Prologue:

The moon loomed over The Swanmay at half past Three, a black circle against a somber sky. Amara McKeel, the ship's Captain, looked up with a sigh. “That looks like Shar’s Moon,” she said to a powerfully built man who wore exotic headgear. “No good comes of that phase of the moon, Telric. I hope the Night White Lady will keep us from her sister’s wiles.” Amara quietly whispered a quick prayer to Selune. She was not a religious woman, but she honored the beloved Moon goddess.

A gentle breeze blew strands of her night-dark hair around her face. For all its gentleness, though, the breeze arrived with a chill that Amara found discomfiting. Amara stared out from her observation point on the foredeck at the trees that stretched into the beginnings of the Vast Swamp. The trees which had swallowed the away party that she’d sent for supplies needed badly for The Swanmay’s repairs. “They should be back, soon,” Amara said.

“What do you think, Telric?” Telric Televentor had joined her crew before they left their last port. He’d proven valuable in aiding treatment of any injuries, bolstering Moonsong’s ministrations as one of the ship's resident Healers. However, Telric offered a skill set beyond those possessed by even the mysterious Druid from the Northeastern islands of The Realm. His esoteric talents helped protect the ship from the roving ghouls who’d clambered uncomfortably close. “Then we can finish our repairs and finish our route.”

 Perhaps she addressed Telric, or perhaps she said so in hopes of reassuring herself.

In reply to The Dungeonmaster (msg # 1):

Telric adjusted his goggles as he scanned the seas. "We need sailors capable of night sight to keep watch. Ether than or a better light source. I won't trust the ocean staying quiet during the dark hours, and I only have one of these goggles to spare." He shook his head. "I should have gone with them, but I needed to oversee the repairs. Blast it." He shook his head in annoyance with himself.

“Heed your instinct, Artificer.” The speaker was a pale woman with long hair that fell like a flaxen sheet to her waist. She wore a green robe that identified her as a Druid. Her face was like the full moon currently hidden in the sky, her crystalline blue eyes troubled as she approached in a slightly swaying walk. Her name was Moonsong, a passenger who also served as one of the ship’s Healers in recent days.

“I dreamt of our missing companions, Captain. In my dream, I saw them approach a dead tree, and a battle with three Crones. Then, I saw a return to the tree. Then, death.” She leaned onto a rail for support, looking weary for one who’d just awoken. “I awoke with a dire foreboding for their safety, perhaps even for us all.”

Moonsong looked away from Amara to Telric. “I woke with a troubled heart that would not let me sleep again. So I cast Auguries to discern my best path for action. I would go to my companions, but…that way lies Woe.” Her gaze intensified as she stared at Telric. “There is a possibility of Weal if you leave the ship and find them.

Your Craft may protect them and stave off more deaths.”Moonsong looked away from them, out at the Swamp that separated them from their missing friends.

In reply to Moonsong (msg # 3):

"Sounds pretty vauge... I much prefer concrete numbers. But I understand the lack of accuracy magics sometimes provide." Telric sighs.

He turns to the captain. "I should most likely go on my own. The more people who come with me, the less there are to defend the ship."

Amara grunted in frustration. Both Moonsong and Telric had proven themselves as they sailed unfamiliar waters. “I’m usually wary of prophetic dreams and soothsaying,” she said with a side glance at Telric. “As wary as I am of sending our best defense to traipse off into the Swamp.”

She paced a small circle as she pondered the requests put forth to her. Soon, she stopped with a muttered profanity. “Very well. I know that neither of you are given to frivolous impulses. I know neither of you would ask for this if you weren’t certain. Go. Just be careful.”

In reply to Amara (msg # 5):

"Aye, aye, Captain." He saluted her with his rune scribed staff. His belongings where always on him thanks to his handy bag of holding. His armor concealed under his tunic. Of course he would need directions and a rowboat to make it to shore...
This message was last edited by the player at 22:39, Mon 17 Jan 2022.

A clinking of chain mail pulls the attention of those guarding the boat towards the trees marking the edge of the Vast Swamp. A familiar minotaur stomps back from between the trees, leading a horse pulling a cart with the long promised supplies. Curiously, on top of the pile are two dead crocodiles.

He arrives by the side of the boat, and shouts up: "Supplies here! Put where?"

In reply to Grog (msg # 7):

Telric gets out of the rowboat, making sure the other sailors there who planned to row it back to the ship did not get wet. He waved over to the minotaur. "Oi, hail the crew! You can give these folks the supplies. I think I am supposed to come with you to the rest of your fellows. I am Telric Televentor, Artificer. Our Druid Moonsong had a bad dream, and said I needed to make sure you lot don't get all dead or something..."

Grog gives the odd looking human the once-over, focusing on their runed staff a few seconds longer than anything else. He turns to help unpack the cart on the rowboat, and says back: "If you want. Druids not always right, but good people." As Grog works, Telric may notice a rune inscribed on the back of his right glove, or the side of his backpack. They are most likely simpler than the artificers, but still clearly powerful.

In reply to Grog (msg # 9):

Telric places his staff on his back in its sling. He then proceeds to assist lifting the cart so the minotaur does not work on his own. While not as strong as the bull man, he was more healthy then the typical artifcer locked away in his lab.

"Rune Knight, eh? I was thinking of following that route myself. But my mentor was trained in arcane science. I have no complaints, but as they say the grass is always greener."

ooc-23:09, Today: Telric Televentor rolled 18 using 1d20+5.  Arcana. What do I know about the Rune Knights?

Telric remembered tales of warriors who studied the secrets of Runes from the giants. Rune cutters carved sigils of prodigious magical power into armor or weaponry. As he examined the symbols on the glaive, he realized that Grog literally held powerful Magic in his hands. Perhaps Telric could compare notes with Grog for his next work project?

Amara supervised the loading of the supplies. She nodded in satisfaction when she saw that Cela followed her instructions faithfully. As the last timbers were hauled up, Amara shouted to Grog. “We’ll need a few days for the last repairs. Spread the word to the rest of them that we’re sailing when we finish our work here.”

When the work is done, Grog swigs a gulp from his jug of ale. He then nods in reply to Amara, and says: "Might stay. Got work."

OOC: Not sure if Grog's inventory has been kept up to date, but it had such a jug marked. If he'd already drunk it at some point, he would have had it refilled before coming here.

"You can have Moonsong send a bird with your plans when you decide on your next destination." Telric shouts back. He had seen druids send animal messagers before.

He then gestures to Grog to lead the way. "With any luck we wont have to trudge through too much swamp."

As Telric gestures for them to leave, Grog turns back towards Amara to ask: "Take horse back?"

Amara yelled back, “Yes, take the horse back! They probably need it.” She resumed supervision of the unloading, looking excited to soon complete the repairs her beloved ship needed. Grog began the journey back to Deadwater. Maybe he’d add another crocodile to his trophy collection.

Back at the Hag’s Lair…

Seth Sskith trudged through the swamp, finding that particular area difficult terrain. Vines hung like a massive net from the tree limbs. Moss dripped like a shroud, seemingly there to irritate any walking through the woods. Roots jutted up from the swamp bed as if the swamp itself plotted to trip any unwary traveler.

However, Seth soon found a trail that emerged from what felt like an impermeable stretch of swampland. The Lizardman found it in part because of a sharp smell that drew his attention. An odor stung his nostrils, harsh and acidic. Underneath it, another smell. The stench of scalded meat.

Sskith drew in a deep breath, allowing the scent to fill his nostrils.

He'd been away from the Tribe for two days now, hunting with little success. He'd shot down three ducks, but they'd been lean things after he'd stripped them of feathers, unworthy of the honor of being named Prey. That hadn't stopped him from eating two of course, one raw and one cooked. Duck was good, and he had the third hanging from his belt. It simply wasn't enough to satisfy the Matriarchs should he return. He wore little, as his long trek through the swamp had left him mud caked, though unlike many of his Bloodkin he kept a set of clothes and a cloak within his pack. One never knew when one might encounter the Scaleless, and though their ways were strange, Sskith had learned to accept them. Smelling the charred and blackened meat, he set his back down in the mud and reached for these now. He pulled the dark leather vest over his shoulders, spent a moment weaving legs and tail through the rough hide pants he'd had made in the village last Winter, threw the cloak over his shoulders, and drew the hood down over his frills. He was quiet enough as he worked, but clothes were cumbersome things, and he could only do so much while getting dressed.

Beside him, his Echo of Sesskrith hissed in a mixture of frustration and anticipation as he finished, instincts screaming to stop wasting time and go investigate. He had summoned his Echo of Thunder during his morning meditation, and the little Dragon's jaws crackled with lightning when he opened his mouth. Sskith reached out a scaled hand, crouching to soothe his companion with a reassuring stroke to the spines along his back, and then drew and strung his hunting bow.

Creeping forward, Hunter and Echo sought the source of the smell.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:32, Tue 18 Jan 2022.

Seth’s natural gifts and Ranger training enabled him to slip through obstacles posed by the swamp that would have impeded lesser travelers. He crept through the natural cover provided by drooping trees and moss strands. Two ravens perched nervously above him on a higher limb, but failed to notice him. Seth realized that the immediate vicinity had recently suffered dire magicks. Some force exerted corruptive influence on that portion of the swamp. The land would need days, if not a week or two, to fully recover.

As Seth mentally noted what he saw, he follows the stench to their source. Whatever could cause such a scent had to be gone. Seth was the most powerful predator in the area. With bow still ready, he tentatively emerged from the trial, still remaining close enough to the trees for ready cover.

He almost gagged when he discovered the body. Whoever it was had been a large Scaleless One, judging by the undamaged leg. The rest of the body looked nearly melted to the bone. The body’s skin was dissolved in bubbled ruins, exposing the meat and bone underneath. The grass nearby still sizzled from tiny pools of grayish-black liquid. The javelin lying nearby hinted that the former owner had been a warrior.

Before Seth could investigate the body, he heard a loud snort a little over fifty feet ahead. When he looked at the creature, he immediately revised his observation that he was the only predator around. An enormous Boar grunted over a small form. It looked at Seth and stepped over the form. At first, Seth thought he’d interrupted the beast’s dinner. However, a moment of observation told him that the creature stood protectively over the little form.