What Lies Beneath Cricket Tor?: a campaign in the homebrew world of Sauvogia

(my apologies its been so long.  The whole thing with my mom has both triggered and capped a huge spurt of growth and change in our relationship and relative functionings as I learn to do life on the autism spectrum and even miracle of miracles to do ADULTING as the 57 y.o. son of a mother who will turn 89 this Halloween.  its been very intense and haven''t had focus space to concentrate on more than my beloved avatar character Famh Thrawn Fiadhaich but not enough bandwidth to process a whole world.  Vut that's not terribly fair to you, and I realize the scene has gotten a little muddledly complex.  So in true neurodiverse fashion I will now proceed to address this by multiplying the complexity to a completely new level of fractalism on the theory that the counterirritation and contradiction in terms will actually result in clarity LOL)

(WIP)

Just as you start to feel you are finally growing accustomed to the rhythm of this strange battle and can anticipate which slime-perfumed or vine-coiffed amphibious swamp horror is about to attack you next …

…

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…

… you realize just a little too late -- given the recent general average tenor of your lives in the past few weeks – how foolish it is to even begin to harbour such hopeful thoughts of stability and predictability.

At the precise moment <whatever was supposed to happen next, was supposed to happen>, the surrounding reeds begin to rustle from two points in the midst of the general vegetation separating Uz’s heroic stand by the boats from the rest of the battle. You’re not any more certain than that of the precise location you first heard this sound, though, as the graminaceous plants and aquaphilic grasses do what you half-knew they would already … (again, given the decidedly sub-normal course of recent events). That is to say, they gracefully start to wave and draw back from the still-spitting pair of logs that used to demarcate the only path back to the cove where you landed.

Soon what were once two clearings in the marsh grass containing two separate battles have merged into one large oval-shaped dell plunging inwards from the riverbank to its point that spears straight towards the mountains of Ulvsnesshjolm, where the mad bullywug shaman Glaar-Chronk stands googling and frothing with bewildered wrath at the sudden further hindrance to plans it feels you have muddled up quite sufficiently already.

…

- « ﴾⸞≈∞⸎∞≈⸟﴿ » -

…

Closer to the riverbank, two new groups of bullywugs now flank Uz diagonally to the north and south, centered around the points where you first heard the rustling of the reeds. The seasoned warrior checks his first instinctive move to attack as he sees that neither group is really focused on him. True, the hindmost bullys … likely scouts, by their wary stance and also the preponderance of bow and javelin in their gear … are keeping half an eye turned his way at all times with a vigilance he actually finds rather professionally commendable. But the most garishly accoutred frog-folk in each band are gazing straight towards Glaar-Chronk with the sort of looks the proud Barben clansman has not seen since his days in the creche where all hobgoblin youth prove themselves as warriors or die. These are glares of mortal challenge; and the first words uttered – from the foremost frog-thing to the north – more than confirm that.

“Back off, pus-face! Granny Grampuswumpus is nothing but putrid old poverty-stricken bag of bones who couldn’t feed guest more than swamp water and filth!!! … I, the seneschal of Great High King Grindlzo …” The rest of his words are lost as an outraged bellow from one of the southern bullys, who has been standing with its huge eyes popping and its jaw hanging open with spluttered globs of froth flying out hitherto, cuts off the seneschal’s grandiloquent speech.

“WHAAAT????? Great High CLING Grindlpop doesn’t have piss to pot in! We will take you to enjoy hospitality of Her Most Imperial Wartiness Brynhyldwskyr III. Then you will see what barbarians others are. In fact you MUST come. Is offer you can’t refuse.” It emphasizes this courteous invitation by gesturing to the bullywug by its side, who immediately in turn makes several signals to the other frog things in its group, pointing in some cases to the other two groups of bullywugs and in others to the members of your party. The bullywugs signaled, of course, immediately fling their arms open wide with joyful looks of welcome on …

… uh … …

… uh no, actually, they behave as you already knew they would and point the business ends of various weapons in the general directions their leaders indicated they should. The seneschal, in turn, yells back, “You the barbarians, making guest come by force! We just … take them into protective custody, until have chance talk to our king. Yes, that it.” It looks over at Glaar-Chronk.

“Dangerous madmen around. Not safe for travelers go through swamp by selves. Really can’t reconcile with conscience allow you wander around area any longer in this kind of danger. Look what already happen to you --” … It gestures towards the evident wounds on your persons with a smirk that wavers between the priggishly self righteous and the sanctimoniously insincere.

Glaar-Chronk, in his turn, howls in outrage, “You going to trust bullywug when they sweet-talk you like that?! Especially that one.” He points at the seneschal. “Takes madman to know madman. Tell you what … we stop attacking you, make … temporary truce, till these idiots gone. Then we can get back to good honest fight. At least with us you know where stand.”

And with that, all three bullywug leaders turn their full attention on ,.. well, each one turns its’ full attention on the character it guesses to be the group’s leader; and stands in a neutral but ready posture waiting for that individual’s response while it relys on its underlings to keep an eye on the rest of the group. Presumably those underlings understand their leaders’ signals not to actually attack you, and in the case of Glaar-Chronk’s group to cease their attacks as obediently as the swamp zombie he causes to melt back into putrid-smelling mud and rotten vines with a wave of his gnarled staff.

===***===

(dice rolls yo be edited in for who each leader thinks its counterpart in the party is, weighted heavily towards more physically impressive characters such as Uz and Gwrgi; and for how good a job the underlings SEEM to be doing keeping track of the rest of the party while at the same time restraining their twitching bowstring(or whatever)-fingers, if anyone thinks to look. Also a secret DM dice roll for this second, as it’s less readily apparent to an observer, to see how accurate a guess the second roll represents.)

"Oooh, turf war!" Artifex says , a little too excitedly. "Come for the near-death experience, stay for the drama. We love to see it!"

They look between the two groups, grinning like an idiot. "How much you wanna bet they've got a whole star-crossed lovers situation going on?"

"If any of you are secretly in love," They call out into the crowd of bullywugs in a sing-song voice "I suggest you come forward with it soon... Romeo and Juliet would've had a much happier ending with just bit of honesty and comunication!"

I am assuming you are no longer accepting new players?

As Zladark heard the newcomers approach, his jaw tightened. It was sheer luck that they didn’t seem to be working together. If they had, their own little party would likely have been goners. While the three bullywug leaders spoke, he focused his hearing on their tones and inflections, trying to discern if any of them were being honest.

He chuckled at Artifex’s comment, then added,
“What do the rest of you think?”

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Insigth check?

Hearing Artifex's enthusiasm for frog drama and not coming up with anything useful to add to that, Tarton replies to Zladark as he slowly makes his way towards him, "Well I certainly won't go against the wishes of our party's leader. Be it heading off to talk with king Grind-zo or queen Brindledskyr..." He then stops and tries pulling his thrown short sword out of a fallen bullywug but it's stuck. He tugs again but only manages to move the body a little. He stands there looking at his sword and the body for a moment, then looks at the three bullywug leaders and says, "Please pardon what you're about to see" and climbs up to stand on the dead bullywug.

Then, using both hands he slowly pulls the sword out with a long 'shhhhhhhhh-lok' noise. "There!" He says a bit breathlessly when the sword finally comes out. As he wipes the blade off using the bullywug's clothes he continues, "Now what was I saying? Oh yes, or agree to temporarily side with Glaar-Conk. Sorry if I mispronounced any names. Saying new and difficult names without practicing them has always been difficult for me."

After finishing his walk to Zladark, Tarton says, "Are ya doin' Okay?" then whispers very quietly so no one else can hear, "Looks like we're about to find out who the party leader is at last. Or does that question you asked mean you're taking the role and want everyone's opinion before deciding?"

Then he turns around to look at the rest of the party to see how they're doing and their responses. He is also surreptitiously watching how each bullywug leader reacts to how he pulled his sword out of the dead bullywug.

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Happy to hear from you! Hope all is going well. I was worried something happened. Hope everything improves and gets easier for everyone.

Perception or Insight?

Zladark whispered back to Tarton with a grin, “I’ve been better,” as he clutched his still-bleeding side. “But I’ll manage.”

Then, with a slight chuckle, he added, “And no, I’m fine not being in charge. I can do it if no one else wants to, but I only spoke up to offer something a bit more constructive than Artifex’s choice of words.”

Seizing the moment, he reached into the pack at his side and pulled out a syringe. The liquid inside shimmered like rose petals caught in sunlight. With practiced ease, he jabbed it into his side and injected the serum, a faint breath escaping his lips as the pain began to ebb.

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I cast Cure Wounds using the version granted by my Artificer Initiate feat. I healed 8 HP, which you can see in the log 😊

Last two death saves were nat 1s guess i should send apologies for timing issues, like our dm, i am neurodivergent. So time blindness is a big problem for me, as well as a bit of impatience. Also, I have, in the last three or so months become a paralytic in my right hip and leg. So there isn’t a whole lot of gaming stores nor clubs that I can go to that have disabled personnel access.

Anyway, I have an idea for a non-binary, queer orc paladin, 2024 basic rules that has been a knight in the service of King Theroux du Champs, of the Lord’s Alliance on the plane of Toril on the continent of Faérún. They have been sent here Sauvogia by the Archwizard, Mordenkainen to find and either capture or kill the beastman warlock, Hylynder, who is in league with both the Storm god Talos and the archlich Vecna. These three wish to take dominion over the known multiverse, and plunge it into eternal darkness and chaos, as well as achieve divine status. 

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mxx9jkxtm4, I was going to have Tarton notice your character was down and use a healing potion after giving others time to respond. So if you want, you could say (with DM approval) one of those Nat 1's was never rolled if you want to continue playing your elf character.

(mxx9jkxtm4/badfishingdad: DM approval granted.  Whichever character you want to keep is fine with me but pls. message me if you decide to go with the orc paladin so we can talk about whether you want to work the backstory elements you've mentioned into the current quest.)

(Rip_Noob01: no, actually the game IS still open for new players to join -- I'm comfortable DMing a group anywhere up to @6-8 players -- but as mxx9 mentioned I also am neurodivergent and have time tissues, which recently have been complicated by a new adulting phase as I pass my 57th birthday and my mom (primary support person also, until I got the right diagnosis, and therefore someone I REALLY am grateful to in several ways and want to support as and how I can ) her 88th.  We've actually made some major progress in our relationship and in getting her finances in order,, but its eaten up a lot of time and focus as shown by the sometimes month-long gaps between my postings.  Anyhow, you're definitely welcome to send me an application -- standard 4d6 drop 1 for the abilities, and pretty standard name/class/subclass/background/backstory for the info wanted)

Zladark yelled out, “You hear that, Glaar-Conk! We agree to your truce! Now let’s take down our common enemies!”

With renewed energy, he swung his quarterstaff in a tight arc around his body, the wood whistling through the damp marsh air as he settled into a solid fighting stance. His feet planted firmly in the mud, weight balanced and ready, he shifted his shoulders slightly, angling himself toward the nearest threats.

With his free hand, he made a bold, taunting gesture toward the enemy, beckoning them forward, inviting the fight. A cocky grin spread across his face, despite the dried blood still marking his robes and skin. His confidence was deliberate, meant as much to rally his allies as to provoke their foes.

“Come on, then,” he muttered under his breath, staff steady and senses sharpened, ready for whatever answered his challenge.

(well, its been a rough spring, I expect not just for me; but for your friendly neighbothod DM its also z spring of blossoming out various areas of my life -- good gains in adulting, but also just a few more things to balance in terms of time and energy than used to.  Don't usually have to apologize for long absences TWICE without some sort of significant plot development in between.  Hoping things will remain on the better footing they've settled into the last week or so, so....)

Glaar-Chronk's eyes goggle even wider as he takes in Zladark's reply.  It's almost as if he didn't really expect the party to accept his offer, and for a brief moment he doesn't seem to know what to do next.  But then a twisted grin appears on his face, and he nods happily while licking his lips with a very grey and mottled prehensile tongue.   "Deal!  You kill those tadpoles on right (he points at the followers of King Grindlzot to the north); and we take out this <#&%^$>'s goons... "   The epithet preceding 'goons' is unintelligible to anyone who does not speak Bullywug; but given the mortally infuriated, nay outraged reaction of the bully he is pointing at, it must mean something highly personal, biological and graphic.  Artifex is presumably already taking notes LOL ... ;-D