This durned fog – as thick as an orc’s stink and we can’t be findin’ our way clear of it!
Rather than wanderin’ around by ourselves to get lost on our own, we tie ourselves together and have Belomash lead the way. We all be fumblin’ about and the half-orc nearly plummets over a couple steep cliffs, but we be slowly makin’ our way to…wherever we be headin’.
Then Zoltan hears something below us and immediately throws a bit o’ fire magic that way. His Mountain also seems a bit on edge, if I be readin’ the mass o’ rock correctly.
Torinn takes up Belomash on his griffon to descend down a cliff face we be arrivin’ at. Didn’t bother to tell me that, though, and I ended up danglin’ over the edge for a bit. I be pretty sure the elf has a good laugh at me predicament.
After a bit more movement to what we think be in an easterly direction, Torinn tells us he be sensin’ undead and breathes some fire that way. I soon be confirmin’ that undead lie that way and we race after it.
We be findin’ charred plants and piled dirt, and Torinn senses undead beneath the ground. He starts to dig and finds planks to what he thinks is a box. Actin’ quickly, he pulls out his flamin’ sword and drives it down into the box.
Then we hear a skittering off in the fog – somethin’ movin’ away quickly. Torinn goes to investigate, as does Belomash. Henrick, too, ignorin’ the plants he be talkin’ to tellin’ him to leave.
Meanwhile, Zoltan and his Mountain be investigatin’ another part of the island. The Mountain tells him there be somethin’ odd about the fog (no kiddin’!) and they come across a bottle just blowin’ out the stuff. Zoltan plugs it up and notices the fog shrinkin’ a bit.
After chasin’ shadows it seems, Torinn and the others come back to the grave and find a ring and some other odds and ends. I be of the opinion we should be hallowin’ the ground and see what happens. While I prepare me spell, the others search the island without the fog spoilin’ the view but find nothin’ of interest.
Then the payoff: me ceremony completed, I be noticin’ some bubbles poppin’ up from the ground. Then a voice: “Thank you for releasing me from my vampirism. I ask you to rid my beloved swamp of the star mistress. Her thirst for blood is eternal. As long as she lives death will always plague the Mere.”
Havin’ rested, it be time to put this undead bitch back in the ground.
Dumathoin, be with us.
I be tryin’ to get me account of our movement toward the vampire’s lair straightened out, but between the attacks of that strange vegetative force disorienting me a bit and Henrick’s meddlin’ in me journal, it be a bit of a boondoggle. I’ll try me best…
The band of us be debatin’ the best way to measure the threat of the vampire Datou; Zoltan thinks the best way is for us to be dressin’ up as women and interactin’ with the bloodsucker as Star Sister adherents if he shows that night. Me and the orc ain’t so big on that idea, instead wantin’ to make more of a direct attack at his lair, but Zoltan casts his illusions makin’ us appear female, which makes Adele even more uncomfortable about the plan. She be agreein’ huntin’ him down at his lair be the way to go, but Zoltan and Henrick decide to give the gnome’s plan a go.
The night don’t be goin’ well for the pair. First, the gnome can’t quite get the ceiling to go fully transparent (that be makin’ star-gazing a bit difficult, don’t it?). They soon be hearin’ a bit of a clatter on the roof, and a voice almost tempts them to go outside. They leave before they make any other bad choices, and neither be getting’ a good look at the beast. It could be a vampire cat, for all we know.
The next mornin’ we be headed east, the boggy terrain makin’ for slow travel. Later that day we come to a dense fog, too dense for natural in my mind. Henrik, the ranger, lags behind the rest of us and is attacked by bullywugs, though they be distorted in obscene ways. The party makes quick work of the beasts as I decide to trudge ahead and investigate the fog.
Might’ve been a mistake. I be attacked by an overpowerin’ force that be plantlike in nature, leadin’ me to lose me bearings a bit. Collectin’ meself, I knocked it with me hammer once or twice and then cast a powerful spell at it, aimin’ to steal its moisture. Not as much effect as I had hoped, but Belomash came runnin’ to help as well.
Meanwhile, Zoltan begins summoning his stone golem but, that be takin’ some time, becomes a target of a giant crocodile. The toothy beast’s attacks draw the others’ attention who come to the gnome’s aid, while Henrick makes his way to me. The elf tries communicatin’ with the plant-thing that attacked me, but is himself attacked and insulted so vulgarly it would have made a dwarven battle-rager blush.
The croc soon be ready to be made into come boots, and the others head our way.
“Well, elf, do ye have any bright ideas to be clearin’ this fog?” I ask.
Not sure we do.
