You laid a careful ambush within the raiders' camp, expecting a swift and decisive skirmish. When two groups of hobgoblins and their minions arrived, confidence was high--this seemed like a fight you could control. Daxxon, emboldened by faith, strode into the open without hesitation, drawing the enemy's attention. One group immediately focused their attacks on him, turning the opening moments into a tense a dangerous exchange.
Lyra, ever attuned to the forces of nature, hurled razor-sharp ice knives into the fray, her spells exploding with deadly precision and slowing the advance of enemy troops. Felix, with his signature flair, flung enchanted coins through the air--his unique form of eldritch blast--sending goblins flying with bursts of arcane energy and a touch of showmanship. Alurick stood unshaken at the front lines, a all of steel and fury, cutting down foes with brutal efficiency and absorbing blow after blow without faltering. Longshanks, perched at a distance, turned his crossbow into an instrument of death--each bolt finding its mark with unnerving accuracy, thinning the enemy ranks before they could even close in.
The tide remained firmly in your favor--until the Swamp Troll arrived.
Towering, grotesque, and radiating foul malice, the creature transformed the fight from a confident skirmish into a desperate battle for survival. The party, however, rose to the challenge. Using the terrain to your advantage, you coordinated a well-times detonation of two barrels of explosives, staggering the beast in the blast of fire and smoke.
As the troll reeled, Daxxon, channeling the divine power of St. Cuthbert, unleased a radiant spell--a sacred brand--that struck the monster with holy fury. The mark burned through flesh and bone, ending the creature's life in a searing flash of divine judgment.
When the smoke cleared, Daxxon discovered a miraculous token amid the remains: a patch of the troll's hide, branded with the unmistakable symbol of St. Cuthbert. Not left by spell or fire--but by something greater. A sign. A gift. A mystery that may yet reveal a deeper purpose.
You spoke at length with Bibblebib and Gnat, who were adamant that Throgg is not a dragon--just a bloated, power-hungry crocodile with delusion of grandeur. They expressed frustration that the Brackwater Goblins continue to follow his every order. According to Bibblebib, Throgg is degging feverishly in search of a legendary weapon, which he plans to use to bring terror to the entire Altervir Basin.
More disturbingly, Throgg appears to emit the same pheromones as the bugbears and hobgoblins--giving him unnatural influence over goblins who haven't undergone the Communion of Broken Chains. Because of this, most goblins are unable to resist or oppose him directly.
Bibblebib also shared valuable intel about several key locations in the region:
- Dragon Ruin – A crumbling, long-forgotten shrine to Ziznarex. It houses a large black stone shaped like a massive reptile.
- Traitors' Den – The hideout of Kreg the Crazed and his band of rebel goblins. Kreg performs strange rites involving blood and tar, which—if ingested—can block Throgg’s pheromonal control.
- Old Jenna’s Cottage – A potential place to rest safely for the night, provided a worthy gift is offered in trade.
- Poison Lake – Throgg’s current lair, where he commands his ever-growing goblin army.
- Moss Bridge – Likely just a simple crossing point over the river, but its full nature remains uncertain.
- "Dig Here" (Bad Idea) – A place marked only with cryptic warnings—perhaps linked to a forgotten goblin deity, if such beings ever existed.
In exchange for a moment of trust and shared company, Zuruk passed on his hard-won knowledge of the swamp. Thanks to his guidance, each of now has a deeper understanding of how to survive and move through such terrain. As a result, you gain a permanent +2 bonus to Wisdom (Survival) and Intelligence (Nature) checks while in swamps and similar environments.
Two miniature crocagons, each no larger than a marmot, were spotted skittering along the edge of a glittering pool of water, snapping at toads. Though they posed no threat to the party, it was clear they had recently made a grave mistake--having devoured a flock of faeries that once called the area home.
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