"This is a blessing but I do not trust myself handling such an item," Silas says, assuming Badger informs us. 

Kasaaptu says " what a wonderful piece of magic. Just having a chance to bathe and eat with out something trying to murder us..." 

Badger clutches the rod tightly as he reveals to the others the nature of the item (apparently forgetting to tell them the last bit, about the rod's personality). He seems particularly pleased about the positive comments, almost as if they were compliments directed at himself. Looking up at the group, Badger announces (while gently stroking the rod):

Urgh, when you are all ready let us know and we will return everyone to the jungle again.

Then looking back at the rod he adds, muttering: Yes, we will, won't we?

(Also, new Portent rolls: 7, 6)

Yroc wakes sleepily at first, but it only takes a few minutes for him to come to full clarity, feeling fully refreshed. Plenty of food, a bath and a clean bed has done him wonders.
"I cannot recall when I last slept this peacefully," he says, rather cheerful for an Orc, "but I am ready to leave and continue our journey."

Boris' hand slides across the soft silk sheets of the luxuriously soft bed. His rest last night was easily the best he'd ever had in his entire life. He'd woken alarmed several times to start, his eyes expecting to see a snake slithering along side his face, or a string of stinging ants marching along his bed, but nothing.  And, most blessedly, no spiders.  Eventually his exhaustion had won out. Even his dreams had been calm and peaceful. He'd been on an old river back home, fishing from the bank. The water offering up a gentle bubbling as it lazily moved past the shore. It was sunny and warm, the early morning sun low on the horizon with an orangey hue. He'd dreamt about the swaying of the long grass on the shore, the swirling water just by his feet, and the gentle tug of the water on his fishing line. Nothing had happened, and it had been wonderful. 

Breakfast had been delicious. A porridge had tasted of subtle flavors he'd never experienced, sweetened with a delectable brown sugar and tiny squares of apple. The bread he'd eaten had been oddly full of air bubbles, crispy yet soft, and wonderfully buttery.  Shoving a couple pieces of fruit in his pocket he'd returned to his 'bedroom' cave fifteen feet above the main cave floor. He sat, watching, as the group finished up and began packing. It was clear they could not stay here, but...just a day or two more. Worry and stress grabbed at his stomach as he tried to prepare himself for the wall of humidity and heat that they'd face when they returned.  The buzzing of the jungle, the constant chirping noises, the bugs everywhere.  He sighed.  His skin felt soft and clean for the first time in weeks, and now he'd need to apply more of the greasy balm all over his body to keep the bugs off.  Somehow though he was feeling up to it.  Nervous, but...it wasn't undoable anymore. He's survived spiders the size of dogs. He'd been in the most savage land one could imagine for over two weeks and he was still alive.  He could do this. 

The group packed their bags, shaking off the mud and leaves of the jungle, cleaning their gear that had been uncleanable in the jungle. Azaka, wide eyed and amazed for her whole time here helped people apply some oils to their leather boots to keep them supple. Then, bags packed, weapons and armor oiled (Gregory had been keeping very busy offering to clean and oil almost everyone's gear, seemingly unable to just sit and relax), people began the last step of applying the greasy balm to open skin before finally gathering together on the cave floor.  Badger looked to the group, the rod tightly in his grasp.  Boris grabbed for one more apple, but Badger responded, "We can take nothing from this place. The fruit won't come with us sadly." 

Boris looked only a tad bit crestfallen, and took a big bite out of the sour and tangy green apple before placing it back on the table. 

Badger nodded.  With a simultaneously roaring and yet silent upheaval the entire world ran away and hid leaving everyone in blackness for only the slightest moment.  In that moment, something tugged at this, something that sounded like air roaring through a tunnel, sparkling lights flashed in the distance, a vortex of light spinning into nothing, each sparkle a soul, screaming for help as they're drawn into the center.  A passing soul reaches out towards you, hand outstretched, a woman, her long hair waving in the darkness, her soul transparent, her mouth open and screaming.  Then the world rushed back around them and they were all exactly where'd they'd left when Badger had touched the rod, back in the jungle. Yroc sitting by a rock, Silas also crouched, Kasaaptu looking down at Badger, the rod in his hand, Sir Darak nearby with Sedrik holding his blade up at an angle to show him the proper form.  Then the wall of heat hits everyone. Sweat immediately prickles your skin as the first few gulps of air are hard to accept.  

Everyone looks around at each other making sure each person is present and intact, including Hamma, barrel of rain water hanging from one side.  The sounds of the jungle are like a cacophony of noise after the peace of the cave. Chirps, growls, and thrums fill your ears. You're back. 

One of the zombies sits up, and screams.  The scream is a deep, gurgling, rather ghastly affair that sounds like it must be tearing some important fibers in the creatures neck.  It looks around, its blood filled black eyes wide, it's head turning back and forth in panic.  It raises its hands, looking at them confused, then looks around at the group, and sort of floppily scrambles backwards a bit.  Then it speaks, "Where am I? Who are you?"  It's a strange drawn, wispy and formless talk, the lips rotting and flopping, the tongue warped and swollen.  

( well, that's an odd turn of events..lol)

Kasaaptu will introduce herself and then say " your a zombie, and zombies are not supposed to be able to speak..."

"This country must be the strangest place in the plane," Silas commented but keep out of e zombie's sight while holding his holy symbol just in case. 

"No...not a thombie...I'm a perthon!" the Zombie exclaims.  "I think I dieed..I wath dead....."   The Zombie looks around the jungle, taking in the details. "There'th no color here..." 

The Zombie slowly stands up, looking down at its rotten smashed and burned body.  It pokes a shard of rib bone back into its mid section.  It looks up at the party, then back down at its wreck of a body that is somehow standing.  "I've theeeen better dayth...."  

Kasaaptu says " does someone want to heal this guy? I think we really need to hear his story and he needs more then a bandage or two."

And she vows to herself to never again complain a out how rough her life has been.

Talking zombies - with lisps! This is the sort of apocalyptic horror that Badger was always warning his clan about. Wondering whether this phenomenon is magical or contagious (or both) Badger looks closely at the talking zombie without touching him, then at the other bodies (if they are still present).

Arcana: 10
Medicine: 13

 Badger examines the zombie who's stench is pretty terrible. It appears to be functioning.  As it moves its arms, broken bones grind and click. As it tries to speak, air sucks in through holes in its chest and funnel up through its torn throat.   A dry voice speaks in his head, "It's probably contagious. I'd keep my distance. Definitely not safe."   After looking to the zombie he looks around at some of the other rotting bodies.  They show no sign of reanimating. 

Sickle approaches the...perthon...warily.  Their encounter with these creatures had been particularly trying for him, only in the sense that it was exhausting.  But he says, “Be still a moment, and let us see if we can help you. Answer my companions’ questions, but know that we are powerful enough to end you quickly if madness overtakes you again.“

Sickle will sit again and focus on the being, looking for signs of a disease that could be cured.  (10 minutes to Ritual cast Detect Poison and Disease). If he detects anything or gets a sense that healing will aid this creature, he will cast Cure Wounds on it for 6 HP.

Sickle examines the creature.  You are welcomed with a plethora of minor poisons and disease in every direction of this accursed place.  There is certainly disease and some poison on her body, but, you're not sure if it's hurting it. You know that cure spells won't usually heal an undead creature, but this is an unusual situation, so you try it anyway. Nothing happens. 

"Thure, I'll anthwer your qwethtons. But I'm not a guy, I'm a girl!  My name ith....wath...Mandra. I wath in Arabel a few minuteth ago. I.... I think I was killed.  By...by a thief in an alley. I thaw thome thort of vortex that wath pulling me towardth it...then...then I thaw a hand and grabbed it. Where am I?" 

DM:

Kasaaptu will say " well you poor thing..Mandra is it? You are not having a good afterlife. First you get murdered, then you were getting sucked towards the soul monger where you would have been trapped forever. The good news is we accidentally saved you from that, but the bad news is you are stuck in a rotted, zombie corpse instead.."

Badger: 

Yroc is fighting back the beginnings of a headache at the sudden heat of this place. The body quickly forgets the comforts of an extra-dimensional Gnomish heaven when thrust into a sweaty, dangerous jungle, and his mood had gone with it. "That thing came with us as we... came back. I say we kill it, perhaps its soul might be released then. This undeath needs to be eradicated from this world." he growls, already reaching for his sword.

His eyes flicker to the rod, then up to Badger. "That might be a tool made by the Necromancer, it might be connected to this Death Plague. If it creates a place where souls are trapped, perhaps a necromancer can pull those souls free and make use of them somehow. It, too, should be destroyed."

Don't be ridiculous, simpleton! snaps Badger, hugging the rod to his bony chest. Wagging one finger at Yroc he splutters angrily: The rod is no more at fault than ... this jungle! Neither are the source of the Plague, but both hold clues to discover the truth. If by the rod we glimpsed and even recovered one lost soul, then it may be our greatest boon! Destroy it? Bah! Destroy the jungle itself if you wish to be useful! and with that he storms off, muttering furiously to himself.

How dare he threaten us! muttered Badger. Alone with his thoughts (and the rod) Badger reflects on his original card reading for Yroc, in what had seemed such a long time ago. It had been so positive, so auspicious. How did he get it so wrong? Perhaps he'd read it upside-down. Maybe the Guild Member was upright and the Innocent was inverted. That would imply someone pretending to be a trusted friend but really part of a conspiracy. Yes, that seemed more like it! Yroc must want the rod for himself, and he was trying to trick Badger out of it. Maybe Yroc knew more than he was telling about the necromancer. Maybe he had pretended to be captured by the frog-people so he could insinuate himself into the party, waiting for an opportunity to steal the rod. Maybe that's why ALL the party had agreed to come on this mission in the first place. Badger resolved to be more alert in the future and watch them all carefully.

Sickle completes his ritual, confused at the outcome.  He attempts to heal the body, putting considerable energy into the spell, but to no avail.  He shakes his head at Kasaaptu, disappointed.  “It’s no use, this one’s body cannot be healed by my abilities.”

As Yroc reaches for his blade, Sickle interjects, “Hold a moment. You may yet be right, and it may be that we need to free this one to move on.  But from what we know about this curse, the souls have been lost so far, and we seem to have interrupted this one on her way to some even darker fate. As for the rod, I too distrust its magic, but we don’t know enough to destroy it yet.  Perhaps someone here can attempt to divine its nature beyond just its capabilities. Can anyone sense if this object is inherently evil?”