Mission 6 - Book of Cylinders
General Summary
As the first rays of dawn kissed the horizon, Roux rose from her slumber with renewed determination. The fate of her petrified comrades weighed heavily upon her, and so she set forth in search of potions of greater restoration. Her journey led her across the courtyard of Candlekeep, where the ever-vigilant Guard Captain Gloomdown greeted her with a knowing nod. Roux recounted the plight of her fallen friends, her voice resolute. When she inquired about adventurers who might lend aid, Gloomdown directed her to an Avowed in need of capable hands.
The Avowed, a Copper Dragonborn named Pelk, was said to reside within The Hearth, the famed inn of Candlekeep. Roux entered the lively establishment, its air thick with the scent of roasted meats and spiced cider. Amongst the throng of patrons, the Copper Dragonborn was easy to spot, draped in the scholar’s robes of the Avowed. Determined to make an impression, Roux struck a heroic pose at the bar, flexing her arms as if daring fate itself. Pelk, amused by the display, approached with a measured gait, cradling a green-bound tome in her arms.
“Please forgive the interruption,” Pelk said with a nod. “I am Pelk, and I speak for the Avowed. You are adventurers, are you not?”
She then unfurled a tale of dire need. The grippli, a community of frogfolk dwelling to the north, had long provided Candlekeep with fresh seafood, their livelihood built upon the careful cultivation of giant crabs. But in recent weeks, their trade had all but ceased, and whispers spread of shadowy serpents prowling the Cloakwood and the grippli’s village.
Pelk extended the book she carried—the Book of Cylinders. “This tome came to Candlekeep years ago, not as history, but as a warning,” she said gravely.
The book was no ordinary text. Its cover, supple leather bound with strips of hardened hide, concealed three wooden cylinders, each intricately carved with pictographs. The first told of the grippli’s prosperity, celebrating their crab harvests as wealth filled their coffers. The second depicted a darker tale—the serpents came, striking without mercy, laying waste to the village as the giant crabs fled into the sea. The final cylinder painted a grim picture of the aftermath—the village abandoned, its temple seized by the snake-like invaders.
Roux would not stand alone in this endeavor. Two others had pledged their strength: Chanaia, an elven bard of fiery red hair and emerald eyes, and Faynt, a towering human clad in makeshift armor, wielding a maul forged from scrap metal. As they discussed the coming journey, Faynt excused himself with an unapologetic declaration of nature’s call, leaving Pelk to introduce another key figure—Mitor Jans, a seasoned ship captain.
Jans, eager to see trade restored, had volunteered his vessel, the Dog Ear, to ferry the adventurers to the grippli’s trading post. Roux, ever the skilled negotiator, secured two potions of greater restoration as their reward, ensuring that her comrades would be restored in due time. She also agreed to pay Chanaia and Faynt their due from her own coin purse, a testament to her unwavering loyalty.
The journey was set. By sea, they would travel westward to the trading post, a crucial waypoint before venturing into the heart of the grippli’s plight. As the ship cut through the mist-shrouded waters, the looming shore came into view. Ramshackle shelters clustered around a fortified structure, and the low murmur of frogfolk voices greeted their arrival. Armed grippli stood watch at the docks, their webbed fingers tight around primitive weapons, their distrust evident. Mitor Jans, fluent in their guttural Primordial tongue, stepped forward as their intermediary.
Inside the central edifice, the adventurers met the grippli’s venerable leader, the Pond Mother. With sorrow in her eyes, she recounted the tragedy that had befallen her people. A group of yuan-ti had come, speaking of a deity named Sseth and requesting to restore an ancient temple. But then another band of yuan-ti followed, this time with bloodlust in their hearts. They razed the village, slaughtered the defenders, and stole away the helpless. Worst of all, they now feasted upon the grippli’s eggs, ensuring their victims’ extinction.
The plea was clear: rescue the remaining grippli, recover the stolen eggs, and drive out the yuan-ti. The village, overrun by serpentine invaders, lay but a mile inland, beyond the treacherous crab maze. The grippli had long bred giant crabs in submerged cages, but now, with their caretakers gone, hunger gnawed at the creatures’ instincts, making the waters perilous.
As the adventurers set forth across the maze of pontoons and rickety walkways, the sea itself stirred. Three giant crabs emerged from the depths, their claws snapping hungrily. Roux loosed a dart, positioning herself near Chanaia. The bard wove a spell of radiant light, but its brilliance betrayed their presence, drawing the attention of unseen eyes within the village. Faynt, calling upon the mystic arts of the Echo Knight, summoned the spectral shade of his own past self. His brother-in-arms struck, felling one of the creatures as Roux wounded another, sending it scuttling away in retreat.
But Chanaia, ever the charmer, reached into the heart of the sea. With whispered words and an open palm, she bound the will of a giant crab, turning the once-ravenous beast into an unlikely ally. As more crabs emerged, their newfound companion turned upon its kin, clambering atop one while Chanaia tamed another as her mount.
The party gazed upon the Grippli village, nestled near the sea in a brackish marsh. Rising from the muck were circular, domed mud-brick dwellings, humble yet sturdy homes and storage spaces for the frogfolk. The remnants of giant crabs—weathered carapaces and claws—adorned their structures, testament to their way of life. Across the village’s outskirts, four figures stood watching—two Grippli, their amphibian forms hunched and wary, and two Yuan-ti, grotesque amalgamations of serpent and human. Roux and Faynt mounted the giant crab beside Chanaia and guided their unlikely steed along the water’s edge toward the settlement. When they reached the river’s mouth, a tense parley began across the fifty-foot expanse. Faynt, ever the deceiver, brandished a scrap of paper, claiming it bore an important message in Draconic. Roux set down her spear while Chanaia brandished hers, showcasing its decorated shaft. Before words could solidify their ruse, the crab surged forward, its monstrous bulk trampling the Yuan-ti into the muck. As their serpentine foes lay prone, Faynt leapt from the crab’s back, calling forth the spectral shade of his lost brother. The phantom warrior descended upon the fallen creatures, striking with relentless force. The Yuan-ti retaliated, their blades flashing as they stabbed at the crab’s exposed underbelly. The beast reared up in agony, dislodging Roux, who landed nimbly before driving her boot into the face of a wounded Yuan-ti until its features were an unrecognisable pulp. With a swift movement, she vaulted back onto the crab’s shell. Chanaia seized the moment, leaping high and driving her yklwa deep into another foe before narrowly avoiding the crab’s frantic descent. Wounded and panicked, the giant crab fled. Roux slid off its back towards the remaining Yuan-ti, delivering a barrage of blows that left it unconscious. The party wasted no time, binding their captive before turning their attention to the two Grippli, who, though weak and malnourished, carried the weight of dire knowledge. Though they spoke only their native tongue, Roux’s enchanted helm allowed her to understand their words. The Grippli warned of fourteen more Yuan-ti lurking within the village’s largest structure. The building, a massive hemispherical edifice of wood and mud bricks, loomed ominously over the ruined village. Determined to press on, the party made their way toward the building. As they walked, Roux, whether from drink or misstep, found herself floundering in a shallow pool of marsh water. The wind carried their approach unseen, but the Grippli, anxious and unwilling to enter the building, gestured toward the brood pools. On the village’s outskirts stood five well-like enclosures, each surrounded by three-foot-high mud-brick walls. These pools of fresh, clean water served as the nurseries where the Grippli laid their eggs and nurtured their young. Now, they were under the watchful guard of six Yuan-ti. Never ones to waste an opportunity for destruction, Chanaia vanished in a misty step, appearing atop the thatched roof of the temple. There, she unstoppered eight bottles of oil, drenching the dry straw. Meanwhile, Faynt readied himself at the building’s only entrance, fire gleaming in his eyes. The inferno that followed was immense. Flames roared into the sky as screams echoed from within. Even as the building blazed, cries arose from the brood pools. Four Yuan-ti managed to escape the doomed structure, only to be swiftly cut down by the waiting adventurers. But the battle was not yet over. From the direction of the brood pools came six more Yuan-ti, their weapons drawn and their rage palpable. The clash was inevitable. As Faynt’s spectral echo surged into the fray, Chanaia prepared to harness the elements, vines at the ready to ensnare their foes. Yet in the midst of battle, a sudden thought struck Roux—had they just burned the good Yuan-ti alive?
The six Yuan-ti pressed their attack with scimitars flashing and longbows singing death. Chanaia, ever the cunning spellcaster, called upon nature’s wrath, weaving a spell that sent thorned vines erupting from the earth to ensnare their foes. Yet her magic faltered as one of the serpentfolk whispered insidious words, a suggestion spell twisting her focus. Snarling in defiance, Chanaia plunged her hand into the raging inferno of the temple, channeling the very flames into a searing arc that lashed toward the Yuan-ti, turning their scaled flesh to cinders. Roux, a whirlwind of motion, caught an arrow mid-flight and sent it sailing back into its sender’s gut. With a predator’s grace, she wove between the enemy, fists striking like a tempest, each blow met with a sickening crunch. No blade or fanged bite could land upon her; she was there and gone in the same breath. Faynt, the stalwart defender, moved to shield his companions, his spectral echo dancing across the battlefield, a shifting mirage of steel and fury. Chanaia summoned orbs of celestial light, casting them toward her foes, but the elusive starry wisps failed to find their mark, streaking harmlessly into the night. One by one, the Yuan-ti fell, their cries lost beneath the crackling roar of the burning temple. As the fourth collapsed, the last two turned and fled, slithering toward the dense woods that loomed beyond the village. The party did not relent. Roux surged ahead, a blur of motion, cutting off one of the escapees with a deft maneuver. The others pressed forward, but before they could close the distance, only a single serpent remained. With speed that defied logic, Roux sprinted onward, intercepting the final Yuan-ti. She struck like lightning, holding the creature in place long enough for Faynt’s spectral brother to materialize beside them. With devastating strikes, the echo crushed the last foe beneath its phantom weapon, and the battlefield fell silent. The party turned to the temple, its skeletal remains shrouded in black smoke that coiled into the sky. In the distance, they saw the two surviving Grippli working frantically to recover the precious eggs from the brood pools, their wary eyes darting toward the looming woods. The site of the old temple lay ahead, a place where more Yuan-ti could still lurk, biding their time. Roux, ever the opportunist, set about harvesting weapons from the fallen enemies, ensuring their blades would never again be raised against the innocent. Meanwhile, Faynt and Chanaia turned toward their bound captive, stepping forward with steeled resolve. The interrogation was about to begin.
The party gazed upon the Grippli village, nestled near the sea in a brackish marsh. Rising from the muck were circular, domed mud-brick dwellings, humble yet sturdy homes and storage spaces for the frogfolk. The remnants of giant crabs—weathered carapaces and claws—adorned their structures, testament to their way of life. Across the village’s outskirts, four figures stood watching—two Grippli, their amphibian forms hunched and wary, and two Yuan-ti, grotesque amalgamations of serpent and human. Roux and Faynt mounted the giant crab beside Chanaia and guided their unlikely steed along the water’s edge toward the settlement. When they reached the river’s mouth, a tense parley began across the fifty-foot expanse. Faynt, ever the deceiver, brandished a scrap of paper, claiming it bore an important message in Draconic. Roux set down her spear while Chanaia brandished hers, showcasing its decorated shaft. Before words could solidify their ruse, the crab surged forward, its monstrous bulk trampling the Yuan-ti into the muck. As their serpentine foes lay prone, Faynt leapt from the crab’s back, calling forth the spectral shade of his lost brother. The phantom warrior descended upon the fallen creatures, striking with relentless force. The Yuan-ti retaliated, their blades flashing as they stabbed at the crab’s exposed underbelly. The beast reared up in agony, dislodging Roux, who landed nimbly before driving her boot into the face of a wounded Yuan-ti until its features were an unrecognisable pulp. With a swift movement, she vaulted back onto the crab’s shell. Chanaia seized the moment, leaping high and driving her yklwa deep into another foe before narrowly avoiding the crab’s frantic descent. Wounded and panicked, the giant crab fled. Roux slid off its back towards the remaining Yuan-ti, delivering a barrage of blows that left it unconscious. The party wasted no time, binding their captive before turning their attention to the two Grippli, who, though weak and malnourished, carried the weight of dire knowledge. Though they spoke only their native tongue, Roux’s enchanted helm allowed her to understand their words. The Grippli warned of fourteen more Yuan-ti lurking within the village’s largest structure. The building, a massive hemispherical edifice of wood and mud bricks, loomed ominously over the ruined village. Determined to press on, the party made their way toward the building. As they walked, Roux, whether from drink or misstep, found herself floundering in a shallow pool of marsh water. The wind carried their approach unseen, but the Grippli, anxious and unwilling to enter the building, gestured toward the brood pools. On the village’s outskirts stood five well-like enclosures, each surrounded by three-foot-high mud-brick walls. These pools of fresh, clean water served as the nurseries where the Grippli laid their eggs and nurtured their young. Now, they were under the watchful guard of six Yuan-ti. Never ones to waste an opportunity for destruction, Chanaia vanished in a misty step, appearing atop the thatched roof of the temple. There, she unstoppered eight bottles of oil, drenching the dry straw. Meanwhile, Faynt readied himself at the building’s only entrance, fire gleaming in his eyes. The inferno that followed was immense. Flames roared into the sky as screams echoed from within. Even as the building blazed, cries arose from the brood pools. Four Yuan-ti managed to escape the doomed structure, only to be swiftly cut down by the waiting adventurers. But the battle was not yet over. From the direction of the brood pools came six more Yuan-ti, their weapons drawn and their rage palpable. The clash was inevitable. As Faynt’s spectral echo surged into the fray, Chanaia prepared to harness the elements, vines at the ready to ensnare their foes. Yet in the midst of battle, a sudden thought struck Roux—had they just burned the good Yuan-ti alive?
The six Yuan-ti pressed their attack with scimitars flashing and longbows singing death. Chanaia, ever the cunning spellcaster, called upon nature’s wrath, weaving a spell that sent thorned vines erupting from the earth to ensnare their foes. Yet her magic faltered as one of the serpentfolk whispered insidious words, a suggestion spell twisting her focus. Snarling in defiance, Chanaia plunged her hand into the raging inferno of the temple, channeling the very flames into a searing arc that lashed toward the Yuan-ti, turning their scaled flesh to cinders. Roux, a whirlwind of motion, caught an arrow mid-flight and sent it sailing back into its sender’s gut. With a predator’s grace, she wove between the enemy, fists striking like a tempest, each blow met with a sickening crunch. No blade or fanged bite could land upon her; she was there and gone in the same breath. Faynt, the stalwart defender, moved to shield his companions, his spectral echo dancing across the battlefield, a shifting mirage of steel and fury. Chanaia summoned orbs of celestial light, casting them toward her foes, but the elusive starry wisps failed to find their mark, streaking harmlessly into the night. One by one, the Yuan-ti fell, their cries lost beneath the crackling roar of the burning temple. As the fourth collapsed, the last two turned and fled, slithering toward the dense woods that loomed beyond the village. The party did not relent. Roux surged ahead, a blur of motion, cutting off one of the escapees with a deft maneuver. The others pressed forward, but before they could close the distance, only a single serpent remained. With speed that defied logic, Roux sprinted onward, intercepting the final Yuan-ti. She struck like lightning, holding the creature in place long enough for Faynt’s spectral brother to materialize beside them. With devastating strikes, the echo crushed the last foe beneath its phantom weapon, and the battlefield fell silent. The party turned to the temple, its skeletal remains shrouded in black smoke that coiled into the sky. In the distance, they saw the two surviving Grippli working frantically to recover the precious eggs from the brood pools, their wary eyes darting toward the looming woods. The site of the old temple lay ahead, a place where more Yuan-ti could still lurk, biding their time. Roux, ever the opportunist, set about harvesting weapons from the fallen enemies, ensuring their blades would never again be raised against the innocent. Meanwhile, Faynt and Chanaia turned toward their bound captive, stepping forward with steeled resolve. The interrogation was about to begin.
Report Date
31 Jan 2025
