The Lair of Mind Shadows

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Ooze Battle - Round 3

Reprieve between round 3 and 4

Ooze Battle - Round 4

The Mind Flayer

Darker Intentions

Captured

Player Replies Below

Ooze Battle - Round 3

Black Pudding

Melee Attack – Pseudopod Slam

The Black Pudding lashes out at Orin Kalladris with a writhing pseudopod. The wizard swiftly dodges, and the acidic tendril slaps harmlessly against the stone floor. Miss!

Black Pudding

Melee Attack – Pseudopod Slam

The Black Pudding lashes out at Mutt Bromwell with its pseudopod. The attack whips through the air, but the bard deftly sidesteps—letting the attack splatter harmlessly onto the ground. Miss!

Orin Kalladris

Cast a Spell – Thunderwave

Calmly – "Orin locks eyes with Uptharr and nods toward Dorf as he draws in arcane energy, intent on forcing the pudding back toward the slain ooze.

Orin unleashes Thunderwave, sending a booming shockwave crashing into the Black Pudding. The ooze quivers violently as the force slams into it, launching it 10 feet backward. It writhes from the impact, taking 14 thunder damage!

Save Throw – (Black Pudding vs. Orin’s Thunderwave)

(SAVE THROW 12 vs. DC 14) → Failure – The pudding is hurled backward 10 feet, landing with a splat, closer to Mutt.

Dorf Thimblerigger

Melee Attack – "Precious"

Angrily – "Using: Rage Bonus Damage, Reckless Attack"

Dorf swings his weapon with unrelenting fury, carving into the Purple Psychic Ooze. The blow tears through its gelatinous form, dealing 13 damage plus 2 additional rage damage for a total of 15. The ooze explodes in a blast of psionic acid as it’s killed. (KILL SHOT)

Purple Psychic Ooze

Character Feature – Psionic Acid Burst (hits Dorf Thimblerigger)

As the first Purple Psychic Ooze bursts, a wave of psionic acid ripples outward. Dorf steadies himself, shaking off the mental assault. His resilience cuts the damage in half, and he takes 2 psychic damage instead of 4.

Save Throw – Psionic Acid Burst

(SAVE THROW 20 vs. DC 14) → Success – Dorf braces himself against the psionic wave, his indomitable will holding firm as he minimizes the damage from the burst.

Melee Attack – "Precious" (Extra Attack)

Angrily – "Using: Rage Bonus Damage, Reckless Attack"

Dorf pivots and swings at another ooze. His strike finds a perfect angle, cleaving through the gelatinous mass and dealing 14 damage. The ooze ripples from the force of the hit, its form destabilizing.

Purple Psychic Ooze

Counter Attack – Psionic Acid

As Dorf’s weapon slams into the larger slime, it retaliates with a burst of psionic acid. Dorf’s sharp instincts let him brace against the assault, cutting the damage in half; he takes 6 damage instead of 12!

Save Throw – Psionic Acid

(SAVE THROW 16 vs. DC 14) → Success – Dorf steadies himself as the psionic acid sprays toward him, his sharp instincts kicking in to reduce the damage.

Off-Hand Melee Attack – Dwarven Hand Axe +1

Angrily – "Using: Rage Bonus Damage, Reckless Attack"

With a final, decisive swing, Dorf’s Dwarven Hand Axe cleaves through the Purple Psychic Ooze, dealing 9 damage and tearing it apart. The ooze shudders violently before exploding in a burst of psionic acid, sending corrosive and mental energy rippling outward! Save required! (KILL SHOT)

Purple Psychic Ooze

Character Feature – Psionic Acid Burst (at Dorf Thimblerigger)

As the last Purple Psychic Ooze erupts in a violent psionic acid burst, Dorf is caught off guard. The mental energy crashes into him, and unable to resist, he takes the full force of the blast—suffering 11 psychic damage!

Save Throw – Psionic Acid Burst

(SAVE THROW 1 vs. DC 14) → Failure - Dorf’s mind falters under the Purple Ooze’s psionic influence, and the gelatinous mass ripples unnaturally. With a sickening schlop, the ooze splits into two smaller forms, each quivering with renewed psionic energy, ready to continue the fight.

Mutt Bromwell

Disengage

Anxiously – "Nope! Time to leave!"

Mutt deftly steps away from the Black Pudding, carefully avoiding its lashing pseudopods as he disengages.

Move

Moved 25 feet. He moves swiftly across the battlefield, positioning himself beside Uptharr, ready to regroup and reassess the fight.

Use an Object – Short Sword +2

Anxiously – Handing his short sword +2 to Uptharr! "Now please go deal with ... all that." (Mutt gestures at all the oozes around them)

Mutt reaches into his gear and pulls out a gleaming +2 short sword, its polished blade catching the dim light. Without a word, he hands it to Uptharr—the weapon a clear improvement over his dissolved mace, ready for the paladin to wield against their foes.

Mellon

Move

Moved 20 feet. Mellon screeches sharply, his crimson wings beating as he swiftly retreats to Azalie’s side. The blood hawk lands near her, talons gripping the ground firmly, his sharp eyes locked on the surrounding enemies as he stands guard over the stunned ranger.

Fizzbum Lilypad

Use an Object – Potion of Greater Healing

Worriedly – "Boy have I got a headache! Maybe this'll help!"

Fizzbum quickly uncorks a Potion of Greater Healing and gulps it down. A warm, revitalizing energy surges through his body, mending wounds and restoring strength as he recovers 25 HP!

Move

Moved 10 feet.

Cast a Spell – Healing Word

Excited – "Woot! Only 1 more...well 3 more precisely to go!"

Fizzbum raises his hand, muttering a quick incantation as a soft, glowing energy flows toward Dorf Thimblerigger. The magic seeps into the unconscious barbarian, restoring 8 HP and pulling him back from the brink.

Purple Psychic Ooze

Melee Attack – Oozing Engulf

Mutt Bromwell

Class Feature – Cutting Words (at Purple Psychic Ooze)

Player Input: Mutt steps in with a mocking grin and shouts, "Really? That’s your big move? I’ve seen spilled soup with better aim!"

As the ooze lunges to engulf Dorf Thimblerigger, Dorf instinctively activates Precious’ Parry ability—the magical war pick flares briefly as his defenses strengthen. At the same moment, Mutt steps in with a sharp, cutting remark infused with Bardic Inspiration, disorienting the ooze and throwing off its accuracy. The combined efforts cause the attack to falter, and the ooze misses its target. Miss!

Purple Psychic Ooze

Move

Moved 10 feet.

Melee Attack – Purple Pseudopod

The Purple Ooze lashes out with its pseudopod, slamming into Uptharr with a sickening thud. A wave of mental energy surges through him, dealing 21 acid damage as the paladin staggers under the force of the attack.

Range Attack – Psychic Pulse

The Purple Ooze releases a powerful psychic pulse, slamming into Mutt’s mind with crushing force. He takes 20 psychic damage! (INT save DC 14 required—or be stunned!)

Save Throw – Psychic Pulse

(SAVE THROW 20 vs. DC 14) → Success

Uptharr

Cast a Spell – Cure Wounds

Calmly, Uptharr places a glowing hand on his chest, his voice steady and resolute: "The gods grant me strength, and through their light, I shall endure."

Holy energy flows through Uptharr’s hand as he casts Cure Wounds, mending his injuries and restoring his vitality. He recovers 12 HP as the divine magic courses through him.

Cast a Bonus Spell – Divine Favor

Player Input: Powerfully, Uptharr grips his sword tightly, raising it as divine light begins to shimmer along the blade. His voice echoes with conviction: "By the will of the gods, let this blade strike with their righteous fury!"

Uptharr channels holy energy into his shortsword, the blade glowing faintly with divine light as he casts Divine Favor, empowering his strikes. The weapon now hums with righteous power, ready to smite his foes.

The Psionic Presence

As the Howlbears press on in their desperate battle, the chamber begins to change—not physically, but in a way that weighs heavy on the mind. A faint, low hum fills the air, barely perceptible at first, but steadily growing louder. It’s not the pulse of the oozes, nor the echoes of combat. This sound is different, deeper, resonating in the skull rather than the ears.

The bioluminescent veins in the walls seem to dim and flicker, as if reacting to an unseen force. A wave of pressure passes through the room, momentarily silencing even the oozes. Thoughts grow muddled, like whispers at the edges of consciousness are trying to invade. A sense of being watched becomes undeniable.

Then, faint at first but growing stronger, a rhythmic clicking echoes through the tunnel behind them. It’s joined by the sound of heavy, dragging steps—deliberate and unhurried. The floor beneath their feet trembles, a subtle reminder of something vast and heavy moving closer.

And then it comes.

A pulse—not sound, but pure psychic force—rolls through the air, brushing past their minds like an alien hand reaching inside their thoughts. It doesn’t attack, not yet. It merely announces itself. A voice follows—not words, but a feeling. Cold. Distant. Inescapable. The impression is clear: You are out of time.

The air grows thick, stifling, as if even the cavern itself knows what approaches. Whatever is coming, it isn’t here to negotiate.

3 Rounds have passed

Current Time: 8:11 AM

Date: Eighthday , 28 , Alturiak , 1742

Temperature: 52°

Current Phase: Exploration

Reprieve between round 3 and 4

The echoes of battle hang heavy in the air, each breath tinged with the acrid sting of acid and the metallic taste of psionic pressure. The remaining fragments of the Purple Psychic Ooze writhe weakly, their once-massive form now a shadow of its initial menace. The two remaining black puddings, however, still ooze with malice, their dark forms rippling as they prepare to strike again.

For a brief moment, the oppressive hum of psionic energy fades, replaced by an eerie silence that settles across the cavern. But that silence doesn’t last long.

The bioluminescent veins on the walls pulse harder now, their rhythm almost frantic. The light within them surges brighter for an instant, then dims, as if the lair itself is reacting to the chaos.

Mutt’s gaze lingers on the veins, and his realization snaps into clarity—the lair isn’t just alive, it’s aware. Every movement, every spell, every breath is being recorded, amplified, and sent somewhere deeper, straight to the Mind Flayers.

(Arcana Check 21)

The bioluminescent veins are not simply decorative or environmental—they are part of a greater network. They act as conduits or tendrils of psychic energy, spreading the influence of the Mind Flayers throughout the lair.

Mutt’s realization comes with a sinking feeling: the Mind Flayers are not just observing—they are preparing. Whatever lies ahead, it has been watching, waiting, and possibly influencing the events leading up to this point.

Fizzbum’s whispered incantation lingers like a ghost in the air, his muttered words feeling far older and more dangerous than anything else in the cavern. As his body shakes off the strange trance, the sound of clicking—sharp and rhythmic—reaches all of your ears.

It’s closer now.

The weight of the psionic presence doubles, forcing its way into your minds like invisible claws. Each of you hears the voice again, clearer and sharper:

“Stop.”

The pressure spikes, like a dam breaking, sending waves of psychic energy rippling through the cavern. Your vision flickers, the faint shadows at the edges of your sight elongating unnaturally. A whisper follows, fragmented and chilling:

“You are ours.”

Then, the oppressive presence fades just slightly, as if withdrawing to let you prepare for what is to come. The oozes regroup, the pulsing veins steady but ominous, and the distant clicking grows louder. Whatever is coming is close—and it knows exactly where you are.

Initiatives have been automatically rerolled. Round 4 resumes now.

Dorf is up.

3 Rounds have passed

Current Time: 8:11 AM

Date: Eighthday , 28 , Alturiak , 1742

Temperature: 52°

Current Phase: Exploration

Ooze Battle - Round 4

Dorf Thimblerigger

Melee Attack – “Precious” (at Purple Psychic Ooze)

Angrily – Using: Rage Bonus Damage, Reckless Attack

Dorf swings “Precious” with unrelenting force, the war pick biting deep into the Purple Psychic Ooze. The blow tears through its gelatinous form, dealing 14 damage, plus 2 from his rage, for a total of 16 damage. The Purple Psychic Ooze retaliates with a burst of psionic acid, spraying searing sludge toward Dorf. A WIS save (DC 14) is required to resist the mental and corrosive assault.

Purple Psychic Ooze

Counter Attack – Psionic Acid (at Dorf Thimblerigger)

As Dorf’s strike lands, the Purple Psychic Ooze retaliates with a spray of psionic acid, the corrosive mixture burning his skin and mind. Dorf takes 7 damage from the acidic counterattack.

Save Throw – (SAVE THROW 6 vs. DC 14 for Psionic Acid)

Failure – As Dorf’s mind falters under the psionic strain of the Purple Ooze, the creature ripples and quivers unnaturally. With a wet, nauseating schlop, the ooze splits into two smaller forms, each pulsating with renewed psionic energy, ready to continue the assault.

Melee Attack – “Precious” (Extra Attack against Purple Psychic Ooze)

Dorf turns his fury on the smaller split ooze, with “Precious” carving through its quivering form with a precise, luck-fueled strike. The blow deals 14 damage, plus 2 from his rage, for a total of 16 damage. The ooze quivers violently before exploding in a blast of psionic spray, sending corrosive and mental energy rippling outward! KILL SHOT!

Character Feature – Psionic Acid Burst (at Dorf Thimblerigger)

The explosion of psionic acid catches Azalie, Dorf and Uptharr in the spray. Save Throws Required”

The Purple Ooze bursts apart in a violent explosion of psionic acid, the wave of corrosive and mental energy crashing over Dorf. Gritting his teeth, he braces against the blast, successfully making his save throw and reducing the damage from 11 to 6.

Save Throw – (SAVE THROW 17 vs. DC 14 for Psionic Acid Burst)

Success – Dorf powers through the psychic energy, reducing the damage by half.

Save Throw – (SAVE THROW 7 vs. DC 14 for Psionic Acid Burst, targeting Uptharr)

Failure – The psionic acid burst washes over Uptharr, searing his mind and body with its corrosive force. Unable to resist the blast, he takes the full brunt of the damage, suffering 11 psychic acid damage!

Save Throw – (SAVE THROW 11 vs. DC 14 for Psionic Acid Burst, targeting Azalie)

Failure – The psionic burst crashes into Azalie, the mental assault overwhelming her senses. Unable to resist, she takes the full impact, suffering 11 psychic damage!

Dorf Thimblerigger

Off-Hand Melee Attack – Dwarven Hand Axe +1 (at Purple Psychic Ooze)

Angrily – “Not this time sludge boy!" Using: Rage Bonus Damage, Reckless Attack”

Dorf swings his off-hand weapon, striking the small Purple Ooze with precision and dealing 4 damage. The ooze quivers violently before beginning to explode in a burst of psionic energy. Without hesitation, Dorf leaps forward, placing himself between the blast and Azalie. The barbarian absorbs the full brunt of the psionic acid burst, shielding the ranger from harm. KILL SHOT!

Character Feature – Psionic Acid Burst (at Dorf Thimblerigger)

As the Purple Ooze explodes, the burst of psionic acid engulfs Dorf entirely. The corrosive energy sears his skin and mind, dealing 10 damage. Despite the pain, he stands firm, shielding Azalie from the deadly blast.

Black Pudding

Moved 5 feet – The Black Pudding slithers toward Mutt and Orin.

Melee Attack – Grapple Attempt (with Mutt Bromwell)

The Black Pudding lunges forward, its slimy mass stretching out to engulf Mutt, but the bard deftly twists away, slipping out of reach of the oozing tendrils. Miss!

Black Pudding

Moved 15 feet – The Black Pudding slithers toward Orin and Mutt.

Melee Attack – Grapple Attempt (with Orin Kalladris) - The Pudding grapples with one of Orin's Mirror Images, missing!

Azalie

Cast a Bonus Spell – Hunter’s Mark (at Purple Psychic Ooze)

Excited – “Azalie braces for the impact from the erupting slime. Then Dorf jumps in front of her, keeping her from any damage. ‘DORF!’ Azalie lines up a shot and she is pissed.”

Azalie casts Hunter’s Mark, marking the ooze with magical arcane energy.

Range Attack – Bow (at Purple Psychic Ooze)

PExcited – “Take this asshole!”

Azalie lets her arrow fly; the projectile streaks through the air and strikes the marked ooze dead center. The impact tears through its form, dealing 6 piercing damage. Flames erupt along the arrow’s shaft, searing the ooze for an additional 3 fire damage. Her Hunter’s Mark amplifies the strike, adding 4 more damage, bringing the total to 13 damage. The ooze quivers violently as the attack lands.

Throw Weapon – Javelin (Extra Attack against Purple Psychic Ooze)

Ecstatically – “oh, I am not done with you.”

Azalie quickly grabs a javelin from her pack and hurls it with precision. The weapon pierces through the ooze, dealing 9 damage plus 3 for her Hunter’s Mark, for a total of 12 damage. The gelatinous mass shudders violently and explodes in a psionic acid burst! KILL SHOT!

Mellon

Moved 10 feet – Grabs the healing potion from Azalie’s pack and flies over to Dorf.

Use an Object – Potion of Healing

Gracefully – Mellon takes a Potion from Azalie’s pack and flies over to Dorf, dropping it in his hand.

Mellon drops a Healing Potion into Dorf’s hands.

Uptharr

Cast a Spell – Cure Wounds (at Uptharr)

Bewildered – Uptharr stumbles under the relentless psionic waves, his vision blurring as he struggles to steady himself, unable to muster the strength for a follow-up. Through gritted teeth, he mutters, ‘The light does not falter, nor shall I. This battle is far from over.’ Preparing to channel his divine magic, he steadies himself to cast Cure Wounds, recovering 13 HP.

Uptharr steadies himself to channel his divine magic and cast Cure Wounds.

Mutt Bromwell

Cast a Spell – Vicious Mockery (at Black Pudding)

Angrily – “YOU HAVE A WEAK ELECTROCHEMICAL BOND!”

Mutt’s sharp words cut through the air like daggers, laced with the power of Vicious Mockery. The Black Pudding quivers violently under the assault, taking 7 psychic damage.

Orin Kalladris

Cast a Spell – Thunderwave (at Black Pudding)

Worriedly – Orin directs another wave of force directly ahead, attempting to force both puddings back again. (no upcast, mindful of Mutt’s position)

Orin unleashes a Thunderwave, the booming shockwave crashing into the two Black Puddings. The first pudding resists the brunt of the blast, quivering as it takes 5 thunder damage. Both slimes make their save and are not pushed back by the thunderwave.

Fizzbum Lilypad

Cast a Spell – Healing Word (at Dorf Thimblerigger)

Anxiously – “Oh no! You got slimed Mr. Dorf!!”

Fizzbum gestures quickly, sending a surge of healing magic toward Dorf. The energy washes over the barbarian, mending his wounds as he recovers 15 HP.

The Mind Flayer

As the echoes of the battle fade, the unnatural hum intensifies, reverberating through the cavern like the tolling of some infernal bell. The bioluminescent veins on the walls flicker violently, their glow casting frantic, shifting shadows.

From the northeast tunnel, you see them emerge.

Two towering Umber Hulks, their mandibles clicking in rhythmic unison, their multifaceted eyes catching the faint glow of the chamber.

Behind them strides a Mind Flayer, its slender, alien form practically gliding across the cavern floor. At its side, three drow warriors, their silver masks reflecting the dim light, spread out in a flanking formation. The Mind Flayer pauses, tilting its head, and the oppressive psionic force you’ve felt since entering the lair presses down harder than ever.

The voice is not heard, but felt—each syllable a jagged spike in your mind:

“You will not leave.”

The black puddings quiver as though summoned by the alien command, their dark forms rippling with renewed purpose.

But then, from the southern tunnel, the faint sound of heavy boots echoes, followed by the unmistakable hiss of blades being drawn. More drow warriors, flanked by a mind thrall, step into the cavern, their path cutting off the route behind you.

You are surrounded.

The oppressive silence stretches, broken only by the low, guttural clicks of the Umber Hulks and the squelching movement of the puddings. The Mind Flayer’s presence dominates the cavern, its tentacles writhing in an alien rhythm as its gaze sweeps over you. The bioluminescent veins pulse in time with the psionic pressure, as though the lair itself is alive and responding to its master’s will.

The Drow warriors at its side move with eerie precision, their poisoned bolts already loaded in their crossbows, aiming at your every move. One of them sneers, his voice cutting through the hum.

"Surface dwellers, you should never have come here."

The reinforcements from the southern tunnel step into the light, their boots crunching against the stone. One of them, a female Drow with intricate silver armor, raises a gloved hand, signaling the others to halt. Her cold expression hides any emotion, but the sharp tone of her voice leaves no room for doubt.

“Surrender. Now.”

The Mind Flayer raises a hand, its spindly fingers spreading wide. The air trembles, and your minds scream as the psychic pressure swells. Images of confinement, servitude, and unending despair flash through your thoughts—a glimpse of the fate awaiting you should you fall into its grasp.

The Umber Hulks’ mandibles clack as their multifaceted eyes glimmer in the dim light, a dizzying, hypnotic pattern emanating from their gaze. The black puddings quiver, rippling with renewed purpose as though awaiting the Mind Flayer’s command to devour you whole.

What do you do?

4 Rounds have passed

Current Time: 8:11 AM

Date: Eighthday , 28 , Alturiak , 1742

Temperature: 52°

Current Phase: Exploration

Darker intentions

While Mutt is speaking :

Fizz stumbles backward from the Northeast tunnel when the Mind Flayer arrives, and quickly steps close to Azalie, hugging her leg. When Mutt speaks, Fizz jumps in alarm at the power in his voice and looks back as he begins to address the Mind Flayer. Mutt's voice rings with confidence, and slowly Fizz's nerves begin to settle, his mind racing with ideas of how the Howlbears might survive this. Looking up at Azalie, he sees the pain lines in her face, and sees the damage caused by those nasty slimes. Gently patting her arm, he grabs a small healing potion from his pocket and presses it into her hand. Somehow, they would get through this... he knew it. If only they could....."'gurgle". Fizz puts a hand on his belly as the frostfire potion takes effect. Well... if it came to a fight, they would remember when they fought The Great Fiery Fizzbum!

Now not entirely confident, but also not completely paralyzed with fear, Fizz waits for the response of the Mind Flayer, ready to breathe at a moments notice. His cheeks get rosy and his small hands create a warm sensation on the inside of Azalie's thigh as he gives himself and her "Guidance" for what may be a critical first engagement with the Drow.

Azalie watches as Mutt strings together an offer for the mind flayer. She wants the creature to take it, but she knows it only cares about one thing—control.

She’s still feeling the sting of the last blow from the slime. Fizz come closer, giving her reassurance and a potion. His hugs are somehow healing.

She doesn’t want to die. Not yet. Too much left unsaid. A flicker of a memory—her mother’s laughter—creeps in before she shoves it down. She prays the mind flayer doesn’t notice the cracks in her defenses. Every time she thinks of the thing, she can feel it watching. Searching.

The mind flayer doesn’t move.

Azalie forces herself to stay calm. If this goes bad, she needs to be ready. Her fingers find her thief’s tools, palming them before tucking them against the small of her back. Mutt’s rambling keeps their enemies’ attention—good.

The bard starts gesturing, his hands moving like he’s painting a picture. People watch and are captivated. Now’s her chance.

She quickly pulls two potions from her pack, securing them in secret spaces. No one would dare to look.

She’s glad she brought her sling. No one would see it as anything more than a hair tie. Keeping her movements natural, she pulls up her hair, securing it in place.

A quick step, a quiet motion. She drops and kicks a potion of blessing towards Dorf. Hopefully he can secure it. In this halfling hands, the whole outcome could change. They’ll need all the help they can get.

Dorf flinches when the mind flayer first shows it ugly face, then as he realizes this is that creature that has Hruna he takes a step forward. He then hesitates as Mutt begins talking. As Mutt speaks Dorf’s mind grows calmer, at least as calm as he can be mid-rage and with the constant mental assault pressing in. He decides this is a good time to heal up and gulps down another potion of healing. He looks around at his friends, and prepares to do whatever he can to protect them even if it means his death. He feels a little guilty as he realizes that even though they like Hruna, they are truly here because of him. He glances over at Fizz and Azalie, huddled together bruised and bloody. His gaze shifts to the two half elves, neither trusting but both loyal companions. And the giant paladin who never wavers in doing whatever he thinks is right, even when it’s inconvenient. He puts away his offhand weapon and puts on his shield, and reignites Precious and remains ready to see what happens next.

Orin stands silently as Mutt’s confident words echo through the charged air. His eyes narrow, trying to track the slightest shift in the drows' expressions, reading their intentions (Insight roll - miserable). The stress of the situation makes it hard to gauge these cold dark elves intentions, With measured steps, he slips further away from the quivering puddings and the new encroaching threats, positioning himself for both defense and a swift counterattack. He nods to the others, a silent pledge that he is with them, come heroic sacrifice or a calculated surrender to fight another day. The Mirror images fade as Mutt makes his desperate bargain

"Deal?", Mutt finishes

A deep, oppressive silence follows Mutt’s proposal. The weight of the Mind Flayer’s presence settles over the Howlbears like a suffocating fog, pressing into their thoughts, creeping at the edges of their will.

For a long moment, the creature does not move. It does not speak.

Then, a ripple of energy pulses through the chamber. The bioluminescent veins along the walls flicker erratically, their glow shifting in time with the alien rhythm of its thoughts. The Umber Hulks shift, mandibles clicking in anticipation. The Drow warriors, crossbows still poised, exchange quick glances, uncertain whether their master will give the order to kill or negotiate.

Mutt’s words—his confident smile, his elaborate illusion of the chardalyn-infused horror—hang in the air like an unanswered question.

The Mind Flayer does not dismiss him outright. Instead, it turns its head, tentacles writhing in slow contemplation.

Then, the voice comes. It is not spoken. It is felt. A jagged spike of thought piercing each of their minds.

“You… presume… much.”

The words are ice, sliding into the cracks of their minds, pressing against their deepest fears.

“The Duergar are desperate vermin. They scurry in the dark, building weapons they do not understand. Their creations are not tools of war—they are the last, thrashing movements of a dying beast.”

The Mind Flayer tilts its head slightly toward Mutt, acknowledging his insights, but unimpressed by his offer.

“And yet… your knowledge is not without value.”

The weight of its mind shifts, brushing against each of them, measuring, sifting through thoughts like a hand trailing through sand. Fizzbum stiffens, a strange, alien whisper scratching against his subconscious. Orin clenches his jaw, reinforcing his mental defenses too late to stop the brief intrusion. Dorf grips his axe tighter, his muscles tensing, waiting for the inevitable strike.

Then, Azalie speaks.

“…or, we go with you.”

The room tightens. The Howlbears feel it instantly—like a current in the air, an invisible pull toward something unseen. Even the Drow warriors turn to look at her, their postures shifting.

Azalie steps forward, her expression unreadable, but the tension in her shoulders is coiled steel. Mutt feels the light touch of her hand—reassurance, or farewell? He does not know.

For the first time, the Mind Flayer turns fully toward her.

“Interesting.”

The pressure in their minds intensifies, like unseen tendrils wrapping around their thoughts, brushing against the surface of their will. It is no longer sifting. It is searching.

"A surface-dweller, offering herself willingly?"

There is no amusement in the question. No mockery. Only curiosity, laced with something deeper. Possibility.

Azalie holds its gaze. “First, tell us if Hruna is alive.”

For a moment, there is nothing. No movement. No response. Just the oppressive silence stretching between them.

Then, the Mind Flayer lifts a single, spindly hand. A ripple of psionic energy rolls through the cavern—not just felt, but pressing into your thoughts, crawling into your skull like fingers searching for something to grip.

And then—a sound.

A cough. Weak. Strained. Faint, but unmistakably real.

It doesn’t come from the chamber. It comes from somewhere beyond.

The Mind Flayer does not need to explain. You know what it wants you to understand. Hruna is alive—but she is not here. She is deeper inside, somewhere within the lair’s clutches.

The moment is fleeting, slipping from your grasp as quickly as it came. The psionic pressure relents, and the Mind Flayer’s attention turns back to Azalie. Its tentacles twitch, coiling in thought, before its voice slithers into your minds.

“You are correct,” it murmurs, smooth as silk and sharp as a dagger. “I have not destroyed you. Not yet.”

It turns back to Mutt. “Your offer… is insufficient. But your potential remains.”

The air trembles. The Umber Hulks stir restlessly, their claws digging into the stone.

“You seek to barter. But I am not the one you must bargain with.”

It turns slightly, its presence stretching over the entire party like a shadow, before its gaze settles once more on Azalie.

A slow exhale—not breath, but the psychic echo of amusement.

“As you say, then. Come willingly.”

The weight of its will presses down, final and inescapable.

“Xal’Zyress will decide your fate."

“You will not need your weapons.”

With a subtle tilt of its head, the command is given. The Drow warriors step forward, weapons drawn, moving with the practiced ease of enforcers who have disarmed prisoners many times before. Their cold expressions reveal nothing, but the way their hands reach for blades and crossbows makes it clear—compliance is not optional.

“Hand them over, surfacers. Or do you prefer to be stripped down like the others before you?”

A second Drow moves without waiting for an answer. His slender fingers wrap around the tip of Azalie's bow, testing the resistance in the Ranger's grip, gauging her willingness to let go.

Another warrior plucks at the leather strap of Dorf’s pick axe, 'precious' watching the barbarian’s grip tighten in reflex. He does not pry yet—but the unspoken warning is clear.

Then, from the back of the Drow ranks, a cool, commanding voice cuts through the moment.

"And get the wizard’s spellbook."

A female Drow strides closer to Orin, her silver-etched armor glinting in the dim light, her gaze sharp as a dagger. A quiet, knowing smirk plays on her lips.

She knows exactly where to look.

Another Drow warrior steps toward Fizzbum, his eyes locked on his Staff of Spellcasting.

Your choice is clear. Surrender your weapons—and your spellbook—or have them taken by force.

The Mind Flayer does not watch the exchange like a warden overseeing captives—it does not need to. Its presence is suffocating, its will an unspoken force pressing down upon the party.

Decide. You can Comply, and be led into the darkness beyond, or Resist, and you will be dragged.

What do you do?

10 Minutes have passed

Current Time: 8:21 AM

Date: Eighthday , 28 , Alturiak , 1742

Temperature: 52°

Current Phase: Exploration

Captured

The cavern air thickens as the Howlbears relinquish their weapons. Each motion—each offering—is met with the cold efficiency of seasoned captors. The Drow take what is theirs, showing neither gratitude nor restraint.

Fizzbum’s yelp earns a sharp smirk from the warrior beside him. The Drow takes his staff with a slow, deliberate movement, testing its weight.

"You can use it for a while if you want to,” Fizzbum says cheerfully. "Just make sure to give it back before we leave, okay? I worked really hard to get it."

The Drow scoffs, lips curling in amusement.

"Oh, of course, little one," he murmurs, his voice laced with condescension. "I promise to return it… when you no longer need it."

Fizzbum frowns, uncertain whether to take that as a joke. He hesitates, then grins. "Say… you don’t happen to like mushrooms, do you?"

The Drow snorts. "I prefer my meals alive." He gestures for Fizzbum to move along.

Orin watches as his grimoire leaves his hands, the weight of it lifted—but not its burden. The female Drow’s fingers slide over the leather binding, her touch almost reverent. Her smirk is sharp, knowing.

"A well-kept spellbook," she muses. "Your mentor would be proud… if only he could see you now." She tucks it into her belt.

In a voice as calm as it is heavy with regret, Orin speaks,

“For now, you may have this book.”

His words are quiet, almost lost amid the oppressive silence. With deliberate care, he loosens his grip and offers the ancient spellbook, the familiar weight of its pages, a bittersweet reminder of all that he has learned from his mentor. He silently vows that its legacy will endure, even if he must fight to reclaim it one day.

She flips through the pages carelessly, as if expecting to find some hidden power within, before snapping it shut with a smirk.

“A scholar’s burden," she muses, her voice smooth, laced with mockery. "How quaint. I wonder… will you fight harder for this book than for your own life? Or is it just another relic of a dead man’s dreams?”

She tucks the spellbook beneath her arm, watching Orin closely, as if savoring whatever flicker of emotion might betray him. Then, with a flick of her wrist, she gestures to the others.

"Come now, surfacer. Let’s see if your magic is worth more than ink and sentiment."

Mutt forces himself to stay casual, handing over his crossbow and quiver. His mind is still working, still memorizing every tunnel, every turn, the way the Drow shift their footing, how the Mind Flayer moves. He watches for sigils, for traps, for habits.

"So," he says, flashing a forced grin. "This Xal’Zyress—what type are they? Jovial? Easily angered?"

The Mind Flayer does not turn.

It does not care for his chatter.

But it does answer.

"Xal’Zyress… decides."

Mutt’s stomach tightens. That wasn’t an answer.

Dorf hands over Precious with the bitterness of a man holding back a storm. His knuckles whiten, his expression dark, but he does not fight. As a Drow warrior takes his axe, Dorf mutters,

"Want my shield too? I do like having a pack mule."

The Drow smirks.

"Of course," he sneers. "But I charge extra for heavy lifting."

Then, Azalie meets his gaze.

Azalie stands tall, willing the trembling in her hands to settle. She knew they would take their weapons—had accepted it the moment they stepped into this mess—but knowing and experiencing are two different things. She keeps her eyes locked onto the male Drow, refusing to show hesitation.

"You know," Azalie murmurs, her fingers curling around the jade-green hilt of her dagger. "You’d almost be my type—if you weren’t so hell-bent on death." She doesn’t mean it, of course. She just wants his attention.

She blinks.

In that moment, she pulls her blade. The sharp whisper of metal scraping against the sheath burns in her ears, setting her nerves alight. Her emotions surge, unrestrained, and she steps forward, reaching for him. The resistance of his body against the blade is solid, grounding.

In her mind’s eye, she sees it—the dagger sinking into his stomach, the slow drag of steel through flesh. The warmth of blood coating her hand. The metallic tang of iron filling the air.

Then she blinks again.

"Keep this safe," she says. "I’ll need it to kill someone else." Her former master still alive. And one day, this very blade would find its way into his heart.

A cruel glint flickers in the male Drow’s eyes as she spins her dagger before offering him the hilt. He takes it slowly, deliberately, his fingers brushing hers longer than necessary.

"We could have been great," she muses. "But I suppose we’ll never know."

His grip tightens.

Faster than she can react, he snatches her by the throat, lifting her slightly onto her tip toes as his lips curl into a predatory sneer. His breath is warm against her skin, his voice a low, venomous whisper.

"You think you’re clever, surfacer? I could take you right now. You wouldn’t enjoy it.”

Azalie barely reacts. Her expression remains calm, unimpressed. If this was meant to frighten her, he would have to try harder. She has endured worse. Her former master had been far more creative.

She meets his eyes, steady and unreadable.

“Neither would you,” she says coolly

The female Drow steps forward, her silver armor glinting in the dim light. Her expression is one of disgust, but not for Azalie—for the male Drow.

"Put her down."

"Do not soil yourself with a surfacer," she spits. "There is no pleasure in filth."

For a moment, it seems like he will resist. Then, slowly, he releases Azalie, dropping her.

She lands lightly, her breath steady, her pulse slow.

Unshaken.

Without a word, she removes her second dagger, then her bow, relinquishing each weapon with measured reluctance.

Then, lifting a small vial of green liquid between her fingers, she tilts her head.

"Any chance I can keep this?" Her voice takes on a knowing lilt. "I’ve got… girl issues." She pauses, watching him carefully, then gestures downward. "I can explain, but something tells me you’d rather not hear the details."

The male Drow smirks, looking down at her. He holds up the green vial, turning it over in his fingers. Then, with a shrug, he flicks it back to her.

"Keep it. I’d rather not know."

Azalie catches it without missing a beat, slipping it away with a faint, knowing smile.

The moment lingers, thick and suffocating. Then the Mind Flayer turns, striding deeper into the tunnels.

"You will follow."

And so they march.

The Journey to the Inner Lair

The Howlbears are herded forward into the dark. The tunnels stretch endlessly, twisting and shifting in ways that disorient them. The bioluminescent veins pulse, shifting in response to unseen commands.

Mutt keeps his eyes sharp, memorizing every step, but it’s clear the Drow are leading them on a path designed to confuse and disorient them.

The deeper they go, the worse the air becomes. A cloying, metallic scent seeps from the stone, thick with something unnatural.

And then, the horrors begin.

• A room glimpsed through an archway, filled with Duergar mind thralls, their blank eyes staring at nothing as they move with mechanical precision, tending to grotesque, psionic devices.

• A half-transformed humanoid strapped to a slab, its flesh pulsing with unnatural growths as its head twitches erratically, a Mind Flayer standing over it, probing with its thin, spindly fingers.

• Drow scientists etching runes into metal and flesh, whispering in a language the Howlbears do not understand.

• Faint, broken whispers creeping into their thoughts, voices begging, screaming, pleading to be freed.

But there is no stopping.

The Mind Flayer leads them forward without a word.

As they walk, Mutt keeps his observations sharp, committing details to memory, and finally breaks the silence.

“You mentioned our offer wasn’t sufficient. Can we get an idea on what it is you are looking for?”

The Mind Flayer halts.

The silence is suffocating.

Then, slowly, it turns its head, staring directly at Mutt, its unreadable gaze pinning him in place. The alien presence in his mind presses—just enough to feel like an intrusion.

"Understanding," it says, the word slipping into their minds, smooth as silk, cold as a blade. "And in time… inevitability."

There is no elaboration. No further insight.

Just the whisper of something far worse lurking beneath the surface of those words.

Then, without another word, it continues forward.

And finally, they arrive.

Xal’Zyress’s Lair – The Holding Cells

The tunnel opens into a large, underground chamber.

The walls glisten with bioluminescent veins, their glow pulsing like a slow, measured heartbeat. The air is thick—buzzing with psionic energy, pressing into your skull. Every so often, amid the distant groan of a prisoner, or an agonized scream echoing from unseen depths, memories that are not your own flicker at the edges of your thoughts—a life stolen, a mind devoured, a will crushed.

You try to push them away, but they linger.

The Mind Flayer leads you forward without a word, gliding through the dim corridors of this wretched prison. You pass by cell after cell, shadows shifting behind bars. Some prisoners lie motionless on the floor. Others sit hunched, rocking slightly, whispering things you can’t understand. A few stare straight ahead—at nothing. Their eyes blank, lifeless, their mouths slightly agape as though they have long forgotten how to close them.

You enter the holding area from area A-12, As you enter the hallways, the Drow split your party into three sepearate groups:

Mutt & Azalie are taken to the left and stopped in front of cell A-3. FIzzbum & Orin are taken to a corner cell at A-1

Uptharr & Dorf are taken a bit further to Cell A-6

As Fizzbum, Orin, Uptharr, and Dorf are forced past cells A-5 and A-2, you catch glimpses of the prisoners within—Dwarves. Some are motionless, others barely stirring. Some might be from Hruna’s team.

But there’s no time to confirm.

Areas beyond A-6 and A-11 you are not able to see.

Thrown into the Cells

The Mind Flayer does not slow. It does not explain.

The Female Drow steps forward, her expressions cold, businesslike

"Take their Bags."

Her tone is clipped, not cruel, but efficient—she has done this a thousand times before.

The Drow move through your ranks, stripping you of your packs and belts, leaving only your armor and garments. They work methodically, removing anything of value with practiced ease.

You have only moments to act.

Additional Smuggled Items:

Each Howlbear is given the opportunity to make a Sleight of Hand check to hide up to three more small items:

• First item: DC 12

• Second item: DC 14

• Third item: DC 16

Rules:

• Items must be palm-sized (small weapons no larger than a dagger, potions, lockpicks, spell components, etc.).

• Players can describe where they attempt to hide them—their boots, sleeves, belt loops, hair, or even within their own clothes.

• Besides these three additional items you are stripped of all useful gear.

Already Hidden Items

(These were secured before entering the prison area and are NOT at risk of being taken.)

Azalie:

✔ Sling (disguised as a hair tie)

✔ Thieves’ tools (tucked at the small of her back)

✔ Two potions (concealed in her clothes)

✔ Green vial (hidden in her garments)

✔ Tinderbox (slipped into Mutt’s back pocket)

Fizzbum:

✔ Lumpy (hidden under his robes)

✔ Frostfire potion (already in his system)

Mutt:

✔ Tinderbox (from Azalie, in his back pocket)

Dorf:

✔ Yeti gloves (tucked into his belt)

(Any additional items successfully hidden via Sleight of Hand will be added here once players roll.)

Then, the Mind Flayer turns, its voice slithering through their thoughts.

"You will wait here… until Xal’Zyress chooses to meet you."

The weight of its will presses down once more, final and suffocating.

Then, without another word, it glides away into the cavern’s shadows.

The clang of iron bars echoes as the doors slam shut, the finality of captivity settling in like a suffocating weight. The air is thick with dampness, carrying the lingering scent of rot, sweat, and something metallic—something wrong.

A moment of silence stretches as the Drow finish their task. Some depart swiftly, disappearing back into the tunnels like shadows melting into the dark. But not all.

The male Drow who had grabbed Azalie lingers outside her cell. He leans against the bars, his eyes dragging over her like a predator savoring a future kill. His lips curl into a smirk, his voice a slow, poisoned whisper.

"I hope you last longer than the others." His fingers trail briefly along the cold metal of the bars, his gaze gleaming with an unsettling hunger. "They always break too quickly."

He chuckles softly, as if already picturing her screaming. Then, he turns and strides away into the darkness without another word, leaving behind only the weight of his presence.

The silence that follows feels too thick

Each cell is small, but not overly cramped, rough-hewn from stone and lined with thick iron bars. The floors are cold, uneven, slick with moisture. The air smells of decay. No light source is provided beyond the eerie bioluminescent veins running through the walls, their glow just enough to keep the prisoners from being swallowed by absolute darkness.

Cell A-3 – Mutt & Azalie

• Size: Roughly 15 x 10 feet, enough room for two or three people to lie down.

• Walls: Rough, damp stone. Some areas have small, carved runes that appear long-abandoned.

• Floor: A pile of dirty straw, damp and reeking of mildew. Likely used as bedding by past prisoners. a Rusty Chamber Pot stained with urine and feces

• Chains: A rusted chain bolted to the wall, its length just long enough to restrict movement. It doesn’t appear actively in use, but the purpose is clear.

• Smell: A lingering scent of old blood and sweat.

• View: From the bars, they can barely see Fizzbum and Orin in A-1 and the corridor leading deeper into the lair. The far end disappears into shadowed depths.

Cell A-1 – Fizzbum & Orin

• Size: Roughly 20 x 10 feet, larger than many of the other cells.

• Walls: Stone, etched with strange markings—symbols unfamiliar to most, but possibly arcane in nature.

• Floor: Dirt and scattered bones, some gnawed down to brittle remnants. a Rusty Chamber Pot stained with urine and feces

• Chains: A single iron shackle bolted to the wall, its restraint broken long ago.

• Objects: A small puddle of water has gathered in a crack near the back, murky but drinkable.

• Smell: A faint, acrid scent—something burnt. Possibly old spell residue.

• View: They can barely make out Mutt and Azalie’s cell (A-3) in the distance, but no one else is in view. They can hear Dorf and Uptharr’s voices from down the corridor, but it's difficult to make out exact words without raising their voices.

  
  

Cell A-6 – Dorf & Uptharr

• Size: Slightly larger, 10x10 feet, though barely enough to stretch fully.

• Walls: Deep scratch marks gouged into the stone, long and uneven, as if something clawed at them in desperation.

• Floor: Dried blood stains splattered near the back corner. The source unknown. a Rusty Chamber Pot stained with urine and feces

• Objects: A broken wooden plank, splintered and half-rotted, possibly a remnant of an old prisoner’s attempt to dig out.

• Smell: A mixture of iron and something rancid.

• View: They can see nothing beyond their own cell, but can hear Fizzbum and Orin, albeit faintly.

The Guards

A single male Drow patrols the hallways, moving between the cells at irregular intervals.

Two Duergar Mind Thralls stand motionless at the far ends of the main hallway, one standing outside of A-1 and one standing outside of A-4.

their dead eyes staring blankly, their minds lost to psionic domination. They do not move, do not speak, do not blink.

Another female Drow lingers near the exit at A-12, keeping an eye on the entire area. She does not speak to the Drow that patrols the hall.

The only way to speak to another Howlbear that is not in your cell, is to raise your voice, which risks drawing the attention of the guards.

RETRO ACTIONS:

If your character wants to react before being locked in their cell, you may retroactively respond to anything in the narrative—

✔ Something the Drow said or did (e.g., Azalie with the Drow guard, Orin with the spellbook)

✔ Something the Mind Flayer revealed (e.g., Mutt pressing for more details)

✔ Something seen during the march (e.g., responding to the horrors in the lair)

Just note when your response takes place in the sequence of events. Once everyone is settled in their cells, the next phase begins.

What do you do next?

45 Minutes have passed

Current Time: 9:06 AM

Date: Eighthday , 28 , Alturiak , 1742

Temperature: 52°

Current Phase: Exploration

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