Thursday, March 15, 2018

Beneath the Woods of Sharp Teeth ...

They departed from Kelton after another round of mead, which the Moon Elf, Dorian, happily supplied. Korrick and Malark the Barbarian drank deeply in anticipation of the journey that they knew would have its chances for glorious and righteous combat. Overhearing the festivities, the newly arrive paladin, Manjores, asked to join the quest to strike at the Lizard Cult. It was agreed by all that the paladin would join their ranks, if nothing else but for the luck of the gods to be on their side.

The foggy morning revealed rolling grasslands to the west of Kelton and fewer and fewer farms as they marched onward into the Borderlands. Dorian took first watch that evening as they camped on the plains. Come the morn, they were roused from their bedrolls by the Elf and fed a breakfast of granola and nuts, no cooking was to be done on this journey, as not to arouse the appetites of predators.

The Woods of Sharp Teeth greeted them like a spectre in the night - it's dense grouping of trees creating a twilight in the midday; the sounds of birds and squirrels absent in its gloom. Onward through t6he brambles and thickets they strode, guided by the keen eyes and light feet of the Elf, Dorian.  He lead them straight into a soupy marsh in the centre of the woods and bade the party continue on in the stinking bog, that their destination would not be much further.

The further they travelled into the swamp, the smellier it got, until it was nearly unbearable. There was a great splash and the source of the stench was upon them. Teeth and claw gnashed against axe blades and elvish swords, as the Troglodyte scouts attempted to capture the party. As quickly as it began, it was over and black tar-like trog blood rested upon the murky waters.

Dorian lead the to an artificial island mound created by a crude dike in the dismal wetland. In the centre of the mound was an opening that lead into the moist earth. They descended into the mound along wet, slippery stairs, into the foetid hole of darkness. Though the elves scarcely needed light to see in the bowels of the swamp, not so was it for the men. As they stepped into the gloom, Manjores lit a torch to revile the mound's secrets to all.

No sooner than they had come to rest at the stairway's end, they were assailed by spear wielding men, no doubt cultist on guard in this damp underground. The spearmen were quickly dispatched and Dorian quickened the pace into the depths of this place. In their haste, Malack stepped into a concealed pool of Green Slime just beneath the grime of the wet floor of this place, which claimed his boots, but not his feet.  The pool of slime was circumvented by placing a wooden door, ripped from it's spongy hinges by Korrick the Goliath, and placed over the dungeon hazard.

Backtracking through the complex a bit, the party discovered sleeping cultist, who were rudely awakened by blades in the dark. None were sparred.

Deeper into the lair of the Lizard Cult, they discovered  an over-washed section of hallways with waist high waters blocking their path. Undeterred by this obstacle, they waded into the waters, only to be set upon by hungry crocodiles. The great lizards nearly drowned the Goliath in the shallow waters and cause Malark to shed more than a little blood, but with great determination, the party survived to fight another day ...