Farewells are said with a sense of uncertainty as no one knows what is to come. Mike and Clarke gather the meager supplies left at the base camp and set off across the clearing. The moon has just started to descend in the sky, letting you know that there are still a number of hours left in the night.

The first sign of the bog comes as Mike feels a slight sting in his neck. Slapping his hand to the spot he pulls it away to find the squashed body of a mosquito. Listening carefully you can hear a low buzz in the background of the night.

Slowly you are surrounded by trees, their gnarled roots sprouting in and out of the ground causing you to watch your step. You are able to follow a small worn path as the canopy filters out most of the moonlight. As the smell of fungus, decay, and stagnant water fills your nose you come upon the edge of the bog.

Lined with a thin film of scum, the waters of the bog stretch out before you. Surprisingly, although the professor suggested as much, there is a rickety wooden dock leading out into the water with a trio of small skiffs anchored by ropes. A number of wooden traps sit unfilled.　The night is filled by the chirps of insects.

Everything seems... calm. No cults, no bloody zombies, no elder gods.

In reply to The Keeper of Secrets (msg # 1):

Clarke looked around the area for any signs of disturbance or danger.

Roll: 86 - Fail

Although he noticed nothing, the unease in him would not depart. The mosquitos buzzed around his ears, making him feel nervous and irritated.

"Can you see anything?" he asked Mike. "There are too many skiffs for a single expedition."

16:17, Today: Jrodimus rolled 100 using 1d100.  Spot hidden. Fail.

Mike looked around the trees and the muddy waters. Now Mike knew that the smell wasn't in his imagination only, but he didn't see anything of note. "Well, we're not exactly going into safe territory. But they did say local fishermen come out here regularly. Probably nothing to worry about." Mike eyed the boats wondering which one was less likely to sink.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 3):

"Well, let's get going then," Clarke said. He attempted to use the bog as cover and hide from visible onlookers, but his plan did not work. There was too much empty space for him and the clothes he was wearing did not help him blend in.

Stealth: Fail

As he approached the jetty, he looked over the boats. They were not in the best condition, but he hoped one of them would hold two weary travellers. He attempted to determine which one the previous expedition had used.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 4):

While Clarke can't tell how recently they have been used, he can tell that small boats are used frequently. It is likely that the few locals who fish the area use the skiffs to navigate the bog, perhaps fishing for bottom-feeders. The jetty creaks ominously under Clarke's feet has he inspects the vessels. They seem to be able to hold two people but only one would be able to steer, using a pole to push off the bottom of the bog.

Holding on to a post on the jetty, Mike carefully got into a boat that looked to be bogworthy and picked up the steering pole. "I saw people use these in France. A strange people indeed." he said as way of a joke to lighten the mood despite his own nervous fear.

He waited for Clarke to join him in the skiff before pushing off.

19:10, Today: Jrodimus rolled 2 using 1d100.  drive. Pass.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 6):

Undoing the loose knot holding the skirt to the dock Mike grabs the long pole and with a heave pushes the small craft into the waters of the bog. With surprising skill Mike is able to navigate the water. For a long moment the only sound the that can be heard is the low buzz of the insects and the quiet splash of the pole dipping in and out of the water.

As Mike is about to push off again there is a loud scratching as the skiff runs aground something in the water.
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:59, Thu 23 Jan 2020.

"What's this?" Mike asked absent mindedly.

Mike poked around the boat with the pole to determine the depths of the swamp water or to find what they were stuck on.

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 8):

Probing the depths of the bog with the pole Mike can tell there is a perceptible drop off. Trying to figure out what the skiff is caught on, he  sweeps underneath the boat, the pole meeting resistance. A sharp tug almost pulls the pole from Mike's hands. The scratching on the bottom of the skiff intensifies.

Mike looked at Clarke, "Whatever it is down there, it's alive and doesn't like to be poked. Perhaps we can push off it and it'll leave us alone."

Mike found purchase in front of the skiff, and pushed the pole in and leaned into it in an attempt at muscling them off whatever it was they were stuck on below the surface.

<i>09:35, Today: Jrodimus rolled 66 using 1d100.  strength check. Fail.<i>

In reply to Jrodimus (msg # 10):

Clarke saw Mike struggle with the pole, and attempted to help him. However, his foot caught one of the rungs on the hull of the boat and the pole slipped through his fingers.

Zoe laughed at him. "This is why we can't get an invitation to the yachting club," she said.

In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 11):

Without a light source, the party is barely able to see the water around them. Mike's attempts to unmoor the boat cause it to sway slightly. Clarke's stumble only worsens it. After a few unsteady moments the craft settles.

The emptiness of the night air rings. The scratching is gone.

A wet slap is followed by a wild tilting of the ship causing Mike and Clarke to cling to the sides of the boat for balance.

A hand has grasped the bow of the ship. Its nails are long and jagged and the pruned skin is almost falling off the bone.