Azatch nodded and followed Grog, though he kept to the flank of the charging bullman and a bit to the side to avoid getting them both caught in some kind of magic attack.

He followed Marigold's directions and Tara run as well for direction.

"Hey, if you kill Cela will she turn back into herself and then we can give her a potion or something? I've heard stories that people turn back to themselves when they die in different forms. Maybe I'm thinking of werewolves...." he called to Tara who held Cela.

Our heroes pushed aside low-hanging tree limbs as they dashed toward the site of the attack. Luckily, the storm gradually cleared up. They wouldn’t need to fear any lightning strikes. They merely needed to fear the old woman that they saw stuffing Skye into a bag. There was no sign of Simon. Gwyll circled overhead, calling out with urgent hoots.

The crone looked up from her bag with a snaggle-toothed sneer. “Ahhh, yes! The rest of the children come to play with Granny! Well, I’m sorry my dears, but play time is over!” She plucked a small vial filled with a viscous umber liquid. The woman uncorked it and swigged the entire potion in one gulp! Then, “Granny” cut loose with a bench that spewed a noxious cloud that rapidly covered the immediate area!

Grog rolled 16 using 1d20+5 for CON save vs Stinking Cloud.

Cela hisses at the old woman.

Do I need to roll for the save?

In reply to Cela (msg # 120):

OOC:
Yes.

Tara coughed and gagged.  So bad!

22:06, Today: Tara Inkfingers rolled 12 using 1d20+3 ((9)).  Oh, dear...

23:12, Today: Cela rolled 4 using 1d20.  Con.

Azatch was caught off-guard by the sudden spew of fumes, and rather than hold his breath, he did the exact opposite and breathed deeply of them. Which caused his stomach to rebel in a unique and novel way, spilling out its contents even as he stumbled forward toward the evil witch's sounds.

OOC: I effing hate online die rollers.
09:05, Today: Azatch rolled 7 using 1d20+5.  Con save vs. Stinking Cloud

Stinking cloud takes up action, but not move, so Azatch would keep moving forward to try and reach the woman.

The stinking cloud spread at least forty feet wide and enveloped the party! Tara attempted to hold her breath, but couldn’t escape the stench. The young witch coughed and gagged. Azatch rashly breathed in the cloud, attempting to power through defiantly. Instead, the Barbarian’s stomach defied his will in a stream of vomit that barely missed Tara’s back! Cela gagged and hacked up a hairball at Azatch’s feet.

Luckily, Grog withstood the olfactory foulness! The Minotaur bristled, but he’d smelled worse. Grog peered into the cloud, making out the old witch’s movement. He saw her retreating deeper into the swamp, carrying off Skye & Simon as her captives…

Tara staggered after her.  If nothing else, Gwyll's senses could guide her until she recovered...

Grog sniffs at the air, wondering why his companions were puking.

He realises that the old crone is too far away so he scoops up the cat, that Tara insists is Cela and grabs Tara by the arm, and pulls herforward, out of the cloud.

---

I was really hoping to go all large-sized, rune knight on the crone, but apparently 90 feet is too far away!!

Helping Tara move, if needed.

Gwyll flew above the cloud, watching the crone with a hunter’s eye. Tara received an image of the crone ducking underneath hickory branches and brushing aside thick moss. Grog remained unbothered and carried Tara and Cela-Cat toward the path their foe took. The path narrowed where the swamp grew even darker. Around them, the humidity pressed on them like an overwhelming embrace.

Azatch, since his stomach had nothing left to empty, stumbled after Grog and Tara through the haze of the noxious cloud.

He did his best to keep up...

Tymora favored them when they were forced to traverse the swamp through the stinking cloud. The cloud lost considerable potency once “Granny” fled. Tara remembered that the spell required a witch’s concentration. She surmised that since this instance involved a potion duplicating the effects, that the duration expired more quickly. Azatch noticed that it smelled like rotten eggs, but in most cases, flatulence wouldn’t kill him.

They tore through the denser woods, and it seemed as though the woods tore back. Branches lashed at their skin. Roots seemed to jut up at inopportune moments, nearly tripping them. Mosquitoes and gnats flit even more aggressively near any orifice left exposed on the face.  Not like the defenses outside Blackthorn’s Grove, but Tara and Grog still sensed a supernatural undercurrent at work. As if the portion of the Swamp they traversed reflected the ill will of the witch they tracked.
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:31, Fri 08 Oct 2021.

Cela stays in Tara's hand or on Tara's shoulder, not wanting to fall into water that now involves swimming instead of a brief step.  Any sounds she make sound like those of a normal cat.

"...her power is in the swamp," said Tara.  "It's fighting us.  Be careful!"

"Yes, but we cannot fight the swamp so we will fight her!"

The minotaur continues to barrel forward, trying to break a trail for the others.

Azatch nodded at Grog and charged behind him and to the right tearing through the grasping vines and terrain that was fighting back against them.

Grog led the party through the hostile swamp terrain. Tara sensed that any magic in the land there wasn’t overt, but the result of gradual corruption by the Witch that they pursued. Her malice permeated every root, limb, leaf, and rock of the Swamp they traversed. Their feet sank up to their ankles in black mud that clung like an earthen fist. Gwyll swooped overhead, goading them on with persistent hoots. Azatch saw the black robe of the old woman in the distance, ducking into a dense row of bushes.

Several minutes later, they made their way though the mud toward those bushes. Azatch took the lead and hacked the worst of the brush away for his companions. When they emerged from the bushes, they found the river. An old wooden bridge led across the slow waters to an islet, where an enormous old oak tree stood. The tree was long dead, the bark looked like grayish wooden scales. Gnarled limbs twisted and stretched over the islet like deformed arms. The bridge encircled the tree, where they saw an enormous old cottage atop a platform built into the upper level of a trunk the size of a fortress.

Azatch & Cela saw the old witch enter the cottage with her bagged captives in tow…

Grog stops at the bridge. He reaches into his belt pouch and pulls out a smaller pouch. He dips a finger and thumb into the small pouch, three times, and sprinkles what appears to be dust onto the river.

The water on the river seems to vanish for a moment before being filled in by the current. The minotaur then picks up what look like three small beads.

He hands one bead to Tara and one to Azatch.

"Smashing the bead will make a huge amount of water appear. I think smashing it above the crone might wreak havoc on her!"

---

Three actions (18 seconds) to use three pinches of Dust of Dryness.

"Thank you," said Tara.  She gave hers to Gwyll.

"...they may make trouble for us, as well.  I think I'll start with spells."

Azatch chuckled and took the bead from Grog and tucked it into his belt.

"I can always smash it over her while I stab her in the eye..."

"Ready?" he asked as he looked across the bridge to the massive building hidden here deep in the swamp.

Cela just looks at Azatch and says "Mow"

The dust instantly sucked up massive volumes of water before sealing into three beads. After Grog handed out the beads, Azatch noticed the layout of the lair. It was indeed set up in a way that hid it from the swamp. Their trail dipped down a small bluff toward the riverbank. The trees nearby created enough cover that the causal passerby would only notice the utmost crown of the massive dead oak. What Azatch could see of the river on the opposite side of the islet showed a riverbank with trees that reached toward the sky and a few smaller sandbars, before the river expanded to a raging width. Boats would likely avoid the rougher waters over there.

The only sounds they heard were the river babbling and the croaks of bullfrogs. The swamp surrounding the islet seemed to swallow any sunlight. Whether it was nature or witchcraft at work was a fair question. The bridge stretched ahead toward the oak.

OOC: What do you all do next?

Grog spins his glaive as he looks to Azatch, "Ready? One at a time...just in case."

The minotaur then jogs across the bridge.