Hew downed his ale and slammed it down to the table triumphantly.
“Orolunga it is! Don’t worry lads, I know a shortcut through the Wyrmheart Mine.”
Garth immediately shut down the Dwarf’s suggestion, insisting that the party would more than likely die should they come face to face with a Dragon when passing through Wyrmheart. After all, Hew’s companions at the time had been claimed by the very same beast and now, before the Reezlanders he sat with one arm less with which to hold his ale to his parched mouth.
“Oh aye aye; I’m countin’ on it lad,” he retorted, going to take another swig from his mug but quickly realising there was none left.
The party argued with the stubborn Dwarf for a short period, reminding him that if his companions weren’t strong enough a year ago, this band of adventurers would fair no better. The Dwarf reluctantly agreed, an air of deception about his demeanour in place of compliance.
The Thundering Lizard’s warm beds, hearty atmosphere and reinvigorating ale would be but a memory to the Reezlanders for a long time to come. Departing Port Nyanzaru, the party took one final look back at its inviting gates to civilization – to normalcy.
The time had come to return to the jungle.
The first day went without a hitch. The terrain was flat and the weather whilst warm, did not prove to be too much of a detriment to the adventurers – especially those clad in heavier armour.
The first night seemed just as reasonable. Nothing out of the ordinary. Gorg tried his hand once again at concocting a potion with the various herbs he’d gathered, Uthal carefully placed his bear trap in a tactical entry point around the perimeter of the camp, Garth cracked open his book on Chultian language and began to study whilst Reksus put ink to paper and began to write. For the first time in a long time, the wilds of the jungle seemed almost welcoming to the Reezlanders, almost wooing them in with quiet and repose.
Come morning however, things changed rather abruptly. As they trekked through the jungle the underbrush beside them began to stir and in that instant, the party readied themselves for the worst. Quicker than an arrow from a tightly strung bow, a shape lunged from the foliage and latched onto the Bards face. Reksus flailed and screamed, howling at his comrades to remove whatever had attached itself to his face. Upon closer inspection however, the creature appeared to be a harmless Flying Monkey, though one in great distress.
The monkey cried out, pointing frantically in the direction from which it appeared. It was either calling for help or sending a warning, though the party couldn’t tell which. Without hesitation, Gorg and Uthal charged through the foliage to see what was going on. The monkey quickly unattached itself from the Bards’ face and ran after them with the remaining party members following closely behind.
Poe flew ahead but it wasn’t long before the party darted in behind the owl. Led by Gorg and Uthal, the group tore through the foliage ahead of them and emerged at an outcropping, in it’s centre a large pond flanked by two bewildered Allosaurus’. The two creatures were using their razor-sharp claws to scratch what appeared to be some kind of rock in the centre of the pond. The monkey cried out again to the adventurers, pointing directly at the pond.
The Allosaurus’, suddenly realising that lunch had found its way to them, charged the adventurers the moment they heard the Monkey scream. A few moments into the battle, the monkey began to cry out once more. Suddenly, the rock in the centre of the pond began to stir. Legs and arms sprouted from underneath it’s surface, and then a head, and then a hammer.
“WHERE IS FAZUZU!?” it bellowed.
For a moment both the Reezlanders and the Allosaurus’ turned and faced the pond creature in unison. It approached one of the Allosaurus with surprising speed and lifted its hammer. Water spewed from the iron at the hammers tip, and the creature brought it down upon the skull of the helpless dinosaur with such force that the sound of shattering bone rang out through the jungle.
The party quickly dispatched of the final Allosaurus and turned to face this hammer-wielding creature, a mixture of confusion and fear in the air.
“Fazuzu?” it said again, this time with a much calmer demeanour.
The flying monkey waddled over to the creature and sat beside it. For a moment, it seemed as if the two were conversing. The creature introduced itself as Korbo, a Paladin who has been travelling to Orolunga to investigate mysterious sightings of Frost Giants in the jungle destroying sacred shrines. The Reezlanders seemed less concerned about the possibility of Frost Giants in the jungle and more caught up with the fact that they seemed to be talking to (what Reksus could only describe as) a “sentient turtle.”
Korbo explained that he indeed looked a turtle because he was from a race known as ‘Tortles’ usually only found in the south of Chult. His quest to rid Chult of those who were destroying his Order’s sacred shrines was the sole reason he and his monkey companion, Fazuzu, had travelled so far north. He thanked the group for helping him as Fazuzu clearly thought he was in danger, though Korbo was none the wiser to the Allosaurus’ attacking him during his slumber due to his shell offering ample protection from their claws whilst he slept. The Paladin immediately saw the tell-tale signs of shivering sickness ailing Uthal, Garth and Reksus. With a simple incantation, the affliction was gone. Garth had never been more amazed and quickly pointed out to the party how handy a Paladin would be whilst traversing the dense and treacherous jungles of Chult.
It seemed that whilst their goals and destinations were different, both the party and Korbo would have to walk similar paths to reach them. And thus, it was decided that at least for now, the Reezlanders were one adventurer stronger.
Morning turned to midday as the party moved onwards through the heat of the lush jungle opting not to rest in an attempt to cover as much ground as possible. Moving with haste, the party found themselves at a familiar sight: a river separating them from their objective. Korbo however had the perfect solution to their watery troubles: a spell that would allow the group to temporarily stand on the surface of the water.
The party had previously had a close scrape with death whilst attempting to cross a river earlier in their journey. As such Garth was understandably unwilling to trust a turtle who claimed that he could allow them to walk on water. After the spell was cast, Korbo and Gorg immediately jumped into the river, their feet landing firmly on it’s surface. Uthal followed suit almost instantly but still, Garth would not give in.
It didn’t take long until the party forcibly tried to show Garth just how safe the river was to cross. Eventually, Gorg grabbed the Cleric and attempted to pull him in, though Garth was having none of it. He threw his flail into the ground and using it as an anchor, hung on for dear life screaming and kicking whilst Gorg, and eventually Reksus, tried to forcibly “help” the Cleric to conquer his newly developed fear. It was apparent they may only be making it worse.
After multiple attempts however, Garth managed to stay on dry land and escape his comrades’ grip. He instead called to Myrkul and with his faith in the unholy to guide him, stepped out onto the river to join his party. Reksus quickly followed, skipping across the water’s surface, merrily whistling a tune as he crossed. Unbeknownst to the party however, this merry whistling alerted two smaller and one much, much larger Crocodile to their position.
The thought darted across Korbo’s mind the moment his eyes locked with the crocodiles that the possibility of his water-walking spell faltering during combat would prove disastrous for his new companions. As the crocodiles began to approach the party however, that thought quickly dissipated as he charged forward to draw their attention.
The Tortle retreated into his shell for protection as the Crocodiles began to bite down on the solid exterior encasing Korbo’s back. The party made quick work of the creatures who mostly seemed too busy attempting to penetrate the solid wall that was Korbo’s shell. Reksus donned his mask assuming a familiar cowardly persona who was audibly both terrified and confused to be both standing on water and fighting with such beasts. Every so often the crocodile’s attention would wane from the shell before them and switch to the Goliath and Half-Orc behind them.
Uthal’s spears pierced, Reksus’ crossbow fired, Gorg’s hammer crushed, Hew’s axe cleaved, Garth’s deathly incantations graced the air and Korbo’s defence held until eventually, the Crocodiles were no more. Gorg slammed his hammer down on the largest crocodile and with his entire body crushed the beast by flopping down on top of it – a move surprisingly graceful for a Half-Orc of his stature.
After two taxing battles in a single day, the adventurers concluded that their haste may be their downfall in such harsh climates. Camp was made for the night after crossing the river and a well-earned rest was had. Korbo revealed he was a Paladin of Ubtao, the Father of the Dinosaurs. Garth explained that traversing large chunks of Chultian wilderness meant the group had to obtain a Charter of Expedition to prevent any confrontation with the Flaming Fists who patrol and lay claim to the land. The Paladin was not pleased to hear that a group had decided to mark the jungle for their own, believing that nature and land itself belongs to Ubtao – and no other.
The party drank from their waterskins to stay hydrated as per usual, after all they had been conversing for some time after an exhausting day. Oddly, Korbo opted to drink directly from a pool of water on the ground beside him. Mouths agape, the party informed him that water in these lands, especially in the wilderness, is highly dangerous to drink directly. The Tortle reminded them of his abilities as a Paladin and his connection with nature; the diseases of Chult had very little effect on him.
Morning.
Refreshed, hydrated and well-fed (as well fed as one can be on rations) the party carried on through the jungle to their first destination: a diamond mine close by that Hew had pointed out would be on the path to Oralunga. Hew signalled for the party to carry on their trek with a more western course, but Garth was swift to confront the Dwarven guide on his choice of direction. Checking the map of Chult he was carrying, the Cleric pointed out to Reksus and Uthal that the guide’s eagerness to complete his personal quest of vengeance against the Dragon that claimed his arm seemed to be causing the Dwarf to lead the party astray. Reksus pointed out to Hew that according to the map, Hew was leading the party in the wrong direction. Garth used magic to summon a phantom hand pointing the correct way to their destination.
“I’m fairly certain I know which way I’m going lad,” exclaimed the Dwarf, a look of slight anxiousness curtaining his brow.
“Your advertisement in town said you’d climbed every mountain in Chult,” said Garth, “how is it you’re leading us away from the only mountain range we need to get to at the moment?”
The Dwarf relented realising he’d been caught in a lie and cheerly chalked up his misdirection to an error on his part.
Garth was highly suspicious of Hew’s directions as the party travelled. It became commonplace for him to second guess any route that Hew decided to lead the party down. Hew’s demeanour remained upbeat despite being exposed on multiple occasions, though his persistence to carry on attempting to mislead the party never waned…
Many hours later the party arrived at a clearing. Atop a slight slop stood two tents flanking a still-lit fire. Shoddy in assembly the tents were clearly recently used and most likely – still in use. Garth’s owl flew forth and through it’s eyes the Cleric informed the party that these abodes seemed vacant, though there still appeared to be someone’s belongings inside. Clearly visible behind these downtrodden tents was the opening to a large tunnel system engraved within the rockface; the diamond mine the adventurers had been seeking.
Cautiously, Reksus snuck into a tent and grabbed the backpack within, tip-toeing back to the safety of the rock his party hid behind. Inside were standard adventuring supplies – a bandolier of daggers, climbing equipment, rope, a few gold pieces (which the Bard was quick to pocket), waterskins and the like. Intrigued and curious to know more about these campers, Poe and Fazuzu were sent into the mine to scout ahead whilst the party remained concealed outside.
It wasn’t long until the animals reached a fork in the tunnel system – two paths leading in opposite directions. Garth’s control of Poe meant that he had the luxury of choosing a direction, though he knew Fazuzu would follow. The owl sat back and waited for the monkey to choose its path and when the unsure creature chose to run left, Poe immediately flew right.
The right pathway was fruitless however, leading to a dead end in the cave system. Upon flying back to the fork in the tunnels a lightning fast blur blazed past the owl, crying out as it ran. It was of course Fazuzu.
The monkey sprinted back outside to its master, unyielding with it’s frantic noises. Korbo questioned the creature as to what was wrong and nodded his head in acknowledgement as Fazuzu continued his frantic string of monkey cries.
“There are Orcs inside, fighting… Cats… and these cats look like they’ve seen better days,” explained Korbo, seemingly able to understand and converse with the monkey, “in most cases, Orc’s are usually the bad guy.”
Grog took mild offence yet couldn’t but agree on some level.
The party rushed inside to confront the Orcs with Fazuzu ahead leading the way. Upon entering the chamber, just as Korbo had described it, were two humanoid-cats, bloodied and battered fighting for their lives against multiple Orcs. Corpses of these cat-creatures littered the chamber. The orcs had clearly gotten the better of them.
Korbo recognised the cats immediately. “They’re Tabaxi,” said Korbo. The Tabaxi weren’t the only things Korbo noticed.
Visible upon some of the Orcs were hideous green mutations, pulsating and dripping an unnatural fluid as the beasts moved and swung.
“Be careful everyone, these orcs carry some sort of disease – manmade I suspect. Necromancy maybe, they are unholy!” explained the Tortle.
The two Tabaxi quickly realised this group of adventurers were here to help and without any need to communicate, the parties began to fight side by side.
Gorg charged to their side as the mutated orcs sprawled over and began to surround the Tabaxi. Past them stood a female Orc, hunched over clutching a staff in her right hand. Her back was adorned with bones, clamped down to a cloth which sat tight across her arched frame.
She whispered a verse quietly to herself and an air of chill surrounded one of the wounded Tabaxi. Beside her appeared an ethereal spear, fading in from the air itself and forming right before everyone’s eyes. It began to slash and stab at every opportunity it could, the staff-bearing orc muttering to herself with every attack it made.
“She’s an Eye of Gruumash,” muttered Korbo under his breath, noticing the female Orc standing behind her wall of Orcs. He clearly knew something the rest of the party didn’t. “She is in commune with her God.”
He charged past her Orc ensemble and directly to the podium she stood, acquainting her with his Warhammer as quickly as possible. Her concentration waned, and her casting began to slow – as expected for someone attempting to fend off a Tortle wielding a Warhammer.
To the flanks, Reksus made his way to the second Tabaxi – but it was no longer Reksus who stood alongside his cohorts. His mask was already clamped tightly to his face, morphing and fluctuating as he moved. Cries from the mask sounded out yet eventually they calmed and from the chaos emerged a familiar face. The same man who referred to himself as a “God” atop the Firefinger earlier in their journey was piloting Reksus’ body, the party recognised his sociopathic remarks piercing through the sounds of battle.
Uthal’s javelins ripped through the orc’s decrepit flesh as Gorg crushed the foes before him. Upon death, their green oozing wounds began to expand and eventually explode. These enemies proved terrifying when alive and after death as both Gorg, Reksus and their newfound Tabaxi allies were caught in the centre of multiple detonations.
After a relentless flurry of swings from Korbo, the ‘unholy’ female Orc eventually crumpled, her magic fading from the battlefield. It didn’t take long for the rest of her mutated henchmen to follow suit.
The Reezlanders introduced themselves to the two Tabaxi who were thankful for their help. The cat-like creatures introduced themselves as ‘Cloud on the Mountain’ and ‘Jade-shu’, explaining that they were looking for relics after hearing about this diamond mine from Port Nyanzaru. The man masquerading as Reksus, alongside Garth, healed the wounded Tabaxi and the two groups parted ways.
On the other side of the chamber stood a door with scratched Dwarven markings – Uthal was quick to translate the etchings.
“Let your weakness be your strength,” he said.
Multiple attempts were made to open the door, some attempted to brute force the door open with their weapon, some attempted to cast spells. Eventually, the familiar face piloting Reksus’ body pushed on the door. It creaked open.
The Reezlander’s poked their head around the door. At the end of the room sat a sepulchre, piles of bones flanking the sides of its ordained outline. The party noticed trinkets of the dead scattered around it and adornments of the deceased placed with care. Most notably, in front of the sepulchre knelt a figure of some kind, though the party could only make out the silhouette of an Orc, statue-like in its stillness. Waist high wooden benches furnished the centre of the room facing the pedestal, atop it lay the body of a Dwarf. The party was unsure if this was a tomb or a theatre. As they moved closer to towards the centre of the room familiar sounds of shuffling marrow graced their ears once more.
The bones began to shuffle and take form.
The figure in the centre of the room stood.
The dead began to rise.