Episode 1

The last couple of hours have been one canal crossing after another. Every ground run leads to another waterway. The group can wade through some and has to swim across others. Again it is tiring and also slows the pace. It is also unnerving, since everyone knows that the Ulathi or Glaaki either one could burst up from the water, or pull them to a watery death beneath the surface.

Bryn is the first one to spot them. Just after a crossing. He looks eastward down the canal and sees them. Deep Ones! A group of a dozen at least, about 300 meters away. Their heads are breaking the surface, but then they all submerge at once.

That means they have been spotted.

"Ulathi! Let's go. Into cover. We have to move. Now!"

Bryn's commands snaps everyone into action. The group climbs the bank and launches into a run, full speed into the grassy scrub forest. They have to put some ground between them and the Deep Ones and hope that there is not another canal crossing anytime soon ahead.

Bryn success Perception

Everyone crouches down, completely still.

They are soaking wet. Weapons in hand. They watch carefully through the branches and wiry arms of thorn vines.

The Ulathi are nearly upon them. Probably 15-20 fish heads. The closest are only 20 meters away.

Kray slowly and silently notches an arrow. He knows it could go either way now. This was the best hiding space he could find, here in a muck-bottom draw of scrub and thorns. But it's not really good cover. And it is a terrible place to fight, in low ground.

Now he is just counting on the bad senses of the Ulathi, hoping the fish mongrels won't smell them or see them. Kray hopes that their bulging eyes are as blind as they are disgusting.

Soon the Ulathi pass. The hide site wasn't great, but it was good enough.

Kray waits until he can be sure it is clear and then gives the signal for a controlled movement. He's going to cut everyone over on a diversion west, put some space between them and the Ulathi, before getting back on the southern azimuth.

Kray Stealth success

"We have to move faster. Climb as fast as you can."

Thorn calls out with urgency, but not yelling.

He looks back down the ridge. Off in the distance, he can see the Ulathi running through the grass. Fuck! There are more of them now.

If they could make it up and over this ridge, that would give the separation they needed to break loose. This ridge line ran at least another half mile or so west, right into that far thicket. No waterway around. The Deep Ones would have to climb to follow. And with webbed feet and their apparently wobbliness on land, Thorn was betting those fools couldn't climb very fast.

The problem was that the group is here exposed on the open bank and the fish men were almost in long javelin range.

Thorn yells, "Everyone CLIMB! This is it! We make it or we fall right here! CLIMB!"

Exhausted. Cut and bruised. Gasping for air. Everyone takes in the call and digs deep.

Thorn picks up Sorcha Rhone and puts her over his shoulders. "Hold on!"

She clings to him with arms and legs both as he pushes and pulls and drags up the rocky bank, either grabbing and handhold or pressing on a narrow foothold.

Ivor pushes Doirind on, driving her up higher and higher on the rise.

Maeriks, already carrying heavy bags, heaves and pulls, dragging himself and the equipment, forcing a way up higher and higher.

Bryn and Kray shift to double time, reaching as far as they can for the next hand hold, even springing up to the next with strong leaps. When Bryn finally reaches the top, he extends a hand to pull Kray up as well. They both instantly get into motion helping the others. Kray takes Rhone so that Thorn can make the last heave up. Bryn helps Dorind with a helping hand to the summit.

As Ivor and Thorn finally pull onto the top edge, the javelins are starting to rattle on the rocks near their legs.

Everyone looks down briefly. Thirty feet below, the band of two dozen Ulathi stare up at them in anger and frustration. They throw javelins. They are trying to climb, but it is not going well.

Thorn pushes everyone on. "No resting now. Make it count. Go." He says in labored breathing. He takes Sorcha Rhone back in his arms and runs.

Everyone gasps for air, but they know that the big swordsman is right. They fall in behind him at full speed.


Thorn Athletics success.

Everyone feels like their arms and legs are made of lead. Their vision is getting blurry.

How long have they been running. An hour? More?

The sun is low in the sky. No time to stop. Darkness is coming.

And It is behind them now. There is no doubt about it.

They can all feel it. It is creeping into their minds.
They hear the black whispers of The Voice.
They know it is Glaaki.

Glaaki will claim them.

Should they just let it? Why are they even running?
Tell the others to stop. They can still band together after.
They will be a Collective. A Hive of Strength and Power.

Fuck! Get out of my head!

Run!

The forest is dark. The ground is slanting down now. Sharply down. The ground is soggy and wet. It started to rain at some point.

How long has it been raining?

There is water ahead. There it is through the trees. Bryn said there was one more crossing, across Abhainn Drakku.

Maybe this is it?

"Take the trail down!" Bryn yells. "Get to the bank! We have to cross!"

Everyone takes the muddy trail and makes the slow ramp down to the edge of the river. They wade into the water there at the bank.

A slow rain drizzles out across the water, rippling the surface. The sun is gone. The light is falling away. Almost gone.

It is about 200 meters across. The woods on the other side are thick. A thick wall of gray.

"That's it!" Bryn points across. "The Ailgaie lands. The Maudder trails are there. We have to cross."

It seems so far. Everyone looks back.

In the woods from which they came. It is coming.

Following them.

It's voice, calling them.

Glaaki is almost upon them. Here with his soldiers. Here to claim his new Hive.

Everyone is exhausted.

Can they make this swim?

No one had noticed them. In the rush and confusion, they had plodded right into the nest.

The alligators waddle and slide forward, surrounding the group there on the bank.

The black reptiles are invigorated by the rain and the sudden arrival of intruders, or prey.






Maeriks steps forward.

Required Action: Maeriks must determine DC (by rolling 1d6) and make Animal Handling check.

Required Action, for any PC.

Maeriks, hip deep in the river water, shifts the bags from over his shoulder and passes them to Thorn. He needs his hands free, and he needs to stay mobile.

The alligators are moving in. The mother is there and another female. Plus three older males. And then a half dozen second yearlings. All of them wondering what to do with the group of humans that just charged into their clutch.

Maeriks blinks hard. The drizzle rain is running into his eyes. He just now realizes how cold it is. The night is falling. They are soaked now, and they will be freezing in the night.

The mother pushes forward, sliding into the water. In two swishes of her great tail, she is driving straight in to Maeriks. He gives her her space. He takes three big steps backwards into the river. His hands up. Now he is waist deep.

He looks into the mother's eyes. He tries to listen to what she says. What does she want?

Maeriks puts his hands forward. Open.

The rest of the team is backing away. Looking at all of the alligators at once.

Weapons in hand, but they are exhausted. How can they win this fight without someone paying a heavy toll?

Half the team is already in the water. There is no way for everyone to get out of this if the alligators charge and bite.

With the rain dripping on his eyebrows, on his cheeks. Maeriks swallows and focuses on making the signal.

He knows she can hear it. Maeriks knows how to signal. All the alligators can hear him. He has learned what they hear and what they see.

The mother dragon drives in right up to Maeriks. He puts his hand out. He can feel the air when she puffs out her nostrils. The water sprays on Maeriks' hand.

He gives her some space; he makes two hops back. He is chest deep now, and he picks his line. He pushes back, shoving steadily against the mother's nose. He has to send the signal. He has to keep this space - for him and his friends.

She takes the turn in direction - swims out to make a loop to the left of Maeriks. Then she passes right by him, dragging her scaled mass right along his side. She travels on though and nestles in a the bank.

The other alligators look on. They see Maeriks' space. They watch the mother.

They will not engage him. They will wait.

Maeriks has his hands up. He stands in the rain, chest deep in the river, blinking and licking the rain from his lips.

Maeriks success Animal Handling.

Skills Challenge: Flight from the Borgh Riac - South Route
Successful Movement and Evasion: 7 successful Skills Checks before 3 failures. Avoid encounter.
Unsuccessful Movement and Evasion: 3 failed Skills Checks. Face a detrimental encounter.

Summary Score Current:
Successes: 7
Failures: 2


Performance Tracker Details (Ongoing):

Check 1: Success. Bryn on DC 12 Survival.

Check 2: Success. Kray on DC 11 Perception.

Check 3: Failure. Thorn on DC 13 Nature.

Check 4: Failure. Ivor on DC 13 Survival.

Check 5: Success. Bryn on DC 11 Perception.

Check 6: Success. Kray on DC 12 Stealth.

Check 7: Success. Thorn on DC 11 Athletics.

Check 8: Success. Maeriks on DC 12 Animal Handling.

Check 9: Success. Ivor on DC 12 Athletics.


Success. Pass Skills Challenge. Avoid detrimental encounter.

The alligators stand by watching, but they do not lurch forward.

Everyone stands dumbfounded, shocked that Maeriks pulled it off, standing chest deep in river water.

The celebration is short lived. It is difficult to keep a thought straight now. The impending doom is pressing in, like a weight on his chest. Ivor knows he is close to losing his thoughts. He leaps into action, pouring himself into a focus.

Charging up the bank, he arrives at the fallen tree and bends down to grasp it. He wraps the end of the trunk with his arms, sets his feet, and heaves backwards. The great fallen log barely budges.

Ivor resets, with a heavy stance for a strong pull. Muscles, sinew, and bone strains to the point of snapping, but Ivor does not relent.

With a burst of motion, the great fallen tree is dislodged from the muck of the ground and begins to drag backwards. Slowly. Towards the bank.

Pressing with his legs, one step after another, Ivor backs up. As he gets to the bank he has to drag the massive weight over a slight rise before the final drop.

Veins bulging, sweat bursting forth to mix with the rain, his muscles so strapped tight that he is about to black out from the strain, Ivor yells out, a mighty call to push through with the last surge of strength that it takes to cast the unwieldy mass of wood into the river.

The gargantuan trunks splashes in, dives deep at first, then bobs back to the top, sloshing on the surface. A churn of mud has kicked up now. The drizzle of the rain pours on the whole scene.

"Latch on, you dogs." Ivor yells out, "We cross! Everyone!!"

Many already swooning from the exhaustion and the oppressive dread that has fallen up them like a tidal wave, no one can speak. They can only latch onto the Danneins words and act.

Kray puts Sorcha Rhone on the log and helps Ivor float it out away from the bank. Thorn, recently burdened with baggage, quickly steadies the packs onto the logs, holding them to the trunk and linking on himself so that he can help press forward.

Doirind stumbles to the log and latches on. Bryn too throws an arm over and kicks out.

Ivor digs his feet into the muddy ground below the surface and drives forward with all of his might. Steeping one foot strongly over another in a charge. Arms locked outward braced against the tree. The fallen tree is now a barge, a raft that carries the entire crew in a race for their lives.

The monster is near now. Right in the forest, descending to the bank. Ivor can smell it now, it is so close.

"Mac Hannoc!" Ivor yells.

Maeriks sees his fleeting chance. He turns away from the alligators and leaps out towards the tree barge. Thorn reaches out a hand and pulls the big Dannein in. Both of the men kick and help build momentum.

Ivor gives a last shove when his legs leave the ground. Instantly he is in full stride of a strong swim, arms still braced against the back end of the tree. He drives the wood forward through the water like a spear gliding from a strong throw.

Ivor hears the Voice now. The Slug is right behind him. Glaaki speaks to him, calling him back.

Now his ears are beneath the surface of the water. It is silent. He knows this silence, the silence of swimming and diving.

His mind is on Nangh Stuc now. It is like he is back there and has never left. The quiet calm of the water brings him comfort. He breaths out while he is underwater, purging his lungs of spent air. Calmly he raises his head to take in another breath. When his head rises up, he can hear the screams. Moaning sounds of despair. Who is it?

No matter. He puts his head back down. Back into the quiet of the water.

He can hear the churn of his legs. He is locked to the log, like an engine on its end, driving it forward. Strong steady kicks. He is getting a smooth speed now.

He breaths out underwater.

He kicks on and on. He has to drown out the Voice. He cannot listen to the screams. He has to stay in the quiet calm of the water.

He drives onward faster and faster, swimming as if his life depended on it. And he knows that it does.

Ivor success Athletics.

Despite Rhone's warning it is impossible not to look back.

The Monster is in the water now.

The zombies continue to crawl from Its back, wading in, trying to cross.

The horror is staggering. Overwhelming. It seems that all is lost. The world itself is cracking all around them.

The scrapes of the thorns tearing his skin - he is starting to feel it now.

He has her. He can see her black hair just below his eyes. He will not stop running. The north wind cannot catch him now. The Beast is too slow. Nothing can stop him from carrying her away this time. He will never stop. Cera is safe with him. He has her in his arms.

Kray can see the others now. They are running too.

The thorns are shredding everyone, but it does not matter. It is more important to move.

Ivor has Doirind.

Thorn and Bryn are driving one another forward, near to one another side to side.

Maeriks is crashing through like a mad bull, one bag over his shoulder, another clutched to his chest.

Kray still hears the voice, but it is quieting away now. Fading.

The darkness hangs in the air, but the pressure begins to subside.

She is still in his arms. He will not lose her again.

Still they drive on in silence. Kray cannot stop running. He cannot speak, not yet.

He finally makes eye contact with Thorn. Thorn says nothing and they run on further.

He can feel the fluid on his arms now. He realizes that it is not only rain. Now it is blood that flows. His arms are stinging, and now his eyes are too.

Kray wipes his eye, and sees the blood on his hand. These scrapes are bad. Now he notices the same cuts on the others.

He has shielded her from the most of it though. She is in his arms. She is alright. Her red hair drapes over her face. She is unconscious, but breathing. She is safe now.

Kray slows down to a halt.

"Stop." he says aloud. Quietly at first and then he gathers himself enough to repeat it.

The others are slowing to a trot. They look at Kray carrying Sorcha Rhone.

His halt seems to give everyone an anchor, a place to rally. Everyone approaches. Still no one talks.

They just look at one another and at the woods around them. Trying to bring the world back together. Slowly gaining focus.

Slowly. Second by second. Their thoughts return to them. They can gather themselves. They can remember.

Without speaking a word, but understanding each other perfectly, they realize that they have done it.

They have escaped.

Escaped the terror, the despair, the slavery of Glaaki.