Bunnies, Boating, and Bullywugs
Amrynn
The lingering scent of damp wood and the faint, metallic tang of recent conflict still cling to my robes, a testament to the morning’s exertions. It is a peculiar sensation, this blend of the mundane and the utterly fantastical, a constant reminder of the unpredictable nature of the Feywild.
We found ourselves upon a precarious wooden walkway, leading to the central stump that served as the lair of Agdon Longscarf. The thick mist obscured our view, a natural veil that both concealed and hinted at unseen dangers. Barnabus confirmed our suspicions: no immediate patrols, though the echoes of our previous skirmishes likely heralded our approach. The decision was clear: confront Agdon. The residents of Hither, those unfortunate souls trapped in this realm, deserved our intervention.
Our stealthy approach was met not with a roar of challenge, but with a peculiar, almost theatrical, musical performance. Agdon, accompanied by a harengon on bagpipes, launched into a rather… spirited, if somewhat off-key, song. It was a bizarre prelude to combat. He wielded a hot branding iron and a dagger, instruments of pain rather than elegance. His initial lunge, a surprisingly swift maneuver, nearly incapacitated Melina, the branding iron leaving a peculiar, disorienting effect in its wake. He moved with an almost unnatural speed, a blur across the room, striking and retreating, making him a frustratingly elusive target. We, in turn, responded with a combination of steel and arcane energy, chipping away at his defenses. The final blow, delivered by Melina, sent him reeling, his head striking a sharp point on Gary’s shell with a rather unceremonious thud.
With Agdon’s defeat, the remaining harengons, their bravado evaporated, immediately surrendered. Their adherence to the “Rule of Ownership” was fascinating; they simply ceded Agdon’s possessions to us. We acquired his scarf, armor, and weapons, along with a rather eclectic collection from his chest. The harengons also provided crucial intelligence: Agdon paid tribute to Bavlorna Brightstraw, collected by her miniature counterparts, the Lornlings. They also mentioned the availability of skiffs, a welcome piece of information. Barnabus, ever the pragmatist, dispatched one of the harengons to the Inn at the End of the Road to spread the news of Agdon’s demise, ensuring the message was delivered with a rather forced, yet effective, apology.
We decided to rest within the stump, a brief respite before continuing our journey towards Downfall. The skiff proved a suitable vessel, carrying us downriver. The current gradually slowed, the river widened, and the distinct croaking of bullywugs echoed in the distance. Two rowboats, manned by these amphibious creatures, emerged from the mist. My greeting, a simple “Hello there,” was met with a surprisingly formal response in Sylvan: “Welcome to Downfall. Our King Gullop the 19th would like to meet you, head to the dock at the balloon factory and through to the gazebo.”
Upon docking, another bullywug directed us towards the king, instructing us to pass through the Balloon Factory. Our path to the factory, however, was interrupted by a series of stepping stones and a rather demanding marrow. This creature, rising from the water, demanded a magic item as a toll. I inquired about the feasibility of such a steep price, and it presented a simple mirror, indicating the payment that a previous toll-payer had forfeited. I offered a mundane candle, explaining its “magical” property of providing light for several hours. The marrow, seemingly satisfied with this rather understated magical offering, allowed us to pass.
The Balloon Factory itself was a scene of considerable disarray, charred and smoking. A distressed bullywug, later identified as Duke Ickrind, frantically attempted to douse embers with a bucket of water, though the embers seemed to possess a mischievous sentience, dancing out of his reach, a curious phenomenon of the Feywild. Duke Ickrind, the factory supervisor, expressed his frustration with King Gullop, blaming him for not standing up to Bavlorna Brightstraw. He thanked us for our assistance with the fires and, rather conspiratorially, suggested that the king’s removal might benefit us all. His plan, a rather audacious one, involved dropping large rocks onto the king from a balloon. The balloon, he explained, was staged but required an experienced pilot, a role likely only fillable by Morgort, who is imprisoned for aiding Sir Talavar’s escape. Despite his machinations, Duke Ickrind advised us to proceed to the king, as our arrival was already known. The path to the gazebo, marked by a rather grim display of bullywug heads on pikes, suggests that King Gullop’s reign is not without its… deterrents.
The day has been a series of calculated risks and unexpected encounters. We have dispatched a troublesome brigand, acquired valuable intelligence, and now find ourselves embroiled in the political machinations of Downfall. The motivations of King Gullop and Duke Ickrind remain to be fully unraveled, and the true nature of Bavlorna Brightstraw’s influence continues to be a pressing concern. The path ahead is uncertain, but the clues, like scattered pieces of a complex puzzle, are beginning to emerge. We must proceed with caution, for in the Feywild, even the most seemingly innocuous encounter can conceal a deeper, more perilous truth.