The Jungle's Claw #033
General Summary
Game date: 11th through 17th day of the Firefly, Year 13944
The Rustleech cut through the polluted waters of the River Vo with resolute determination, its Brinkburn engines thrumming a mechanical song that echoed across the murky surface. Milemarker 90 marked their progress northward toward Grizburg, that foreboding border city between the familiar wilds of Kanonos and the dreaded Kalnith Jungle—domain of Sythara, the Witch of Nepos. The companions had settled into a rhythm aboard the vessel, earning respect among the goblin crew through their earlier heroics against Vaersliss, the River's Coil.
Dawn broke with bands of crimson and amber stretching across the eastern sky, revealing wisps of smoke on the horizon. As the source drew nearer, the crew grew tense, muttering about House Greenglade's vessel, the Golden Reed, and its captain, Streak Haldar. To their relief, another Iron Wake ship rounded the bend instead—the Ironheart Volant, commanded by Captain Vraxa Spineforger, Malista's sworn blood-sister. The vessels slowed as they passed one another, crews exchanging boisterous greetings across the water. Captain Spineforger's crew called out warnings of a white crocodile spotted near Croc Snap Falls, some five miles upriver. The beast had reportedly attacked villagers in recent days.
Kurgan Weinrich grew noticeably uncomfortable during the exchange, pulling his hood lower and stepping back from the rail. When questioned by Fouk, he muttered about keeping a low profile and avoiding unnecessary attention. "I don't need any more people than necessary knowing I've left the tavern to head north," he confided, showing rare concern about their mission's discretion.
Thronn's ranger instincts prickled as they continued upriver. His keen eyes detected movement among the trees lining the riverbank—the unmistakable forms of Kurnok tribespeople following the Rustleech's progress. These were not the western Kurnok he had once befriended, but eastern clans known for their cannibalistic appetites and primal hostility. He counted thirty to forty warriors moving with practiced stealth, tracking the vessel with predatory focus.
The half-orc ranger alerted the crew, but found his warnings dismissed with casual indifference. "The eastern Kurnok always watch the river traffic," one goblin deckhand explained, barely glancing toward the tree line. "They'll not risk attacking an Iron Wake vessel." Still, Thronn remained vigilant, his instincts screaming that something about this particular group warranted concern.
Below decks, Fouk pursued his curiosity about the Rustleech's mysterious cargo. The shadowy corridors of the hold beckoned with secrets, and the Vorcian thief had never been one to resist such temptations. Durlag Steamgrip, the dwarven chief engineer, proved a willing drinking companion but revealed little about their cargo despite Fouk's skilled prodding. "Talk to the captain about that," he deflected, turning conversations back toward engines and fuel.
Vixla Fleetfoot, the ship's quartermaster, proved more forthcoming after several rounds of the ship's harsh spirits. "House Iron Wake isn't just shipping cargo," she confided in hushed tones. "We're mapping the river's magical currents for some big ritual Slazgar is planning." When pressed further, she spoke of growing tensions with Nepos ever since the Witch overthrew the royal family nearly a decade prior. Grizburg, it seemed, was preparing for something momentous.
While exploring a neglected corner of the cargo hold, Fouk discovered a peculiar storage locker with strange arcane etchings around its lock. Inside lay jars containing preserved river specimens suspended in murky liquid, each labeled with dates and obscure magical symbols. The desert-born rogue carefully opened one jar, finding its contents reacted violently with the air—a bubbling compound that nearly burned his fingers. The acrid mixture, he realized, would make an excellent catalyst for his poison-crafting endeavors.
Opening another jar brought no immediate danger, but that night Fouk's dreams were haunted by massive eyes watching from beneath the river's surface. He sensed a primal awareness studying him, following the Rustleech's progress with predatory patience. Something ancient had marked his face, recognized his intrusion into its collection of strange specimens.
In the stuffy confines of his quarters, BöötMóöntch endured a misadventure far removed from his usual confrontations with the undead. The blood hunter had unwisely accepted a challenge from Lockjaw Ghurak to sample "Kraken's Revenge" – a notorious goblin brew distilled from river fungus and engine room metal shavings. Each painful spasm evoked visions of his childhood near the Dead God Site in northeastern Kanonos, where corrupted celestial energies first transformed him. As he purged the noxious spirits, BöötMóöntch noticed how the poison's passage resonated with his blood magic, each violent evacuation oddly clarifying his connection to darker powers. Between urgent rushes to the chamber pot, he documented these observations in his "Undead Registry of Kanonos" journal, theorizing connections between mundane toxins and supernatural corruption that might illuminate the nature of the polluted waters they traversed.
Meanwhile, Sherman ventured into the animal pens at the stern, where various captured beasts were kept in deplorable conditions. Among them, he found a half-starved saber-toothed tiger in a filthy cage—the very same beast he had attempted to tame during their earlier adventures with Azsmuntch. After negotiating with the goblin handler called Rustic, Sherman purchased the magnificent creature for 110 gold pieces, along with its meager supply of rancid meat.
The massive goliath fashioned a sturdy harness and leash from scavenged materials, speaking softly to the fearful predator. He cleaned its squalid cage, offering fresh water from his own supply and—most significantly—sharing his precious store of enchanted elder tree stag meat. The magical venison worked remarkable changes, the cat's gaunt frame filling out as strength returned to its powerful limbs. Intelligence sparked in its amber eyes, forming a bond with Sherman that transcended mere animal training.
The meat puppets on Sherman's hands—Gherman and Vorrin Shadowleaf—observed the proceedings with their typical contrasting reactions. These weren't mere puppets but the preserved remains of his fallen brother and a captured elf, transformed through the Goliath matriarch's disturbing flesh-shaping arts into sentient appendages. Sherman crafted a small double saddle, allowing his unusual companions to ride astride the great cat during their allowed periods of separation from his hands. Vorrin, ever the imperious elf, suggested the arrangement might prove preferable to his usual perch on Sherman's meaty digits.
By midday, the Rustleech approached Croc Snap Falls, where a tributary joined the River Vo in a dramatic cascade of polluted waters. The vessel navigated the area without incident, though many eyes scanned the churning waters for signs of the infamous white crocodile. Thronn noted that the descriptions he'd heard suggested a creature far larger than Quinti, the albino crocodile that took his pinky finger in childhood. The beast had either grown to monstrous proportions or the reports were wild exaggerations.
The Kurnok shadows continued their patient stalking along the shore, their numbers seemingly growing as the day progressed. When Thronn attempted to warn Kurgan of the potential threat, he found the mercenary deeply engrossed in papers and designs spread across his quarters, dismissing the ranger's concerns with uncharacteristic distraction. "This is Kurnok. It's not out of the ordinary. Don't worry about it," Kurgan muttered without looking up.
Captain Malista Tinmaw proved equally inaccessible, sending word that she could not be disturbed. The crew continued their duties with practiced efficiency, paying little mind to Thronn's warnings. Even when he described the unusual number of tribespeople tracking them, experienced deckhands merely promised to "keep an eye out" while clearly doubting his assessment.
The hours of daylight waned as the Rustleech continued its northward journey. Milestone 140 marked their approach to a treacherous stretch known as the Serpent's Mirror—a widening, shallowing region of river resembling the Everglades, where precise navigation became critical to avoid running aground. The ominous stretch opened before them like a vast black pool, pollution-slicked waters reflecting the darkening sky in grotesque distortion.
As twilight descended, the tree line thinned, revealing more of the polluted sky and exposing the Kurnok war party that had shadowed them for miles. No longer concealed, the tribespeople unleashed flaming arrows that arced toward the vessel, bursting on impact into viscous, green napalm-like fire. The flames licked harmlessly at the treated hull of the Rustleech, causing minimal damage but announcing clear hostile intent.
The crew's reaction proved telling—not panic, but resignation tinged with annoyance. They had clearly weathered such attacks before, suggesting routine harassment rather than genuine threat. Yet Thronn's vigilance revealed a more sinister element: three high shamans positioned strategically along the riverbank ahead, their primitive yet powerful magic gathering force as the ship approached.
Sherman remained below with his newfound companion, whose intelligence and strength continued to grow with each passing hour. The giant cat purred contentedly against its savior's chest, its once-dull eyes now gleaming with preternatural awareness—a side effect of the enchanted meat working changes beyond mere physical recovery.
From his quarters, Kurgan continued pouring over his mysterious documents, seemingly oblivious to the attack above. Whatever mission had drawn him north from his tavern clearly consumed his thoughts more thoroughly than the immediate danger. The captain, too, remained conspicuously absent from the deck during the initial barrage.
BöötMóöntch, the aasimar blood hunter, maintained his vigil from the crow's nest, his corrupted celestial heritage granting him unique insights into the gathering shadows. His pale skin, lined with dark veins, seemed to absorb the fading light rather than reflect it. Through narrowed eyes, he studied the Kurnok shamans, recognizing patterns of necromantic energy in their ritualistic movements.
Fouk considered the strange specimens he had discovered, wondering at their connection to the river's magical currents Vixla had mentioned. What ritual could Slazgar Two-Eyes be planning that required such detailed mapping? And how might it relate to the growing tensions with Nepos and Sythara, whose mechanical eye was said to pierce veils of truth that mortal sight could not penetrate? These questions burned in his mind as the Rustleech pushed deeper into territory grown increasingly hostile.
As the vessel navigated the dangerous shallows of the Serpent's Mirror, the companions prepared for the escalating Kurnok attack. The flaming arrows represented merely the opening salvo, with the true threat posed by the shamans whose ancient magic gathered power on the shore ahead. The polluted waters reflected flames and starlight in equal measure, a fitting backdrop for the confrontation unfolding between industrial might and primal sorcery.
The Rustleech pressed onward through the Serpent's Mirror, its iron-reinforced hull cutting through the shallow waters as Captain Tinmaw's crew navigated the treacherous passage with practiced skill. Ahead lay Grizburg and whatever strange destiny Kurgan had enlisted them to fulfill—behind, the familiar lands of Kanonos faded into memory. Between stood the Kurnok shamans, their primitive magic a bridge between worlds old and new, wild and tamed, each with their own terrible price to pay.
Thronn's hand drifted to his bow, memories of his previous encounters with the Kurnok flooding back. He had betrayed the Bloodclaw to them, a decision that had set in motion a chain of Events culminating in the tribe's slaughter by his father, Chief Gruznak. Now, it seemed, the eastern Kurnok sought vengeance for their massacred kin. The ranger's jaw tightened as he prepared to face the consequences of his past actions.
Rewards Granted
Items Found:
* Jar of alchemical catalyst – A specimen that dissolves into a bubbling compound when exposed to air. Doubles the potency of the user's next poison crafting attempt.* Collection of river specimens – Various jars containing preserved aquatic creatures and samples from the River Vo, labeled with dates and arcane symbols.
Consumed Items:
* 110 gold pieces – Paid by Sherman to purchase the saber-toothed tiger* 58% of remaining Elder Tree Stag meat – Fed to the saber-toothed tiger by Sherman
* Water from Sherman's water skin – Used to hydrate the tiger
XP Awards:
* Fouk: 800 XP – Gathering intelligence about the ship's mission and discovering the specimen collection* Thronn: 800 XP – Spotting and assessing the Kurnok threat, identifying the high shamans
* Sherman: 800 XP – Successfully bonding with the saber-toothed tiger and improving its condition
* BöötMóöntch: 800 XP – Identifying necromantic elements from the explosive goblin-trots. XP TRACKER
BootMoontch
Fouk Shadim
Neutral Evil Variant Human (Criminal / Spy)
Rogue 5
Artificer 4
Rogue 5
Artificer 4
66 / 66 HP
STR
9
9
DEX
20
20
CON
15
15
INT
15
15
WIS
8
8
CHA
8
8
Thronn Zamda
Gherman
Lawfull Evil Goliath (Outlander)
Barbarian 4
Barbarian 4
45 / 45 HP
STR
19
19
DEX
14
14
CON
17
17
INT
9
9
WIS
13
13
CHA
7
7
Report Date
22 Mar 2025
Primary Location
Secondary Location
Related Plots
Related Characters
Comments