Out of the Abyss IC

[purepolarpanzer]

Borthan Zuek Half-Drow Ranger AC: 14 HP: 29/29 PP: 14 PIv: 9 PIs: 12 Conditions: Concentrating on: Fifth Day, Work Shift Borthan seethes at the vindictive attitude of the drow officer. It just made it all the more obvious that the purpose of these tasks was not to get them done, but to embarrass, degrade, and harass the prisoners. He briefly considers drawing his knife and attempting to slit the smug bastard's throat, but he stays his hand. Not the time nor the place for that yet. But it would come, and he'd be happy when it did. He instead does his best to observe his surroundings as they line up to return to the cell. There better be some food left when they return...

[cigaw]

Dworic Urgrimson Dwarf Barbarian AC: 15 HP: 31/35 PP: 13 PIv: 9 PIs: 13 Conditions: Exhaustion (1) Concentrating: -- Fifth Day - Work Group The dwarf shakes his head slowly at the drow's idiocy but says nothing. The gouges on his scalp sting painfully from the sweat he worked up and it's enough to distract the dwarf from his surroundings.

Eldeth Feldrun Dwarf Fighter AC: 12 HP: 25/25 PP: 13 PIv: 12 PIs: 11 Conditions: -- Concentrating: -- Fifth Day - Cell Eldeth shifts uneasily when Jimjar nudges her but makes no further move. She waves lightly to the other deep gnomes and manages a stiff nod to the derro. "Overrun patrol. You?" She drops her voice as low as she can while still allowing for the others to hear her. "Do we have any knowledge of the lay of land here? Shift changes?"

[RandomWombat]

The Fifth Day, Cell

"Who, me?" Jimjar asks coyly, looking behind himself at the wall. "Guess so! Well you see, there was this and that, and you know how drow are. They're kind of allergic to fun." He waves his hand back and forth in the air noncommittally.

"The outpost's quaggoth den is almost right next to our cell," one of the other deep gnomes speaks up, the one Jimjar claimed was called Topsy. She leans forward to look at Eldeth past the other two.

"Took some of us to a shrine of Lolth for cleaning yesterday. I think there's something important in the room underneath," Jimjar adds.


After a while the others return, the two men with wrinkly pruned fingertips. The food tray sits in front of Jimjar, who offers them a friendly wave upon their entry. "Come on down, made sure to save some for you fellas and fellette."

The Sixth Day

Spoiler: Faedryl

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The overhang of rock above, and the wall beneath it, are decorated by swimming aurora patterns. Refracted light from luminescent fungi just beneath the surface of the water that laps at Faedryl's feet and lower legs. She's lying in the sand on the edge of a vast cavern. It's a beach, a shoreline, stretching to either side before an abyss of dark water.

The sound of singing reaches her hears, in soft burbling voices. She recognizes the verses as Deep Speech, in the dialect of the kuo-toa. Following the sounds of her voices, she finds a crowd of them in the shallow water prostrating themselves and bobbing up and down in and out, hands and webbed fingers outstretched.

"Deep below the mucky-muck, dark-darkest water,
There strides Leemooggoogoon, mighty glory Deep Father!
Sacrifices go, sink beneath the mucky-muck!"

Two kuo-toa with pincered staves lead captured drow down into the dark waters, forcing them under and holding them until they drown.

"Deep Father, Deep Father!
Brings much favor, glory, power!
Rise us far above, crawl no more in the mucky-muck, now!"

A deep rumbling howl echoes through the labyrinthine pillars and tunnels of the Darklake, and the kuo-toa go quiet. Faedryl can see the silhouette of a massive shape in the distance as the drowning drow twitch their final movements and go still. Even looking in the direction of the shape makes Faedryl's vision swim, like the fungal aurora on the wall. Two great glowing lights can be seen, and the glow of faerzress begins to settle across the beach, its touch making Faedryl's hairs bristle and frizzle.

The kuo-toa cheer, bowing down or hopping around as they frantically chant.

"Leemooggoogoon! Leemooggoogoon!"

"Deep Father, Deep Father!"

Faedryl feels herself losing balance as the lights draw nearer. Her vision blurs and she finds herself falling backwards into the sand. Sand that fractures and falls apart, sending her plummeting down into darkness as the fragments sparkle above her like broken glass.

Spoiler: Mechanics

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Faedryl must make a DC 14 Sanity save. She may take Disadvantage on the save to gain Advantage on her Religion check to interpret the dream.

Spoiler: Dworic

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When he wakes up, Dworic's muscles feel stiff and tired. His head itches, and when scratched yields pieces of sickly, bloody looking skin that flake off under his nails. The scratch wounds from the other day don't seem to be healing right.

Spoiler: Mechanics

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Dworic recovers 1 Exhaustion as normal, but then suffers 1 Exhaustion again from the onset of an illness.
He has recovered no hit points from his long rest.

Faedryl lie asleep that morning, not waking up. It creaks open inwards, closing in on her corner spot and shutting her in unintentionally - not that her wardens would likely care.

A metal handheld cage covered in airholes is chucked inside, bouncing and clattering in until it skids to a stop at Borthan's feet. Inside of the cage is a light grey mushroom with tiny stubby legs. Not far behind are a male drow and a kuo-toa, both pushed inside with bags over their heads.

Spoiler: Dream: History

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Anyone Faedryl tells about the dream can also make the check.
Underdark residents treat the DC as 5 lower. I think that's everyone right now.

Spoiler: DC 5

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The vast flooded caverns are known as the Darklake.

Spoiler: DC 10

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The Darklake acts as a central feature for much of the Northdark. In spite of its name, it is not all one giant cavernous lake, consisting of both large chambers and labyrinthine aquatic tunnels. It rests between the two cities of Menzoberranzan and Blingdenstone, and Gracklstugh. As such, it has great value to both trade and war.

Spoiler: DC 15

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The kuo-toa village of Sloobudop rests on the southeast edge of the Darklake. For travelers unable to access the darkport of Gracklstugh, kuo-toa ferries are the most reliable way to traverse the Darklake, and thus are vital to travel. Even Gracklstugh sometimes purchases kuo-toa slaves from Sloobudop to act as navigators for their vessels.

This expertise has kept the kuo-toa largely protected from incursions on their otherwise poorly defended settlement.

Spoiler: Dream: Religion

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Spoiler: DC 10

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The kuo-toa are known for their unnaturally fanatical faith, and unpredictable whims. The act of creating a divinity through faith would normally require entire nations of faithful, over years. The faith of kuo-toa, as fickle as it often can be, can do the same in a matter of weeks or even days; with as little as a single village.

This quality of the kuo-toa as 'godmakers' is one major reason they are generally left alone.

Spoiler: DC 20

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Twin vicious ape heads glowing with fiendish radiance inside of their wide maws. The mere sight of it causing confusion and warping reality around the viewer. This can only be the Prince of Demons, Demogorgon.

Knowledge of the Prince of Demons and his cults is scarce, and for good cause. Even the sight of his inscribed symbol can cause madness to take root. He is madness and destruction, the essence of the Abyss made manifest. Against this dark power, ignorance is the best protection.

The thought of kuo-toa placing their fanatic faith in a demon lord - particularly one as existentially dangerous as Demogorgon - is a terrifying prospect.

Spoiler: Kuo-toa

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Spoiler: Religion or History DC 10

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The kuo-toa are known for their unnaturally fanatical faith, and unpredictable whims. The act of creating a divinity through faith would normally require entire nations of faithful, over years. The faith of kuo-toa, as fickle as it often can be, can do the same in a matter of weeks or even days; with as little as a single village.

This quality of the kuo-toa as 'godmakers' is one major reason they are generally left alone.

Spoiler: History DC 15 (5 less for Underdark residents)

Show

The kuo-toa village of Sloobudop rests on the southeast edge of the Darklake. For travelers unable to access the darkport of Gracklstugh, kuo-toa ferries are the most reliable way to traverse the Darklake, and thus are vital to travel. Even Gracklstugh sometimes purchases kuo-toa slaves from Sloobudop to act as navigators for their vessels.

This expertise has kept the kuo-toa largely protected from incursions on their otherwise poorly defended settlement.

[Amnestic]

Faedryl Melad Drow Hexblade/Evoker AC: 12 HP: 22/22 PP: 12 PIv: 14 PIs: 12 Sanity: 11 Conditions: Madness-Induced Coma (4 days remaining) Concentrating: On being in a coma Fifth Day, Cell Just one example of a different way paying off. She'd held her tongue, been as nice as possible, and in return she doesn't starve. Could most drow say they would have done the same? Unlikely. If they could she wouldn't have ended up here in the first place. She feels a warm glow of quiet smugness at this. A small victory. Her belief in the folly of the drow way hadn't wavered at all, but positive reinforcement never hurts. She sits down at the food tray, "It is appreciated," she says, the closest she can get to actually thanking someone at the moment, and even that sticks in her throat a little. Carefully sectioning off her own portion, she begins to eat, detailing what little she saw of the surrounding areas from the wash-station - the barracks or bunkhouse to the south, where clothes or other unused drow equipment probably end up, and the kitchen to the east, where knives and other improvised weapons, along with food supplies, would be found. "Given the lack of supplies coming in, they may stretch thin should their stores be damaged or destroyed," she mutters quietly between chews, "but the short term benefit of that is likely outweighed, since once we've overthrown the prison," - to her there's no question that it will happen. It's a matter of 'when', not 'if', "we'll need those supplies ourselves. I don't wish to break out only to starve." The talk of starving is a grim reminder that she's out a food portion tomorrow - her portion, since she lost it. She chews a little bit slower. Sixth Day, Cell Faedryl's mind snaps awake for a mere moment. Fish. Lake. Sand. Deep-Father. Images and words bombard her mind. She tries to sit up, but any sense of balance or stability leaves her and instead she flops sideways. With her head resting on the cold stone floor her eyes flicker for a few moments as she tries to focus on the logic behind them, on understanding, but whatever hope there was of that slips away. The loss of balance dims her mind, her thoughts scatter, and Faedryl slips out of consciousness again, unable to be woken.

Sarith Kzerkarit Drow Fighter/Rogue AC: 14 HP: 23/23 PP: 14 PIv: 11 PIs: 10 Sanity: 8 Conditions: -- Concentrating: -- Sixth Day, Cell The cell. It was what he deserved, for his crime, for his madness. The clanging of the metal cage containing the mushroom creature echoes around the cramped area, signalling the arrival of his failure, for that was what he was. What else could he be? The stench of his own disappointment overwhelms his nostrils far more than any smell in the cramped room or its occupants. A stench that would carry all the way to his execution, no doubt. He had little desire to die, but nor could he see any reason to continue on. Traitor. Murderer. Madman. These names and more echo around his mind, around the stifling bag over his head. So many plans, so many ambitions, all brought to ruin in a moment by...what, a brief moment of insanity? It hadn't even been him...he thinks. Now pushed inside the cell he stumbles slightly. His normally sure and steady feet slip, more from lack of willingness to balance than any physical malady, or even the bag blocking his sight. Now inside, he removes the bag, though those he sees are nothing new. He'd watched them all come to the outpost, alone or in groups. Once their jailer, now jailed with them. He slumps to sitting down, the weight of his unseen yet known crime piling once more against his shoulders. Shoulders that had once strutted proudly and now hunch with the pathetic shame of someone brought low, lost and bereft of all meaning, of drive. He says nothing. Words were meaningless, anything exchanged now would be dust and ash, lost to unknown time when they were all executed. None would remember Sarith, nor any of their conversations here. They were not drow, save the traitor who stayed sleeping and the half-blood, and therefore their deaths were much less of a fall, yet they would all die all the same. Stories cut short, as so many were. His should have been longer, so much longer, yet now he was unable to even muster a sneer at being accommodated with these - and he believed this word was generous - 'people'. It didn't matter anymore though. Nothing did. Sarith's eyes drift to the floor, unable to bring himself to raise them. He just stares at nothing. Eyes fixed on rock yet looking far beyond it, a gaze towards nothing and seeing nothing, for that was all his future held. He no longer needed to see for he had true clarity of his destination, and that clarity ruined him.

[purepolarpanzer]

Borthan Zuek Half-Drow Ranger AC: 14 HP: 29/29 PP: 14 PIv: 9 PIs: 12 Conditions: Concentrating on: The Fifth Day- Cell Hey, thanks, Jimbo. I've been thinking of this meal all day. Almost makes these dishpan hands worth it. Borthan takes his portion of food, begins to eat it, then stops and looks at Dworic. Sighing, he stands up, walks over, and puts some of his food on the dwarf's plate. No arguin', biggun. You're hurt, and we'll need your strength. Plus I don't deal with debt easily. He returns to his spot by the door, facing inward for once while he listens to the female drow's words. Once she is done speaking, he says When we get out of here food won't be a problem. As long as you don't mind moss, fungi, and little critters most wouldn't think of as food, I can supply a small army with meals out in the Dark. That is, as long as it suits us to stick together. On second thought, y'all are gonna want to keep well supplied, because I make no promises that I won't be off on my own as soon as I'm given the chance. He punctuates the sentence reversing course by popping a bit of dried meat into his mouth and chewing. The Sixth Day Bort steps back out of the way of the flying cage, then picks it up, his curiosity peaked. He holds it up to his face, peering into one of the airholes. Then he turns to the door. Much as I appreciate the extra rations, I think this ones a little undercooked, if you get my drift. He sets the cage down with some degree of gentleness, then turns to face the newcomers as their hoods are removed. Oh crap, another one. He thinks to himself as the drow male shows his face. He has not, as of yet, noticed anything suspicious about the female drow continuing to sleep.

[Spore]

Stool Myconid Druid AC: 11 HP: 28/28 PP: 15 PIv: 9 PIs: 13 Conditions: Distress Spores Concentration: - As the small cage is pushed inside, a faint cloud of spores is emitted. Within your mind, you can suddenly hear a faint wimper, not even a full cry. Is the small cage filled with an infant? you think to yourself, as the sound is clearly linked to it. Was it sound, or something entirely else? You knew you heard it. You can hear a voice in your head, reverberating: Where am I? Where is Sarith? Can we go home? Can you get me out of here? You are not entirely sure if the voice in your heads is a hallucinations, but it has to be linked to the small mushroom in the cage. It looks around, ending with a short. This room is very full. But we can share it. I won't take up mush-room. Hehehe. The small fungus giggles mentally.

[RandomWombat]

The Fifth Day

"I'm not so sure how wise it is to 'stick together' either..." Topsy adds, when Borthan suggests he'd sooner leave them and go his own way. "We don't exactly know each other. We're not friends. Just people stuck in the same bad situation."

"You know, the Underdark is a dangerous place to be wandering around alone, would it be so bad to have ol' Jimbo keep you company?" Jimjar counters, shooting Topsy a playful wink in his casual nonchalance.

"Tch," she lets out a small puff of air through her teeth and rolls her eyes at him. "I think we'll be fine."

"Now," to the surprise of Topsy, Turvy speaks up from beside her unprompted. "I don't know why, but many of us are receiving these... 'visions'. That doesn't happen without a reason and, I mean, shouldn't we work together to figure out why?" his confidence drains out from his voice like a leaking balloon as he continues with a bunch of sets of eyes on him.

The Sixth Day

The cell doors are shut and locked, and most of the drow leave this time without any taunts or work orders. Perhaps for later, today. Duskryn comes up to the door and slots the tray of food through. It contains only a roll of bread for each of them (except one missing for Faedryl), a single bowl of mushroom broth, and two filled waterskins.

Removing the bag from his head, the new kuo-toa prisoner looks around with bulging fishy eyes. Taking a slow bow, he introduces himself, "Thoub we meet throubf ill circumsbance, it is a pleasure meeblbng you all." He speaks slowly and clearly, to get around his accent and ensure he is understood. "I am Shuushar."

"So good to meet you, Shuushar. Please, make yourself at home," Buppido stands up from his spot at the other corner of the room and strides past, nudging the two new prisoners out of the way as he collects his bread roll. He stops to take a drink from one of the skins and then calmly returns to his place without further disturbing anyone. The deep gnomes maintain some distance as he goes.

[Amnestic]

Faedryl Melad Drow Hexblade/Evoker AC: 12 HP: 22/22 PP: 12 PIv: 14 PIs: 12 Sanity: 11 Conditions: Sixth day - Madness-Induced Coma (4 days remaining) Concentrating: On being in a coma Fifth Day, Cell "The dreams...nightmares...visions, whatever their source, may simply be a local affliction that disappears once we leave. Since the outpost doesn't seem affected, it might be extremely localised." Faedryl states with what she would call moderate confidence. "There's no need for discussion or consensus about future plans now. There are more pressing matters that we face - namely our escape in the first place." The moment the last word leaves her mouth she notices the unintentional rhyme, but does not comment or acknowledge it. "For now, at least, I'd hope we can agree to at least try not to burn down the kitchens if we can help it."

Sarith Kzerkarit Drow Fighter/Rogue AC: 14 HP: 23/23 PP: 14 PIv: 11 PIs: 10 Sanity: 8 Conditions: -- Concentrating: -- Sixth Day, Cell Sarith's eyes flicker slightly when he 'hears' his name 'spoken' by the spore creature. He was nothing, but the myconid was less than nothing, as all non-drow were. Yet it knew him. His name, at least. Without him knowing it. Perhaps this creature was the cause of his madness, and if so he would kill it quickly, to take some measure of revenge before his own life was ended. With the most minor of reinvigorations he takes his portion of food before speaking aloud, disregarding the telepathy. Anyone looking at him will clearly see him addressing the box and no one else, his eyes focused with new, albeit minor, intensity. "How do you know my name? Did you do this to me?" His voice isn't quite yet at fully accusatory, but there's a definite edge of suspicion and distrust to it.

[Spore]

Stool Myconid Druid AC: 11 HP: 28/28 PP: 15 PIv: 9 PIs: 13 Conditions: Rapport Spores Concentration: - You took me, Sarith. the small fungus states. Their attention turning to Borthan, they adress Borthan. We....I am Stool. Can you get me out of here? I could start eating the box, but it is not rotten enough yet. If you cannot help, please put me in the dampest corner you can find. Others have tried eating us but they got very sick. Meanwhile the small fungus starts pushing its tiny body against the reinforced box.

[RandomWombat]

The Sixth Day

Jimjar goes over to the myconid's cage and looks it over. "Don't worry, little buddy. It doesn't look like they locked it." He grabs onto a clasp on the metal cage and undoes it with a few movements, popping the cage door open. The walking mushroom is now clearly visible.

Spoiler: History: Myconids

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Spoiler: DC 5

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Myconids are intelligent fungi. They grow into a vaguely humanoid shape over time.

Spoiler: DC 15

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The myconids are typically peaceful and prefer to keep to themselves in their fungal groves. They have affinities for druid cultures, as they live very closely with their own nature. They are unable to speak, but can understand speech. Myconids can release spores that enable telepathic communication between all those affected, including the mental sharing of images. They use this to communicate with outsiders.

To a myconid, community is more important than anything. Each individual exists for the whole, rather than possessing a sense of self-interest as most sapient species do.

[Amnestic]

Sarith Kzerkarit Drow Fighter/Rogue AC: 14 HP: 23/23 PP: 14 PIv: 11 PIs: 10 Sanity: 8 Conditions: -- Concentrating: -- Sixth Day, Cell So the myconid wasn't the cause, it was an effect of his madness. He'd taken it? Why? There might be no reason at all, just as he'd had no reason to kill his victim. "I see," is all he can say in response, sitting back down. He makes no apology, nor does he feel any regret towards the creature. Drow do not apologise, and he had not fallen so far as to change that just yet. If whatever had possessed him had driven him to take this myconid, perhaps it was a threat. If it was a literal possession, Sarith wants to take away the tools of whatever it was that has ruined him so. It wouldn't be hard. The creature was small, easily smashed or cut. No, that would be too simple. If the creature was his link to the madness then it needed to stay alive until he could follow that link. That is, if they weren't all executed first, which seemed more likely even with the cave-in slowing things down. He slumps a little, the brief moment of planning giving way to nothing again as he realises that any such thoughts are pointless and lead nowhere. He was a dead man walking. Time wouldn't change that. Nothing would or could.

[Spore]

Stool Myconid Druid AC: 11 HP: 28/28 PP: 15 PIv: 9 PIs: 13 Conditions: Rapport Spores Concentration: - You can hear a mental giggling as the fungus measures the now crowded cell. Oh cozy. So much food, and friends too! a giggling almost childish voice appears in your heads. He jumps around, and towards Borthan, ending his frolick in front of him. I am Stool, are you my friend? Your nose is enveloped by the almost sweet scent of death. It is probably meant as a compliment or invitation. After a few minutes, just before the spores vanish, an innocent question wafts through your mind. Why are you all so silent and sad?

[purepolarpanzer]

Borthan Zuek Half-Drow Ranger AC: 14 HP: 29/29 PP: 14 PIv: 9 PIs: 12 Conditions: Concentrating on: The Fifth Day- Cell Borthan looks between Faedryl and Turvy, then nods. If the dream bull puckey continues once we get out of here, I'll stick around till we make it go away. He nods again in finality. The Sixth Day- Cell Bort watches the small mushroom bounce around with one eyebrow peaked, stifling a laugh. Damn, to think that anything could make him want to laugh in this crappy situation. I'm Borthan Zuek, Stool. That name is so ridiculous I might not even need to make a nickname for you. We're all friends here, at least as long as we're locked in this pit. That's why we're sad and quiet- we don't like being imprisoned. But there's good news- we're all getting out of here. It's just a matter of time, planning, and frenzied effort at the right moment. Bort speaks this aloud even as he thinks it, looking around the room for signs of confirmation, particularly from the new male drow the mushfolk had named Sarith and the derro.

[cigaw]

Dworic Urgrimson Dwarf Barbarian AC: 15 HP: 31/35 PP: 13 PIv: 9 PIs: 13 Conditions: Exhaustion (1) Concentrating: -- Sixth Day - Cell Dworic awakens from an uneasy sleep and feels the stiffness in his joints and muscles. When he sits up, his head swims slightly and he lets out a low groan. Scratching his head, he feels the skin flake away and notices that the scratches aren't healing well. He sighs heavily. Just let me die, Haela, he thinks to himself. His moroseness is lessened with the arrival of the new prisoners. He shivers uncomfortably as the tiny myconid spreads its spore, vivid memories of his nightmare come flooding back. He stands to get food when it's delivered. Taking a roll, he breaks off a piece and drops it unceremoniously on Faedryl's lap while walking back to his spot. He nods briefly at the new arrivals and sits once more in sullen, painful silence.

Eldeth Feldrun Dwarf Fighter AC: 12 HP: 25/25 PP: 13 PIv: 12 PIs: 11 Conditions: -- Concentrating: -- Sixth Day - Cell Eldeth begins to allow herself to hope as the others speak of what they know. Maybe there's a chance they can make it out! She sleeps uneasily, her back against the wall, waking up with every new sound. A scout learns to sleep lightly, and one who doesn't trust her company doubly so. With the new arrivals, Eldeth's mood sours a bit. Another ebon skin. She can't trust the drow; an escape plan would obviously have to account for splitting the group. Moradin might even see that the drow focus on tracking down their own traitorous kin, leaving her more time to make her way back home. She eyes Dworic carefully, trying to gauge him. It's obvious he's not simply letting himself die and the bruises tell of how hard he may have fought before capture, but he does seem so very defeated. She stands to grab a bread roll when Dworic does so but, finding herself before him, doesn't know what to say. He just walks away. Her jaw drops when she sees him give a piece of bread to the she-drow - to a hated enemy! - but she just snaps her mouth shut and sits back down. When unsure, observe. So the scout sits back and watches her cellmates.

[RandomWombat]

The Sixth Day

The derro looks up at Borthan when the half-drow's eyes fall upon him. He wears an easy smile on his face as he affirms, "My containment here is only a temporary setback. My... our captors will be made to understand their folly."

"I am a healer. I will gladly blubb any wounds and weariness you may have," the fishman reaches out and plucks one of the rolls from the tray of food, looking around as if for permission. "I noblis we have nobl enoub bood blor eberyone." Indeed, the drow have given one too few pieces of bread. Even considering Faedryl's punishment, of which Borthan and Dworic are aware, they don't seem to have included any rations for the myconid. Then again it seemed perfectly happy to 'eat' in a damp wet corner.

With everyone's rolls claimed, only one remains on the tray, with none of the deep gnomes having one yet. "Hey twinsies, how about we make a little wager on who'll be picked for next work shift?" Jimjar offers, looking to the other two deep gnomes. "I bet the last roll that they'll try to pick the sleeping girl again. If I'm wrong, the last roll is yours'. You don't mind splitting right?"

Topsy crosses her arms and looks at him with a dour curl to her lip. "Fine. But if she doesn't wake up soon, we're taking her share."

Spoiler: Insight DC 12

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Even as the cell shuffles around and the new arrivals come inside, even as food is dropped in her lap, Faedryl remains lying motionless on the ground - apart from the occasional grimace or twitch. Her long sleep looks troubled and fraught with nightmares.

[Amnestic]

Sarith Kzerkarit Drow Fighter/Rogue AC: 14 HP: 23/23 PP: 14 PIv: 11 PIs: 10 Sanity: 8 Conditions: -- Concentrating: -- Sixth Day, Cell Escape. The concept sits in his mind. Absurd. Foolishness. They were outnumbered at least 2-1 by trained soldiers and quaggoth. Without weapons, armour or supplies. Stuck in a cell, manacled and without magic. Their deaths were certain yet they would choose to meet it early? To what end? Maybe it would at least offer some meager entertainment to watch the scene play out though, before his abrupt end. "If you want information I have some that will be relevant. I served here, before my imprisonment." He drones in a monotone voice, barely looking up. What they did with the information was on their heads, it mattered little to him. "Numbers, names, a rough layout." It wouldn't change their fates, any of them, and he'd already fallen so far what was one more. Loyalty to the drow wouldn't change anything anymore. Not that drow understood 'loyalty' at the best of times.

[Spore]

Stool Myconid Druid AC: 11 HP: 28/28 PP: 15 PIv: 9 PIs: 13 Conditions: - Concentration: - Not being particularly interested in eating just yet, Stool shimmies over to the sleeping female drow. Listening to her breathing makes him hesitant, but he tries to "taste" the drow regardless. If she was dead, her essence would live on in the myconid, her biomass would strengthen the small one. If she was alive, she might need help. Stool decides after tasting she was "alive" to summon his armlike extrusions and check the drow thoroughly, everywhere. He bounces up and down next to Shuushar after he says he was a healer, trying to pull the creature over to the drow, pointing at her like a child would point at his motionless mother. Spoiler Show Medicine (1d20+5)[17]

[cigaw]

Eldeth Feldrun Dwarf Fighter AC: 12 HP: 25/25 PP: 13 PIv: 12 PIs: 11 Conditions: -- Concentrating: -- Sixth Day - Cell Eldeth's ears perk up at new information, though she is loathe to trust the fishman and the captive drow. She moves a little closer to the kuo-toa. "Shuushar," she says trying to pronounce its name properly. "If you are a healer then maybe you can check the other dwarf over there? His head seems hurt." She then moseys back to her spot, casting curious glances toward the strange little mushroom, and then eyes the drow. "So. What do you know?"

[Amnestic]

Sarith Kzerkarit Drow Fighter/Rogue AC: 14 HP: 23/23 PP: 14 PIv: 11 PIs: 10 Sanity: 8 Conditions: -- Concentrating: -- Sixth Day, Cell He considers not answering, for a moment. Dangle the carrot out of reach for his amusement and their frustration. He doesn't though, it would be temporary at best, and the false hope that his information gave them would make it all the sweeter. "There are a total of 19 drow serving here. It is run by a priestess, Ilvara, who is assisted by a younger priestess, Asha. The rest are male. Ilvara's mate was recently swapped out for a younger, prettier model after the old one got his face scarred, and this has caused tension between them." "On top of the drow there's maybe a dozen quaggoth and several giant spiders, meaning a total force of maybe 35 or 40 bodies in all. A grey ooze lives in the pool of water beneath the outpost, feeding off the waste dumped there." On top of the information he gives, Sarith also offers a description of the outpost itself, its layout, entry and exit points, important locations, essentially all the information he has to give. He holds nothing back. All the better to puff up their hopes and see them dashed spectacularly when the inevitability of their death sets in. He ends his information dump with "I will presume you've noticed that spells cannot be cast inside the cell, however any spell cast outside the confines stays active should you then enter. A minor thing, perhaps, but it has applications."

[RandomWombat]

The Sixth Day

Attention drawn by Stool's frantic tugging at his prison rags, Shuushar walks over and kneels down to examine the drow. He carefully reaches down to check her pulse. "She is alive, blibble one. Her pulbse is blublong. Can you, wib gentle filamembs, open ub her eye?"

With Stool's assistance, Shuushar examines Faedryl's eye, which is flickering rapidly. "She is in a deep sleep. Blub her grimace, and her shaking. Is nobb an easy sleep. She is blrbbed in a realm of niblmares." With one webbed hand he jostles her, to no response. "Sleep wiboublb end. I may be able, wib a spell, bloo rouse her." Though then comes the ill news from Sarith, of their magical suppression.

"Another one of us suffering from nightmares," Turvy points out. Though looking over at him shows he is staring at the floor, talking to no one but himself. "And each manifesting a different side effect."

When the redheaded dwarf requests his help, Shuushar stands up from next to Faedryl and nods. He gets up from examining Faedryl and motions his little fungal 'assistant' to come with him. This time it is Stool to whom the cause is obvious.

Spoiler: Medicine: Dworic Sickness

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Dworic is suffering from a relatively common infection, which has taken root in a set of bloody scratches along his skull. The city dwellers call it Sewer Plague - that's actually a catchall term for any number of infections, but the symptoms are often the same.

Cramps and exhaustion will continue to build unless treated, or fought off by the victim's body. The infection can spread to new wounds, making it difficult to heal. However, taking time to clean the wounds can slow or help stop the infection.

Spoiler: Mechanics

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Each day, Dworic has a DC 11 Con save. On a pass he loses one level of Exhaustion, and 'defeats' the infection if Exhaustion drops to 0. On a failure, he gains one level of Exhaustion.

The infection prevents healing from long rests, but not spending hit die to heal during short rests.
Another application of the Medicine skill can help clean the wounds, giving Advantage (or negating the Disadvantage from the Exhaustion) on the daily Con save.

[purepolarpanzer]

Borthan Zuek Half-Drow Ranger AC: 14 HP: 29/29 PP: 14 PIv: 9 PIs: 12 Conditions: Concentrating on: Borthan takes this all in for a moment- the female drow's coma, the male drow's report, Dworic's illness. He sighs. Things were getting heavy in here. Going down to one knee, he presses his palm flat to the stone and takes a deep breath. All right, Zuek. Just like Ee'char taught you. Speak to the stone and it will speak back to you. He kneeled there for a full minute, making only a dull humming noise as he attempted to commune and verify the male drow's information.

Spoiler: OOC

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Using Primeval Awareness to check for humanoids in a 5 mile radius.

[RandomWombat]

Spoiler: Borthan

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His humming comes back to him, reverberating through the stone. He can sense about 32 humanoids throughout the outpost, besides he and the fellow prisoners. Including the 19 subordinates, the commanding priestess, and the quaggoth, that should match the male drow's story.

[Spore]

Stool Myconid Druid AC: 11 HP: 28/28 PP: 15 PIv: 9 PIs: 13 San: 12 Conditions: - Concentration: - Stool extrudes his spores once more and telepathically announces his medical procedure. Your wounds are infected, beard friend. We can use water to clean but Stool has a better idea. Myconids can eat rotting things. His stubby 'hands' scrape at the surface of the dwarf's skull, removing the layer of encrusted blood. He then licks his "fingers" and repeats the process.

Nilvae Half-Elf Warlock AC: 13 HP: 23/23 PP: 12 PIv: 11 PIs: 12 San: 7 (-1) Conditions: - Concentration: - The maid is hit with two darts and immediately drops like a sack. Her vision blurs and the last thing she sees are two drow bending over her, smiling a vile grin. Suddenly she can see Doctor Donk in her mind's eye. The mule starts hehawing, the sound slowly morphing into a laughter. She turns, and the now-turned-spider mule chitters at her. It approaches her, and injects two fangs into her throat, pumping venom inside. It doesn't hurt but it tickles. All there is left is laughter. Silly Puck, silly donkey. Everything is so silly.

[purepolarpanzer]

Borthan Zuek Half-Drow Ranger AC: 14 HP: 29/29 PP: 14 PIv: 9 PIs: 12 Conditions: Concentrating on: Borthan's humming stops abruptly and he stands up, stretching and cracking his neck. "The former jailer's story rings true. Least the parts about the people. Thirty two people in the outpost, excluding us. We're going to need more help. And more weapons. One stone blade and a couple pieces of rope ain't gonna cut it." That being said, he reached into his pants and yanked out a five foot length of rope from along his thigh. This might work with the element of surprise, but it won't go far against those numbers. Then, just as casually, he threads the rope back down his pant leg to hide it again. Sorry to the ladies of the cave for that bit of tantalizing entertainment. He winks at the unconscious female drow.

[Amnestic]

Faedryl Melad Drow Hexblade/Evoker AC: 12 HP: 22/22 PP: 12 PIv: 14 PIs: 12 Sanity: 11 Conditions: Sixth day - Madness-Induced Coma (4 days remaining) Concentrating: On being in a coma Sixth Day, Cell Faedryl remains utterly in her coma, completely unaware of any discussions, prods, pokes or winks that are sent her way.

Sarith Kzerkarit Drow Fighter/Rogue AC: 14 HP: 23/23 PP: 14 PIv: 11 PIs: 10 Sanity: 8 Conditions: -- Concentrating: -- Sixth Day, Cell "You can find plenty of weapons and armour in the armoury." Sarith drones, as if speaking to a child. Truly how far had he fallen to have to explain such basic concepts? Not as far as they might fall when they got themselves killed. Would they be tortured first, or merely fed to the ooze? "Concoct an escape that doesn't set the whole outpost on alert and you should have free access to them, for a short while at least. The thin bridges and paths make a numerical advantage less impactful, since they cannot bring all the forces to bear at once. 32 quickly turns into 4 when they can't get past each other." He might be pushing the encouragement a bit far, they might catch onto his sinister plot to watch them all get themselves killed for his amusement if he said much more. "Or continue working diligently, like the good little prisoners that you are."

[cigaw]

Dworic Urgrimson Dwarf Barbarian AC: 15 HP: 31/35 PP: 13 PIv: 9 PIs: 13 Conditions: Exhaustion (1) Concentrating: -- Sixth Day - Cell The dwarf barely reacts as the little myconid exudes a cloud of spores, though he still winces as memories of the nightmare surface unbidden. Eh, what’s one more indignity, he thinks to himself, too exhausted to realize that the friendly mushroom is linked to his thoughts.

Eldeth Feldrun Dwarf Fighter AC: 12 HP: 25/25 PP: 13 PIv: 12 PIs: 11 Conditions: -- Concentrating: -- Sixth Day - Cell Eldeth listens closely as the drow recounts his knowledge of the outpost, closing her eyes and making a mental map of the description. She shakes her head disapprovingly at the half-drow’s jest but says nothing, silently agreeing with his reasoning. She then turns to Sarith, a quizzical look on her face. “And yet four quickly becomes an overwhelming force unless the drow no longer have access to poisoned crossbow bolts, spiders who can drop from the ceiling or spells. We cannot survive a confrontation, a silent escape is the only way.”

[Amnestic]

Sarith Kzerkarit Drow Fighter/Rogue AC: 14 HP: 23/23 PP: 14 PIv: 11 PIs: 10 Sanity: 8 Conditions: -- Concentrating: -- Sixth Day, Cell Sarith snorts derisively. "Unless you wish to dive into the hungry ooze below yourself - assuming you survive the fall at all - fighting's your only option." 'Your'. Not 'Our'. He had no options, except death. "The only way you're getting out of the outpost is through the guards, who can see in the dark and are, well, guarding. Silence might carry you to the armoury, but beyond that?" He waves a dismissive hand. "If you can fight, something I doubt, then you had best prepare to do so."

[RandomWombat]

The discussion and planning are cut short by more footsteps outside the door. One of the drow officers stands outside, looking in at them as though perusing the market. "Female traitor, female dwarf, fish. Get over here." With each 'name' he raps on the cell bars with his knuckles. Looking down to the side, he spies Faedryl still lying unconscious. "Come on. Get her up, quickly. Workers don't get to sleep until the work is done."

Jimjar quietly grins and nudges Topsy, who rolls her eyes and waves her hand dismissively. "Fine, go on."

Picking up the last roll, Jimjar tears it into three pieces and offers two of them out in a palm towards the twins. Topsy looks at them, then up at him warily. But hunger wins over suspicion and she snatches the two morsels, sharing one with Turvy.

[Spore]

Stool Myconid Druid AC: 11 HP: 28/28 PP: 15 PIv: 9 PIs: 13 San: 12 Conditions: - Concentration: - Stool's childish voice reverberates inside your heads. If you want out of here, remember magic is possible outside. I cannot hear, not smell the call of Psilofyr inside here. But it is outside. Battle is bad, sneakiness is better. But I do have magic to punish evil darkelves. Stool tries to growl, but instead a harmonic hum fills your minds. He postures 'menacingly' in the middle of the cell.

Spoiler

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Nilvae Half-Elf Warlock AC: 13 HP: 23/23 PP: 12 PIv: 11 PIs: 12 San: 7 (-1) Conditions: - Concentration: - -

[Amnestic]

Sarith Kzerkarit Drow Fighter/Rogue AC: 14 HP: 23/23 PP: 14 PIv: 11 PIs: 10 Sanity: 8 Conditions: -- Concentrating: -- Sixth Day, Cell Sarith eyes the female. Even a traitor wouldn't sleep or trance in such a position. They were still drow, and had some dignity. "A bit too deep in drink last night eh Kronryn?" He addresses the officer scathingly, "Open those ale-addled eyes a touch wider, you might see she's not sleeping, she's unconscious. Probably sick. Maybe dying." Without moving from his seat he lets out a mirthless chuckle. "I wonder though, if the Melad died on your watch, do you think Ilvara would put you in here first with the rest of us, or just feed you directly to the spiders?" The thought amuses him greatly. They'd never gotten on when working together, and even less so now, so any opportunity to needle him would be taken.

Spoiler: OOC

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If this needs a roll:
(1d20+4)[12] Intimidate? Or just a +2 if it's more persuasion. It feels more intimidation since it's a subtle threat though, albeit not one carried out by Sarith.