Interacting with: @RogueFox@Shadow Dragon

"More of the same..." Mortimer says as they wandered deeper into the dungeon's halls. He'd note that he should bury their dead after they establish a base of sorts. Just felt wrong to just leave them there rotting with the bodies of those horrid adventurers. But what caught his full attention was the sound of footfalls that weren't his nor the vampire's echoing through the halls as it grew fainter and fainter as the being that caused it went deeper into the dungeon. Mortimer called out but it seemed that he reacted too late. The sound of footsteps had gone so distant that he couldn't hear them any longer. "I'm sure that I wasn't the only one who heard that. We ought to follow them...but keep your guards up. We don't know if they're hostile or not."

He was feeling a little more confident than when he was all alone but confidence would nary hinder an attacker's blade. Better to be prepared for the worst rather than getting caught with your metaphorical pants down.

So they were getting close. Yaaaaay. She wished she had some general idea of how strong the man they were pursuing actually was. Well, actually, she did: strong enough that he killed a whole scout force by himself. She could only hope he had done that through subterfuge and surprise, because if he hadn't she was just going to have to rely on getting the drop on him or getting lucky. It was a good thing, then, that she was "blessed" with an inordinate supply of good luck.

To take her mind off that she focused on the question...sword, she guessed... had asked her. "Opera isn't a place, it's a performance. Entertainment. Like a play, but every word is sung. And it's sung in old Elvish, so most of us younger delves have to read the plot in a book before it starts. It was pretty, but it wasn't her thing. Mostly old legends about war and romance, betrayal and revenge. A whole lot of betrayal and revenge.

"There was Mourning Lily. It was stabbed into the heart of a Matriarch and froze her in magic sleep, so her favorite concubine had to go on and arduous quest to find a way to break the spell. I'm pretty sure that one was just an allegory. Most of them are. Tusk was this wicked sword wielded by the queen of the hobgoblins that inflicted wounds that never stopped hurting. Crownseeker was an sword that was used so many times in coups and assassinations that it developed a taste for noble blood. Durenadal was used by the king of the High Elves during the great war thousands of years ago, some unbreakable hold sword that could never be defeated, but the first Queen managed to seduce the king and steal it. That one I think is real. I heard it was locked up in the palace vault somewhere."

@Dark Light

Phaid the Bullywug kept his slow pace as he approached the furry medicine man and the mushroom man. After the events of a few weeks ago, Phaid and all the remaining Bullywugs had learned to avoid anyone they didn’t know. But Phaid considered himself a brave creature, at least for a Bullywug. He was still embarrassed over his actions during the massacre that happened in the Everdark a few weeks back. When Phaid and some fellow Bullywugs first got wind of the slaughter, their fight or flight instinct kicked in. They decided on flight, retreating to the deep water tunnels of their domain. The frog-men would hide in this submerged section of the dungeon for several days, praying that whatever was killing the other creatures wasn’t amphibious. It had been a low point for Phaid, the so called Puddle Knight. When the hidden Bullywugs did finally return to the surface of the dungeon, they found most of their kin slain, just a few feet away from the water’s edge.

Since then, the Bullywugs had stayed close to their watery home. They had not wanted to go and see how the other races were affected by the slaughtered, worried minds wondering if the goblin clan survived and would once again attack them. Or what happened to the Dark Elves, Undead, or other powerful beings who ran large portions of the Everdark. But as Phaid approached the two creatures, he wondered if the massacre hadn’t been as bad if these ones survived it.

But Phaid didn’t appear to be the only antsy away, leaving a fog of yellow spores. Phaid thought that he was more imposing than he thought, only for a spore to touch his nose, causing it to go numb. But before any more of the spores could reach Phaid, the furry medicine man handed him some sort of vegetable, telling him to suck out its innards. Phaid wondered if this was a free first taste, so he did as instructed, a slime leaving the plant and coating his throat. As he did this, Phaid no longer felt the numbness as the spores landed on him.

The medicine man then told him to keep the plant in his mouth if he wished to breathe and speak. Phaid quickly realized that this wasn’t a free first hit, but rather to do away with what the mushroom man had done. He figured that the bitter tasting slime should of been a giveaway. Phaid naturally moved the plant around in his mouth, always keeping it secreting.

“Thanks for whatever this is,” said Phaid with some trouble as he tried to keep the plant firmly in his mouth, “But do you have any of those spotted flowers, the ones that can take you to the dream plane? I have trinkets to trade for it.”

What Phaid didn’t mention was that these trinkets had been looted from the bodies of fellow Bullywugs. After so many died in the massacre, they could at least continue to benefit the clan. And by that Phaid meant benefit himself, the definite next head of the clan, especially since most of the competition had died.

[Interacting with: @SleepingSilence]

@Tally Dor

Scri'erk could be ornery but she had the ability to listen to reason. She had heard rumors that the golem's mind had been addled. Worse yet, looking at it's heaping size she could not deny that perhaps it would be hard for someone of their stature to move out of the way of her webs. That was the point really, to get people to touch them. Putting her grudges aside she let reason win this time. The tasty goblin seemed to interject before Scri'erk could find a reason to be mad again. They were hoping to go deeper into the everdark; a dangerous proposition. Luckily between Scri'erk's deadly poison's and Zarroy's strength they had nothing to be afraid of.

"Danger! Goblin ride on Zarroy" She said as she took the lead, prodding into the dark abyss before them with her mandibles. In other circumstances she would allow the small humanoid to ride her own carapaced back. With Zarroy with them, however, she felt the morsel would be much safer away from her own greedy mandibles. Already she could feel them frothing again in hunger. Perhaps there would be a meal for her in the next town.

@Gentlemanvaultboy

”Hmm”
Was all the sword said, short and sharp. Amused even. For a moment it seemed like it was going to speak again, to share its thoughts, but it didn’t. After a small walk in silence where the sword replied to nothing, it suddenly and urgently blurted.

”Stop!”

Then, ignoring the urgency of its past words it casually continued.
”Tell me of this crown seeker, what did it look like?”

Yvain froze like mid step, like a cat that had been caught sneaking up on someone and wasn't sure whether it should charge forward or retreat. They had come to a hallway of dilapidated stonework, crude barricades of piled stone constructed at either end that menaced with large wooden spikes where the ravages of time hadn't caused them to rot away or snap under their own weight. A tattered banner lay draped over one of them, a brown skull cackling at her. Beyond the barricade, through a small gap that gave entry, she could see moldering tarps piled on the ground that may have once been tents. Enough for two dozen men at least. Among they lay scattered bones and old brown stains.

An orcish warband, maybe? She had heard they painted their banners in the blood of their foes. Who were they? The Everdark was old, and it was witness to more deaths than even her ancient mother. They could have been an enemy raid, or mercenaries hired by the dungeons master? Had they been killed by adventurers, like the others, or the residents? They could have even been the victims of an inter-faction spat within the Everdark itself, as sometimes happened. Who could say?

Her minecart of thought was derailed as Sword asked her another question. In the opera. It was big, with a long silver blade and an ornate black hilt set with rubies. It was beautiful. She thought back to a few of the assassins that had been sent by her sisters. I never thought it looked right. It was too big. It took an age to swing, you would see it coming from a mile away. If a sword like that really exited I always thought it would be more subtle. Old. And really, really sharp.

@Dark Light

Interacting With: @Martian

His smiling face had yet to show any signs of distress. Though the truth is, he would’ve rather choked and died, than continue to smell what lingered on the bullywug’s breath. So the secreting stem had yet another intentional benefit to Dylirius, as it eliminated the foul odor entirely. “Oh, of course.” Dylirius replied, with a friendly smile. Dismissing what was in their mouths as casually as the warrior did, when he failed to share his name. Now stuck in place where his footpaws stood. As any movements that Dylirius did make, would uncomfortably tingle and sting like a scorpion's tail. “And I could give you those flowers-” The cat reiterated with emphasis. “But while we’re both standing here. Perhaps I could interest you in something more—potent. For someone of greater stature.” Dylirius offered, with his sales pitch prepared.

“Either way. You’re certainly not going to find a better resource to get high, in all of the Everdark.” Dylirius asserted confidently. Knowing that those particular flowers and other rarer materials within the Everdark, had been pilfered by whatever humans managed to escape after the massacre. Meaning he’d be lucky to even scavenge some withered-up petals from others’ corpses. And the last thing you would want, after taking strong mind-altering substances, is the modest reduction of a quality rush. Thus, Dylirius waited to see if the bullywug was interested in his wares.

Ready to move and make the deal between them at the very second, once Spore's effects wore off. With the good chance that Dylirius would be able to move before his uncustomed customer would be. Even if it was only a slight difference. Given how frequently inflicted he had been by the Spore’s effects. Both through natural circumstances and risky experimentation done on his own. Not that Dylirius would ever make that obvious, when interacting with his skittish companion. Having no desire to worry him deliberately. “I’ll take whatever you can give me, in exchange for creating your payment.” Dylirius acknowledged, with his eyes briefly looking up and to the right. Better to use junk items than my own mana reserves. He thought, before his glowing amber gaze focused on the frog. “But know that alchemy tends to emulate what is sacrificed.” Dylirius noted with a scholarly tone. “Therefore, for your own sake, if you want something good. You need to give me something good.” Dylirius clarified, in hopes that Phaid understood that his offers had consequences.

@Searat
He draws a long, bright red sword, the light shifting and wavering around it. "No idea, but if it attacks, then it dies." He spins the strange blade, motes of red light, like drops of blood dripping off the edge. "So many dead.......it seems unreal. How did such a small group cause so much death? How powerful were these adventurers?" He frowns, kneeling beside another corpse, and feeling it. "Still warm. He must have died recently."