WELCOME TO THE JUNGLE.

It is quickly decided that the map (see previous entry) is truly a valuable find and worth keeping under wraps. That badge though, and what does "Find S.S. in P.N." mean? Winchton recalls the badge's symbol as that of The Harpers, a clandestine order for good that originates from the Sword Coast. The note proves a mystery, but it's unanimously agreed upon that "P.N." could only mean Port Nyanzaru. The party continues their route back to Fort Beluarian under the morning sun.

​

Nearing the fort, Qawasha and Kupalué dismount and state their intent to return south on their own. It's been a pleasure getting to know the unlikely crew, says Qawasha as he makes eye contact with Col, but they have new concerns worth investigating. Handing off their mount's reins to Arnie and solemnly saying their farewells, the Chultan druid with the strange eyes and his vegepygmy friend disappear into the forest and out of our heroes' lives. At least, they hope, 'for now'.

​

Fort Beluarian is its usual bustle of activity as the crew makes their way in, greeted by an enthusiastic Ruhl who claims their dinosaur mounts outside the bailey. Inside, Blaze Liara Portyr awaits.

​

The major's face is deadpan as the story emerges. Multiple giants? Frost giants? An ice-breathing wolf? A massive sailing vessel? Someone named "Kimber"? The story is nearly unbelievable! She confesses nothing is known of anyone named Kimber nor of any Harper activity in Chult... while Bertram wisely mentions nothing of the map. The 6-foot long lock of yellow-white frost giant hair that Winchton produces is thankfully enough to convince Portyr of their honesty. With a bit more persuasion a hefty bounty is achieved: A Flaming Fist charter of exploration, a couple potions of healing, a scroll of lesser restoration, and - most important of all - free passage on the next morning's ship to Port Nyanzaru! The crew says their goodbyes, and it's off for one last evening in Fort Beluarian before finally strike off on their own. 

​

As Arnie and Winchton reminisce about hot sauces and acquire their own private stock of deathly spicy samplers from the Provisioner, Bertram has another goal. Arnie had saved their lives multiple times over since the shipwreck, and what better way to display their gratitude than by gifting the handyman cleric with a homemade fruity tropical cocktail like he's been craving ever since his intended vacation? Col blends the fruits, Winchton delivers some newly purchased rum to mix in, the concoction is served in half of a large coconut-like shell. Three cheers for the most helpful handyman this side of the jungle!

​

*         *         *

​

As the light fades, something bothers Winchton but he can't quite but his finger on it. His whole adult life he's been the "Great Green Hunter", constantly striving to master his domain through slaying the fiercest beasts that he can find. But for what? To prove himself? Maybe when he was younger, but the luster of that goal has faded over the years. He came to Chult to dominate a new environment, but after encountering the magnificence of life here in this foreign land it just doesn't feel right anymore. Seeking some sort of answer in communion with the land, he prepares a ritual of nature magic in the fort's garden where they had first met Qawasha. Pinpoints of starlight emerge in the blanket of evening, and Winchton drifts to sleep among the orchard trees. An answer doesn't come.

​

Bertram knows little of how he has been channeling new magical abilities through Agamaya, but he's interested in exploring that relationship further. In a candid conversation before bedtime, the sentient blade reveals that she is "one of many" and that she serves a greater power. The weapon begins to shift. The basic hilt guard molds to look like the spread wings of a bird, and then, *shff* as the entire sword shimmers and phases directly into Bertram's sleeve. Understandably shocked, the young man tests the new ability, extending and retracting the sword like an entirely-too-long hidden blade of an assassin. Pleased, Bertram lies down and closes his eyes.

​

In a deep sleep, Bertram again approaches the odd man in the tweed jacket from behind. "I hope you find what you're looking for..." It echoes around him in the dreamscape. "I hope.... hope... looking for... you find... find... hope... what you... you... youyouyouyou...."

​

Bertram's hand touches the man's shoulder. The man turns around. The face is an empty void.

​

Jolting awake in a hot sweat, the young archaeologist's eyes focus just in time to see an exhausted and dissatisfied half-orc hunter stumble in and lie down on his bunk next to Arnie.

​

*         *         *

​

A knock on the door. Bertram answers. Sigbeorn the cook stands in the doorway with an expression somewhere between confusion and that look one gets when they are pondering if they are being mocked.

​

"Whose idea of a joke is this?" says Sigbeorn, as he gestures behind himself and steps aside.

​

There, behind him in the hallway, sits an orange-haired ape with a placid expression... holding two steaming cups of tea. The cook explains that the ape casually walked in the fort in the middle of the night, patiently waited in the kitchen, prepared two cups of tea once breakfast was ready and sauntered upstairs to sit outside the unlikely crew's chamber doors. Everyone awake looks on incredulously as the orangutan awkwardly walks forward on two feet - not spilling a drop - hands a cup to Winchton, then sits next to him on the edge of the bed and calmly sips from the other cup. Winchton sips his own tea. A very awkward moment passes until the half-orc casts speak with animals. 

​

“Did Wadsworth send you? Do you have a name? Well, at least you can make a great cuppa..." 

​

The ape calmly slurps from its mug as it studies Winchton's face. "...Lovely." It blinks and takes another sip. 

​

Winchton smiles. "I think we'll get along!"

​

Lovely the orangutan, as he is dubbed, joins the party on its morning rounds as they prepare to finally head on their way. Breakfast is eaten, Shago wishes his new friends the best of time in his city of birth, and Winchton writes a note to secretly leave for Liara Portyr. Arnie is approached by a Flaming Fist mercenary who, unlike many of those from Baldur's Gate who subtly (or less than subtly) mocked his old business, earnestly thanks the handyman cleric's efforts to make the world a better place. Being appreciated... now there's a payment that Arnie can accept!

​

It's 12 or so miles to the Flaming Fist's coastal dock. Four mercenaries, two merchants, a wagon full of goods bound for the coast, and the crew is off down the Fist's most well-traveled road through the jungle. As Fort Beluarian fades behind them, and they can't help but feel like masters of their own destinies. It's been weeks since that fateful typhoon and resulting long string of chaotic near-death experiences, but now, finally, they are taking charge of their own adventures.

​

Halfway to the coast, a lone crate sits in the middle of the wagon rutted path. Curious. Bertram's investigations reveal a swarm of insects contained within... a distraction? An arrow from the foliage catches a merchant in the neck. It's an ambush!

​

As a horde of masked goblins swarm around the small caravan, the Batiri tribal boss howls a command and an expected tactic plays out. One goblin jumps on the shoulders of another - then another -  then another - and another - until two totem pole-like piles of vicious wooden masks with spears 5 or 6 goblins high tower over our heroes and stab downwards. Col and Arnie do some vicious work of their own respectively with dust devil and inflict wounds, taking some hits as they cause chaos and shorten the living Batiri totems one by one. Winchton teaches his new orangutan friend Lovely some combat maneuvers but they soon find themselves a bit overwhelmed.

​

Separated by nearly a hundred feet from the others, Bertram finds himself surrounded by the third mass of goblins. Outnumbered and cut off, the archaeologist is mobbed. A slice to the arm and Bertram spins around to avoid another hit only to take a critically stabbed spear directly to the chest. 

​

The dream replays in fast forward. The strange man is approached from behind. "Ihopeyoufindwhatyourelookingfor,  ihopeyoufindwhatyourelookingfor, ihopeyoufindwhatyourelookingfor... BERTRAM FRODE."

​

The man turns around. Bertram stares at himself.

​

A short distance in front of the caravan the young man's eyes and mouth open and blast out a radiance of light that rapidly consumes his entire body and explodes, searing the ambushers. Half of the surrounding goblins are instantly burned to death, the other burning half panics and flees in to the woods as Bertram screams in shock while intensely radiating. 

​

Col falls in defense of the caravan, Winchton tosses Arnie a potion of healing, who rushes over to help. The revivified Col and the others make quick work of the now-retreating Batiri, with Col shifting in to snake form to mercilessly suffocate the goblin's leader. An exhausted Bertram collapses to the road as the radiant light fades... yet his eyes now permanently retaining a dull gold coloration. Something significant was triggered within the young archaeologist, but no one is brave nor unable to adequately express themselves well enough to question the weakened Bertram in the moment. The dead merchant's corpse is loaded upon the wagon, Winchton gently sits Bertram on the back, and it's onward to their intended destination.

​

(DM: Bertram's heritage reveals itself. Unbeknownst to even himself, his true nature as an Aasimar has fully emerged.)

​

The captain of the Flaming Fist vessel awaits. The ship offshore is loaded up via a few trips by rowboat, the unlikely companions board, and it's a strange sense of déjà vu as once again they find themselves on a ship sailing towards the tropical city of Port Nyanzaru.

​

It's smooth sailing for hours westward and southward into the mouth of the Bay of Chult. Like Portyr, the captain assures that no pirates ever attack Flaming Fist vessels, though he does warn that if a "moving island" is ever spotted it is advised to act quickly. With the very distant hint of a southern shore in view, a spray of water rapidly speeds directly towards the ship. Is that a humanoid? Robed arms spread wide, staff in hand, a golden figure soars off the water, spirals, and lands on the deck of the ship.

​

"Zindar, you old bastard!" declares the captain.

​

"Ahh. Renwick!" says the dragonborn... no, more dragon-like... individual as he looks over Arnie, Bertram, Col, and Winchton. "New friends of yours? You have the look of first timers."

​

The unlikely companions greet the gold half-dragon sorcerer in return as he looks over his shoulder to the shimmering horizon of city shapes appearing far in the distance. 

​

"I am Zindar, Harbormaster for my fine city. And this...", as he gestures grandly, "...is the Jewel of Chult: Port Nyanzaru."

Darkness comes as Col settles in for first watch. A familiar *zip* sound is heard Arnie and Winchton's tent - Arnie's fanny pack. Shapeshifting in to a mouse and sneaking over Col sees a curious sight staring back at him from the tent's flap: a doll-sized creature with wild hair and a mask-like face. Qawasha gently urges Col to interact with care. The desert hermit shifts back to human form and produces a gold coin. The tiny figure cautiously takes it, walks in to the tent, and places the coin in the fanny pack. Arnie awakes, pleased to find a small non-threatening local that isn't trying to eat him. 

​

"A chwinga!" Qawasha exclaims. "Of rock, of wood, of soil... they are one with Chult and Ubtao. This is good fortune."

​

Another emerges from the campfire ring and stares. Yet another next to a sleeping Winchton, who sleepily regards the small thing as a dream apparition before he rolls over and goes back to sleep. Before phasing away straight into stone and wood, one shifts its face to mimic Col's own patterned skin, much to his enjoyment. With the mystery of Arnie's fanny pack bandit solved, a calm silence falls over the camp.

​

Bertram's watch is uneventful, but his sword Agamaya is concerned with the earlier interaction in the fort's market. Who was that man? What was his interest in Bertram? And why is Agamaya unable to reference him historically?

​

Morning comes, and the crew wastes no time in traveling a few hours southeast along the path to Mezro. The giant's tracks across the route are unmistakable. It is agreed that Qawasha and Kupalué should stay behind with the mounts just off the main trail, and the four companions are off on the hunt. Winchton utilizes his skills in tracking to follow the tracks backwards to their source, and after an hour and a half in to the wilderness booming voices are heard in the distance. Col tries on a new form - the stealthy jaculi - and awkwardly bounds from tree to tree into scouting position. Huge figures in the distance, bone and hide armor, and... bluish skin and yellow-white hair?

​

As the others await Col's return, a huge white wolf with pink eyes ambushes the rest! Winchton and Bertram slash at the beast, with Winchton jumping on its back as Arnie circles defensively. The pink eyes shift to cobalt blue and*shooooom* as a blast of frozen air emits from its mouth, just missing Arnie and Bertram as it lurches under Winchton's pulls. What manner of bizarre tropical beast is this?

​

The sound of combat is heard and Col circles a tree to rush back, but he's not alone. Below him, three massive giants charge through the underbrush towards the noise as well. Making a daring decision that is debatedly suicidal or valiant, Col coils in to a spring and... SNAKE TO THE FAAAACE! The leading giant catches a flying-snake-javelin directly on the nose and it just goes to town with its snaky fangs. The surprised giant stumbles and panics as one would when in exactly such a situation, and the other two giants continue to the battle scene. (DM: With 2 crits in 3 rounds and the giant utterly failing to remove the damned snake from its face, Col single-handedly brought a CR 8 giant to half health. Hilarious and amazing.)

​

Arnie burns necrotic damage into the wolf's rear. Another icy blast shoots from the wolf's mouth and barely misses Bertram as he and Winchton continue their attacks. The half-orc hunter somersaults off the wolf's back just as two giants arrive... and halt thirty feet away. The lead giant nods her chin and gestures towards the severely injured wolf. 

​

Winchton hesitates. A feeling comes over him that doesn't sit well with his 'big game hunter' past. He has won. Why must he also slay such a fine beast? "What a waste...", he says, as he brings his pike down to finish off the white wolf. "A waste!"

​

The blue-skinned giants do not attack. The third 'yeets' a face-eating snake off in to the woods and catches up, yet still none of them attack. "Common?", asks the female one with the battle axe. The party nods.

​

The conversation with the frost giants is a tense one. They think little of the puny humanoids, but respect their ability to best one of their finest winter wolves. It appears they are searching for a "Kimber" - some human who apparently stole an item of importance from their jarl and fled to this land. Eager to have as little to do with this disgusting tropical heat as they have to, the axe-wielding Drufi and her fellow profusely sweating giants lose interest once it is apparent that our crew knows nothing of whoever this Kimber is, and they are dared to approach the giants' campsite if they seek oversized proof of existence. With a sneer, Drufi and her crew stomp north, out of site and eventually out of earshot.

​

The dare is taken, and after skinning the white wolf the giants' tracks are further pursued southeast until the forest segues into shoreline under a misty drizzle. A basic campsite of dauntingly large proportions rests on the beach but it is what is offshore that strikes awe: a massive raiding vessel with the curved likeness of a snarling dragon at its prow, and two huge severed white dragon wings mounted as sails. With no giants in sight, the crew sneaks towards the closest tent.

​

Snoring from within. Snake-Col and Winchton sneak in and debate their options for proof. A 5-foot tall boot? Obvious, but awkward. Snake-Col stares at the terrifyingly large sleeping giant snoring within... what about a length of its hair? Arnie and Bertram evade a patrolling giant by jumping in the tent, just in time to see Winchton trying his best to saw off a length of hair from the snoring giant. Breath his held, the moment is tense, but the half-orc is successful! The four companions make a brisk escape towards the treeline, and it's back to find Qawasha and the mounts. The Chultan druid emerges from his barkskin camouflage, Kupalué crawls out from under hiding, and the reunited team starts on the long trail back towards Fort Beluarian.

​

It is pouring rain and nearly dark by the time the crew makes it back to Qawasha's treetop campsite. Exhausted by the day's events most fall asleep with little thought of a night watch, but Col remains awake. Rain falls and the occasional rumble of thunder sounds. In the middle of the night, unsettling rattling moans are heard under the storm. Col turns his head, and a somber Qawasha stands next to him staring off in to the dark, saying nothing. He raises his hand to Col's shoulder, Col nods, the hand connects, and Col's vision expands as the Chultan druid gives him the gift of darkvision. 

​

In a distant clearing, one of the large four-legged dinosaurs with a row of plates and a spiked tail thrashes as it is overwhelmed by a horde of undead tearing into its flesh. It puts up a good fight, but eventually the beast succumbs and falls. Qawasha remains silent. The dull sound of tearing flesh lies under the rainfall. Ten minutes pass. Still Qawasha says nothing. Col watches as one of the dead dinosaur's legs twitch. Then the tail. The half-eaten beast reanimates, rising to its feet, and plods off as the newest convert of this undead curse. The clearing goes still.

​

Qawasha finally speaks. "As my young friend Shago is keen to say... Welcome to Chult."

​

The Chultan druid says nothing more and walks away. Col stares into the clearing. The rain falls.

​

*         *         *

​

The road back is largely uneventful until an odd sight is spotted just off the path ahead: an extremely large frog with the blade of a sword emerging from its spine. Bertem investigates.

​

It appears that an unfortunate halfling traveler was claimed by a giant amphibian, but the victim's short sword skewered it from within and both now lay dead. With a bit of help from Winchton the large mouth is pried open and the halfling's body retrieved. It's no one the party knows, at least. A quick search reveals two items of import: a brass badge depicting a harp within a crescent moon, and a large sturdy scroll case. The case is opened, and a note falls out:

​

Find S.S. in P.N.

She knows.

​

The unlikely crew of shipwreck survivors ponder the note and badge as the large scroll is rolled out. Voices stop. All stare in wonder as the most detailed map of Chult they have ever seen unfurls before their eyes.

​

​

(Level 3: achieved. The map may be viewed on the Maps page. Truly now... Welcome to Chult!)​

​

Col and Bertram wake up well rested in their guestroom at Fort Beluarian. Arnie rolls over and snores, wreaking of an ungodly blend of peppers. Winchton is nowhere to be seen.

​

The half-orc clears his eyes and looks under the covers. Naked. No clothes in sight. "Good. You're awake. This is for you." Major Portyr is already at her desk on the other side of the room and motioning to a hot steaming mug. Winchton collects the bedsheet around his waist and raises his mug to Portyr as she explains how he stumbled in naked in a hot sauce-induced stupor. "Bring your friends over this morning. I've got something for you." she says.

​

"It's only a Walk of Shame if you feel ashamed!" declares Winchton, as he triumphantly walks back to the guestroom. The rest of the crew stare quizzically as the half-orc barges in to pull his clothes from under the waking Arnie. The smorgasbord breakfast is descended upon by all, with Bertram spending his time writing a letter while the morning shift of Flaming Fist mercenaries get ready for the morning shift. 

​

With their newfound undead bounty wealth burning holes in their pockets the unlikely crew spends a bit of time in the early morning market of Fort Beluarian. Bertram feels a bit intruded upon at a merchant booth as an older human leans over his shoulder to make casual conversation. In his sixties perhaps, salt and pepper beard, an inexplicable tweed jacket in this uncomfortably hot jungle military outpost... and an ice cream cone. The chat is genial, but Bertram but can't help but feel uneasy during the engagement, looking over his shoulder to see if his allies notice his chatty friend - which they do. The man licks his cone every sentence or so, happy yet seemingly out of touch with Bertram's wariness. The young archaeologist excuses himself as the older man nods contently and walks away.

​

The man calls out over his shoulder as he rounds a corner: "I hope you find what you're looking for, Bertram."

​

Bertram's eyes go wide and he turns around, but the man is gone. He had never introduced himself by name. With pressure from Winchton and Col to return to Major Portyr he is unable to pursue the strange man, with the crew slowing only to collect an exasperated Arnie as the handyman harasses a local merchant for nonexistent ice cream. After a short stop at the Provisioner to mail Bertram's letter, it's back to the bailey to find the fort's commander. The castellan ushers the party in, and unlike the calm professional Portyr of previous engagements, this time she immediately and directly approaches the crew.

​

"This. Here. Take a look.", she says, as she hands a scout's sketching over. A footprint? No. Two footprints. And one is roughly ten times the size of the other. "That's my scout's foot...", she says, as she points to the smaller one. "...and that one? Well. That one shouldn't be here."

​

Major Portyr goes on to explain that the Flaming Fist has never seen giants in Chult, but as this rumor comes from an important route to a southern outpost called Mezro, she is very invested. Patrols are tight, and many of her mercenaries are in Mezro now. Investigation is needed. Portyr makes a hard offer to refuse: Upon job completion not only will she give them a free Charter of Exploration from the Flaming Fist, but also passage on the next Fist ship headed towards Port Nyanzaru. Verify the threat, verify the threat's source, and bring back proof... three goals, and the path to civilization is finally within reach.

​

Bertram balks hard at the literal enormity of the rumored threat as well as the directness of the fort's commander ("She. Is. So. INTENSE!"), but Col and Winchton win him over. Proof is needed, but surely there are other ways to find proof other than slaying a giant? The deal is sealed when Portyr offers a welcome upgrade to jovial Shago - a veteran druid and his walking weed.

​

After cleaning up, Ruhl arrives to happily announce that he has prepped his finest beasts for the crew! The curious vegepygmy called Kupalué escorts the would-be heroes down to the courtyard, where green-eyed Qawasha awaits with a serene smile. Three large dinosaur mounts with duck bills and curved heads (parasaurolophuses) are loaded with gear. Fort Beluarian again fades in to the distance, and the familiar sounds of wild Chult fill the air.

​

As Arnie rides behind Winchton it takes him a bit to get the complaining out of his system, but eventually he realizes this "safari" ride is a wonderful jungle tour with minimal effort. Much is learned from Qawasha as the small caravan heads east towards a Flaming Fist mine. He and Winchton wax philosophic about views of nature, Bertram is introduced to exotic new species such as flying monkeys, Col takes in an ecology entirely unlike the deserts of Anauroch, and a parallel conversation about Qawasha's views on the Flaming Fist intertwines. To him, this is a land of life; to them, a resource to be exploited. Supplies are topped off at the guarded mine site, then it's off to follow the mountain range south. 

​

Pteranadons soar overhead as the small caravan follows the treeline south between the eastern mountains and the western rainforest. The trained mounts and clear path allow for travel time well spent. A giant dinosaur with diamond-shaped plates and a fierce spiked tail is avoided as it grazes. The crew rushes to seek cover under trees as Qawasha points out another flight of pteranadons flies by... no, something weirder, with almost humanoid bodies. Eventually the Chultan druid urges the caravan in to the forest's edge as the sun goes down. As ominous booms and small tremors sound nearby, Qawasha speaks to a massive tree and the vegetation growing on it, and our unlikely crew is lifted by gently extending vines into a tree bough roost with an established firepit embedded among the branches. "Ahh," says the druid as he smiles, "a familiar and safe home indeed."

​

Asking if the crew would like to see the source of the tremors, Bertram, Col, and Winchton follow Kupalué further out on to the bough's branches to see a magnificent sight: a gigantic leathery head the size of a wagon attached to an impossibly long neck ripping branches off of trees, peacefully grazing yet at a mind-blowing scale. Winchton grips his pike, but Qawasha cautions that these creatures are only a threat if threatened, and otherwise keep away the smaller dangers of the forest. The group returns to Arnie failing horribly at setting up a tent, and a small fire it built in the dusklight.

​

It's a peaceful evening as the gentle giants graze nearby, with Col inquiring about local toxins and receiving a bit of useful info before the conversation turns abruptly. "What do you know about the dead, marked with triangles?", asks Winchton.

 

Qawasha's expression turns dark for the first time in memory, and the druid asks if he may share a tale. The crew nods.

​

"Thousands of years ago there were your gods. Mystra, Lathander, Savras, and more... but there were also other great beings. Some were threats. Some were not. One helped. In doing what your gods could not, they became a god.

​

"Ubtao was given this land as reward. Chult. It was their playground, and Ubtao created as they pleased. A god of life, death, and everything in between, Ubtao desired to see their creations navigate the maze of life. Nation-states flourished and fell, and Ubtao built the great Mezro as their city-temple. For thousands of years Ubtao lived among mortals, their will carried out by the "Barae" - powerful champions dedicated to their god. Time passed, but Ubtao grew weary of the war and greed of Chult's many nations.

 

"And then one day - disgusted with the pettiness of mortals - Ubtao left.

​

"Chult panicked, but the Barae persisted and led in Ubtao's absence. More nations rose. More nations fell. Hundreds of years ago the Barae of Necromancy thought to aid Mezro by slaughtering a vicious neighboring tribe, but was banished for their ruthlessness. The symbol of a traitor to Mezro was tattooed on their head: an inverted blue triangle.

​

"In shame and hate, the traitor raised an undead army, adopting the inverted triangle as his own symbol and searing it on to the heads of his army. The former Barae marched upon Mezro to re-take their place... until the city just vanished in to thin air as the army approached. Moments later the city reappeared in ruins. The traitor despaired.

​

"Ras Nsi. (Qawasha lingers on the name)

​

"The traitor Ras Nsi vanished long ago, fading in to legend. But his army remains. Now, hundreds of years later, the former army of the Barae of Necromancy continues to run amok.

 

"As of late, the traitor's army grows in numbers. I do not know why, but I seek answers... and I fight for my homeland."

​

Qawasha wraps his story by stating that despite all this new information that his organization may be familiar. The Emerald Enclave. As a Chultan member of the Enclave, he seeks to eradicate undeath and restore his beloved home.

​

The unlikely crew nods solemnly. With much to consider, they settle down in their arboreal abode.​​​

​

One shambling figure... no. Two.

 

Col and Winchton stealth back through the hard rain and soft mud to report their scouting to the others. Shredded clothing, guttural moans, and still moving despite what were clearly life-ending wounds in wet and rotted flesh. Reanimated corpses. So the rumor was true. The pair propose a "bait and funnel"maneuver to bring the prey to them. The party agrees, and the trap is sprung.

​

"Come get your half-orc buffet, you flesh eating bastards!" shouts Winchton.

​

One figure turns in the heavy rain and utters a sound. Then the other. And another. And another. And another... the entire forested hillside comes alive. Over twenty silhouettes in the mist lurch downhill towards the sound of living flesh, and Winchton's eyes grow large. He falls back and positions himself between the two massive trees that his companions are readied behind, and winces slightly as two of the creatures shriek loudly and claw their ways forward far faster than the rest of the corpse-like horde.

​

Bertram slings a blast of eldritch energy from his sword, Col forms an icy projectile, and Arnie lets loose a divine bolt of force that all explode against the oncoming mass. The first shrieking creature slams in to Winchton's pike and takes considerable damage, but it's flailing claws strike. Winchton freezes, paralyzed by a toxin and unable to move as the shambling corpses bear down on him.

 

The half-orc hunter braces himself for a grisly fate when: *kra-KOW!*

​

A flash of light and deafening thunder sounds as an arc of lightning from the storm overhead strikes a tree halfway up the hill. The massive trunk shatters nearly a hundred feet from the ground, and like a collapsing pillar from an enormous building the upper two-thirds of the tree impacts the ground with a tremor... a tremor that shakes loose the sloppy earth on the hillside. Everyone stands agape as the shattered tree triggers a mudslide directly at them.

 

Like a rolling pin of gargantuan size the shattered trunk barrels down the hill, utterly crushing the rear wave of undead and washing a neck-deep slurry of mud and debris over the remainder. Winchton and the walking corpses nearest him go under the wave of sludge while the rest of the crew narrowly avoids being washed away. 

​

Bertram thinks fast and kicks off a large root to clamber up on the huge sideways trunk as it smashes to a rest, swinging his blade and nearly severing a corpse's arm as he artfully leaps. Arnie and Col step back in opposite directions of their intended pincer trap, blasting rotted bodies as they emerge from the mud. Their guide and companion Shago runs around a standing tree, nowhere to be seen.

​

With a roar, a mass in the shape of a half-orc explodes from below the mud, breaking the toxin's grasp. With pike in hand, Winchton whirls and spins to skewer one monstrosity after another, flipping them overhead to drown them under the muck. The ranger nearly goes down multiple times but holds his ground in the waist-deep slop like a badass, chopping down one screeching ghoul and six zombies in a flurry of arcing swings as Arnie and Bertram support with sniping shots. Col launches another explosion of ice shards, the other ghoul falls and the remaining zombies are severely mangled.

​

Arnie blasts the head off of one of the walking dead, but the body turns along with another zombie as they turn to corner him. Bertram falls off his perch into the mud as Col races around the growing landslide to help. Seeing he is the only possible help, an injured Winchton charges through the mud to impale the headless zombie but he and his prey succeed in taking each other out. The half-orc falls beneath the surface once again.

 

Arnie grapples with the final zombie as it gnashes at his face. Winchton has fallen. Col and Bertram struggle to get there time time.

​

Roaring and bloody, the half-orc emerges like a revenant (DM: Relentless Endurance, y'all, goddamn) to stab his pike in to Arnie's assailant. The zombie is torn asunder. The mud settles. No more moans are heard.

 

Shago emerges, suggesting leaving before this downpour brings any more threats. The unlikely crew agree first spend a few minutes collecting heads as proof of deed and payment deserved. It takes a bit of hacking through soft rotting flesh but seven heads are collected in total - six zombies and one ghoul. In the process Arnie makes a discovery: on one zombie is a fanny pack much like his own. Pondering this unsettling reminder of mortality, an ornately carved pipe and a pouch of tobacco is found within, and the party continues on their way.

​

It's over a day's trip back to Fort Beluarian, but Shago knows of a safe place to rest. On the way the crew ponders the nature and existence of undead masses, but something bothers Winchton as he watches the mud wash away from their trophies... triangles. Half of their severed heads bear an inverted triangle, just like the lifeless skeleton in the campsite prior. Stranger still, the older and more leathery heads have a tattooed blue triangle on the forehead rather than a carved one. Shago has no idea. Mysteries abound.

​

Shago's rocky overhang is found and camp is set up. All is quiet. Arnie is distracted from his midnight watch by tiny glowing flowers at his feet as a *zip* sound comes from his fanny pack. Again, coins are missing, but this time 3 gold pieces are gone and a stone of similar weight is in their stead bearing the mark of a windy cloud... or is it a piece of broccoli? It is hard to say. In the morning Shago insists it was malicious spirits, and the crew is on their way to Fort Beluarian. Guards and others warmly greet the group's return, and tensions release for the time being.

​

Major Portyr is pleased to see the crew return despite the confirmation that the undead had spread northward, paying a hearty 90 gold for the heads. She also claims to know nothing of the inverted triangles, but at least agrees that Arnie's new rock definitely has broccoli drawn on it. The major pauses a moment for the one zombie head that was clearly a Flaming Fist mercenary in life, thanks the crew again, and dismisses them to enjoy their well-earned free time.

 

Ruhl, the large tattooed animal handler and part-time prankster, awaits outside the meeting room doors. A celebration is in order! It seems the "Provisioner" building is something of a Fist-only speakeasy... and our crew is invited. Col and Bertram decide to take it easy, but Arnie and Winchton? After a wash and change of clothes, it's time to revere living and life!

​

Ruhl sets the stage and he bursts in to the Provisioner with Winchton and Arnie.

​

"Which one of you bastards mounted my favorite dinosaur?!?", shouts Ruhl.

​

The bar goes silent. Ruhl singles out a young mercenary. Arnie leans in, making his best attempt to look intimidating as he magically lights up the patron's drink: "You wanna get lit?". Winchton grabs the young man's glowing drink and chugs it, staring him down and not saying a word as the soldier looks on with wide eyes. Ruhl grins and shouts greetings to his comrades, tensions break, and the party is back on. Shago meets them at the bar. He buys a round of 'tej' - a Chultan fermented honey drink - for his new friends and sets about talking of the evening's plans. Lizard races! But first... it was time to drink.

​

"You were expecting alcohol?", Ruhl laughs. "Hah! No! It's a HOT SAUCE drinking competition!" He slaps down money, so do the others, and the game is on. The last one to cave in and drink water wins!

 

The old Chultan bartender brings a different odd-shaped bottle round after round, each swirling with a cornucopia of colors and sporting their own intimidating names. Veloci-pepper. Pteranadon Terror. The Chwinga. The Sea, and its companion The Sky.

 

After three intense rounds Shago bows out, chugging a skin of water as he stumbles towards the door. Ruhl lasts five, but even the large muscular Chultan bows out as the two shipwreck survivors stare at their glasses in a combination of sweaty determination and dilated eyes. The bartender pulls forth a tiny bottle of mottled red and black liquid.

​

"Tyrannosaurus Hex..." he mutters as he pours just a few drops in each glass, moments before taking cover underneath the bar itself. Again, Winchton and Arnie hold strong. Barely. The bartender's hand comes up once more, leaving the bottle of Tyrannosaurus Hex for only the most masochistic of souls.

​

It may be lost to time and memory what Winchton said next as he grabbed the bottle and poured both himself and Arnie one final decisive shot of deathly burning. The words may not even matter. What does matter is that both Arnie and Winchton chugged one final shot of the hottest hot sauce in all of Chult and that reality ceased to be concrete.

​

Hands. Many hands. So many hands. Arnie smiles in delight as tears of pain stream down his face, watching the five hands of the bartender and many more on his shoulders declare themselves his friend. The most handy of hands! Everywhere!

​

At the end of the bar, Winchton watches as a velociraptor ties its ascot, dons its monocle, grabs its fancy cane and walks past the half-orc.

​

"Indubitably.", says the classy raptor.

​

"It's future me...", mutters Winchton, as he falls backwards and sprawls on the floor.

 

Ruhl and Shago return after cooling off to retrieve their two badly hallucinating friends, dragging them out for a bit of fresh air and a splash of water on the face. With the upcoming lizard races all but forgotten in a haze of hellish burning and no one else to blame for it, the duo retreats to their bedroom to find Col and Bertram fast asleep. Winchton falls face first on the bed, Arnie falls on top of him with a burp of gas that may just resemble a dinosaur.

​

Mission accomplished.

​

A 4-year old boy with green-hued skin sits on an ornately embroidered couch, looking down at his new brightly colored knee-high socks as his feet hanging out off the side. He can't wait until he's as big as his older cousins and can touch the floor while sitting too! As great as these new socks are that his auntie gave him for his 4th birthday, nothing compares to the large stuffed toy owlbear that he slides and hops across the couch's surface while making hooting noises to himself.

​

Across the room behind closed ornate dark wooden doors, Auntie Elsie and Grandpapa argue. "That thing is not of my blood!" is heard. "He's just a child... and he's your grandson!" as well. The boy pays no mind, scooting the toy owlbear along the couch immersed in his own world. More muffled words ring through the door, but the boy does not look up.

 

"Family." "Half-breed beast." "One of us!" "...Abomination." 

​

The door slams open and closed again as Auntie Elsie storms out of the room, well-dressed as ever, pausing to compose herself when she sees the boy. She smiles, pats him on the head, and continues outside while trying to mask her anger. The boy plays with the owlbear, hardly phased.

​

"Young master Winston. I trust you are enjoying your new furry birthday friend?"

​

At the sound of the new voice, the boy's eyes light up and leave the sight of the owlbear for the first time in hours. He turns to grin widely at the dapper middle-aged halfling standing behind him in the doorway.

​

​

*         *         *

​

​

Dawn breaks, and the unlikely crew leaves their guest quarters in Fort Beluarian to seek a bite to eat. Breakfast is a do-it-yourself smorgasbord and Bertram wastes no time in taking more than he needs to pack for the trail, based on the last few days of manic activity. Winchton gets a bit overzealous in creating a mountain of pancakes.

​

With some stability found, it was time for the crew to plot out their own future plans! The agreement is quick and unanimous: Port Nyanzaru was their intended destination and so it remains. Perhaps a bit of coin and good favor with The Flaming Fist of Fort Beluarian would get them closer to that goal.

​

Exploring the fort a bit more the companions chat up the Fist's stablemaster. Horses are rarely used for travel as, in hindsight, hooves do not trod so well through dense rainforest underbrush. These days monthly jousting tournaments give the Fist a taste of home and entertain the locals with a new sport. Sure enough, around the corner an intriguing jousting grounds stands bearing both the traditional banners of the Sword Coast and the curious feathered and dinosaur-depicting banners of Chultan families. Before continuing on the stablemaster and Arnie bond over Arnie's old business, Mr. Handy Hands. 

​

Stablemaster: "Wait. Mr. Handy Hands of Baldur's Gate? The fixit guy?"

Arnie: "Yeah! That's me!"

Stablemaster: "You fixed my sister-in-law's well! It's SUPPOSED to have a hole in the middle."

Arnie: *silence*

​

Col, Bertram, and Winchton wonder aloud if accidentally sealing a lost child in to a well counts as child murder, and the crew is off for further exploration. A rear gate and barracks to the south, and the Fist's provisioner shop. Eyeing an adventuring party shopping in the bazaar, our would-be heroes approach in attempt to acquire guides that would lead them towards Port Nyanzaru. In a stunning show of questionable strategy, Arnie is designated as point man. Surely Arnie's old song-and-dance sales pitch will sell the strangers their worthiness!

​

The human, dragonborn, and gnome exist in a state somewhere between stunned silence and confusion as Arnie delivers an amazing rendition of the jingle for Mr. Handy Hands, fully bolstered by callback shouts by Col and Winchton as Bertram magically aids with flashes of sparkles (DM note: I need to record this next time.). Eventually the trio of adventurers bring themselves out of shock and offer to let our unlikely crew tag along, but the thought of weeks-long expedition deep in to undead-infested territory to find unexplored ruins is a major turnoff. 

​

Arnie: "Bad news guys. I don't think they're going to hire us."

Winchton: "We were trying to hire THEM!"

​

At least information was gathered. Fort Beluarian is very free of undead within a certain radius but some regions of Chult are known for rotting menaces. Just as importantly, a Flaming Fist 'charter of exploration' appears to be what gives the right to adventure in these parts, though the cost is daunting and the share-splitting high. Parting ways with the troupe known as Hayden's Reclaimers, the crew begins to ponder if they should come up with their own creative name.

​

Back towards the bailey, a young Chultan man runs up in a panic as screeches are heard from the animal pens. His friend is being attacked and he begs for help! Running around the corner into the pens a human-sized dinosaur with a huge hooked talon on each foot is seen leering over a man covered in blood, missing half of the fingers on one of his hands. Winchton leaps in to action... well... on to action, as he wastes no time tackling the beast. The dino screeches as the large half-orc grapples it and the two careen across the room in mis-weighted imbalance. Arnie rushes forward to touch the bloody man and cast Cure Wounds. A slight smile creeps over the victim's face.

​

"My hero...", says the large Chultan man on the ground, as he reaches up a hand to gently caress Arnie's face. Why does this blood smell like fruit?

​

The younger man cannot contain it any longer and explodes in laughter. The outburst catches Col off guard and he rapidly digs a hole to escape, which causes the man to double over cackling. Both Chultan men are nearly in tears as the unlikely crew slowly realizes that they have fell into the company of two rowdy pranksters. Ruhl, the big tattooed man who is missing a couple fingers from an old injury, is the Head Trainer of Fort Beluarian. His younger friend Shago is a local Flaming Fist recruit and no less of a joker. Prank revealed and Winchton learning that mounting things his own size is an awkward endeavor, a quick *ahem* from behind the scene by the fort's castellan informs them that Major Portyr is requesting their attendance.

​

Impressed by their ability to hold their own, Major Portyr offers a more involved job to our crew: Venture a day's travel south, and investigate a rumored sighting of undead closer than they should be. Again our would-be heroes balk, but the offer of an experienced guide and reward upon return sweeten the deal. Portyr says that a charter of exploration and passage to Port Nyanzaru aren't offerings yet, but perhaps this is the "in" that our crew needs to get on their way?

​

The guide for the patrol south is no other than jovial Shago. The young Chultan man gregariously chats up the group as they venture south with occasional stops to check for danger. Much is learned about The Flaming Fist, local species, Chultan culture, and more. It even appears that Shago is an oddity himself, being a son of a Merchant Prince yet choosing to live the life of a Flaming Fist mercenary rather than as a Port Nyanzaru playboy. 

 

The first night abroad is interrupted by 6-foot tall crawling plants with triple blossoms ambushing the party in their sleep. Though a fierce "knockout poison, acid sap, stab and grapple" combo is no laughing matter, Bertram and the others are able to make quick work of the evening invaders while Col takes a poison-induced nap. 

​

Morning. Heavy rain and fog make the world a ghost of itself. Nearing the area of the rumored undead presence the group spots a lone figure sitting in a chair near an old campfire ring. A skeleton. A skeleton holding a fork in one hand and a knife in the other. The eerie site keeps some at bay, but those present notice another mystery: A large triangle carved in to the skull's forehead. A bit of loot is found nearby in the old campsite, but it's the shapes through the rainy mist that draw the eye.

​

Something moves far in the distance. Something obscured by the fog. Something shambling.

​

With a haven of normalcy found in Fort Beluarian, a mercenary base operated by fellow Sword Coastians speaking the common tongue, the gang sets about finding themselves accommodations and a way to fund a trip to their original destination.

​

The fort's temple is visited first and is found to be one dedicated to the familiar protector god Helm. The priest is met inside the modest frontier chapel, a friendly rapport is built, and a generous donation by Winchton secures the crew both somewhere to stay and a bit of clout with whomever runs this fort. Looking beyond an awkward exchange hinting that Winchton may or may not have daddy issues, it's on to explore more of Fort Beluarian.

​

A rustle in the nearby garden catches the group's eye. Investigation reveals a moldie - a vegepygmy - spying on them from the crop rows! The crew comes in hot until they notice the lurker may not be luring them in to an ambush... instead it seems to be observing at a distance. Bertram risks it and slowly approaches. The vegepygmy eyes the archaeologist cautiously, but Bertram does his best to show he means no harm.  With a quick cast of Comprehend Languages the strange tone-less mutterings of the mold-folk form in Bertram's mind: It is simply curious, observing the fort's strange new arrivals. It admires Bertram's lace tie, which he gifts the vegepygmy before it runs through the crop rows as a humanoid voice calls from the other side of the garden.

​

A shapeshifting Col hears the rustle and slithers forward to find Bertram emerging near a Chultan man peacefully sitting under an orchard tree. Receding dreaded hair, and more strikingly, emerald green eyes. He smiles calmly and invites the odd crew to sit with him in the garden. Arnie slings a quick spell at the mold-folk in brief misunderstanding before Winchton can stop him, which luckily goes wide. The man introduces himself as Qawasha and the vegepygmy as his companion Kupalué, whom he affectionately refer to as "Weed". Qawasha gladly answers many questions of his native land, revealing much regarding their location, surrounding area, The Flaming Fist, known threats, changing times and pantheons, the legal aspect of expedition guides and the Merchant Princes, and more. As Col is unable to resist the urge of a nearby scurrying field mouse while in snake form and Arnie bonds over fruit/food pairings, the calm stranger even reveals himself as a druid of no small ability. Pleased with this new acquaintance, the crew say goodbye to Qawasha and Kupalué for now. Time to find a bit of work.

​

It turns out the fort's castellan was searching for the new arrivals. She urges the crew to come to the bailey and meet the fort's commander, though interjection by Arnie regarding his history reveals a few surprising details. Not only did Arnie once have a handyman business called "Mr. Handy Hands" which went under, but apparently the Lambert family is one of the most prestigious banking families in Baldur's Gate. What was this guy with a few divine gifts from a wealthy family doing on "vacation" in a dinosaur-infested jungle nightmare?

 

Questions hang as the group follows the castellan to the fort's large central bailey. Past sad horses that seem poorly meant for such a climate, strange screeches are heard from animal pens in the interior, and a central wooden statue is investigated to no avail. The castellan is followed in to the main meeting hall where a militantly garbed woman peers over daily ledgers and manuscripts.

 

Blaze Portyr - or 'Major', should Fist rankings confuse - appears a busy commander. Aging though tough as nails, she appears to have a soft spot for adventurers willing to offer their services. Despite the great wealth The Flaming Fist continues to reap from mines and ruin excavations, it keeps the mercenaries busy and extra hands are always welcome. First order of business: Help the fort's cook in exchange for some room and board. Easy enough!

 

Sigbeorn the cook is a crotchety older fellow but appreciates the help nonetheless. Arnie fixes the kitchen up a bit, then it's off to gather local flora to stock the pantry. "It'll be outside the gates," explains Sigbeorn, "but don't worry, we'll just be just beyond the clearing."

 

On the edge of the rainforest once again, Sigbeorn identifies a few local species for our crew to aid in collecting. Col and Winchton make quick work of gathering tubers and fruit while Bertram has a more difficult time, getting stuck in an oversize fern then awkwardly shimmying along a branch to gather lichen. Arnie and Winchton identify fresh tracks that Col found, and just in time... A large mushroom sails through the air and explodes at their feet in a puff of noxious spores. An ambush!

 

Masked Batiri raid the foragers! Winchton brandishes his new pike he christened "Kindness" and, well, gets to work killing them with it. Col flings ice knives that explode in shards as Arnie assists. Bertram eldritch blasts a goblin in to the ground from his branch-top perch and leaps down, ready for more. By the time that Winchton has discovered that at least two goblins can be skewered on his pike at the same time, the skirmish is over almost as quickly as it started. 

 

Sigbeorn warns: "Only a handful. Scouts! We need to get back before we're noticed again. Don't delay!"

 

Back at the bailey Major Portyr is pleased to hear that her newest hires can hold their own in a fight, and rewards them with a bonus: 10 gold each on top of the agreed room and board. Not a bad haul for a short hour's work and a bit of bloodshed! 

 

It doesn't take long until the unlikely crew realize that this has been one long exhausting day. They had started in a tree, journeyed through miles of dense jungle, said goodbye to old allies and met new ones, and fought no less than two strange and vicious tribes off. After dinner there is not even a dispute when they find that their room contains only three beds. Three soft, inviting, actual beds. Bertram collapses over the blankets, Winchton spoons around a blissful Arnie, and Col shrugs as he claims the last bunk. 

​

Sleep, at last.

​

As the deep dark of rainforest night settles over the bough of the gargantuan tree where our unlikely heroes find sanctuary, Bertram comes clean to Arnie out of pity. There were no cannibals, Arnie was never on the menu, and these fine hosts simply needed a way to send Nigel Farnsworth home with a terrible tale. The handyman cleric resents being played as a patsy but still can't shake the notion that these dwarves secretly want to eat him. The casual yet misconstrued comments by Del - the friendly tribal guard - certainly don't help.

​

Laying in a cluster of branches Winchton and the others learn much of local species before bed: the large and predatory 'allosaurus', the diminutive but clever 'velociraptor', the bipedal 'hadrosaurus' that travel in herds, and more. Much more of these so-called "dinosaurs" dwell further into the uncharted interior, and the albino dwarves live where they do for good reason. Many new and interesting plants are identifies as well. They even learn that often plants are just as likely to attack you as animals, putting the entire notion of being a tribe of vegetarians in to a new light. The last light fades, and all drift in to slumber.

​

Morning comes and the unlikely crew descends to the forest floor. Del's sister Norda - a skilled tracker - speaks of the fort to the south. It's a good day's journey, but the fort was founded by foreigners from the Sword Coast and they may aid our shipwrecked companions. "Follow close", says Norda, "But don't touch or eat anything before asking first." It is unclear as to whether Del and the other dwarves' offhand cannibalistic single entendres are in earnestness or just to poke fun at Arnie, but Arnie tags along nonetheless. In to the jungle we go... this time with guides and an armed escort!

​

A scaled bird-like creature is soon spotted by Winchton, and the crew learns that here some snakes even have wings. They head on their way as Col revises his concept of what a snake can be. Up slowly sloping ridges and down again, the trees seem to grow even more tall and wild as they go, soon stretching out of sight, the upper layers lost beyond those below them. Strange new species present themselves, but the shipwreck survivors wisely decide to follow Norda's advice. Old ruins in a secluded grove tempt Bertram, but the presence of hunched and hairy humanoids that Del calls "gorillas" urges the travelers to continue south. 

​

All continues well until early afternoon. A corpse is found lashed to a tree. A section of giant bee nest worn as a necklace. Face devoured by insects as remnants of honey stream down the corpse's chest. "Batiris", Del spits. "Imagine goblins, then imagine everything bad you northerners may think of my people. That's the Batiri. Vicious bastards." A small pouch of coin in a bag of indeterminate leather source is found by Winchton, and the group warily continues on. A hidden watery pit trap full of quippers (i.e. fantasy piranhas) is narrowly avoided. All nerves are on edge as a campsite and a humanoid-roasting spit are found... and this time not one meant to trick a foolish anthropologist.

​

Winchton braves his way in to examine the scene. Two dead Batiri goblins face down. One dead human on the spit yet not cooked or eaten. One fireplace readied but never lit. The half-orc hunter flips over the body of one goblin. A wooden face mask falls off, revealing a goblin face frozen with terrified eyes yet an extremely unsettling rictus grin from ear to ear. Arnie rushes forward and checks the spit... it's Isi, the Chultan diplomat that they had met on The Marid's Whim, and she too is lifeless yet with a large toothy grin framed by large glassy eyes.

​

"The mist", says Norda. "We need to leave!"

​

No questions about this "mist" can be asked before the very moss on the surrounding trees comes alive. Animated foliage? No! Creatures resembling small humanoids yet made out of plant matter make eerie vocal chord-less calls to each other and ambush the party with claws and spears.

​

Arnie wastes no time in protecting his new friends. Channeling his fixing abilities in to something else entirely, the helpful handyman strides forward and touches the nearest assailant and utterly destroys it with a touch. Bertram and Winchton take out another creature as more emerge, riding weird fungus/dog mounts as Col goes Beast Mode and launches himself at the nearest rider. Arnie takes some serious hits but nothing can stop Mr. Lambert as he raises his hand to completely drain the life from another attacker, roaring in victory. Nothing shall stop this vacation from happening! 

​

"Arnie... you're helping!" declares Bertram. Arnie's rage slowly turns in to a pleasant smile as he realizes, yes, even bringing white hot death fingers upon his foes is helping. In a manner of speaking. 

​

Col constricts the nearest mount as Winchton stabs the other, both taking repeated damage as the beast's thorny hides dig in to their skin. Eventually the ambushers and their pets are all taken down, though Col and Arnie look rough.

 

"Mold-folk!" says Del. "The big-nosed foreigner called them vegepygmies, but we call 'em moldies. Plant people. True savages, utterly strange. Eat most anything, but they're attracted to meat in particular. Best we get you on, eh?"

​

Within the hour an edge is found in the forest. The stumps of sawed tree trunks dot a large artificial clearing where in the middle a fort's wooden palisades rest on a hill. Del and Norda say their goodbyes, once again thanking the crew for their help with their anthropologist problem. Del gives special thanks to Winchton by gifting him the skin of the jaculi the half-orc graciously opened during the dinner ceremony. The dwarves wave their final farewells from the trees as the survivors make their way towards a semblance of civilization.

​

Fort Beluarian.

 

Arnie is joyed to see the flag of the famed Flaming Fists of his hometown of Baldur's Gate flying above the gate. The Flaming Fist, Arnie recalls to the others, are something of both mercenary organization and police force, in which their leader and the leader of Baldur's Gate... and the famous Lord's Alliance too!... are one and the same. Guards welcome the group of clearly-not-jungle-locals inside, and our crew finally experiences the first familiar things since that terrible typhoon. Korhie, the Fist's blacksmith, greets them and gives them a bit of much-needed exposition.

​

More of a military and tradesmen's outpost than a lap of luxury, the crew watches as bored and sweaty guards make their way around a place that comfortably hasn't seen much threat in any recent time and finds solace in this normalcy. Col barters for actual pants, Bertram acquires rations, Winchton sells a wooden goblin mask, and a few improvements to gear are bought from Korhie and the other fine merchants gathered at the small bazaar.

​

Without much to spend and keenly seeking a way to their original destination before everything went wrong, the unlikely companions put out word that they're looking for work as they look for a place to settle in for the day. 

 

These last few days. Yeah. It's been... real. This is no paradise, but for now though, solid walls and hearing the Common tongue will do.

​

After nearly 48 hours in desperate and near-constant bids for his life Col has one thing on the front of his mind: Pants.

​

Though their fashion senses may not align, Sir Nigel Farnsworth is more than willing to accommodate the druid wrapped in the remnants of a ripped sailcloth, and leaves Col with some high quality though far-too-revealing khaki shorts. As Winchton inquires about the dead giant serpent the best he can in this albino dwarf village where no one speaks a lick of Common, Bertram finds his way to the local shaman, and the manically deluded Arnie tags along believing "medicine woman" is synonymous with "masseuse".

 

The old shaman happily obliges Bertram's search for spell reagents but the language barrier creates a drawn out comedy of errors ending in gaining a wild newt tied to the end of a rope. Enter Arnie, ready to help! As he somehow finds himself giving the elderly shaman a back rub as he attempts to ask for one, his enthusiastic catchphrase of "I'm helping!" becomes a pensive "I'm... helping..." as his fingers find their way along uncomfortably loose geriatric dwarven skin. Yet his point is made, and the massage is reciprocal.

​

As ancient bony hands caress Arnie's shoulders. He smells her breath as the shaman's nose piercing rubs against his ear. In heavily accented mimicry she whispers in to his ear what she believes she must: "I'm helping!"

​

The scent of roasted meat beckons. To our exhausted and starving companions, nothing can be more appealing! The villagers formally welcome the crew with seared haunch of dinosaur, crunchy giant beetles, and exotic fruits and nuts of all shapes and sizes (some which even glow when knocked or shaken!). The communal vibes draws them in, guards are lowered, and for a moment any suspicions are kept unmentioned. Winchton even participates in a ritualistic slicing of the raw jaculi, resulting in a spray of baby snakes both delighting and horrifying the audience. As the evening draws quieter, even Sir Nigel's worrisome mention of a missing companion loses out to the desires for food and a safe place to sleep. The crew curls up on grass mats, and sleep comes almost instantly.

​

​

*         *         *

​

A foggy street. An aggressive drunk. A bloody dagger in hand as a man gasps his last breath with fear in his eyes. Bertram is no stranger to this dream. By now he almost expects it to recur. The voice intervening is new, however.

 

"Memories are part of us, Mr. Frode", says the calm disembodied voice. His sword. "They are worth remembering. They shape us."

 

Bertram thinks on this and responds. "Are not memories to forgive and forget, Agamaya? Can the dead ever truly forgive?" An answer hangs in the air for an uncomfortably long time, but never comes. Silence persists as the familiar dream slowly fades.

​

*         *         *

​

Arnie smiles pleasantly in his sleep. A warm sun. A slight breeze.

 

"Care for a refill, sir?" says the cabana boy. Arnie's giant goblet is filled once again as he stretches out on wicker recliner. White sand beaches. Beautiful calm blue waters. Plip... plip... plip... A drip on his forehead as he drinks his beverage from its salted rim. A leak in the roof wakes Arnie from his paradise, where reality is slightly less enjoyable.

 

The handyman cleric sighs, rolls over, and closes his eyes.

​

​

*         *         *

​

Day breaks as the evening rain subsides. Arnie endears himself to the others by showcasing his skill in clothing repair, but it is duly noted that preparations for threats has been - to put it mildly - sorely lacking. Dwarven leatherworkers are catered to with a successful show of charades, and tribal hospitality nets our friends with protection of local flair: leather armor made of dinosaur hide, weapons made of giant bones and volcanic rock, and shields crafted from the carapace of some great armored beast.

 

Though something bugs Winchton. Why would these total strangers protect them, feed them so well, yet ask for nothing in return? Guards are posted around the village... as well as spears impaling the severed heads of humanoids. Winchton hurries to inform his allies and other details are remembered from the previous evening's meal. The village elders had flashed teeth that were filed to points. The dwarves had intently watched while the visitors ate their fill, yet ate little to no meat themselves. And then there's that clueless anthropologist's missing companion... wait, where is Sir Nigel himself?

​

Our crew runs to Sir Nigel Farnsworth's hut to find his body under the covers of his bed. Believed to be a corpse, Bertram and Winchton shout and flee as Nigel shoots bolt upright and screams as he wakes from his deathly sleep. Winchton sprints away to escape this village of horrific jungle cannibals and Bertram follows, though slowed by his pillaged luggage from a presumed deadman. Winchton makes it past the heads on spears and a bit in to the jungle, stopping to catch his breath as one of the village guards swings down to sit on a log next to the half-orc hunter.

​

"Hey mate! How ya goin'?" says the albino dwarf in perfectly spoken Common.

​

Winchton blinks in disbelief. He starts to berate the dwarf but the jovial tribesman wins him over with outgoing friendliness. You see, to all outward appearances this is a village of fierce cannibal dwarves. And this is exactly the way the tribe wishes to keep it! Though a handful of the elders still yearn for the old ways they've mostly converted to peaceful vegetarianism within the last few generations, yet as a tribe they have every intention to hold on to that brutal reputation of old. Most of them speak Common clear as day, but pretend to lack comprehension to further their appearance as fierce savages. "Those heads on the spears? Replicas, mate! Just carved wood. Impressions, eh?"

​

Bertram catches up and the guard introduces himself as Del. Del has an anthropologist problem, you see, and Del asks our crew's help in spreading knowledge of his tribe's fierceness throughout the Sword Coast. Del and his sister Norda catch up Col on the matter while Arnie is away, and it's agreed to. Our crew will assist, and in return their albino companions will guide them onward to a Sword Coastian fort to the south. It's on.

​

The cook - Grim by the way, according to Del - wastes no time in furthering the plan. Arnie seeks a hot tub experience with the local cook, but the tribe's shaman appears and gifts Arnie with another awkwardly uncomfortable massage while oiling him down ("I'm helping!") before Grim sprinkles the handyman with savory herbs. Two guards bind the handyman to a spit.

 

Finally, it happens. Arnie snaps back to reality. This is no vacation. This is no resort. The tribe is having a friend for dinner! Daily special: Roasted Arnie! The cook drizzles Arnie with honey and shoves a fruit into his screaming mouth as the guards carry him off.

​

The feast has begun! The albino dwarves play up their vicious past, a howling Arnie is brought to the cooking pit, and Sir Nigel claps in delight as he witnesses local customs despite their barbarity. Bertram uses his spells to create a heat-less fire, and Arnie is mounted on the rotisserie rack. The crowd cheers, sings, and dances as Bertram adds just a tiny bit of heat to bring Arnie to muffled screams. Winchton brings the chaos by launching to his feet, feigning combat with surrounding dwarves in mock outrage as he works his way to "save" Arnie. In a new display of druidic skill Col morphs entirely in to a surprisingly large desert snake, flopping around the feast and sewing further chaos before burrowing in to the ground like some bizarre limbless reptilian mole.

​

Bertram's whip wraps around Sir Nigel's neck as the young historian tosses his whip's handle at the nearest confused dwarf. "Save yourself!", Bertram says, "You are next on the menu!". Dwarves of all ages shout and scatter as a rampaging Winchton grabs Arnie's spit and plows his way out of the crowd and into the forest like a defensive lineman. Bertram shouts dire warnings to a panicked and fleeing Sir Nigel as the anthropologist runs from the feast and the historian chases after Winchton. The unexpected snake of indeterminable size throws up dirt as it thrashes about on its way underground. A small contingent of village guards chase after the shipwreck survivors in to the dark jungle night.

​

Winded, Winchton sticks Arnie's spit (complete with a still-muffled-screaming Arnie) in to the ground and catches his breath with Bertram. Del, Norda, and a few more tribal guards catch up and have just a moment of serious roleplayed silence before they all break in to hysterical laughter. Everyone except for Arnie, anyway. Even the large snake that emerges from the ground like a gopher seems to be having a great time. 

​

Another half hour or so of travel time puts distance between the group and the village before Del and Norda climb a towering tree's boughs to seek refuge for the night. Our unlikely crew follows, and the party beds down among the massive branches.

​

What a day! The threats of the jungle rest... for now. With any luck, a certain Sir Farnsworth will return to Baldur's Gate to spread tales of fierce Chultan cannibals. Come morning, it's onward to this fort that Del had spoken of. Who are these foreign soldiers the dwarves speak of, and how can they help our stranded friends?

​

As Arnie, Bertram, and Col quickly part around the large bipedal carnivore enjoying its dwarven meal, the second horror stares down Winchton with a predatory stare. After a moment's hesitation to calculate that "flight" is far better than "fight" in this moment, the half-orc breaks in to a sprint through the underbrush. Bertram aids with a magical diversion of creature noises and a meaty scent to throw the second beast off, allowing Winchton to gain a solid lead.

​

Speed alone won't quite do it... to the trees! Bertram bounds up a series of shelf mushrooms while Winchton grabs the nearest dangling vine and shimmies directly upwards. Col molds earth to give himself a ramp to leap from but fails in finding a grasp, instead connecting with the side of the tree and landing at its base. Against all doubt of physical ability, Arnie uses his momentum to amazingly swing from vine to vine, working his way up to Bertram's tree.

​

"Dinosaurs. Yes. That's the word.", declares Bertram to Arnie lands on his shelf mushroom perch.

"Deen Osas? Din asarrs? This is the worst vacation ever.", says Arnie to an eye-rolling Bertram.

​

The second dinosaur rushes at Col, who desperately evades the beast by molding earth directly underneath it as he climbs the tree. The enraged predator shrieks in frustration as it narrowly misses Col's leg. In a second display of odd shifting magic today, Col's toenails grow in to claws and swipe the face of the dinosaur at it leaps from below, while Arnie and Bertram do their best to buy Col time by taking magical potshots at the creature. 

​

Meanwhile, Winchton swings towards the nearest tree trunk only to see the bark-like knot in front of him open a pair of eyes. Without thinking twice the ranger grasps the knot. A snake! A very large and well-camouflaged snake! The surprised serpent makes a curious getaway by coiling up then launching itself like a javelin off the side of the tree... directly in to the tree containing Bertram and Arnie. Winchton circles around to find Col safe, but a rumble in the air signals the approach of something new.

​

It isn't a 'something'. It's a lot of 'somethings'! A stampede of a different species of large dinosaur bursts through the woods, sewing chaos as the giant snake shifts its skin pattern in attempt to ambush Arnie and Bertram. The serpent misses another springing leap but fractures the mushroom perch, dumping the duo and the snake right next to the stampede. The predator leaping for Col is plowed in to by the herd, and makes an unceremonious retreat after yet again falling in to Col's pit. While Bertram dispatches the writhing reptile that landed upon them, Col and Winchton witness pale humanoid figures chasing the stampede. Pale figures that rapidly close in on our crew as the herd swerves deeper in to the forest.

​

Dwarves. Alabaster-skinned dwarves with pink eyes and wearing little but leaves and grass skirts surround our heroes, brandishing spears and blowguns. After a tense moment, the tribe parts to allow a particularly loud human into the fold. Sir Nigel Farnsworth - a mustachioed and pith hat wearing caricature of a man - greets the crew and eases the tension. After some offerings and charades in place of a shared Common tongue, the hunting party of albino dwarves agree to escort the exhausted shipwreck survivors back to their village. The snake carcass is hefted on dwarven shoulders, and the party makes their way single-file even deeper in to the jungle.

​

On the way Nigel explains that he is a traveling anthropologist formerly of Baldur's Gate, and has been living with this albino dwarf tribe for the past couple weeks in attempt to study their culture. He does his best to bond with Arnie over a shared origin, and Bertram and Winchton over the finer things in life, but can't seem to help himself from making the occasional callous or prejudiced commentary. Deep in a dense grove they reach the village: a series of huts and shelters built among the crumbling stone ruins of ancient structures lost to time and memory. 

​

Much is to be appreciated in this break from existential terror. Bertram wastes no time in acquiring salt from a tribal cook and uses it to magically one-way translate the dwarves' words to his ear, learning the name of the giant snake species brought back to camp: "jaculi". Col observes dwarven children playing and the adults keeping an eye on them while comparing their striking appearance to his own curious skin. The bare semblance of civilization has reinvigorated Arnie, who deludedly chats with Nigel about the offerings of this "resort". Winchton decompresses in private, yet is approached by two tribal elders who poke and prod at him before giggling and hobbling away.

​

It's no Port Nyanzaru. Who knows how friendly these locals truly are. But this isn't the inside of a massive lizard-beast's stomach, either. So there's that.

​

The good news is that they survived a typhoon. The bad news is that they survived a typhoon and awoke on unknown and perilous shores with little gear, no supplies, and absolutely no idea of where to go.

​

Our unlikely crew regains consciousness among the debris and the dead floating in the receding tide. Col makes the best of his very naked situation and fashions a sail fragment in to a loincloth, finds a belaying pin for a makeshift club, and re-purposes a hunk of shattered lifeboat in to a shield. Winchton jury rigs a spear out of a broken sail support as he discovers fellow survivors among the flotsam: first mate Mr. Hornwood and dwarven explorer Kathra Copperpot. Arnie finds that the gnomish merchant Alvyn is in the tree with him, and they descend to wrangle a giant lizard the size of a horse and retrieve Arnie's favorite furry hat. Bertram, panicked by the loss of his sword, calls out to it only to have it respond in his mind. Retrieving his "Agamaya" under a pile of crabs feasting on the corpse of a bloated sailor, Bertram spends a bit of time acquiring a future crab breakfast.

​

It doesn't take long before the precariousness of their location sets in. Without warning a massive aquatic beast emerges and swallows the corpse next to Bertram whole. Shadows of a flock of birds grow larger until it is clear they are not birds at all, as a leathery flying creature descends and flies off with Alvyn in its beak. Heeding the warnings Mr. Hornwood and Kathra, the living rapidly retreat in to the rainforest, finding an alcove shaped by roots to gather their bearings.

​

What is priority in the face of peril? For Winchton and Col, it is foraging for resources. Col forages the only way he knows how: by digging a hole and waiting. A very large beetle the size of a hand is ambushed and splattered... disgusting, but nutritious. Winchton collects a variety of interesting-but-unknown fruits and berries, only to find himself sprinting away from an angry swarm of wasps after harvesting a giant pitcher plant full of nectar.

 

For another, priority is safety. As Bertram scouts the immediate area, he side-eyes Arnie as the handyman cleric seeks a way to concoct a tasty fruity beverage from giant palm nuts near the shore. 'This one may not quite grasp the severity of the situation', Bertram thinks. Meanwhile, Col quizzically watches as Winchton runs to the hideout for help, where Arnie and Bertram are more than annoyed that their experiment in tropical bartending is interrupted. One flaming stick, one Fog Cloud, one improv flower-licking dance party, ten burning fingertips, one pile of dirt, and a whole lot of non-sequitur "combat" turns later... Col ups the Weird Ante by literally growing snake fangs and leaping out of a cloud of fog to eat a mouthful of angry wasps and end the commotion.

 

So that happened.

​

Exhausted and desperately in need of rest, Bertram is on watch while the rest of the party recuperates. A small bipedal lizard-like creature watch them right back. It calls. More of its kind call back. Feigning weakness, the creature attempts to lure the clever warlock out with no avail until... silence. The jungle grows hushed. The small creature and its pack call in alarm and flee. Bertram hears the soft crush of something large lurking nearby. Kathra awakes and upon hearing Bertram's concern. "See those small ones?", says Kathra. "Imagine them, but the size of a cottage. We must run!"

​

The crew rapidly rises and rushes deeper into the woods following the dwarf's lead, with Winchton lagging behind as he aids the ill and injured Mr. Hornwood. Good distance is made until a 10-foot tall bipedal lizard-like creature pounces from the undergrowth and crunches Kathra's torso in a single bite. Another - also the size of a cottage - emerges behind the party as they attempt to skirt by the carnage. True panic sets in. Winchton sprints ahead as Mr. Hornwood is flung aside like a ragdoll by the second beast, its predatory eyes locked on the fleeing half-orc...

​

Arnie, Bertram, Col, and Winchton briefly freeze in a moment of terror. With no allies surviving, they are alone. Four perfect strangers lost in a perfectly unknown land. Two giant hungry predators staring them down. One word of recent advice rings in their minds.

​

Run.

​

Day 12 at sea. Clear skies and a warm calm morning once again. The Marid's Whim left sight of the Sword Coast days ago and sails southwest across open seas towards its destination of the bustling city of Port Nyanzaru... an increasingly common sight as rumors of Chult's wealth in adventure and riches have spread. As the days get hotter and the air more humid, some passengers are coping better than others.

 

Colubrin Eryx had thought that viewing the rolling horizon in the daybreak light would remind him of the sand dunes of his homeland and put his seasickness to ease. He thought wrong. A studious young man rises to assist the queasy robed figure, introducing himself as Bertram Frode. Meanwhile, below deck, a large but well-dressed half-orc struggles with the size of his quarters while a fellow passenger of short stature looks on quizzically. Winchton Carmichael - well-traveled hunter of big game - wrestles himself free and ventures with the gnomish merchant Alvyn above deck to find "Col" and Bertram, and suggests that finding the ship's cook may have some remedy for the ailing desert nomad. Cookie the cook concocts a dubious beverage of grog and pickled herring, but not before passing off his unwanted "help": an overbearingly polite fellow in a furry hat named Arnie Lambert.

​

Bertram, Winchton, Arnie, and Col find that pickled herring floating in grog works about as well as one thinks it would, and Col continues to pay tribute over the side of the ship. The morning brings about the bustle of the day: Arnie plays a sailor's game of questionable economics, Winchton goes fishing to great success, and Col and Bertram learn much from a Chultan diplomat representing one of the Merchant Princes of Port Nyanzaru. Col later discovers that the marid-shaped figurehead of The Marid's Whim is apparently plastered over, and investigation reveals a symbol hidden on the marid's chest. Upon realization that the ship's leader, Captain Brownbottle, is almost never seen while his first mate Mr. Hornwood delegates, the new acquaintances begin to suspect that this peaceful ride to Chult is more than it seems.

​

Bertram confirms over dinner: The figurehead's symbol is that of Umberlee, chaotic goddess of the sea. The four quickly finish dinner and sneak away to spy on this so-called Captain Brownbottle. Through the door to the captain's quarters it seems a one-sided argument is taking place. Frequent mutterings of "I shouldn't be here", "ya dirty bitch", and "twice was enough" are repeatedly heard. An unstable captain? A secret foe? It is hard to say. Winchton stands guard nearby while Col shows the figurehead to Arnie and Bertram. Arnie's attempt to mend the figurehead has an unexpected result: the plaster marid visage shatters as a mass of carved wooden tentacles emerge, revealing an older figurehead depicting none other than Umberlee herself. The nearby name of "The Marid's Whim" painted on the hull also flakes away, revealing an older name: "The Bitch Queen". 

​

As night sets, a haggard halfling covered in tattoos, dreadlocks, and unkempt sideburns (...and is that a barnacle?) emerges from the captain's quarters next to Winchton. A strange feeling of distant memories come over the half-orc during a short awkward conversation. Captain Brownbottle lights a cigar, looks at the darkening sky with a sneer, then returns to his chamber to rant with renewed intensity. Bertram, Col, and Arnie return to Winchton to tell of their discovery just in time to hear a screaming Brownbottle halt mid-sentence as a long rumble sounds from the skies above.

​

"Oh...", Brownbottle mutters. "So THAT'S how it's gonna be, eh?"

​

Pandemonium erupts as a typhoon of unholy intensity emerges from nowhere. Black waves toss the ship while flashes of lightning reveal massive waves that crash over the deck. The four new acquaintances assist Mr. Hornwood and hang on for dear life as passengers and crew are washed overboard in to the dark sea, with Winchton attempting to save one to no avail. Another flash illuminates a dome-shaped island topped with three trees as The Marid's Whim keels and spins uncontrollably towards it. With the lifeboat crushed and nowhere to run, the four are flung in to the waters as the ship slams in to the small island and splits in two. In the flashes of lightning one last thing is seen through the rain: Captain Brownbottle, riding the figurehead of Umberlee on the broken bow, shouting a madman's challenge into the sky.

 

"Ya took ole' Jetsam before, ya dirty bitch... COME GET HIM AGAIN!"

 

The halfling hoarsely cackles as one final wave draws the ship's remains into darkness. Waves and current pull the survivors into the maelstrom. Exhaustion takes them.

 

Blackness.
 

*   *   *

​

The gentle splash of low tide. Seagulls. Winchton opens his eyes to find himself face down on a white sandy beach, his fine clothes in tatters. The morning sun blares in Bertram's eyes as he wakes on a rocky outcropping, his trusty sword and shield nowhere to be seen. Col sputters and stands to find himself in a small tidal pool, wearing nothing but that he was born in. Arnie stretches, nearly falling out of a tree he had become lodged in, pleased to be alive until he notices his favorite furry hat is missing.

​

Nearby, an iguana the size of a small horse saunters by. Wearing a furry hat.

​

Dense tropical rainforests. Radiant coastlines. Seething volcanoes. Ruined civilizations lost to time and memory. Far to the south of Faerun there lies a distant land of savage mystery.

​

Chult.

​

Outside of the local Chultans little is known about the vast, mysterious, and uncharted land, with much that being only which is visible from coast or air. Yet this has not stopped many from recently arriving. Rumors of wealth and great adventure have begun to draw many towards Chult's shores.

 

One such passenger ship - The Marid's Whim - currently sails the warm seas south of the Sword Coast towards its destination with a belly full of eager travelers. Just who is willing to brave the primordial? What brings them to this land? Do the souls on board this vessel seek their fate? ...Or does fate seek them?

​

Fortune and glory.

​