FIELD REPORT: DAY ONE 1500. I have now survived long enough to file a third report. I am choosing to view this as a good sign.
The boat remains magical and self-propelled. It continues to do so without explanation. I have made a note to investigate this later, when we are not being followed by an undead hulk walking the sea floor directly beneath us.
That is still happening, by the way. The behemoth. Walking. Patient as a tide. We are choosing not to address this today.
On the matter of the behemoth — a recovered note
Before we pushed out from the wreckage of the Compass Rose, I conducted what I consider a thorough and responsible sweep of the captain’s quarters. Among several items of interest was a note, water-damaged but legible, and an amulet — which we subsequently recovered from the creature that transformed into the very hulk now trailing us across the sea floor.
I am reproducing the note here in full, because I believe it is the kind of document that deserves to exist somewhere other than my coat pocket:
Alertha promised to me that she would arrive almost nine moons ago now. My heart is in tatters. I wish I had gone with her. Her journeys, her adventures, but all I wanted to do was carve these stupid statues like an imbecile. But the ships frightened me, they still do. And the stone called to me, it still does. And I could never let the love of my life suffer in a place she thought boring. I could never let her wither away without her passions, as I could never be away from the marble of my work. So she left, and I stayed. We said 2 years apart. At first I was so angry. I wished her dead. But now I wish that she simply grew bored of me. That she fell in love with the seas, maybe found someone in Neverwinter, and maybe they got a pet songbird like she always wanted. I hope that’s what happened. And I hope that in death, perhaps I can see her again. No! If I get one wish then I hope to hear her laugh again, to hear her snort and cackle like a maniac. Just one more time, even if only in death. Until then I shall carve only the most magnificent statues I can muster. Of sights and creatures so marvelous, that if Alertha could have seen them, perhaps she would never have wanted to leave.
I do not know the name of the person who wrote this. I do not know what became of Alertha. I know that the creature walking the sea floor behind us was wearing the amulet found with this letter, and that whatever it once was, it is not that anymore.
I have filed this under things I am still thinking about. I expect it will stay there.
Waiting on the tide — a brief interlude, and the wine
We could not enter the cave until high tide receded at noon. This gave the NEST approximately half a morning with nothing to do but sit with the island and each other.
Mr. Brugan used some of this time to share something.
He is looking for a friend. Agnus. He did not say much more than that, but the way he said it was enough. He mentioned Litadel Felbarn — a dwarven stronghold — in a way that told me there is history there he is not ready to lay out in full. I did not press. Some things are in the telling when they’re ready, not before.
I reached into my pack.
During my sweep of the Compass Rose I had, in addition to the note, recovered six bottles of wine from the captain’s quarters — good ones, the kind a captain keeps for herself. I produced two bottles and handed them to Mr. Brugan without a word. One to Ms. Mephista. One to Mr. Aurelian.
Mr. Brugan went quiet in the way people go quiet when something lands correctly.
I noted this. I note it here too.
Operational note: a person who receives a bottle of wine well is a person worth understanding better. I am adding this to my working assessment of Mr. Brugan.
An aerial observation worth logging
During transit across the water, I noted two winged kobolds above the tree line.
They were carrying what I assessed, through focused observation and the better of my two lenses, to be a dragon skull. They were heading inland. Toward the island’s center.
I recorded this. I said nothing. No one else looked up.
Operational note: something on this island is collecting draconic remains, or moving them, or both. The skull was not small. This was not casual transport. File under: requires further investigation once the current threats stop multiplying.
The octopus situation
We approached the cave of the Able Mushroom Folk by water.
I should note: this mission originated with Mr. Taurak, a local contact and friend to the mushroom folk, who tasked us with delivering a quantity of fertilizer to them — for food. Mr. Brugan has been carrying it. The smell is considerable. Mr. Brugan does not appear to mind the smell, which I find either admirable or alarming and have not yet determined which.
I had prepared a set of enhanced stones — common pebbles, modified through careful application of my artificer’s toolkit — designed to create a distraction sufficient to draw the octopus away from our path. The plan was sound.
Mr. Aurelian attempted to solve this problem by falling into the water, which would have been a distraction, yes, but not the kind we wanted.
Mr. Brugan executed the actual throw. All of the stones. Every single one, placed with commitment. The octopus turned. We moved.
This held until we reached the cave entrance.
The octopus took the boat. Mr. Yaz was still asleep in it. Two tentacles came over the hull before Mr. Brugan and the others cut them free. The creature returned to depth. The boat held. Mr. Yaz did not stir.
Operational note: Mr. Yaz’s capacity to sleep through structural threats to the vessel he is sleeping in remains, statistically speaking, extraordinary.
The Able Mushroom Folk — assessment
Inside the cave, two of the Able Mushroom Folk received us. They are — for the record — myconids by biological classification: fungal beings of considerable age and complexity, capable of forming vast underground networks. The folk of this cavern have made it their home for longer than I care to estimate.
They did not speak first. They released spores.
A noticeable dispersal — into the air, into our lungs, presumably — and then, without ceremony, we were communicating in common. Telepathically. I have noted this as one of the more efficient introductions I have experienced on this expedition.
Their report, once we were connected:
- The cavern’s ventilation had failed.
- Their kind were getting sick.
- Their leader — ancient, enormous, deep in the network — had gone motionless.
We delivered Mr. Taurak’s fertilizer. We went deeper.
The leader was decaying but not gone. Mr. Aurelian placed hands on the creature and brought it back to life, which I will describe as “within expected parameters for Mr. Aurelian” and leave it at that.
The great mushroom folk elder, upon drawing breath, sealed a fissure in the rock wall. Whatever was on the other side of that fissure I cannot say with certainty. I can say the elder sealed it with urgency.
It then informed us that something was blocking the air further in.
We went to find it.
The obstruction — neutralized
Deep in the cave network, we found the problem. Or rather, Ms. Mephista found it first.
She moved ahead of the group without announcement and without detection — slipping through the dark the way she does, which is to say completely — observed the obstruction and the guards, and returned to relay what she had seen. Two flame drakes. A crystal, suspended near the air vent, blocking it entirely. Inside the crystal: a dragonoid creature, bound, looking out at the world with the specific expression of something that has been in there for a very long time.
I took this intelligence and went to work.
I retrieved the Feathers Mark IV Ascent Apparatus from my pack — a flying device, refined through considerable personal iteration — and it carried me upward toward the crystal without detection. The flame drakes remained unaware. I reached it, deployed the Class-B Dimensional Containment Cooler, applied tinkerer’s tools to the mounting point, and clipped the obstruction free.
It dropped. The cooler caught it. The pocket dimension held.
The air vent opened.
At this moment, the Ascent Apparatus emitted its calibration tone. This tone is, functionally, a precision-steadying mechanism. It is melodic. It is also loud. The flame drakes became aware of our position.
The party dispatched them. We retreated to the elder without further loss.
Operational note: Ms. Mephista performed the reconnaissance. I performed the extraction. Between the two of us, the operation was a model of coordinated field work. The tone is a feature. It worked exactly as designed.
Current situation — end of day
The elder of the Able Mushroom Folk breathes. The cave network ventilates. The obstruction is contained in a pocket dimension in my cooler, which I am keeping a close eye on.
We are at day’s end.
Somewhere below the water, the behemoth continues walking. It is not in a hurry. It doesn’t need to be. But it is getting closer, and by my calculations it is running out of sea floor between us.
We will rest while we can.
In summary: one note recovered and filed, one aerial threat logged, one aquatic threat repelled twice, one ancient mushroom folk elder resurrected, one sealed draconic entity relocated to my personal inventory, and two flame drakes dispatched.
We remain theoretically adjacent to being fine.
— Dr. Waxyl T. Feathers Field Correspondent, The Nest Stormwreck Expedition, Day 1 1500