KHAZUUL

At the ruins after defeating the dreadwings ...
Freki agrees, "That's a good point. Besides, I feel like I still need some training with this sword, probably got a bit lucky today. I feel much more comfortable with my whip still and I can handle it at the same time a shield, which will give a bit more cover if we run into more Dreadwings. We will be entering their territory soon, so I expect we might see more of them."
Feeling a bit silly for sharing what he experienced using the Immolator he regarded the sword. It really did seem special, but it was a lot to lug around the jungle until he had more training or had a plan to go to Kir Sabal to discuss the sword with Thorn's uncle.

Looking around he found a small crevasse between two ancient stones and placed the sword inside and then piled a few stones over the opening. Recognizable enough to find again, but hidden from anyone who might pass by the ruins happenstance. Should be safe until we return, he thinks to himself.

---

At the edge of the quagmire ...

The trek north only gets harder as the weather makes the ground muddier and water begins to flood the trail in places. When they reach the edge of the bog Freki considers the options.

"We have a long way to go yet and need to avoid overdoing it in case we run into more trouble." He notes the fleeting sunlight as well and adds, "Also, we're going to need to make camp soon. Not sure we'll find a spot waist deep in water or worse. I say we skirt the edge, even if it takes us longer." He looks around to see what his companions think.

Remembering the advice that Tunny gave them the morning of their first day he adds with optimism, "Regardless, let's keep our eyes out for black lotus, this looks like the ideal habitat for them."

Sow stores some gear in the cache as well, and encourages Saffron to unload her pack a little as well so it won't be so heavy during the coming trek.

Now armed with shield and spear, the former warden walks on in the wet, glad for her new cloak as the weather doesn't let up.

"Do you know the way from here?" Sow asks the other woman, her voice warbling in the rain. "Straight on, or is there a path that skirts these wetlands?"

"Good thinking, Freki. At this stage of your training, a whip and a shield will serve you the best for now."

As they enter the forest mire, Flint wonders if he will ever have dry feet again as the constant dampness wears on his patience. When Freki finds a place to store their loot, he decides to part with his sketchbook with the dirty drawing stashed in between two pages, especially since it seems to bother Sullen-Sow, Flint's secret nickname for the girl.

"I think we shouldn't go around. This is prime black lotus territory and aren't we here to find such things? We go carefully and watch our footing, I say."

"Could stop up for the night, couldn’t we? Set up camp on solid ground.."

Semi-solid ground..

"… and then get nice and soaked through come morning. It’s like you said, ain’t it? We ain’t gonna set up camp in all that. Less you fancy sleeping in a tree…"

The man says, and yet makes a face that suggests it isn’t the worst idea in the world.

"Slept in worse places, ain’t I?"

Sow nods at Cutwell, agreeing with him.

"No telling if we’ll find a good campsite in there," she says hoarsely, pointing into the wetlands.

"I'd sleep in a tree. Not a bad idea, Cutwell!"

"Alright, seems like the consensus is to head into the depths!"

"Let's keep an eye out for a good tree or elevated surface to make camp and black lotus as well."

The party rolls up their trousers legs and wades into the quagmire. Your boots squelch through mud and muck, trying to stick to high ground as much as possible, but the going is very difficult.Saffron isn't certain, by the look on her face. "Everything is different than before - the storm has flooded everything. But I am certain we are on the right trail. The ruins we battled the Dreadwings in, I've seen them before."

As night falls, the company chances upon a relatively dry spot in an unlikely spot - the broadside a colossal, weathered tree trunk felled by the recent hurricane's fury. You pitch your tents on the moss-laden surface of the mighty log, a gentle bed amid the wilderness.

After eating some of Grimjaws' leftovers, cleaning her gear, pitching her new tent and checking to make sure everything in her pack is dry and secure, Sow sits by the low-burning fire, warming her hands. The fireflies that rise into the dark take the young woman's ragged breath away momentarily, and their light reflects in her eyes as she smiles a toothy smile, gazing at them joyously, girlishly.

"Beautiful," she says softly to Saffron and herself, beyond pleased with the sight.

As the motes of light dance and swerve, you begin to hear a distant, haunting sound - a mournful wail punctuated by rising and wilting tones. Quite possibly some kind of war horn, though the imagination is tempted to ascribe the sound to some kind of dark spirit. In short order, you determine the source of the wail is approaching, though it remains hidden under cover of night.

Sow scrambles for her shield and spear when the ominous sound reverberates through the night.

"W-what is that?!" she wonders, wide-eyed and white-knuckled in how she grips her protection and weapon.

Freki is reclined on a soft bed of moss, feeling relaxed and satiated after eating, watching the fireflies and listening to the calm jungle noises. The tension from the exhausting trek and fight from earlier in the day are just beginning to ease out of his sore muscles when the horn moans through the darkness.

He has a sudden flash back to the barbarian attack on his home at the university in the north. Horns in the night, and then violence and hardship ...

"I don't know!?!" he replies to Sow and scrambles to wake his body from it's resting state. He grabs his weapons and shield and adds, "and I don't think we want to find out. Quick, let's take cover."

He stomps out the fire and slides off the far side of the fallen trunk to take cover, with only his head peeking over to see if anything like torches are visible though the darkness.

Cutwell slumps into himself, as the party stop moving for the day. It had been some time since his line of work had been so sorely needed so often and so close together.

He watches the things dance about in front of him, and lets tiredness overtake him. The dancing lights cast a kind of dreamlike stupor on the man, until the scream pulls him from it.

"Better to have that and not need it, than need it and not have it, ain’t it?" Cutwell says, as Freki stamps out the fire.

If they were come upon here on the moss, Cutwell didn’t fancy the chances of fighting or fleeing in the pitch black.

Perhaps the bugs would remain…

Flint had been exposed to the finer things in life but never had he experienced such a wonderous sight. The dance of the fireflies was breathtaking, mesmerizing, and for a brief moment in time, any cares he had flew away with these dots of light as they cavorted around him. His legs and eyelids grew heavy with the fatigue of battling the elements and he began to nod off, coming to with a start as he heard the haunting melody in the distance.

Jolting upright he looked at the others. Cutwell had just finished uttering one of his odd slogans when Flint nodded to Freki. Hiding was a good plan, at least until they knew more about what was approaching.

"Will we ever have a normal uneventful day in this Godforsaken place?"

"If anything approaches, the coals are still hot. We can use them to quickly light a torch or lantern," Freki whispers to Cutwell in the darkness.

The company quickly extinguishes the fire pit and takes cover. Atop the massive log and shrouded in the dim light, you gamble that this will be enough to conceal yourselves.

Freki, ever vigilant, peers cautiously over the log's edge. Through the veil of night's mist emerges a troupe of six dog-faced Beastmen, formidable and otherworldly. They are mounted in pairs atop three creatures reminiscent of the Herdsman's Lorries, yet twisted, each bearing anomalies— for example, one sprouts six legs instead of four, and another is adorned with scaly tentacles sprouting from its back. Light glints off iron, revealing the many manacled chains they drag behind them.



The eerie wails haunting the night reveals its source—a Beastman, wielding a horn of monstrous proportions, its form an homage to a great lizard, perhaps Grimmjaws. Fireflies, drawn like moths to flame, swarm around the horn, adding to the surreal scene of shadow and sound.The procession advances through the mist on a trajectory that will pass only yards from your current position.

"Piss." Cutwell grumbles, glad that Freki had smothered the flames after all. He had been on both sides of this before. Trying to get the boys formed up as wild men came in from the sides was no easy task. But the boys were riding strange beasts like this…

After a few moments of frantic whispers back and forth discussing their options ...

... should we run for it ... do we have time to set an ambush ... do we have any weapons that will take them out from a distance ... my darts might be able to put a couple of the beasts to sleep ... there's just too many of them ... is there anywhere to hide ...

... they decide the approaching beastmen are too dangerous to attack and it is too dark and dangerous to run. Hiding and hoping the monsters don't see their camp on top of the log is their best bet.

Freki quietly moves along the far side of the giant fallen trunk until he finds a large split. He does his best to partially wedge himself inside, providing some cover if they investigate this side of the tree. Then he listens, hoping to hear the moaning horn pass and then fade into the distance.