Entry #49 - The Haze and the Goblins’ Secrets (Session LVIII)

The haze was alive tonight, curling through the fungal chamber like the breath of some unseen beast. It clung to the dragon-carved stone, dimming their grandeur beneath a phosphorescent shroud. I felt the threads of fate stir as we stepped inside — Savras’s gaze upon us, the weave shifting in ways only He could see.
Draxon’s fury came first, tearing vines from the earth, turning the ground into a living snare. His axe, Sweet Nature, shattered the skeleton before him, scattering bone dust into the glow. Jean Marie’s scimitar cut down a twig blight with farmer’s precision, and Felonious’s magic missiles burst the last of them into splinters.
But the chamber fought back in subtler ways. As the blights fell, clouds of mushroom spores billowed into the air, drifting like ghostly pollen. Draxon and Jean Marie breathed them in before they could turn away — I saw Draxon’s jaw tighten against the sting, and Jean Marie cough sharply, his stance faltering for a heartbeat. The haze seemed to cling to them more heavily after that, as if marking them. I kept my distance, the spores swirling harmlessly past me, and silently thanked Savras for the foresight to hold my ground.
From the skeleton’s remains I claimed a black tabard marked with a pale red tree, a rusted shovel, and a pouch of copper coins — relics of some long-forgotten gardener.
Felonious tested doors east and south, finding one unlocked and picking the other. His study of the mushroom pile, aided by my Guidance, revealed no magic, though the spores were best avoided. Above, a circular hole spilled vines into the chamber — perhaps a path to Durn, the goblin chief. Jean Marie rewarded the kobolds for their aid and warned them from the mushrooms. A mold spider dropped onto one, but the kobold dispatched it swiftly.
We opened the east door into a haze-filled hall lined with dragon-carved marble columns, their details muted beneath fungus. Cracked cobbles stretched between scattered tables, each cluttered with herbalist tools. I sent Uttu ahead; through his eyes I heard muffled movement and the clink of metal. Jean Marie’s healing touch steadied Draxon, and under Burnell’s Pass Without a Trace we entered in formation, kobolds posted to watch the doors.
My investigation confirmed the tools were for herbalism; my nature sense revealed experiments on poisonous and healing properties, perhaps tied to the magical apples we sought. The implements formed a full herbalism kit, and the supplies could be assembled into a healer’s kit.
Felonious scouted: four sleeping goblins in the north; goblin commoners stomping something in a tub, kegs nearby; leather armor repairs in the middle north; a diseased rat strapped to a bench in the bottom center, tumors like twig blight polyps bulging from its flesh; an empty, debris-filled bottom right room with a possible tunnel upward; racks of rusted goblin weapons in the top right.
I began the Silence ritual, invoking Savras’s name under my breath, tracing the sigil of the All-Seeing in the air — but a misstep betrayed me. A goblin skirmisher burst out, screaming. My bluff as an inspector failed, and its arrow struck me deep. Draxon charged into the upper-left room, missing his swing. I Bewildered the skirmisher, giving Jean Marie advantage; with my Shared Success bonus, his scimitar cut the goblin down. The fight spread: goblins missed Draxon, one slashed Jean Marie; Felonious wounded another, Lady Oleander missed, Burrel finished it. Draxon nearly killed another, Jean Marie blocked its escape and killed it. Lady Oleander decapitated one, took a wound in return. Burrel dropped another. A surrendering goblin was cut down by Draxon without hesitation. I Bewildered the last goblin in the room; Jean Marie’s upward slash spilled its guts onto the cobbles.
The rest fled. My Bewilderment killed the first, freezing the others in fear. We locked them in the bunk room. Kobolds resisted guarding the door until Jean Marie’s silver-coin speech won them over.
The goblin commoners admitted they were making mushroom wine, hauling it to the colony via the collapsed southern room. They spoke of flasks: Liquid Courage to bolster bravery; Ash of Evan Birch, a rare birch bark salve painted in animal sigils, granting powers by placement — beak to resist charm, claw to avoid surprise, hoof to prevent raising after death, arms or shoulders for strength, back for improved saves, eyes for truesight, legs for speed, stomach for greater vitality; Gravery Agent of unknown purpose; and Potion of Effluence, shedding sunlight-bright light to blind sunlight-sensitive creatures, hinder stealth, and burn such foes with radiant harm.
We locked them in, kobolds posted, the hall ours again. From blights and skeletons to goblin skirmishers and strange brews, the haze still hangs heavy. The spores have marked Draxon and Jean Marie, a reminder that this place wages war in silence as well as steel. I feel Savras’s gaze upon me — the threads of fate tightening, the patterns in this place revealing themselves piece by piece. The vines above may lead to Durn — or to our next ambush. The mystery of the apples deepens, and the tools now in my possession may prove vital before this is done. Tomorrow, the weave will carry us forward.