Descent into the Underdark

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Descent to the Underdark

Entering the Lair

The Center tunnel

Lab of Horror

Wis Save Throw Results

Ooze combat - Round 1

Ooze Combat - Round 2

Player Responses

Descent to the Underdark

The path winds deeper into the underdark, the air growing heavier with each step. The rocky walls seem to press inward, the ceiling dipping lower in places, forcing some to duck beneath jagged stone.

The female Drow leads the march without hesitation, never once pausing to check if the surface-dwellers are keeping pace. The male Drow lingers at the rear, his masked face unreadable, though his gloved fingers remain close to his sword hilt.

The Umber Hulks follow behind him, their bulk filling the narrow tunnel. Their clicking mandibles sound almost restless now, a sound that echoes strangely off the cavern walls.

Then, in the distance, other clicks answer back.

The male Drow does not turn his head, but his voice carries forward."Hook Horrors. Or worse."

The female Drow barely acknowledges this, speaking as if the creatures behind them are of no concern."The Underdark is more than Drow and Duergar. You will learn this soon enough."

Uptharr snorts, "We’ve noticed."

Azalie moves like a ghost, shadowing the group from a careful distance. Her stealth remains impeccable—the Drow have shown no signs of detecting her, nor have the Umber Hulks turned their eerie, glimmering eyes her way.

Yet, a chill runs down her spine.

A feeling.

Something is wrong.

Then she hears it.

Not just the distant clicking ahead. The clicks are here. Nearby. Above. Below.

She freezes. Too late.

A long, segmented limb shifts along the ceiling—one of several. In the dim light, she sees the glassy, dead eyes of a Deep Crawler, its mandibles twitching. More movement—another clings to the wall, its many legs hooked into the rock.

Her hand instinctively tightens around her weapon.

The clicking is everywhere now. Behind her. Ahead of her. The creatures have anticipated her path. She is already surrounded.

They are already closing in.

Azalie must choose her course of action immediately:

1️⃣ Stealth (DC 15, Two Rolls Required) – She attempts to slip through the ambush unseen.

2️⃣ Distraction (DC 14, Sleight of Hand, Survival, or Nature) – She throws an object or uses the environment to mislead them.

3️⃣ Fight – If she chooses to stand her ground or fails an attempt to escape, she will need to fight through or be forced to flee while taking damage.

🎲 Azalie, choose your action and make your rolls accordingly.

The Deep Crawlers resemble spiders, with one large glassy eye, they are about the size of a typical house cat

The Lair in the Underdark

Meanwhile, the main party follows the Drow deeper into the tunnels, their path curving downward, the incline subtle but relentless.

Then, without warning, the Drow stop.

Ahead, the tunnel begins to glow with bioluminescence. The entrance is pure blackness, the shadows within so thick they seem almost alive.

The Umber Hulks click erratically, shifting uneasily, their bulk shifting in place as if resisting an unseen force.

Then it hits them.

A wave of pressure slams into their skulls—not physical, but mental.

A whispering presence slithers through their thoughts, pressing against their defenses, searching for weaknesses.

It is not speech. It is something older, colder, more alien than words.

For the briefest moment, each of them feels something clawing at their thoughts, prying through their memories, examining them like one might inspect a caged animal.

And then comes the voice—not heard, but felt.

"Surface thoughts… chaotic. Unrefined...But you will be reshaped."

The air is thick with unseen power, pressing against them like a drowning weight.

🎲 Saving Throws Rolled: Dorf (19), Fizzbum (17), Mutt (20), Orin (17), Uptharr (22) – All Successfully Resist.

Each of them fights back. Their minds hold.

The grip on your minds slip. The alien presence recoils—not defeated, but denied.

They are not unscathed. The presence does not leave without taking something.

• Dorf's jaw tightens, his instincts screaming that something was just inside his mind.

• Fizzbum clutches his staff tighter, blinking rapidly as if trying to shake off a lingering whisper.

• Uptharr exhales sharply, pressing his fingers to his temple. "That was no spell."

But two of them experience something more.

Mutt's Vision

Mutt blinks.

The cavern is gone.

A shape lingers at the edge of his vision. Not Hruna. Not anyone he recognizes.

It shifts. Twitches. standing motionless,

A slow, deliberate tilt of the head. A sensation crawls through Mutt’s skull—pressure, heavy and foreign, like unseen fingers running through his thoughts.

The Figure comes into view, unrecognizable, covered in fungal growths.

A voice slithers through his mind—not heard, but felt, cold and insidious:

"You were given to us."

Mutt’s breath catches.

The vision fractures.

The tunnel returns in a blink, the air feeling colder than before. His head throbs, and for just a moment, he swears he can still hear that distant, unnatural heartbeat—deep, steady, waiting.

Orin's Vision

Orin steadies himself, but something remains behind, lodged in his mind.

A phrase, whispered in a voice he does not recognize:

"The cycle repeats. Break it, or become it."

The words feel ancient, like a memory that is not his own.

A warning. Or a command.

The meaning is unclear, but the weight of it settles in his chest like a stone.

As the psionic attack fades each of you has a headache that throbs in the back of your head.

The female Drow watches without concern.

The male Drow scoffs, barely suppressing his amusement.

"Your surface minds are weak."

The female Drow tilts her head slightly, then gestures toward the bioluminescent cavern ahead.

"Keep your thoughts guarded. They probe the weak first."

Then, she steps aside.

The Path Forward

The entrance to the lair is a large, yawning tunnel, its walls smooth and spiraled as if shaped by some unnatural force. Faint, bioluminescent veins of green and violet pulse along the stone, casting an eerie, rhythmic glow that breathes like a living thing. The passage curves inward, its depth obscured by shadow, the air thick with a strange, humid stillness. The walls shimmer with flecks of alien fluorescence, creating the unsettling illusion that the tunnel itself is shifting, beckoning intruders deeper into the unknown.

Thin veins of bioluminescent green and violet pulse along the edges of the tunnel, their faint shimmer casting a sickly glow that breathes in rhythmic waves, almost as if the stone itself were alive.

The female Drow turns back toward the group, folding her arms.

"You wanted to find your friends. The path is open. If they live, you will find them inside."

The male Drow chuckles dryly, resting a hand on the hilt of his blade.

"Turning back is not an option."

At his words, the Umber Hulks shift behind them. The enormous insectoid beasts block the way back, their mandibles clicking, their multifaceted eyes reflecting the eerie glow of the cavern entrance.

Decision Point

The Drow do not move forward, nor do they force the party inside.

They wait. Silent. Watching. The Umber Hulks do not advance—but they do not leave either.

The choices before the party are clear:

🔹 Proceed forward into the lair of the unseen enemy, seeking Hruna and her people.

🔹 Attempt to turn back, though the Drow and Umber Hulks seem ready to prevent such a decision.

🔹 Try to flee or fight. Take your chances against the Drow and the Umber Hulks.

The Drow stand motionless, watching—waiting. The Umber Hulks remain silent but tense, as though anticipating movement.

What do you do?

60 minutes s have passed

Current Time: 7:45 AM

Date: Eighthday , 28 , Alturiak , 1742

Temperature: 48°

Current Phase: Exploration

Entering the Lair

(Azalie Escapes the Deep Crawlers)

Azalie’s heart is racing, her ears thundering with each beat. Her thoughts racing, wondering if the deep crawlers can sense her blood pressure rising.

She stays still and hoods Mellon. Hoping he stays as quiet as a mouse. Azalie can still feel the effects of her Toby. Allowing her to easily sneak away. Leaving the dark crawlers confused.

(Stealh Checks: Successful)

She moves forward, following her friends tracks. Staying just far enough away that the Umber hulks won’t notice her.

The hairs on her body start to tingle. Something is ahead. Azalie is certain they are all in grave danger.

She follows the party’s tracks, keeping her distance, just beyond the reach of the Umber Hulks’ glimmering eyes. Their movements are sluggish now, restless—but they have not detected her.

Then, a prickle runs up her spine.

It’s not the Crawlers. It’s not the Drow.

It’s something else.

She observes as the party shakes off the Psionic attack... she wasn't affected - but she can see the party struggle against an unseen force.

Fizz blinks in pain and runs a hand through his spiked red hair trying to shake off the effects of the Psionic attack. Stepping up next to Mutt, Fizz grabs a hold of the side of his belt, and leans his head against the Bard's chest.

"That hurt Mr. Mutt.... I don't know what's in there, but I don't like it... "

Still hanging onto Mutt, Fizz looks over at Dorf, and sees pain and fury, but determination in his eyes as he gazes down the iridescent tunnel. With a weak voice, Fizz calls out to Dorf. "I'm not feeling good Mr. Dorf, but I'm not done yet. And if we can get to Ms. Hruna, Me and Lumpy will do what I can to take care of her ok?" Fizz reaches inside of his coat and shows the brave frog to Dorf as proof that he is ready.

The male Drow’s smirks behind his mask as he watches Fizzbum lean against Mutt.

“Tired already, little one? You haven’t even stepped inside.” His tone is laced with condescension, but his eyes linger a moment too long, studying Fizz like one might a specimen in a cage.

Fizz focuses on the party, as yet unaware that the Drow and the Hulks are blocking their path back to freedom. Checking to make sure that his potions are in order, he takes a deep breath and stands as tall as he can. (one hand on Mutt's belt just in case).

Orin forces his breathing to remain steady as the whisper in his mind fades, leaving behind a cryptic phrase: "The cycle repeats. Break it, or become it."  The weight of the words feels heavier than the darkness around him, sharpening his focus rather than dulling it.

Whatever lies ahead is older and more dangerous than the Drow or their Umber Hulks—a force that preys on the mind, warping thoughts and bending wills. He recalls the trapped Duergar, locked in endless psionic battle, their minds shattered long before their bodies fell. The thought sends a chill down his spine.

He glances around, noting the unease of his companions. Even steadfast Uptharr rubs his temples in discomfort. Mutt looks shaken, his eyes darting to the shadows as if still hearing the whispers. Orin steps closer, his voice low but steady.

“You resisted. That’s what matters. Whatever this is, it feeds on fear and doubt. Guard your thoughts, and it will find no purchase.”

The female Drow’s expression remains unreadable as Orin speaks, but there’s something in her posture—a slight shift, a fraction of a pause—before she finally responds.

“Wise words… for a surface-dweller.” Her tone is flat, but there’s no mockery.

Orin’s eyes briefly sweep the edges of the tunnel, hoping to catch a glimpse of Azalie… Where is she? Finding no sign of her, he can only hope that she remains safe, and ready to strike should the need arise.

Turning his attention to the Drow, Orin studies their indifference—their veiled disdain, their composure as alien as the tunnels themselves. They’ve walked this path before. Survived, or maybe succumbed.

He grips the dagger at his belt tightly, his voice quiet but firm. “Hruna’s inside. We can’t leave them to this fate—not her, not anyone. Whatever waits for us in there, we face it together.”

The male Drow, however, exhales a quiet chuckle. “Bravery or foolishness. We’ll see which.” His gloved fingers idly tap the hilt of his sword, his amusement thinly veiled beneath disinterest.

Fizz looks up at Orin as he speaks, taking encouragement from his resolute tone. Coming to a decision, Fizz reaches into his vest pocket and quickly slips a small vial into Orin's hand. "Just in case Mr. Orin," he whispers.

(Item given to Orin)

Dorf grits his teeth as he feels something trying to enter his thoughts. He growls shakes his head as if it’s something physical he can break contact with. He isn’t worried about the drow anymore, he understands now they were just shepherds herding the lambs to slaughter, but he will be damned if he goes down easily.

His thoughts turn to Hruna and her team and what they must have felt at this point. Hunted through the caves and tunnels, and then being captured and herded into this tunnel, their minds assaulted…. and then what?

He looks at Fizz who has courage past what his stature should hold, but then being a halfling Dorf has never judged others by their size. He pays Fizz on the shoulder,

“together into the breach my friend?” He turns to look at the rest of his friends, “well we’ve come this far my friends, who’s with me?”

(Assuming they are) Dorf smirks at the drow, “we will see you on our way back out!” He turns back to the tunnel, chugs a potion and steps forward.

The female Drow watches Dorf with an expression just shy of amusement. “If you make it out,” she corrects, her voice like cold steel.

The male Drow grins, shaking his head. “I’ll wager against it.”

As the vision fades, Mutt puts his hands on his knees and draws deep breaths in shuddering gasps. He barely registers the feeling of Fizz's grip on his belt or Orin's reassuring hand on his shoulder. He looks about, trying to regain his senses before locking eyes with the drow.

"What...was? Some kind of fungal being? Another one of the Duergar's fungal abomination experiments?" Mutt shakes his head. "No, you wouldn't be working with Duergar. This is something else. You brought us here as an offering."

Mutt looks down the bioluminescent tunnel and then back to the drow and the towering frames of the Umber Hulks behind them. "But you're not working with that thing. You're afraid. You're working for it so it leaves you alone. You're slaves...prisoners to its whims." Mutt looks around at the rest of the party and feels his confidence returning. "But you didn't know who it was you brought to this...thing. We're the Howlbears. We're tougher than we look, and we can help you be rid of this thing. If you help us." Mutt pauses and stands up a bit straighter. "You mentioned your hatred of mind flayers. I believe you meant that. I find it hard to believe you'd stand by and let something like this invade your minds in the tunnels of your own home. You help us find our friends and we'll help you with your...problem." Mutt shoots an appraising look at the umber hulks and then looks back to the drow.

The female Drow’s masked face remains unreadable, but she does not immediately dismiss Mutt’s words. Her silver eyes flicker slightly in the dim glow, betraying the briefest hesitation—not fear, but perhaps calculation.

Then, she steps forward, speaking in a measured tone.

"You assume too much, surfacer. We do not serve willingly. But there is no 'helping us.'"

Her voice is cold, controlled, but something lingers beneath it—resentment, perhaps, or frustration.

"There is no war to be won here. No grand rebellion to lead. The Howlbears are nothing more than another addition to this machine—just as we are."

Her gaze flicks toward the Umber Hulks, then back to the yawning tunnel entrance. The slightest tilt of her head suggests agreement—but she cannot act on it.

"You think you can fight it? That you can 'rid' us of our problem?" Her voice sharpens, a bitter amusement creeping in. "It does not matter what we want. Xal’Zyress does not allow dissent. She does not allow resistance. We exist because she allows it. And we continue to exist only because we obey."

She turns her head slightly, as if gauging the male Drow’s reaction before giving Mutt her final words.

"You wish to fight. You wish to resist. I commend your foolishness, but I will not join you in it."

The male Drow scoffs, crossing his arms, his fingers drumming against the hilt of his blade.

"You think yourself clever, Half-Elf. But cleverness does not break the chains you cannot see."

He steps closer, his posture casual—but there is a subtle menace in his movements, like a serpent coiling before a strike.

"You ask us to fight? Against what? The Umber Hulks?" He gestures lazily at the creatures, which shift their heavy bodies slightly, as if sensing the discussion. "Kill them, and more will take their place. The tunnels are endless. The master's reach is longer than you understand."

He leans in slightly, lowering his voice to something just above a whisper.

"You think we are prisoners? You misunderstand the nature of our captivity. We are not shackled with steel. We are shackled by something far worse—survival."

His voice hardens.

"We survive because we obey."

His eyes, barely visible behind the mask, narrow slightly.

"Tell me, surfacer... what happens when you no longer amuse her?"

“We ain’t leaving without Hruna.” He glances at Fizz, nodding at the frog. “Together into the breach, my friend.”

Orin exhales, forcing his mind clear. “It feeds on fear and doubt. Guard your thoughts.” He accepts the vial from Fizzbum with a brief nod, slipping it into his belt.

Uptharr steps forward beside them, his expression grim. “Then let’s move.”

The Umber Hulks click again, sharp and insistent.

The Drow do not move to stop them. The Umber Hulks do not follow. 

But the tunnel itself seems to breathe, the sickly glow along its walls pulsing in slow, rhythmic waves—like something alive, waiting.

Azalie watches from the shadows, her breath controlled, her movements careful. The Umber Hulks shift, their mandibles clicking as they scan the tunnel, but they do not sense her.

With the party vanishing into the bioluminescent corridor, she slips past the Drow, keeping low, her presence no more than a whisper in the darkness. She follows, unseen, stepping into the unknown.

The Domain of the Unknown

You step beyond the threshold, and the moment the last of you crosses, the tunnel behind you darkens unnaturally fast. The glow of the bioluminescent veins flickers erratically, like a dying heartbeat, before the entrance vanishes into suffocating blackness. There is no turning back now.

The air is thick—wrong. A humid weight clings to your skin, vibrating faintly, almost as if the air itself is pulsing. The walls shimmer at the edges of your vision, like the surface of water disturbed by an unseen ripple. Something in this place feels aware. Watching. Waiting.

A whisper at the edge of your mind. Not a sound, not a voice, but a presence. A pressure that slithers through your thoughts, seeking cracks, unearthing memories like fingers pulling through loose soil.

Mutt—Your mother’s voice, quiet, urgent. "You shouldn’t be here." Her tone is not fearful, not a plea, but something worse—resignation. As if she always knew you would end up in a place like this.

Orin—A whisper coils in your skull, a voice you know too well. "Your wards will fail." Eldric’s voice, the voice of caution, of restraint. You feel something testing your defenses, probing the very foundation of what you thought was safe.

Dorf—A child’s voice, distant yet unshakable. "You left me behind." You swear you feel it—the weight of something small in your arms, something familiar. The memory is old, but suddenly, impossibly, it feels fresh.

Fizzbum—The sound of fire crackling, the dry heat of something consuming the air. The smell of smoke. A memory you buried long ago, a life before the still waters of your swamp. For a flickering instant, you are not here—you are there.

Uptharr—A pressure, sudden and invasive, but then—it recoils. A violent snap, like an unseen hand burned by divine fire. The presence lingers at a distance, watching, but unwilling to touch again.

Azalie—A chill runs down your spine, a cold that seeps beneath your skin. "You have always belonged to me." The voice is his. The one who stole your childhood, the one you spent centuries trying to escape. Your breath catches, your body tenses—but you shut him out. Still, something lingers. The weight of unseen eyes. Waiting.

And then—silence.

The whispers fade, but the air still hums with a presence unseen. You are being watched.

You stand at a crossroads, the vast cavern stretching around you, its ceiling lost in the void above. The tunnel behind you is gone, swallowed by the lair’s unnatural darkness. Before you, three paths lead deeper into the unknown, each offering only the faintest glimpse of what lies ahead.

The Paths Before You

Left Path – The Vanishing Shape

The air is stale, thick with decay, carrying a damp, organic scent that clings to the back of your throat. The ground is uneven, scored with deep, jagged scratches, as if something with claws has passed through repeatedly.

Then—movement.

Something just at the edge of the darkness, barely visible before it darts away, vanishing deeper into the tunnel. Only Mutt and Orin catch the motion, a flicker of something too quick to make out. The faintest sound lingers behind it—a scraping chitter, like nails dragging over stone.

Middle Path – The Resonating Pulse

The walls of this tunnel shimmer with veins of green and violet light, pulsing in slow, rhythmic waves, casting shifting shadows across the stone. The air is charged, buzzing faintly beneath your skin, the way the air feels just before a storm.

Then, you hear it.

A humming vibration, distant but growing, reverberating through the stone itself. Not a voice. Not a machine. Something else. The sound clicks and warps, changing in irregular patterns—not quite mechanical, not quite alive.

Right Path – The Silent Descent

The tunnel descends sharply, spiraling downward into what should be complete darkness—but here, even darkvision falters.

The bioluminescent glow from the cavern fades unnaturally fast at the entrance, as if the light itself refuses to follow into this path. A cold weight settles over the space, a suffocating quiet, too still to be natural.

Decision Point: What Do You Do?

The whispers are gone, but they have left their mark. The presence in this place has already reached into your thoughts, and it will do so again.

You may post retro-actions if you wish to follow up with any comments for the Drow, in addition, Azalie, you are still hidden, however you can decide if you want to reveal yourself to the party at this time. They are currently not aware that you have followed them into the lair.

15 minutes s have passed

Current Time: 8:00 AM

Date: Eighthday , 28 , Alturiak , 1742

Temperature: 52°

Current Phase: Exploration

the Center Tunnel

(Retro Actions)

Azalie watches as the umber hulks sway side to side, shifting their weight. Their movements are sluggish, almost drowsy.

She’s relieved they haven’t noticed her yet. But then, her gaze shifts to her friends. Their bodies appear slightly distorted, their eyes glazed over. A chill runs down her spine. She jumps to her feet, fighting the urge to rush in and start scaling the hulking creatures with her daggers.

Instead, she remains motionless, as still as a statue, holding her breath.

Orin is the first to snap out of it. Fizz wobbles but keeps a firm grip on Mutt’s belt. Uptharr shakes his head, bewildered.

Azalie creeps forward, straining to hear their conversation. Mutt is negotiating with the Drow. Why? What’s happening?

Then Dorf’s voice rings out—resolute, unwavering. He declares that he’s saving Hruna or will die trying.

Azalie swallows hard. That kind of dedication, no love… something she’s longed for. She thinks about how it sure isn’t coming from a young bard.

Suddenly, the Howlbears Move forward into the tunnel, their footsteps echoing through the cavern. The Drow hesitate, exchanging uneasy glances—perhaps regretting their choice to stay behind?

Mutt looks back at the drow and nods in acceptance. Locking eyes with the female drow, Mutt adjusts his pack and prepares to follow the other Howlbears down the tunnel.

“Survival through servitude to this thing isn’t actually living. You’re just around until you’re no longer useful alive, it gets hungry, or it gets bored. You’re like a domesticated animal to this thing.”

Before heading down the tunnel, Mutt flashes a confident smile at the drow. “Thanks for showing us how to get here. Maybe we will see you again on our way back up to the surface.”

The female Drow holds Mutt’s gaze for a moment longer, her expression unreadable beneath her mask. If his words strike a nerve, she does not show it.

But she does not deny them.

The male Drow, however, scoffs, shaking his head. “Domesticated animals survive, surfacer.” He rests a gloved hand on his sword hilt. “You assume survival is a choice.”

Neither of them stop you as you enter the lair.

They do not follow.

They simply watch.

Then the darkness swallows them from view.

The Drow remain motionless as the Howlbears disappear into the lair’s depths, their unreadable expressions hidden behind masks of cold indifference. The female Drow barely reacts to Mutt’s parting words—her gaze lingering on him for a moment, as if measuring his worth before discarding the thought entirely.

But when Azalie emerges from the shadows, swift and silent as a blade unsheathed, their posture changes.

The male Drow’s hand flashes to his sword hilt, his body tensing on instinct. But the female—she simply tilts her head, her silver eyes narrowing with recognition.

Azalie doesn’t hesitate. She rushes toward the massive cavern entrance, yanking a hemp rope from her pack and pulling out pitons. With her back to the bioluminescent walls, she drives the pitons into the stone floor.

“Should’ve gone with them.”

With that, she darts into the bioluminescent tunnel.

“Pull when I yank the rope! We’ll be right back!”

She vanishes into the underground depths, swallowed by the eerie glow.

For just a moment, there is something unreadable in the female Drow's gaze. Surprise? Amusement? Doubt? 

The female Drow’s silver eyes narrow as Azalie vanishes into the dark, her steps light as a whisper.

A pause. Then, a quiet murmur.

“Another survivor.”

The male Drow scoffs, his grip tightening on his blade.

“A wasted advantage.”

The female does not look at him. Her gaze lingers on the cavern beyond—the lair of Xal’Zyress. The faintest frown touches her lips.

Then, without another word, she turns and vanishes back into the Underdark, leaving the Howlbears to their fate.

Inside the Lair – Azalie’s Arrival

The unnatural hum that pulses through the lair lingers beneath your skin, shifting in pitch as you take your first steps forward. The Howlbears move cautiously, eyes scanning the three paths ahead, when—

Mutt jumps nearly a foot in the air.

Azalie grabs his face, turning his head roughly, checking his arms and shoulders like she expects him to be missing a limb.

“Tiefling’s tits! Gods, Azalie, you almost scared me to death!”

Mutt’s pulse is still hammering in his throat as Azalie exhales, relieved. Her voice, though firm, carries an edge of tension, as if she still hasn’t shaken whatever she faced getting here.

“I am so glad I found you guys! I wasn’t expecting you to just jump into this—”

Her words trail off as she finally takes in her surroundings. The massive cavern, the strange veins of light pulsing along the walls, the shifting darkness at the edges of her vision.

“…Where are we?”

The air presses against you all, thick and expectant. The three tunnels loom ahead, waiting.

The Path Forward – Entering the Middle Tunnel

Dorf, resolute as ever, points to the center tunnel. No debate. No hesitation. Just the shortest path between him and Hruna.

Fizzbum nods in agreement, flicking his staff over Dorf’s shoulder as a soft glow of magic washes over him.

“Seems like as good a path as any, Mr. Dorf. Maybe all these pretty lights will lead us where we want to go?”

Mutt sighs, nodding, trusting Dorf’s gut instinct.

“Right behind you, Dorf. Lead on.”

One step.

Then another.

Down the Center Tunnel

As you cross the threshold into the tunnel, the bioluminescent veins lining the walls pulse harder, the light shifting in rhythm with your footfalls. The hum—that unnatural, clicking vibration—shifts slightly. Not louder.

But reacting.

As if something knows you are coming.

As the party steps deeper into the tunnel, the glowing veins along the walls pulse harder, then fade away entirely—plunging them into darkness.

Then, a sudden flicker of light ahead. A dim, flickering glow from what appears to be a chamber beyond.

The moment you step inside, you see her.

Hruna.

She is slumped against the wall, thick iron shackles binding her wrists and ankles, keeping her in place. The dim flicker of light casts shadows across her pale features, her gaze locking onto yours with a mix of relief and desperation.

Her silver hair is tangled, strands clinging to her face, damp with sweat. Faint markings trace her skin, barely visible beneath the grime. Her fur-lined cloak is worn and frayed, offering little protection from the chill seeping through the stone.

But what immediately draws your attention are the bodies.

Dwarves.

Scattered across the floor, their armor rusted and broken, their weapons shattered. Fungal growths pulse from their flesh—thick, bulbous stalks bursting from wounds and eye sockets.

A strangling mix of rot and alchemical chemicals chokes the air. Strange, twisting vines and blobs of fungus lines the walls and floors—glass tubes filled with a sickly black-green ichor, pulsing softly.

Hruna lifts her head, hope flashing in her eyes as she sees you.

“By Moradin’s hammer! It’s you!”. She struggles against her shackles, shaking her head.“You need to hurry—the Mind Flayers will return any moment!”

She yanks at her bindings, her expression shifting from relief to fear.

“Don’t just stand there! Please—help me!”

What do you do?

10 minutes s have passed

Current Time: 8:10 AM

Date: Eighthday , 28 , Alturiak , 1742

Temperature: 52°

Current Phase: Exploration

Lab of Horror

The stench of rot and chemicals thickens as you move closer. The fungal growths on the dwarves seem to pulse slightly, as if reacting to your presence, but none of them stir.

Mutt lingers at the threshold, scanning the room, his eyes darting between the corpses, the broken machinery, and Hruna’s form slumped against the wall.

Something isn’t right.

He sees Dorf start moving—too fast, too eager.

"Hang on a minute, everyone, maybe we should—" Mutt steps forward, reaching out, but Dorf is already gone.

Uptharr assess the room but is unable to stop Dorf as he rushes in,

Dorf, overcome with emotion, rushes forward, throwing his arms around Hruna in a tight embrace.

His fingers sink slightly into her cloak—too soft, too pliant.

The moment he yanks at the shackles, he feels it. Not cold metal. Not rough iron.

Something wet. Sticky. Yielding.

A low, squelching sound murmurs through the air.

He stares into her eyes,

”I’m here now, it’s all going to be ok.”

As Dorf pulls at Hruna’s shackles, something is wrong.

At first, it’s warmth against his fingers. Then—a burn.

The sting sinks in before he can react, his skin prickling with a sudden, unnatural heat.

Then the pain erupts—his hands sink deeper into something that is not fabric, not skin, not armor.

The illusion holds. He still sees Hruna. Still sees her pleading eyes, her battered form. But he feels something else.

The pain claws its way up his arms, a cold, creeping sensation wrapping around his nerves.

Somewhere, just at the edge of his hearing, a voice murmurs. Not Hruna’s. Not his own.

“Let go.”

The whisper is inside his skull. It isn’t a command—it’s hunger.

A sudden sharp, stabbing pressure presses against his mind. His vision pulses.

Dorf takes 3 acid damage.

Dorf takes 3 psychic damage.

Fizz, kneeling beside Hruna, pulls out a vial of salve.

"We'll get you out of here, Ms. Hruna! You just hang tight!" Looking at her shackles anchored to the wall, Fizz blushes."Bad choice of words, Ms. Hruna. I’m sorry…"

His healer’s instinct kicks in—but something is wrong.

The shackles aren’t bolted to the stone.

Fizz traces his fingers over the metal, and for a brief moment, his fingers pass through a section of it, like pressing against thickened air.

A trick of the light? No. Something else.

Orin says in excited tones:

“Throon has been so worried about you, Hruna. He even sent Gotark and Velma to help—they’re holding guard at the entrance just outside there.”

Hruna ignores him. No flinch. No recognition. Nothing.

Orin keeps his distance, his mind racing. This wasn’t a mind flayer’s work. This was something else.

He recalls old texts, horrors of the deep Underdark—oozes that mimic prey, that lure victims in with familiar sights. But illusions? That was something more... sophisticated.

Azalie watches Dorf—watches his hands begin to sink deeper into Hruna’s form.

No. No, this isn’t right.

She stiffens, her hand hovering near her blade, and speaks.

“Hruna?”

The figure’s head tilts unnaturally.

Azalie takes a step closer, her voice steady, probing.

“Where are the mind flayers? How many are there?”

A pause.

Then, Hruna smiles.

The expression doesn’t reach her eyes.

Her lips part, but the voice that emerges is distorted, layered, as if two voices were speaking at once.

“They… will… come.”

The illusion holds. But for how much longer?

WISDOM SAVE TIME!

• Dorf can roll with advantage due to taking damage.

• Anyone can attempt a WIS Save to see through the illusion.

• React as you see fit—attack, investigate, or hesitate.

Results of Save Throw

As the realization strikes, the illusion fractures.

The eerie glow of the lab flickers, like a candle guttering in the wind. The rusted shackles, the broken glass tubes, the fungal-covered dwarves—all shimmer and distort before vanishing entirely. In their place, reality slams into focus.

Hruna is gone.

In her place, a massive, undulating mass of translucent purple slime writhes against the cavern floor, its amorphous form wrapped around Dorf, tendrils of psychic energy pulsing along his arms. His hands are sinking deeper, the acidic burn spreading.

And then, movement.

Three black, oozing masses peel themselves from the cavern walls, shifting unnaturally as they slither forward, their bodies rippling with hunger. The air is thick with a psychic hum, an oppressive force pressing against the minds of those who dared to step inside this trap.

The fight has begun.

Roll for Initiative. ​

1 minute has passed

Current Time: 8:11 AM

Date: Eighthday , 28 , Alturiak , 1742

Temperature: 52°

Current Phase: Exploration

Ooze Combat - Round 1

Black Pudding 1:

Moved 10 feet - a black pudding slithers down the rocky wall, and engages with Orin

Melee Attack: Pseudopod Slam The black pudding`s amorphous mass surges forward, a writhing tendril of inky sludge lashing out toward Orin. With a sickening squelch, the pseudopod slams down—only to meet empty air as Orin swiftly sidesteps, the acidic ooze sizzling against the cold stone where he stood moments before. Miss!

Black Pudding 2:

Moved 10 feet - a second black pudding converges on Orin, and several other party members.

Grapple: The black pudding writhes and lunges, its amorphous form stretching unnaturally as it attempts to engulf Orin in its corrosive mass. Tendrils of acidic sludge whip around him, seeking to constrict—but with a swift, practiced motion, Orin twists free, slipping through the ooze’s grasp before it can take hold. Miss!

orin:

Moved 5 feet

Casts Spell: Thunderwave Orin raises his hands, arcane energy crackling between his fingers before he slams them together- unleashing a deafening Thunderwave that explodes outward in all directions. The shockwave ripples through the cavern shaking the walls.

Save Throws:

Black Pudding 1 - Success: Orin’s Thunderwave erupts with a booming crash, sending ripples of force through the chamber. The first black pudding quivers as the shockwave rolls over it, its amorphous form rippling from the impact. Though it resists the full brunt of the blast, it still takes 6 thunder damage, its surface momentarily destabilizing before it regathers itself.

Black Pudding 2 - Failure: The second black pudding shudders violently as the force tears through its amorphous form, unable to resist the sheer power of the spell. It takes 17 thunder damage as it is hurled backward, splattering against the right wall with a sickening, wet slap.

Black Pudding 3 - Failure: The third black pudding quivers uncontrollably as the force of the blast slams into it, unable to resist the wave of energy. It takes 12 thunder damage as it is sent hurtling across the room, splattering against the southwest wall in a wet, acidic slap.

Dorf:

Activates rage: A deep, guttural roar erupts from Dorf as his vision narrows, muscles tensing with primal fury. His heartbeat pounds like a war drum as the raw power of his rage surges through him, dulling pain and fueling his strength.

Melee Attack: Frostclaw Gauntlet With a primal roar, Dorf yanks his arm free from the Purple Psychic Ooze, the sheer force of his rage-fueled strength carving through the gelatinous mass for 11 damage. Undeterred, he lunges forward, his yeti claws raking through the quivering creature, slicing deep into its psionic core for another 11 damage—bringing the total to 22. As his claws sink in, the ooze trembles violently, then bursts with a surge of psionic energy! A spray of bubbling acid erupts from the wound, coating Dorf in its searing touch. A wave of psychic force presses against his mind—WIS Save required!

Save Throws:

Dorf: Failure - The Purple Ooze quivers violently, its form distorting and pulsing with unnatural energy. With a sickening schlorp, its mass splits down the middle, peeling apart like a living wound. Where there was one writhing horror, now two identical oozes undulate, their psionic hum intensifying as they turn their hungry attention toward Dorf.

Ooze Counter Attack: Psionic Acid: As Dorf hits the ooze, a spray of psionic acid covers his body burning both his flesh and his mind. A sharp piercing pressure grips his thoughts like thousands of whispering voices gnawing at his sanity. He takes 13 points of psychic damage.

Mutt

Cast Spell: vicious mockery - Mutt shakes off the creeping illusion distorting his senses, the true nature of the room snapping into focus. His sharp eyes land on the writhing black pudding slithering toward him, and he wastes no time. Snarling, he jabs a finger at the amorphous creature, his voice dripping with venom. "YOU! YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF SLIME! YOU IGNORANT, DISGUSTING BLOB!"

Save Throw

Black Pudding - Success - The words slice through the air like a dagger—but the pudding quivers, then merely continues its advance, utterly unfazed. Its formless mass offers no reaction, no hint of pain or self-awareness. Miss!

Bonus Spell: Healing Word - Mutt clenches his fists, frustration burning in his eyes as the black pudding ignores his insults. Shaking it off, he quickly shifts his focus to Dorf, who stands coated in bubbling acid, still raging through the fight. With a sharp flick of his wrist, Mutt utters a swift, melodic incantation, his words carrying a surge of restorative magic. A warm, invigorating energy washes over Dorf, sealing wounds and easing the sting of battle. 11 HP restored!

Azalie:

Moved 20 feet - Azalie swiftly maneuvers across the battlefield, her keen eyes searching for a better vantage point—but in her haste, she leaves herself open. The black pudding seizes the opportunity, a tendril of viscous, inky sludge lashing out toward her back as she moves away!

Provokes Attack of Opportunity: As Azalie dashes for a better position, the black pudding lashes out, its oozing pseudopod striking her side with a sickening splat. A burning sensation spreads across her armor and skin as the corrosive touch eats into her flesh. 5 acid damage! The attack also hits part of her armor, creating a wicked sizzle, but the magic of her armor holds.

Casts Spell: Hail of Thorns - Azalie grits her teeth against the searing pain, pushing through as she nocks a Fire arrow and whispers a sharp incantation. A faint shimmer of magic crackles around the arrowhead, twisting like spectral thorns waiting to be unleashed. She takes aim at the writhing black pudding, her eyes locked onto the target—Hail of Thorns primed and ready to strike!

Range Attack: Fire Arrow With Hail of Thorns - Azalie looses her enchanted arrow, the projectile streaking through the air like a blazing comet. It strikes the black pudding dead center, the impact tearing through its gelatinous mass for 11 piercing damage. The moment it lands, a burst of enchanted thorns erupts in all directions, shredding the ooze with razor-sharp barbs for an additional 6 piercing damage. Flames lick across the pudding’s quivering form as the fire magic sears into it, the acrid stench of burning slime filling the air. The ooze bubbles and writhes as it takes 2 fire damage, bringing the total devastation to 19!

Mellon

Moved 25 feet - At Azalie’s command, Mellon screeches and tucks his wings, diving like a crimson bolt toward the writhing black pudding. His sharp talons gleam, ready to tear into the quivering mass as he streaks through the air with deadly precision!

Melee Attack: talons Mellon strikes with ruthless precision, his talons raking through the gelatinous form of the black pudding. The ooze quivers violently as chunks of its slimy mass are torn away, splattering across the floor. 5 piercing damage! With a quick flap of his wings, the blood hawk pulls up, ready to strike again at Azalie’s command.

Fizzbum

Moved 25 feet

Provokes Attack of Opportunity: As Fizzbum turns to reposition, the Purple Psychic Ooze lashes out with a sudden, writhing tendril. The slimy mass slams into him with unnatural force, sending a pulse of psionic energy rippling through his body. 20 psionic acid damage!

Casts Spell: Produce Flame - As Fizzbum hurls the fiery orb, a subtle shift in fate seems to guide the flames, making them burn just a little hotter, a little fiercer. The fireball smashes into the black pudding, erupting in a wave of scorching heat. The ooze writhes violently, its gelatinous mass bubbling and sizzling as it takes 14 fire damage—perhaps just a bit more than expected, as luck favors the little wizard in this moment! The air thickens with the acrid scent of smoldering slime as the pudding quivers in pain.

Purple Psychic Ooze 1:

Melee Attack - Oozing Engulf - The Purple Psychic Ooze surges forward, its amorphous form stretching unnaturally as it attempts to engulf Dorf in its writhing mass. The slime lunges, seeking to consume him whole—but the nimble barbarian twists aside at the last second, narrowly avoiding its grasp. Miss!

Purple Psychic Ooze 2:

Range Attack - Psychic Pulse - A deep, resonant hum fills the air as the second Purple Psychic Ooze quivers violently, unleashing a powerful psychic pulse. The invisible force slams into Dorf’s mind like a hammer, sending a splitting pain through his skull. 16 psychic damage! A wave of disorienting energy threatens to overwhelm him, his vision blurring as his thoughts scatter. DC 14 INT save required—or be stunned!

Melee Attack - Purple Pseudopod - As the psychic energy pulses through Dorf’s mind, the Purple Ooze strikes again, a thick tendril of slime lashing out and slamming into his chest with a wet splat. A burning pain erupts where it strikes, the acidic touch searing his skin. 17 acid damage—reduced to 9 by his unrelenting Barbarian Rage!

Uptharr

Angrily

With a booming voice like a storm rolling over the mountains, he declares, "By the light of the gods, and the strength of my arm, I send you back to the filth from whence you came! Face me, wretched slimes, and know despair!"

Moved 15 feet - Uptharr strides forward, his heavy boots echoing across the chamber as he plants himself beside Orin. Raising his mace and flail high, he turns his gaze to the writhing black puddings surrounding them, his eyes burning with divine fury.

Melee Attack - Bronze Mace Uptharr brings his bronze mace down in a mighty arc, the weapon slamming into the black pudding with a sickening squelch. The force of the blow sends ripples through the gelatinous mass as it takes 8 damage. But almost instantly, a sinister hiss fills the air. The pudding’s corrosive body hungrily eats into the bronze, the metal bubbling and blackening before Uptharr’s eyes. His once-sturdy mace begins to rapidly corrode, the divine warrior forced to watch as his weapon is devoured by the acidic ooze!

Off Hand Melee Attack - Flail - Undeterred by the corrosion creeping up his mace, Uptharr swings his flail in a wide arc, the spiked head crashing into the black pudding with another wet squelch. The impact sends a ripple through the ooze, dealing 2 damage. But just like before, the pudding’s acidic body hungrily retaliates—not with a counterattack, but with its mere existence. A sinister hiss fills the air as the flail’s metal begins to warp and corrode, its spikes melting away under the relentless ooze. The weapon’s integrity is failing fast!

Black Pudding Counter Attack - Pudding Acid Splash- As Uptharr`s mace slams into the black pudding, a spray of sizzling black slime erupts from the wound, splattering against his armor and exposed skin. A sharp, searing pain follows as the corrosive sludge eats into him, dealing 6 acid damage! The acrid stench of burning metal fills the air, but Uptharr grits his teeth, refusing to back down even as the ooze’s vile essence lashes back at him.

Black Pudding Counter Attack - Pudding Acid Splash- As Uptharr’s flail crashes into the black pudding, another burst of acidic sludge splashes against his arm, sizzling on contact. Though less severe than before, the burning sting is unmistakable—1 more acid damage!

Uptharr grits his teeth as the acid eats into his armor and weapons, sizzling against his skin. He lets out a sharp grunt of pain before roaring to the others, "Gah! These wretched things eat through steel like a drunk through ale! Keep your distance unless you want to fight bare-handed!" He shakes the burning slime from his flail, his stance unwavering despite the corrosion creeping up his weapons. "Strike from afar or with magic—leave the close work to fools and the fearless!"

Black Pudding 3

Melee Attack - Pseudopod Slam - As Uptharr recoils from the sizzling corrosion, the black pudding surges forward, a thick pseudopod lashing out with terrifying speed. The gelatinous tendril slams into his side with a wet splat, sending a fresh wave of burning pain coursing through him. 7 acid damage! As the acidic tendril slams into Uptharr, a sickening hiss fills the air. His armor, once a sturdy defense, begins to bubble and warp as the black pudding’s corrosive touch eats through it at an alarming rate. Metal darkens, leather smokes, and pieces begin to slough off in molten clumps.

Pending Dorf's INT save.

1 Round has passed

Current Time: 8:11 AM

Date: Eighthday , 28 , Alturiak , 1742

Temperature: 52°

Current Phase: Exploration

Ooze Combat - Round 2

Black Pudding #1

Melee Attack -Pseudopod Slam: The black pudding surges forward, its amorphous mass writhing as a thick pseudopod lashes out at Orin. With a wet splat, the acidic tendril smacks into the wizard, sending a searing pain through his body as the corrosive slime clings to his robes. 9 acid damage!

Black Pudding #2

Moved 5 feet - The second black pudding quivers and lurches forward, its inky mass undulating as it creeps closer to Mutt. With an unsettling glorp, it closes the distance, its formless body pulsating with an eerie hunger as it prepares to strike.

Melee Attack -Pseudopod Slam: The black pudding whips a dripping pseudopod toward Mutt, aiming to slam into him with its corrosive mass. But with a quick step and a flourish, the bard deftly sidesteps the attack, the slimy tendril slapping against the ground with a wet splat. Miss!

Orin:

Moved 10 feet

Cast Spell - Thunderwave: Grimacing as the weave absorbs the blow, Orin maneuvers around the pudding. He gestures and chants as the air once again pulls toward him. He unleashes another wave of Thunder, this time directed fully at the pudding in front of him.

Save Throw:

Black Pudding - Success - The black pudding flattens as the thunder wave pulses out from Orin, and while it takes 6 damage from the force, it’s not pushed backwards.

Dorf:

Melee Attack - Precious: Dorf drops his corroding weapons and grips Precious, his enchanted war pick, with a fierce grin. As he pulls it free, a surge of primal energy crackles through him. With a flick of his wrist, he shouts, "Ignite!" Flames erupt along the pick’s edge, casting flickering orange light across the battlefield. With a savage roar, Dorf drives the blazing weapon deep into the Purple Psychic Ooze, the fiery steel searing through its gelatinous form. The ooze quivers violently as the flames consume it, taking 27 fire damage—plus 2 from his unrelenting rage, for a scorching total of 30!

Purple Ooze Counter: As Precious tears through the Purple Psychic Ooze, its form convulses violently before releasing a surge of psionic acid in retaliation. A pulse of raw mental energy ripples through the air, aiming to sear Dorf’s mind. A sharp pang echoes in his skull as he takes 5 psychic damage!

Save Throw vs Psionic Acid

Dorf - Success - The raging barbarian grits his teeth, shaking off the worst of the psychic assault. His sheer force of will dulls the pain, reducing the damage.

Extra Attack - Precious: Dorf swings Precious once more, the flames still roaring along its jagged edge. The enchanted steel hits! The ooze convulses violently as it takes 20 fire damage—plus 2 from Dorf’s unrelenting rage—for a total of 22!

Purple Ooze Counter: The creature spasms violently, releasing a surge of psionic acid in a desperate retaliation. A sharp hiss fills the air as the acid burns against his skin, and a crushing pressure wracks his thoughts. 14 psychic damage!

Save Throw vs Psionic Acid

Dorf - Failure - As the psychic ooze shudders under the brutal assault, its form ripples violently—then bursts apart with a sickening schlop! The quivering mass divides, splitting into two smaller but no less menacing forms.

Mutt:

Cast Bonus Spell - Healing Word: Mutt turns toward Dorf, raising a hand as his voice shifts from mocking to melodic. With a quick, confident incantation, a pulse of soothing energy washes over the raging barbarian. Warmth surges through Dorf’s battered body, sealing wounds and steadying his breath. 12 HP restored!

Cast a Spell - Vicious Mockery: Mutt glares at the writhing black pudding, his voice dripping with venom as he points an accusing finger at the ooze. "I HAVE SEEN SOME DISGUSTING CRUD IN MY TIME, BUT YOU...!" His words crackle with psychic energy, slamming into the mindless sludge with surprising force. The pudding quivers violently, its mass rippling as the insult somehow registers within its formless existence. 6 psychic damage!

Save Throw

Black Pudding - Failure

Azalie:

Range Attack - Bow with Fire Arrow: Azalie looses a fire arrow, the projectile streaking through the air like a blazing comet. The arrow thunks deep into the ooze’s gelatinous mass, sinking in as its enchanted flames ignite upon impact. The pudding quivers violently as it takes 9 piercing damage, followed by 2 fire damage, for a total of 11!

Bonus Spell - hail of Thorns: As Azalie draws her next arrow, she whispers a quick incantation, her magic lacing the projectile with a crackling energy. The air around the arrow shimmers as spectral thorns sprout along its shaft, twisting and bristling with deadly intent. Hail of Thorns is primed and ready—her next shot will rain destruction upon her target!

Range Extra Attack - Bow with Fire arrows & Hail of Thorns: Azalie releases her arrow, aiming for the Purple Psychic Ooze clinging to the wall, hoping to catch one of the newly split oozes in the blast of Hail of Thorns. At first, the shot veers off course—but fate shifts in her favor. A sudden updraft, and sheer luck adjusts the arrow’s course, and it strikes true! The arrow pierces into the ooze, sinking deep as the flames ignite along its surface, dealing 6 piercing damage and 2 fire damage. In an instant, the magic triggers—Hail of Thorns erupts! Shards of spectral brambles explode outward, tearing into the oozing mass and catching the in the blast, dealing an additional 3 piercing damage!

Mellon:

Melee Attack - talons: Mellon dives through the air, his talons extend, raking through the ooze’s gelatinous mass. The pudding quivers as 3 points of damage pierce into its form, bits of its slimy body flinging outward from the impact.

Fizzbum:

Cast a spell - Cure Wounds: Fizzbum channels healing magic into himself, a warm glow mending his wounds as he recovers 15 HP.

Cast a bonus Spell - Healing Word: With a quick gesture, Fizzbum utters a healing incantation. A faint glow washes over the barbarian, sealing wounds and easing the sting of battle. 13 HP restored!

Purple Psychic Ooze 1:

Telepathic Lure vs Azalie: Save Failure - Azalie`s eyes glaze over as the Telepathic Lure takes hold, her mind ensnared by the ooze’s influence. She stands rigid for a moment before her body tenses, now compelled to act unpredictably until the end of her next turn!

Range Attack: Psychic Pulse: The Purple Psychic Ooze pulses with psionic energy, unleashing a crushing wave of force that slams into Fizzbum’s mind. A sharp pain rips through his skull as he takes 30 psychic damage! INT Save DC 14 or be stunned!

Save Throw vs Psychic Pulse

Fizzbum: Success - Not stunned

Melee Attack: Purple Pseudopod: The Purple Psychic Ooze lashes out with a writhing pseudopod, aiming to slam into Dorf, but the attack glances off his armor with a wet splat. Miss!

Purple Psychic Ooze 2:

Telepathic Lure vs Orin: Save Success - Orin is unaffected by the mental invasion

Melee Attack-Purple Pseudopod : The smaller Purple Ooze slithers between Dorf and Orin before lashing out with a gelatinous tendril. The pseudopod smashes into Orin with a wet splat, searing his flesh as corrosive acid eats into him. 21 acid damage! (reduced to 11 damage)

Reaction Spell: Absorb Elements: As the Purple Ooze strikes, Orin quickly casts Absorb Elements, a shimmering aura forming around him just in time to dull the acid’s bite. The spell grants him resistance to acid, reducing the damage as the corrosive sludge splashes against him.

Range Attack - Psychic Pulse: The ooze pulses with psionic energy, sending a wave of mental force toward Uptharr, but he shrugs it off without effect. Miss!

Purple Psychic Ooze 3:

Telepathic Lure vs Dorf: Save Success - Dorf feels the telepathic lure claw at his mind, but with a grunt of defiance, he shakes off the intrusion, resisting the ooze’s control.

Range Attack - Psychic Pulse: A psychic pulse slams into Azalie’s mind, a crushing wave of mental energy wracking her senses. She takes 13 psychic damage! INT Save DC 14 or be stunned!

Save vs Psychic Pulse

Azalie: Failure - Azalie reels as the psychic pulse crashes into her mind, overwhelming her senses. Her body locks up, unable to move as the mental assault takes full effect—stunned until the end of her next turn!

Melee Attack Purple Pseudopod - The ooze lashes out at Dorf with a writhing pseudopod, but he sidesteps the attack with ease. Miss!

Uptharr:

Powerfully

Uptharr grips his rapidly dissolving bronze mace, divine energy crackling around it as he casts Thunderous Smite. Lightning arcs along the weapon’s corroding surface, and with a defiant glare at the writhing ooze, he growls, "If this mace is to be unmade, then by the gods, it shall take you with it!"

KILL SHOT

Melee Attack - Bronze Mace with Thunderous Smite: Uptharr swings his rapidly dissolving bronze mace, and as it crashes into the Black Pudding, a thunderous blast erupts from the impact. The shockwave ripples through the gelatinous mass, tearing it apart as it quivers violently before bursting into formless sludge. The pudding is destroyed, taking 15 thunder damage! Uptharr watches as the last remnants of the ooze sizzle away, his mace barely holding together after the strike. , As Uptharr’s bronze mace smashes into the Black Pudding, its final blow carves through the quivering mass, dealing 11 additional damage. But the victory comes at a cost—the weapon, already weakened by the pudding’s corrosive touch, disintegrates completely, crumbling into useless, melted fragments in Uptharr’s grip.

He rolls his shoulders and smirks, "Fine. If steel is what you hunger for, then choke on this." The war pick gleams as he raises it, ready to strike again.

Moved 15 feet - Uptharr steps forward, positioning himself between Orin, the Black Pudding, and the Purple Ooze, his stance unwavering despite the loss of his mace. Without hesitation, he reaches down and wrenches a Duergar war pick from his belt, gripping the sturdy weapon with renewed determination.

2 Rounds have passed

Current Time: 8:11 AM

Date: Eighthday , 28 , Alturiak , 1742

Temperature: 52°

Current Phase: Exploration

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