eclectic group he was travelling in, he switches to his pathetic understanding of undercommon. Thank all of you for not leaving me behind. Borthan, part way across the bridge, snorts and barks back Your boon and a handful of this moss and I'll have a clean bum and nothing more. No one gets left behind.

[Amnestic]

Faedryl Melad Drow Hexblade/Evoker AC: 17 HP: 13/22 PP: 12 PIv: 14 PIs: 12 Sanity: 11 Conditions: -- Concentrating: -- Eighth Day, Escape The invisible voice of Borthan is offputting, but at least he seems to know more about the bridge than she grasped. "One at a time then, though the smaller ones can probably group up." She follows behind the twins, with as much urgency as is safe to do so.

[RandomWombat]

A few at a time, spread out so as not to strain the rope overmuch, the group crosses over the underground river. With Borthan unveiling the unsafe board, there is now a small gap in the bridge, but nothing they can't avoid going carefully. As luck would have it, the path opens up into a wider area at the other end, about thirty feet in diameter. Water trickles down along the walls in thin trails, running through a dug out trough near this end of the bridge and into the stream. The damp environment has allowed a variety of fungus to grow along the walls and floor, a veritable garden of decay that gives Stool a nostalgic feeling of home.

To the left of where they came another tunnel continues from the chamber. Next to that tunnel entrance are a pair of dwarves, two dwarven men with blond hair and a brotherly resemblance. They are dressed in slave rags and carrying crude axes made out of animal bones and sharp stones, lashed together with rope.

Seeing Faedryl and the gnomes appear first (Borthan invisible to them), the two dwarves scramble to their feet from where they were making a meal of a few of the fungi, brandishing their axes with panic in their eyes. They speak to one another in what Borthan recognizes as the Shield Dwarves' Dwarvish dialect. "Blast, they've found us!" "Thought the gnomes and drow were enemies?" "Prob'ly bounty hunters I'd bet!"

[Spore]

Stool Myconid Druid AC: 15 (bucket armor + shield) HP: 5/28 PP: 15 PIv: 9 PIs: 13 San: 12 Conditions: - Concentration: - Stool squeals in delight at the sight of the different fungi. He enjoys the life brought to this decaying mess, and anyone who can see the small myconid would call him crazy. A tad crazier than the presence of a sentient fungus with a bucket on its 'head' already is. Stool swishes around and about, tasting various different kinds of mold, fungus, dead tissue and similar. A veritable but basic hum exudes from the myconid, quickly shifting into a higher pitch, unheard but felt. Faedryl is the first one to 'hear' his delight in her mind. The song of Psilofyr is alive in this cave. Stool tastes all the mold, Stool becomes the mold. Jumping over to Borthan, he adds without explanation of the first bit. Good place for rest. If dwarf friends allow! Jumping in front of the group happily, the naive myconid nonetheless sees the brandished weapons and is reminded of his damages. He shudders and retreats. New friends! Would not understand mental message. Please talk to them. They need help, we need help. Help, help. Stool can translate with spores. Stool trails off for anyone who wants to 'listen'. With a bit less confidence, Stool ultimatively decides to stand aside and provide mental translation, but prepares for the worst.

[Amnestic]

Faedryl Melad Drow Hexblade/Evoker AC: 17 HP: 13/22 PP: 12 PIv: 14 PIs: 12 Sanity: 11 Conditions: -- Concentrating: -- Eighth Day, Escape While she doesn't grasp the dwarf's exact wording, between their actions, their clothes and Stool's mental penetration she understands the situation well enough. "We mean you no harm," she says in Common, holding up her empty hands to show she's not holding weapons - even if the rest of them are. "We're escaped prisoners, just looking for a place to rest. We've tired, injured, and some of us can't walk," she gestures behind her to the ones bringing up the rear - exhausted Bort, Derendil and Buppido still roped onto the backs of the others, and the two dwarves who might be seen as more friendly than she would. "There's room enough for us all here, we don't need to come to blows."

Spoiler: OOC

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Persuasion(?): (1d20+1)[18]

[purepolarpanzer]

Borthan Zuek Half-Drow Ranger AC: 16 HP: 6/29 PP: 14 PIv: 9 PIs: 14 Conditions: Concentrating on: A voice comes from the darkness to the side of the main group. Not bounty hunters. Not today at least. He speaks in common for now, thinking that the dueregar tongue may make things worse. There's no profit in splitting a bounty this many ways. And no profit in hauling wounded when corpses usually pay just as well, with half the trouble. Like the drow said, we're just passing through, looking for a place to rest up. No threat to you and yours. Knowing himself to be a shoddy diplomat at best, he uses his words to support Faedryl's, then goes silent. If there was going to be a fight here, he would do his best to make it quick.

Spoiler: OOC

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Providing advantage to Faedryl.

[Spore]

Stool Myconid Druid AC: 15 (bucket armor + shield) HP: 5/28 PP: 15 PIv: 9 PIs: 13 San: 12 Conditions: - Concentration: - Unable to add anything worthwhile, Stool just starts to 'sing' in a high pitched tone almost unable to hear. He decides to leave the confrontation and joins Shuushar in tending to the wounded. How is everyone? Stool likes this cave. Stool thinks we should pause. He puts up a brave front, but Shuushar can hear a bit of fear and sadness at the damage the dark elves did.

[RandomWombat]

Faedryl's words give the dwarves pause, especially once the eclectic band files in behind her, and Shuushar and Stool begin establishing a small triage in a corner of the fungal cave. Buppido and Derendil can nearly move on their own again, able to sit up and take a drink of water mostly unaided.

The dwarves further relax at the sight of Dworic and Eldeth, who greet them kindly.

"Grn." The older of the two dwarf brothers grunts, slowly lowering his improvised axe to slide it back into the loop of his rough rope drawstring. "What you do to get locked up?" he asks, warily.

"Long as we keep our distance..." the younger says, taking a seat again, up against the far wall from their motley menagerie. As if either of the dwarves stood much threat against their numbers and skill.


At the triage, Shuushar is beginning to clean and re-bandage some of the injured using strips of cloth torn form his ragged prison shirt, which he doesn't seem to care to miss. The fishman smiles, the edges of his broad lips turning upward as Stool's mind contacts the smooth, calm presence of his own. I am gladdened that so many of us survived the attempt. And with luck we may yet rescue our missing friend, he responds through the telepathic link. Reaching out a hand, he ushers Stool closer. Can you help me to clean and disinfect the wounds, Stool? He asks, while using a rag to clean some of the refuse off of Stool's surface for sanitary purposes.

[Spore]

Stool Myconid Druid AC: 15 (bucket armor + shield) HP: 5/28 PP: 15 PIv: 9 PIs: 13 San: 12 Conditions: - Concentration: - Seeing the refuse bothering Shuushar, Stool does the most myconid thing to do in this. A string of hyphae extends from his "mouth", moistening up his whole body, removing and taking in the dirt, leaving only slimy, yet "clean" surface. He then proceeds to aid with his damp arm extrusions, probably resulting a mix of relaxing coolness and discomforting moisture for the patients.

[Amnestic]

Faedryl Melad Drow Hexblade/Evoker AC: 17 HP: 13/22 PP: 12 PIv: 14 PIs: 12 Sanity: 11 Conditions: -- Concentrating: -- Eighth Day, Escape Faedryl takes a seat a fair distance away, pleased for the rest, but it wouldn't last. Time marches on unabated. They could, perhaps, rest here for a full day. It had a water source, probably edible fungus, and with only two entrances it was defensible enough if it came to blows. If the drow came from up behind they could sever the bridge and they'd be fine. Ideally they'd take out a few of them now, save them returning and fortifying the outpost further. Whittling down their numbers bit by bit. They couldn't spend too much time though, if the road was cleared they'd lose any chance of getting back her spellbook - and rescuing Nilvae, of course. She doesn't respond to the slave's question. She doesn't even hear it. She's lost in thought of possibilities and eventualities. Hypothetical scenarios of what might be has cut her off from what currently is.

Sarith Kzerkarit Drow Fighter/Rogue AC: 16 HP: 8/23 PP: 14 PIv: 11 PIs: 10 Sanity: 8 Conditions: Exhaustion (1) Concentrating: -- Eighth Day, Escape Having finally caught up with the rest from his position at the back of the group Sarith drops to the ground a little faster than desired, banging his knee on the stone. A sharp pang of pain a reminder that he was still alive, for better or worse. His brushes with death hadn't yet brought his end. When the new slave asks his question, Sarith considers staying silent. Why should they have to share? What purpose did it serve? Would they be enriched by speaking their crimes, or by hearing them in turn? Nothing would change for the knowledge gained, just as nothing would change about his end. It would come all the same. He sighs. It seemed the ever-talkative Faedryl would not respond, and it would cause more problems if both the drow stayed quiet, so he supposes it's up to him to speak up. "I killed another drow in cold blood," is his short, to the point answer to the question. His face says he doesn't wish to elaborate much further, but if this small truth bought their silence so he could recover peacefully it would be worth it.

[RandomWombat]

The Fungal Campsite

The dwarf maintains eye contact with Sarith, defiant for a slave as he tries to pick apart some deeper meaning behind the drow's hollow words. But before the questioning can continue, Dworic and Eldeth pull the slaves aside to do some scouting ahead.

It turns out their... comparatively comfy little cavern is part of a small network, with a few small fresh water springs and several more chambers of verdant decay. Taking use of the extra room, the escapees begin to spread out and find their own space.

The dwarves place a watch at the 'back exit,' leaving the drow to watch the bridge.

Spoiler: OOC

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Feel free to interact with anyone if you wish while I handle a little side scene...

The Outpost

It is dark, and familiar. Nilvae begins to come to silently in the dingy cell, its anti-magic feeling clammy and oppressive around her. Across the chamber is a dark arachnid form, bound up in ropes.

Blink.

A donkey stands from the floor, the ropes falling away from its limbs. The poor creature brays anxiously, clacking over to the door and then pacing back, looking for a way out.

Blink.

Looming. The dark shape standing over Nilvae, with a hiss and a clacking of mandibles. The tips of two legs press themselves against Nilvae's face, stretching the edges of her one of eyes as if trying to hold it open, but-

Blink.

Stamping hooves clacking next to her face quickly dispel any remaining haze around her consciousness, her bizarre companion continuing to move back and forth through the cell. The warlock has a loop of rope binding her arms behind her back, and another loop around her legs.

[Spore]

Stool Myconid Druid AC: 15 (bucket armor + pot lid) HP: 28/28 PP: 15 PIv: 9 PIs: 13 San: 12 Conditions: - Concentration: - Stool happily attends everyone and tries to form a somewhat good relationship. Being free of pride, he happily serves others and helps them where he can, but focusses on Shuushar's ministrations to the injured. Fatigue claims him eventually, but not before meandering towards Faedryl and Borthan respectively. Faedryl: Drow shaman? it echoes in her mind. You are kind. Wanting to help outside elf. Why do? Your kind is egoistic. They fear the dark, they hate the work. But they do love to copulate. But not for offsprings. Can you explain? You can feel the glee of a small child's innocence in your mind. Borthan: Where you from? Why do you seek drow? Have family here? Why does your family hate us? Stool tries to help the drow keep watch while he asks. And why can I smell you better than see you? Want me to focus on survival or fighting for tomorrow? Can you find enough food always? Spoiler Show slightly OOC: I can prep Create Water, Purify Food and Drink, but if Borthan feels confident my combat options are far more flexible.

Nilvae Half-Elf Warlock AC: ?? HP: ??/23 PP: 12 PIv: 11 PIs: 12 San: 7 (-1) Conditions: - Concentration: - Was this the afterlife? Nilvae tried to raise her head, but was unable to. She rolled to her side, the uncomfortable chill of near-death infusing her body yet again. The warmth; no absence of any sensation of temperature was gone. It gave way to the clammy cold of the cell, muted absence of the magical network infusing all of Faerun. No, this was not death. This was not the Feywild, nor Kelemvor's wall of the faithless. This was mortal's hell, Faerun's underdark. Nilvae groaned and tried to adjust her eyes to the dark. Her only friend in the dark skittered, then trotted towards her. Licking her face, trying to pull her up in a worried manner. The half-elf smiled, expecting to understand the donkey. But the cell prevented this. She could still try. No worry, my friend. I'm awake. She tries to sit up and look around. Deep down, the urge to cackle at her own idiocy started rising, but curiosity fought it back for now.

[Amnestic]

Faedryl Melad Drow Hexblade/Evoker AC: 17 HP: 13/22 PP: 12 PIv: 14 PIs: 12 Sanity: 11 Conditions: -- Concentrating: -- Eighth Day, Escape The tiny child-voice uttering the word copulate was torture enough, but she now had to answer the mushroom. To play nice. "I doubt what you know of 'my kind' could fill a page," she shoots back sardonically. She wasn't unique in her disapproval of drow society writ large. Her dead allies before her capture were proof well enough of that. There'd be others, hiding, keeping quiet, but she doubts that they're the majority kept suppressed by tradition. They were a minority, in truth, and changing that would require no small amount of effort and power - of both the physical and oratorical varieties. "Nilvae was captured helping the escape. It's only correct that we pay the effort back in kind. And we will get to kill our captors as an added bonus. Whether you call that 'nice' is up to you." She leaves out her spellbook. Faedryl is smart enough not to appear totally self-centred. "What about you? Shouldn't you be rushing back to your...field or grove or plantation or whatever it is myconids live in?" She doesn't really care what reasons Stool has for staying, just that they continue to contribute to their efforts against the outpost for a while longer.

Sarith Kzerkarit Drow Fighter/Rogue AC: 16 HP: 8/23 PP: 14 PIv: 11 PIs: 10 Sanity: 8 Conditions: Exhaustion (1) Concentrating: -- Eighth Day, Escape It seemed to work, or perhaps the dwarves simply opted to move on without further confrontation, and Sarith was left mercifully alone. Unless otherwise bothered, he props himself up against a wall and settles himself into a trance.

[purepolarpanzer]

Borthan Zuek Half-Drow Ranger AC: 16 HP: 6/29 PP: 14 PIv: 9 PIs: 14 Conditions: Concentrating on: Borthan remains silent when the topic of crimes comes up. As far as he was concerned his only sin was trusting Drow to keep a square deal. He spends his time portioning the food he's managed to scavenge, trying to keep all sizes fair. He gets himself a long, cool drink of water, wishing they had something to store it in, takes the time to personally hand each person their raw and rustic meal, and then settles down to rest next to the bridge, keeping a vigil for their pursuers. His thoughts went to Nilvae, and he promised himself again that he would get that crazy woman out of that prison, even if it killed him. Then the myconid- Stool, it called itself- approached and started asking questions. Uncomfortable questions at that. Questions Bort had stopped asking himself a long time ago, when the pains of child slavery gave away to the agonies of of an adolescence in chains. He took a big bite of lizard before responding, taking a good amount of time to chew the gamey meat. I'm from nowhere. Raised in a dueregar hold, but that was never home. Closest thing I've got is a small shack on a mountainside on the surface, and that's really just a place to sleep. I wander, Stool. I've got no family, and if you had teeth I'd knock em out for bringing up that I'm related to the drow. He reached out and gave the mushroom a soft punch in what approximated for a shoulder. I did a job for the evil bastards, nothing more. And they paid me with a cell. As far as the smell goes, maybe I should have spent more time in the pool. I'm sure that ooze could have given me a good scouring. You can't see me because since I was small like you I've been preparing to be a hunter. I ate dusk mushrooms and strange minerals for a full year to become invisible to darkvision. Makes it easier to sneak up on people. Easier to catch and kill them. When the topic changed to preparing spells, Borthan waved his hand dismissively. If there's food to find, I'll find it. You keep your magic ready to kill dark elf bastards. Maybe once we rescue Nilvae we can start worrying more about survival. Now leave me alone, kid. Time to sleep. I'll have a fresh meal for you in the morning, assuming survival rations keep me regular. Food for everyone, no matter the diet.

Derendil Quaggoth Barbarian/Abjurer AC: 17 HP: 5/26 PP: 10 PIv: 12 PIs: 10 Conditions: Mage Armor (8 hrs), Arcane Ward (0hp/8hp) Concentrating on: Derendil also keeps quiet when probed about what got him imprisoned. He didn't want to ruminate on it. To be honest, he had trouble remembering it all. But what he did know was that as disgusting as raw cave lizard was, he would eagerly finish his share. He was famished.

[RandomWombat]

The Fungal Campsite

Everyone settles in, sharing a meal of cave lizard - most don't mind eating raw, when weighed against going hungry. Turvy attempts to fry his with a Shocking Grasp spell, only managing to char the meat and leave himself a crunchy, chewy meal to push through. No doubt, he'd thought the idea ingenious at the time.

Spoiler: Sarith

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When the drow settles in to trace, he feels his body̡̥̬͚̝̳ͅ begin tō͇͈̩̃̅̎͜͠ slip into a trou͖̯̯͕̘͑̽́͡bled state of mind. Again stra͈͈͎̹̻͌̾͒ͦͩ̈́nge visions plague him, r͛̓ͫ̀̃̑ͯ̋̎ͯ̚oiling across his vision, dre̚amͩ̒͊͏͍̗̳͈s that should not be. Unlḭ̟͕ͩ̂ͅke before, however, these feel more real. More visceral. Aches, sen̲̦̬̑̓̒sations of something crawling beneath the surface̱̹̳͈̪͗ͬ̃̓̌̇ͅͅ of his skin. Like a thousand tiny serpenţ͎̼s.

Feeling like h̴̛e҉͡ is out of his body̮̯͕̮̳͡, he looks down. He ç̢a̶͢͡ǹ̸͘ see glowing orange lines stretching across his wounds, pulling them together. It is n͇̼ǫ̥̝͙̥̦t̶͎ an unpleasant sensation, it is like h̫̗̜̞͆͗ͦ̌͗̆͜͟a̛̱̬͍̰̯͇ͣͬ̑͆̀̀v͇̝̰̟̟̟͙ͥͦ̏ͪ̉̍ing a warm cloth presse͖͙̦͉͈͈͞d against his body̜̹̭͠.

Then, he snaps o͏̥͎u̸̎̐̊t of it and awakens after his completed trance.

Spoiler: OOC

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Sarith has gained the ability Crawling Flesh, which allows him to use a reaction to regenerate 1d8+Con Mod hit points. But at what cost?

Spoiler: Perception: Faedryl, Borthan, Stool

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Spoiler: DC 5

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Sarith is twitching and whimpering in his trace.

Spoiler: DC 10

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He seems remarkably fine, better each time they look at him. His wounds are healing, without so much as a scar.

Spoiler: DC 20

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Barely perceptible, if one watches closely, tiny thread-like lines stretch across any cuts or gashes and pull the flesh back together. It is no slow process of hours, either - these small, interspersed episodes of sudden healing.

Not long after Sarith has awakened, when most of the camp is asleep and the two drow are about to change shifts, Borthan and Faedryl spot something moving towards them through the caves, and onto the bridge. Shambling shapes with weapons loosely gripped in their hands, wounds gaping and viscera still hanging out from their untimely death mere hours ago. Undead drow marching towards them, rasping and gurgling.

There are at least four that they can detect so far.

Spoiler: OOC

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Borthan, Faedryl and Sarith are awake. Stool can be as well, if he wishes. Sarith has completed his long rest. The others can apply a short rest.

Everyone else is asleep and in the midst of their long rest.

The Outpost

Finding the cell empty save for herself and the timeshare donkey-spider, Nilvae doesn't see any food left for them. Her disguise has since worn off, giving her some idea of how long it's been - a minimum, if nothing else. Casting an eye over the cell passes by her companion a few times. The spider half seems to be working on something, a loop of silk woven between episodes of panicked equine as long or as brief as Nilvae's ability not to blink, and not to let her attention span wander.