gregory seeing everyone attacking these things turns around. upon seeing the crabs he blasts fire from his hands at the nearest ones.

burning hands: save DC;13 damage; 9

Fire bursts from Gregory's fingertips, engulfing the entirety of group A, roasting their innards immediately. They all three collapse, charred shells cracking in the heat. The previously undeterred crab in group b breaks off it's attack, retreating laterally back into the roiling swell of the river. 

Round 2 Combat Order:

Captain

Crabs (group A) 

Crab, stunned (from group B)

Asher

Korbiña

Daelen

Crab (from group C)

Quartz

Crabs (group D)

Crabs (group E), 2 remaining 

Gregory 

The Captain reloads, aims for the stunned Crab and fires (to hit: 10).

The bolt pierces its mandibles, pulverizing its innards, killing it instantly.The crabs nearby retreat back into the water. 

3 crabs remain

============================================

Asher's turn.

asher casts chill touch on one of the crabs 

chill touch : to hit 15 if hit 1

One of the remaining crustaceans seizes in front of you, it's legs curling together as it's body gives out. 

Two crabs remain.

============================================

Korbiña's turn.

Korbiña's eyes glow again as she begins to recite words that seem to make the crystal at the top of her staff glow pink with black streaks as some of the rain above the remaining crabs turns black...

Korbiña casts her variant of Acid Spash at one of the remaining crabs, and, if the second one is right next to it, on both... DEX save DC 13

The final two crabs are doused in a cloud of corrosive bile, eating through their soft shells in quick order. Their piteous death throes, rising above the hiss of the acid, is enough to scare away the other feasting scavengers. Only well-chewed corpses and roasted crab meat remain. 

The Captain turns to the grump of a Dragonborn with a snide look on her face. With a sneer, she holsters her crossbow and says, "If spuds ain't your fancy, there's always seafood. Human bits included, mind ye." The rain pours consistent, but the river's settled down significantly. Still her instincts are screaming for her to run. She pushes this voice to the back of her head as her composure finally snaps. 

"Bugger all," she snarls. "All o' you, come about. I got somethin' to say." As the ragtag survivors gather round, the Captain pulls a missive from her pocket. It's soaked through and the page proves thin, but words written in legible ink are sharply written across it. It's a shipping manifest, of which included is a list of names. As she passes it about, each of you recognize your own name on the missive. Without a word, she points to the name at the bottom. Scrawled with crimson ink, in long looping letters, is a signature you all know: Ulster Sigmaud. With clear contempt, she growls, "This is our 'Employer.'"

Quote from Lambastard_13 >>

The final two crabs are doused in a cloud of corrosive bile, eating through their soft shells in quick order. Their piteous death throes, rising above the hiss of the acid, is enough to scare away the other feasting scavengers. Only well-chewed corpses and roasted crab meat remain. 

The Captain turns to the grump of a Dragonborn with a snide look on her face. With a sneer, she holsters her crossbow and says, "If spuds ain't your fancy, there's always seafood. Human bits included, mind ye." The rain pours consistent, but the river's settled down significantly. Still her instincts are screaming for her to run. She pushes this voice to the back of her head as her composure finally snaps. 

"Bugger all," she snarls. "All o' you, come about. I got somethin' to say." As the ragtag survivors gather round, the Captain pulls a missive from her pocket. It's soaked through and the page proves thin, but words written in legible ink are sharply written across it. It's a shipping manifest, of which included is a list of names. As she passes it about, each of you recognize your own name on the missive. Without a word, she points to the name at the bottom. Scrawled with crimson ink, in long looping letters, is a signature you all know: Ulster Sigmaud. With clear contempt, she growls, "This is our 'Employer.'"

 "Huh? So?" Gregory shrugs and looks around. "Is there any settlement nearby?"

are there any bodies about that are safe to approach (after the group meeting is over Of Course)

"In a moment. You'll want to hear this." She continues, her accent seeming somehow cleaner: "I've no doubt some of you were hired legitimately. But I'm also certain he's blackmailed one or two of you as well. He's nothing if not consistent, the bastard."

"But here's where you're all in the same boat, so to speak. I bet he told you this was a simple resource survey in some inhospitable territory." Her smile seems to turn malicious. "Simply put, it's a lie."

"Oh, I've no doubt he may plan to pillage this ground eventually. The man's a cutthroat industrialist, after all. No, his reason to bring us here is much more personal: his son."

"The snide little brat considers himself something of an adventurer, but he's nothing without his father's wealth to give him his best gear and contacts. Barring that, he's a spoiled whelp with an itch for making his own name. That proved his undoing..." She continues, wasting no breath.

Apparently, the young intrepid Von Sigmaud had heard the same stories so many before him had: hidden riches, a waiting goddess, unexplored wonders, all awaiting in the depths of the Argonne Valley, or as it has come to be known, the Misty Vale. Into the wild yonder he went... and missing he inevitably became. The elder Sigmaud has spent the last six years, and a significant portion of his wealth, seeking any signs of his boy. But of all who've entered, few've come back. 

"So," she finishes, "here we are, the dregs of a recovery team, in uninhabited territory, with no one willing ti fetch us unless we have the brat with us. Now, any questions?"

She turns to Gregory: "It's that way, two weeks by ship." She points downriver. "Fair luck."

To the rest: "Gather what you can find, salvage some of that meat. Jokes aside, if we clean it, we can fashion spare rations with them and some spuds. After that, we'll  take a short break. Then, we head further inland. Our 'benefactor' has hired a guide to meet us. We'll be late, but he'll get over it, or die trying..."

Quote from Lambastard_13 >>

"In a moment. You'll want to hear this." She continues, her accent seeming somehow cleaner: "I've no doubt some of you were hired legitimately. But I'm also certain he's blackmailed one or two of you as well. He's nothing if not consistent, the bastard."

 

"But here's where you're all in the same boat, so to speak. I bet he told you this was a simple resource survey in some inhospitable territory." Her smile seems to turn malicious. "Simply put, it's a lie."

 

"Oh, I've no doubt he may plan to pillage this ground eventually. The man's a cutthroat industrialist, after all. No, his reason to bring us here is much more personal: his son."

 

"The snide little brat considers himself something of an adventurer, but he's nothing without his father's wealth to give him his best gear and contacts. Barring that, he's a spoiled whelp with an itch for making his own name. That proved his undoing..." She continues, wasting no breath.

 

Apparently, the young intrepid Von Sigmaud had heard the same stories so many before him had: hidden riches, a waiting goddess, unexplored wonders, all awaiting in the depths of the Argonne Valley, or as it has come to be known, the Misty Vale. Into the wild yonder he went... and missing he inevitably became. The elder Sigmaud has spent the last six years, and a significant portion of his wealth, seeking any signs of his boy. But of all who've entered, few've come back. 

"So," she finishes, "here we are, the dregs of a recovery team, in uninhabited territory, with no one willing ti fetch us unless we have the brat with us. Now, any questions?"

She turns to Gregory: "It's that way, two weeks by ship." She points downriver. "Fair luck."

To the rest: "Gather what you can find, salvage some of that meat. Jokes aside, if we clean it, we can fashion spare rations with them and some spuds. After that, we'll  take a short break. Then, we head further inland. Our 'benefactor' has hired a guide to meet us. We'll be late, but he'll get over it, or die trying..."

 When she tells him how far the settlement is his face droops. "Well I guess stick with the team. How far inland are we talking?" He grabs some of the burned crabs he cooked and brings them up. He mumbles "I guess I got nothing better to do" not sarcastically at all, just talking to himself.

As the fog lifts completely from the scene, Korbiña listens to the captain's words but shurgs.

"I'll be right back" and she makes way toward the chest she had tried to pull from the mud before. She pulks at it and barely manages to move it, but then it seems to come clear from something making Korbiña stumble and moan as she is splashed with mud again.

"Hard to tell," she replies, "the instructions said a mile due northeast, but that's assuming we had made our landfall at the right spot. Our best course is to climb the hill and follow the river to the marked beach and hope we didn't miss our window." A familiar itch tugs at her. "Say, as you look about, see if you can find a box marked in what looks like Dwarvish. You don't have to read it, just let me know if you find it."

asher looks around for the chest the captain mentioned. 3 

A shabby-looking casque sits half sunken in the mud. Sharp, blocky lettering mark its edge. Something appears to be leaking from the side...

"well captain i found your box" Asher retrieves the casque from the ground and hands it to her.

She notices the dripping liquid and groans. "Damn. Please tell me-" she unlatches the hinge and peaks inside. "Yes!" She pulls from the box a stout round bottle, with a thin black liquid sloshing around within. Catching the lizard's gaze, she opens the bottle. She takes a long deep swig before, surprisingly, offering a taste to the grump. "Care for a drop, Scales? It's brinewater brandy." The smell is reminiscent of brine.

Asher accepts the bottle and takes a swig before handing it back " names Asher , scholar, sorcerer, and now adventure i guess"   he checks that his bag is secured and grabs the bag of potatoes " guess we are going to need these. we should be on our way before it gets dark. " he looks towards the river " or more beasties decide we look like food."    

Gregory is just standing around waiting for orders. "So when do we head off?" He has multiple crabs tucked under his arms.