A ripple of unnatural movement disturbed the murky canal waters.  Then, silently, five massive, scaled heads rise from the depths, their baleful eyes gleaming in the sunlight light.  Water cascaded off their writhing forms, dropping back into the canal without a sound.

A chorus of panicked croaks erupted from the bullywugs.  Some stumbled back into the reeds, their long limbs twitching with instinctive fear.  Others raised their spears, their wide, amphibious eyes darting between the writhing hydra heads and their king, uncertain whether to flee or fight.  Even the giant toad beneath the king tensed, its throat ballooning as it let out a wary hurrrrmph.

King Gulpa’Gor’s bulbous eyes widened.

Fane:

Atop the giant toad, the king hands his black staff to Fane.

[I think we are still in initiative, though the bullywugs' full attention is on the new hydra at this point.]

1. Fane
2. Arlynn and Lyrric
3. Eron
4. Bullywug Leaders and Bullywugs

The still hidden blue-haired half-elf stays ready to unleash her eldritch magic at the first sign aggression from the bullywugs.

Eron spins at the appearance of the hydra heads, guessing this is the work of one of his spellcasting companions he plays along, “Run save yourselves!  Run for your life!”  Eron downs his potion of growth, “Save yourself King Gulpa’Gor!” Eron moves 10’ towards the water…

(Eron doesn’t however know it is an illusion, if it is so here is a save if it is applicable.  Wisdom 11)

[It seems the illusion looks real-enough to Eron.  Meanwhile, it also looks like Lyrric takes a wait and see approach to this situation...]

The shocked croaking of the bullywugs fills the air as they leap in every direction, their powerful legs launching them in frantic arcs over the marsh.  Those nearest to the canal scramble away in long, panicked bounds, splashing through mud and reeds in their desperate retreat.  Others, emboldened by their distance, raise their crude spears and hurl them at the towering hydra illusion.  The makeshift javelins whistle through the air—only to pass cleanly through the heads, striking nothing at all.

King Gulpa’Gor, still seated upon his bloated, warty mount, waved his webbed hands wildly.  He bellows in the deep language of the frogs, his voice rattling through his oversized throat sac.  His panicked eyes flicked from the illusion to Fane, clearly torn between trust and terror, waiting to see what his new friend plans to do to stop this monster.

Fane:

 But amid this scene, one discriminating figure stands firm.  The shaman, his lanky form draped in damp, moldering robes, peers not at the hydra, but at Fane.  His staff, its gnarled top adorned with a large, mud-caked hornet’s nest, thumps repeatedly against the marshy ground.  He croaks sharply, his voice rising over the din.  He points an accusatory, slimy digit at Fane. 

Fane:

 The king looks confused, and the bullywugs around him split their attention between the king, Fane, and Eron - who is suddenly and unexpected very much larger than he had been a moment ago.  

With a wet, sucking sound, the shaman stomps his staff once more, and from the brittle nest at its tip, a deep, angry buzz erupts.

A dark cloud of hornets pours forth, writhing in a furious swarm as they took to the air.  Their angry, frenzied movements formed a living storm that pulsed and shifted, drawn forward by the shaman’s croaking commands.  Then, like a spear loosed from a bowstring, the swarm shot forward—straight up and onto the back of the king’s toad.

Fane barely had a moment to react before she was surrounded.  The stinging, writhing cloud closed in around her, a living wall of buzzing fury.  Wings whirred in her ears, sharp little bodies darting dangerously close.  The toad beneath her shuddered, letting out a deep, gurgling hurrrmph of protest, its wide tongue flicking out in irritation, or perhaps hunger.

• Sting:  5

The swarm does its best to attack Fane, but their disorientation after being stirred to action leaves them momentarily lethargic.  Other than some angry buzzing at her ears, Fane is unharmed.

The illusionary hydra still looms over the scene, but now, at least some of the bullywugs seem to be doing the hard math to realizing something here isn't adding up.  

[It sounded in post 865 that Arlynn was readying an Eldritch Blast?  If she feels the action of the shaman triggered it, she can make her attack from hiding (revealing her location in the process).]

1. Fane
2. Arlynn and Lyrric
3. Eron
4. Bullywug Leaders and Bullywugs

As the bullywug shaman sends the swarm of insects towards Fane, Arlynn reflexively unleashes a dark azure beam of eldritch crackling force towards one of the bullywugs.

Eldritch Blast: 15 Force: 10 towards the southwestermost bullywug.

Fane had hoped to avoid bloodshed, and will make one more attempt at that.

"Great king, take this please, it is carved from the tooth of a great dragon, much more impressive then this old staff you gave to me as a gift" and she hands him her dagger.

"OH no! another Hydra, Run!" she shouts, pointing to the north.  [No spell, Performance: 11]

She will then cast a blessing and teleport 30 ft south, toward Lyrric.

She then yells in Elvish "I have the staff, let's get out of here, no need to fight. And Eron ignore that Hydra!"

Assuming others seem to be on board, she will use her movement to continue south. If things don't seem as smooth as she hopes, she'll stop after the misty step.

Once Eron hears Fane’s call to retreat he moves and dashes back the way they came.  

Worried that the jumping bulllywugs will easily hunt them down in the marsh, the blue-haired half-elf summons another hydra, appearing as to cover the team's escape, the new hydra letting out fearsome hisses and roars from it's many heads.

(Use Silent image, then use sorcery points to cast minor image as a bonus action to create the sound. Deception if relevant: 25)

The the blue-haired half-elf then hurries to return to the relative safety of the compound of the Lizard Folk.

Arlynn raised her hands and unleashed a bolt of eldritch power, striking a hapless bullywug square in the chest.  The creature tumbled backward with a final, gurgling croak, legs twitching.  The moment of stunned silence that followed was shattered as a crackling shimmer of arcane energy surrounded Fane and she vanished - in an instant, reappearing near Lyrric, clutching the stolen staff in her hands.     

The party begins to flee, a gigantic Eron alongside the others.

And then—another hydra emerged.  The illusion burst into existence with terrifying grandeur, its massive, spectral heads rearing from the swamp with an unearthly silence.  Bullywugs screamed and scrambled, some leaping wildly into the reeds, others croaking frantic orders or prayers to their king.  The shaman spun, his bulbous eyes widening in disbelief and anger.

The moment of confusion was all the party needed.

"Run!" Lyrric barked, his cry seemingly targeted at his own little legs, struggling to keep up.  The others didn’t hesitate.  They bolted, tearing through the swampy terrain as fast as their legs could carry them.  Mud sucked at their boots, water splashed up in murky sprays, and reeds lashed at their arms and faces as they barreled forward, back the way they had come. The sounds of the bullywugs behind them were a cacophony of outrage—croaks of fury, shouts of confusion, the dull thunk of spears being hurled blindly in their direction.

A spear whistled past Eron’s head while another clattered off a rock near Fane’s feet.  A third, thrown in wild panic, actually landed short, impaling another bullywug’s thigh instead.

King Gulpa’Gor bellowed, still atop his giant toad.  But the toad itself was nervously hopping in place, its large, warty body quivering in uncertainty at the sight of the looming hydras.  The king, unwilling to charge forward alone, shouted more angry proclamations—but his subjects were too scattered and panicked to rally.

The party pushed forward, adrenaline fueling their sprint as they followed the canal, putting as much distance as possible between them and the croaking horde.  The cries of the bullywugs faded behind them, swallowed by the thick, humid air of the marsh.

At last, with the sun still high in the sky and the sound of their pursuers lost in the distance, the party is able to slow their dash and catch their breaths.

"Well, all and all, I think that went well" Fane says, "The captain here got to win a great duel, and we got the king's staff with minimal bloodshed. yeah?"

"Yes, when the bullywugs appeared in force I admit I expected a fight to be unavoidable but you handled it great, both of you." The blue-haired half-elf says with a wide smile to Eron and Fane as she stops beside them, then just panting for a few moments. "I think we can slow down our pace a bit now, but the sooner we return to the Lizardfolks with that staff the better." She adds, ready to push on the final leg of the journey back to the compound. She still lets her invisible familiar scout ahead for hidden threats in the marsh.

Zzplorff perception: 14

“I swear I felt that hydras hot breath and water splashing.  I thought we were goners.  Your illusions are truly amazing.”  Eron looks back at his huge footprints, “I think we should push on and get back to our Lizardfolk hosts.  Let’s hope this was for a good cause.”

The blue-haired half-elf laughs softly at the giant Eron's comment. "Thanks, still practicing, and it actually helps a lot having seen a real hydra. Now, any chance you could turn back to your normal size, your boots alone have widened the path considerably and you could probably be seen over the treetops." She says with a teasing smile as she looks up at the giant ranger. "As for the good cause, I have a feeling an alliance with the Lizardfolk is within reach, which could stop their banditry but perhaps more importantly, let us know about this enemy. If the Lizardfolk fear this enemy then Saltmarsh probably should too." She finishes with a more serious expression.

"I almost traded him my magic hat for the staff, now I'm glad i did not, as it proved useful in our, negotiations!"

She'll have Leo hang back a bit from us as we continue to move, rear guard.

The journey back through the marsh was tense but steady.  The party moved swiftly, their ears attuned to the sounds of the wetlands, ever watchful for signs of pursuit.  The distant croaks of the bullywugs had long since faded, but as they followed the winding path alongside the canal, a new unease settled over them.  Eron is the first to notice the tracks—massive footprints pressed deep into the mud, each one nearly twice the span of his own boot.  Long toes, heavy gait, a clawed drag where a ponderous hand had braced against the earth.  He recognizes the track well from his years scouting the Hool Marshes.  Troll.

That news is enough to put everyone further on edge.  Lyrric murmured a quiet prayer, calling upon his divine power to sharpen their senses, while the others cast wary glances around the mist-laden trees and the sluggish water of the canal.  The tracks were fresh.  Something big had crossed here since they'd last passed through.  They did not linger to find out where it had gone.

They press on with renewed urgency, their weapons close at hand.  The humid air is thick with the scent of brackish water and the decaying flora of the swamp.  Every splash or rustle in the undergrowth could be a threat.  But whatever had left those tracks did not appear to be hunting them—at least, not today.

At last, the wooden walls of the lizardfolk settlement came into view, rising from the swamp like a fortress of reeds and rough-hewn timber.  No one waited to greet them, but the guards at the gate, ever watchful and surly, recognized them and allowed them entry without argument.

The settlement was as it had been before—dark, damp, and brimming with reptilian eyes that followed their every move.  The party was ushered back into the greatroom, the central chamber where they had first spoken with the lizardfolk leaders.  There, they were made to wait.

Minutes stretched into nearly an hour.  The party is forced to sit in silence or murmur quietly among themselves, under the scrutiny of the guards stationed at the edges of the chamber.  Now and then, curious eyes peeked in from the doorways—lizardfolk young, drawn by curiosity toward the strange visitors.  They whispered in hissing tones, pointing and chittering, before being shooed away by the watchful adults.

Then, at last, movement at the far end of the chamber.

The two chiefs entered first, their heavy footfalls deliberate and commanding.  The coastal chief, ever the more eloquent of the two, carried himself with the dignity of a ruler, his scaled features impassive as he surveyed the party.  Beside him, the marsh chief loomed, his presence more primal and foreboding, his sharp eyes flicking over each adventurer in turn.

The shaman followed close behind, his leathery skin adorned with trinkets of bone and shell, his staff clicking softly against the floor as he moved.

The coastal chief stepped forward, his voice smooth and precise as he addressed them in careful Common.

"You return swiftly," he said, his slitted eyes narrowing slightly. "The task we set before you—it is done?"

[Fane would have ritual casted Comprehend Languages when they were close to the compound, but having waited for so long, she would have lost it, so she would recast as as an action/spell slot when she heard the Lizardfolk leaders coming.]

She steps forward, looking at the two chiefs, and then the shaman in turn.

"You asked for the staff of the Bullywug chieftain, to prove that we are friends, friends of your tribes. Well, here it is."

Fane will step forward and offer the staff to them.

"As you asked, we deliver."

The blue-haired half-elf stays back with Eron and Lyrric as Fane presents the staff they had acquired, ready to step in if she deemed that some kind of support could be helpful to the advancement of their mission, and with a calm friendly smile her eyes discreetly study the Lizardfolk to determine if they are pleased or not with the success of the team.

Insight: 10

Eron stands and approaches as the staff is presented.  He draws out the bone dagger, “Another gift the weapon that brought down their greatest warrior.  Thank you.”  He looks to Fane as he offers it to the chief.

The greatroom was still as the lizardfolk leaders studied the items presented before them.

Fane stepped forward first, lifting the black wooden staff in both hands, the gleam of its polished surface catching the dim torchlight.  The shaman’s yellow eyes narrowed slightly as he took in the sight, but it was the coastal chief who moved first.  He reached out, his clawed fingers wrapping around the staff, lifting it to inspect it more closely.  His nostrils flared as if he could scent the history woven into its grain.

The room was silent but for the soft rustling of the lizardfolk’s scaled bodies as they leaned in, eyes flicking from Fane to the staff.  A low murmur spread through the gathered warriors.

Fane's spell informs her ears that the assembled lizardfolk recognize the staff.

Eron stepped forward next, unsheathing the bone dagger given to him by the coastal chief before their departure.  He turned it over in his hands once before holding it out in return.

The marsh chief let out a slow, approving growl, his thick tail sweeping once across the wooden floor.  He did not reach for the dagger, but his gaze flicked to the coastal chief, who considered both the blade and the staff in silence.

Then, the questions began.

The shaman, his voice like the scrape of stone on bark, spoke first.  "They have done well, great chiefs.  The day is yet long and already the hated bullywugs have been humbled by these soft-skins."

The feathered chief considers this, turning the staff in his clawed hands.  "Yes... but tell us—what of the frog-chief?  He is dead, then?  He would not have given up his symbol of authority while he drew breath."  His slitted eyes gleamed with curiosity, though his tone betrayed no emotion.  The coastal chief tilted his head, awaiting the answer.

"You killed their greatest warrior... and how many more of them fell in the battle?" the marsh chief rumbled.  His voice was deeper, more expectant, as though he were eager to hear the tally of slain enemies.  "How many, so that we can tell the widows and orphans that our fallen warriors have been avenged?"

A hush fell over the greatroom.  The lizardfolk warriors in the chamber leaned in slightly, their sharp teeth glinting in the torchlight, waiting.  The shaman’s gaze was the keenest of all, eyes flicking from the staff to Fane and then to Eron.  He looked proud almost to bursting.

Clearly they did not yet know how much of this victory was won with steel… and how much with deception.

The blue-haired halfe-elf studies the Lizardfolk, deciding quickly how to proceed. She had feared that they would expect the bullywugs to be slain. "We have no exact count of that, but I can assure you both that their champion was not the only one to fall, although more importantly, your hated bullywug enemies are indeed humbled and disgraced. After his champion swiftly fell to Eron the chieftain freely gave up the staff. I strongly doubt they will bother you again, but if they do we will remind them of why they shouldn't." Arlynn says as she takes a step forward, adressing the Lizardfolk leadership with a friendly smile. 

Persuasion/Deception: 16 Another roll if help action is provided: 27
(As far as I can see Arlynn is telling the truth here, even if she's leaving parts out ;-)