Chapter 1: The House of Lament

With tanned skin the color of burnt gold, this little creature's unkempt and grime-splattered clothes make him seem as though he sprouted from the shaded underbelly of a fallen forest log. The wide cap of scraggly green hair lends an appearance of algae, partially covering the amber-stained eyes that glint with mischievousness.

Knobbenkirk used to be wrapped in a torn and muddy cloak that barely reached the dirty rump of his now-disintegrating trousers. His mismatched shoes, one size larger than the other and both with dissolving soles, barely cling to his feet thanks to missing laces and whatever alchemical splatter he stepped in. A loose button-down shirt is kept open, previously to allow his grubby fingers easy access to the store of crumbs and odd trinkets tucked within the folds, now simply clinging to his thin shoulders by the barest of fabric.

Despite his acrid appearance, Knobby laughs. He coughs up the residue of purple smoke and wipes his nose with his arm, and laughs again. "Okay, look, I know what you're gonna say," he begins, "but believe me, I saw a bartender do that one time and the drink he mixed was really awesome. So I'm sorry that I was mistaken about what that little goblin had in those bottles and stuff. At least we got out fine, none the worse for wear, and nobody actually tried to drink what I mixed. Win-win!"

Coughing and wheezing Oberon is catching his breath. He is an avarage sized human male, with a beard that is his pride and joy.

Knobby, if you mix acid and base, it will neutralize and be harmless, and your bartender was mixing alcohol. But at least I caught this. Oberon is lifting up one of the throwing bottles that the goblin was throwing around. Seen in the light of day, the crack in the bottle is leaking its liquid. He sniffs it. Yew! This is some foul moonshine! A spark could have set it off.

Nice work with the mace in there Tommaso. You really gave them what fore. Oberon had been using a crossbow and a slender sword to ruin the goblin's day.

Zuri, do you have a clever spell that can salvage my coat or hat?

"Acid? Base? Who can tell?" Knobby shrugs, innocently and quite evidently uninterested in the answer. He wraps the tatters of his shirt around his head like a cowl, leaving his torso bare.

Having already shrugged off his pack and dropped his weaponry, Tommaso spins on his heels and exhaustedly falls to the ground flat on his back. Dust, dirt, and soot rise off his body before being swept up in the breeze. He tries to blink away whatever is causing the irritation in his eyes while he gazes up into the sky. 'That cloud is shaped just like--'

---

There is a sickening crack as the goblin's skull shatters under the might of Tommaso's morningstar. Shield raised in a defensive position, the veteran mercenary look back at his companions. He sees that everyone is doing just fine, so he can press the attack without leaving them vulnerable.

His knuckles go white as the grip on his morningstar tightens. Tom is still looking in pretty good condition since the alchemical chaos has yet to happen. Sure, there are individual loops on his chain mail hauberk which are showing signs of rust, but Tom is a true soldier. He's not one of those pampered knights running around in freshly polished suits of armor. Excuse him for not always having time to wash away the blood after a battle. His armor fits snuggly over a body which has continued to gain mass in the many years since he originally purchased it. His shoulders and arms are large by way of frequently worked muscles. Draw your own conclusions as to why his gut protrudes further out than his chest.

The chain mail continues up around his neck and covers his dark shaggy brown hair. He wears no helmet, so as to not deny the world the view of his beautiful face. Currently it is drenched in sweat and not looking all that great. His uneven mustache is in need of a trim, and there is a few days growth of stubble on what, in theory, should be an otherwise clean shaven face.

Tom takes aim on the same goblin he previously struck. It doesn't look like the poor little fellow even knows where he is. Nevertheless, he must die. The spiked steel ball actually sinks into the goblin's skull this time. Tom has to drive a knee into the goblin's gut in order to get enough leverage to remove his weapon.

He watches the goblin fall to the ground where he ends up lying on his back with a blank expression on his dead face. No look of surprise or pain. As blood puddles next to the gaping wound in the side of his head, the goblin's vacant eyes simply stare upward.

---

'--that puddle of blood,' Tom thinks to himself.
This grabs Tomasso's attention. He could use a drink.

His aching muscles protest the required movements that get him back to his feet. He gives Oberon a weak smile. "Thank you, sir. Double thanks, in fact. I am pretty sure you saved my tail once or twice in there with a well timed shot."

Tom rolls up a chain sleeve to get a good look at the padded gambeson jacket beneath. It is so well worn that it may be comprised more of patches than its original material at this point. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad if this adventured forced him to replace this garment.

He lets the chain mail fall back into place and slides the hood off his head. Tom runs a hand through his thick hair to shakes loose some of the dirt. "I'm afraid coats and hats aren't the only thing in need of cleaning. An inn with hot baths is a must this evening."

Zuri sits on the ground, alternating between coughing and sucking in great gulps of air. He looks around at his companions, looking all that much worse for wear than when they entered a few hours earlier.

"That... was... my... bad!" he exhales. And then laughs along with the gnome.

"But look... it’s done... now, friends!"

In the chaos of the fight, Zuri had shunted one of the little goblins into the alchemical table, setting off a reaction... or two. A simple spell, barely even a thought.

"Yes!... he laughs again, deep and hearty ... Let us go and wash! As for mending spells. I’m sure the town has a tailor much more qualified than I, in that regard!"

As he climbs to his feet, he calls out to everyone:

"I think we did quite alright, don’t you?!"

Davin walks out, not coughing, and not out of breath, and doesn't seem to notice the cloud of dust or anything. He is a little taller than the average human, over 6ft for sure. Quite strong looking with pallid skin, darker hair, and piercing blue eyes.

Well ... I did not expect... those liquids... they mixed... Why would you...? Bah... fighting and an explosion or two!
he laughs a quiet laugh, mouth closed, with a smirk, then said a little quietly ...all that blood...
then louderI am sure Tempus loved ALL of it. I did! But which one of you is replacing my armor? as he looks at his gear which looks terrible, but he isn't really inspecting it, then glances at both Knobby and Oberon with a friendly stare

He then begin whipping blood off his flail, then stops.

Yes, a chance to get clean, get some drinks, and maybe some more trouble would be nice tonight.

Knobbenkirk stretches, lamenting the fact that his shirt is still tattered around his head. Looking at their surroundings, he rubs his eyes.

"Tom, what the hell was in that flask?" he asks, standing to crick his back. "And where can I get some more?"

Blinking away the sleep, he continues, "Wait, we didn't drink last night. How long was I out?"

Tom feels the cold bite of the air before his eyes fully open. Sleeping covered in filth and under the stars isn’t exactly ideal but also isn't anything new to him. He was not expecting to be damn near shivering when he woke up, however.

As Knobby speaks, Tom slowly rises to a seated position and looks around. He shoots a a glare at his friend, but quickly wipes it from his face. Tom is painfully aware that they didn’t drink last night. He tossed and turned for hours before drifting off and now finds himself with a pounding headache and a tinge of nausea in his gut. But those are his problems. No reason to take his frustrations out on anyone else.

Tom opens his mouth to speak but stops himself so he can take one more good look around. It only leads to total bewilderment. "I’m glad you said something first, friend. If I woke up first to find myself looking at... this.... well I don’t really know where I’m going with that thought. Or where in the world we are for that matter."

Tom climbs to his feet and walks over to where Zuri is sleeping. He nudges him with the toe of his boot. "Wake up and take a look around. Something is wrong." He doesn’t tell the wizard what his suspicion is. Tom wants to see if he reaches the same conclusion without being steered in that direction. Zuri would be more familiar with the types of arcane illusions that Tom suspects might be at play. Either way, Tom keeps a hand on his Morningstar and cannot stop spinning his head around to take in every inch of their surroundings. If this is an illusion, that means someone is nearby and that would mean trouble is nearby.

I say, what the bloody hell is this?

Did someone pissoff a fary?

Oberon checks his equipment, has something been left behind during this transission?
After that, he loads his crossbow and looks around

Slowly rising listening to the commotion, being able to tell that it is confusion, but not the confusion of being attacked, he gets up slowly gathering his bearings
"What abyssal trick is this...? Where are we? Why is it still dark? Shouldn't the sun at least be rising?"
Clearly confused at the lack of sunlight.

Zuri gets shunted awake with a stiff toe!

"Agh. How pleasant..."

He sits up, and looks around. He smells the air, and checks the trees.

"How very strange!" he wearily reaches for his wand as he throws off the last remnants of sleep. He reaches for his book:

"It’ll take some time, as you know. Shall I?" and he flicks to the page that contains the arcane words for Detect Magic.

"Maybe we slept through? It was a wild fight through the caves," offers Knobbenkirk. He omits the notion that he didn't take his turn at watch, inwardly reasoning that someone was supposed to have woken him up, so it's not really his fault.

He looks down the road into the darkness. "Well, at least we still got our stuff. Let's start walking and get to town."

Once Zuri does his ritual, I think walking is about the only choice we have. And it looks like we need to walk that way indicating the only path cleared away from the fog. By the Flaming Sword, this is the strangest thing I have ever seen though.

"All right, well, while he does his little trick, I'll take a look around," says Knobby. He never liked sitting still for too long, and preferred not being out in the open. He starts to slip into the tree line, keeping an eye on the surrounding scrub and occasionally checking the branches above.

For a moment, Tommaso makes a move to accompany Knobby, but it doesn't take long for him to realize this is a bad idea. In armor he is about as quiet as a a bag of jangling coins. Even without the armor he is prone to stepping on twigs and giving away his position. Knobby doesn't need Tom slowing him down. "Stay without earshot. You remember that bird call I taught you? Use it if you run into trouble."

It is only after Knobby takes off on patrol that it dawns on Tom just how silent these woods are. Has he heard a bird since he woke up? A cricket? Anything? He doesn't think so and the thought sends shivers down his spine. "I don't like this," he says quietly to no one in particular.

"There isn't much to like. We fell asleep one place. Woke up in another. Some strange magic is at work. And this place, this fog, is strange."

Zuri sits cross legged on the cold, hard ground, his book splayed in front of him.

He cocks and eye up just before he starts the incantation:

"You know... perhaps it has something to do with all those concoctions we smashed yesterday. Goblins work wicked magic."

And with that, he closes his eyes, and spends 10 minutes weaving a great web of sigils in the air with the tip of his wand.