As we travel to Mezro, we get embroiled with red mages, blue giants, and we finally blow that yellow conch.

When last we left our heroes, we finally followed that treasure map we’ve had for ages. We found the treasure, then a very selfish dragon tried to steal it from us. We ran into an abandoned mine shaft to escape, only to find ourselves trapped in a living nightmare as an ancient evil entity played tricks on our minds, and attempted to infect us with its insanity inducing spores. We barely made it out of there alive. At least we killed the Creature that called itself Yumog, and it will never be able to infect another soul again.

When at last we saw the light of day, we learned that we had travelled over 50 miles underground and found ourselves less than a day away from where we left the rest of our travelling party, just a few days ago. Now we can rejoin the group and continue our excursion on to Mezro. If we hurry, we can make it there before nightfall.

We arrived at camp just as the sun was setting and it was then that we learned the truth. One of Yumog’s traps tricked us into believing that we were living in a perfect world scenario, where our every need and whim was catered to. We thought that we’d spent just a few hours in the mine. Turns out, we were trapped down there for over five days! Without food or water, no wonder we were delirious.

We’d left instruction with this group to leave us behind if we took too long to return. Our group was being pressured to abandon us by our employer, Xandala. A woman, girl really, who insisted on coming with us on her task and has turned out to be a real witch, figuratively and possibly literally speaking. She had hired us to find her father, Artus Cimber. We haven’t told her that a gang of Frost Giants is also hunting him. When we chastised Xandala out for wanting to ditch us, she retorted, “I paid you good coin to help me find my father, not live out some schoolboy fantasy of pirate maps and buried treasure. You said that you would be back in four days. It’s being nearly ten! Of course, we thought you were dead. Were we supposed to wait here forever and starve? But no matter, now that you’re back, can we get back to the job I hired you for?”

While we were being lectured by this child, we felt strong emotions of anxiety, worry, and even fear, but we could not account for their source. This girl posed no threat to us and her pseudodragon companion seemed content to perch on her shoulders and stare at us all day. Perhaps it’s a residual effect from the horrors in the mine. Since leaving that mine, Roland and Gwen have been feeling ill, with nausea and migraines. Strange that Martic and Thames seem unaffected. Of course, they were not nearly killed, nor had they had the mold infecting the mine attempt to feed on their unconscious bodies. But it’s probably nothing. I’m sure it will pass. Through it all, Xandala sat in the wagon and pouted.

There were a few more residual moments from the mayhem in the mine. Most from Gwen, who seemed truly moved by the experience. She sent several sending messages to various people back at Port Nyanzaru. She told Zindar about the blue dragon that has moved into the Phoenix Horn, who replied that he was busy doing the prep work for their pirate scam. She messaged Bucketboy to make sure he was actually safe at Port. He thought that Gwen was a ghost and told her to stop haunting him. Then she pulled a prank on Grum using the alchemy jug to trick Grum into drinking vinegar instead of water. When confronted, her excuse was, “I have to see if he’s real.” Someone asked if Gwen was all right, to which all the other players screamed, “No! She is clearly not all right.”

As we journeyed south, I have in my notes that we met some zorbos, strange little koala bears that absorb armor class. This is another beast unique to Chult and the avatar of the trickers god, Obo’laka, but I have no recollection of this encounter at all, so it clearly made no impression. I do remember that Gwen and Roland both got violently ill, passed out, and puked up some disgusting globs of purple fungus that tried to crawl away and escape. We fried the slime with Thames’ flamethrower and thought nothing more about it. I’m sure everything will be fine. More important to the story, we did not go back to see if the other survivor who was heading to Fort Beluarian was similarly infected. Oopsie.

The next day, we had an encounter that did make an impact and one we’ve been dreading ever since we learned that the nation of Thay is the one responsible for murdering Thames’ family. As we walked through the jungle, we realize that we have been following the path of another group that is about three hours ahead of us. Based on their tracks, this group consists of booted feet, skeletal feet, and shuffling feet that are carrying something very heavy. A few hours later, our group catches up with this mystery group, just in time for afternoon tea. We fail our stealth, and a human guard calls out, telling us to stop sneaking around like thieves and to come introduce ourselves like gentlemen. “Besides,” he tells us, “The master would want to speak with us.”

We were escorted into a small camp, and realized immediately that we might be in trouble. We are effectively surrounded. This group consists of more numbers than our group and we left everyone else hidden in the jungle. It was just us four companions right now. Worse, were the “people” that occupied this camp. There were several human fighters milling about, who were more soldier than porter, but the rest, over a dozen or so, were comprised of undead; skeletons standing at guard and zombies hustling about performing camp chores. These undead had neither the blue triangle mark of Ras Nsi, nor the new, mysterious black circle brand we have seen recently. This was more like a tattoo or a signature upon each undead forehead. There was no signs of this “master”, just a large travelling divan, covered in curtains, like those used by an ancient king who is carried around by his slaves. Or a pompous mage in crimson robes.

Then the curtains parted to reveal a corpulent, pale, pudge of a man, wearing flowing red robes, being fed a peeled grape by a zombie slave. The most striking feature of this portly man was his bald head covered in sigils and tattoos. A Red Wizard of Thay. In a refined and exaggerated manner of speech (what I’ve heard best described as Southern drawl), the wizard spoke, “Why, I do declare, more tropical wanderers. This jungle is positively teeming with them. Now, don’t be shy, standin’ there with ya’lls mouth agape. Come sit by me in the shade, away from this oppressive heat and introduce you’selves. I am Atticus Sheffield Smythe the Third, but you may refer to me as “sir” if that is that is too difficult for you to remember.”

In our world, we equate necromancy with slavery, with all the xenophobia, hate, and fear-mongering that goes with it. And Thay is the unequitable nadir of that reprehensive worldview. As such, all Red Wizards speak with the exaggerated, drawn-out drawl of a Civil-War era, southern plantation owner. Not a salt-of-the-earth normal southern accent, they’re good people; but the over-the-top, haughty, obnoxiously superior, and menacing tone of Leonardo DiCaprio in Django Unchained. Or Foghorn Leghorn, take your pick.

The moment was unsurprisingly tense as no one knew how Thames would react upon encountering one of his mortal enemies with whom he has been at war for years. Initially, Thames was stunned into a sense of silent stupor. He sat stoically to the side and refused to speak for some time.

After introductions were made, Sir Atticus got straight to business. “As you should know, I am a Red Wizard of glorious Thay. Now, here in this backwoods country, you are likely unaware that there is a global pandemic occurring currently; where upon death, the deceased soul does not go where we want it to go. We call it the Soul Siphon.” (Odd how different people in different lands contrive different names for the same thing.)

Atticus continued, “Our divinations have put the source of this contagion right here, in this primitive morass. Now, have you come across any unusual occurrences or other phenomena that would indicate or coincide with this calamity? As a benevolent society, we seek to quell and contain this Death Curse, as I’ve heard it called.”

Thames could not hold back any longer. “Benevolent? You invaded our lands and murdered my people!”

Atticus was unrepentant. “Ooh. It does speak. You must be from Sideria. How quaint. Yes well, about such unpleasantries; you had land we wanted, and you would not leave, so we compelled you to. Do not take it personally. It is just business. But let us not dwell on politics and grievances a half a world away. We are here now, and can still act civilized and human. Well, in your case, just civil.”

Gwen chirped in. “You blasted your way out of the docks at Port Nyanzaru! Killed a dozen people.”

“Those savages in Customs took umbrage at our gods-protected stance on the undead and labor management. We have the right to protect and preserve our way of life. Who are they to pass moral judgement? I am sure if we bribed them with enough coin, they would not have cared one whit about their offended sensibilities. I, for one, do not tolerate such duplicity.”

We were shocked that combat did not ensue. Of course, we’ve all heard of the legendary magical prowess of the red wizards and we were at a disadvantage if a battle broke out here and now. Clearly, this zealot was not about to change his worldview, but he was a genial host and not openly hostile, so Thames kept his seething hatred in check. We compared notes, and quickly realized that we knew more than the wizard, and shared more than we should, as we let it slip what we knew about Ras Nsi and that we were heading toward Mezro as a possible source to learn more. Thanks, Roland. Atticus did reveal that this soul siphoning plot sounded more like the work of a Lich rather than a Yuan-ti. We asked if he’s had experience with liches, to which he enigmatically replied, “I’ve had a trifling few encounters with them, yes.” We tried to inquire more about the subject (trying to meta-game the name Szass Tam), but he would speak no more about it.

We amicably parted ways, with Atticus insisting that we inform him right away if we learned anything of note, not that he provided any way to contact him if we did. I think he looked at that as our problem, not his. As we walked away, Thames regretted not killing the wizard and satisfying his bloodlust for revenge. I’m sure if we were meant to kill him, then the gods will provide us another opportunity. We rejoined our group and continued south along the coast to our unscheduled appointment with the Frost Giants.

We had learned that a gang of Frost Giants have invaded Chult hunting a man we now know as Artus Cimber. We had also learned that they had a boat moored somewhere south of the Phoenix Horn. Since we were heading that way, and out of sheer morbid curiosity, we wanted to learn why. The ship was further south than we expected, and we were unprepared for how big it was. Though moored 100 yards off-shore, it seemed to be just inches away and blotted out the horizon. We had been toying with the idea of commandeering a ship of our own, but there was no way we could ever pilot this vessel. It was enormous.

Two Frost Giant sentries stood on the shore next to a massive rowboat. The rowboat was as big as most sailing ships. The oars alone were the length of five men. The two guards were grousing. “What did we do to Drufi to get this lousy job? Watching a rowboat. I’m so bored.” “Would you rather be mucking about in that boiling jungle. It’s so hot. At least we have the sea breeze to keep us cool.” “I hope someone kills that bastard Cimber soon, so we can get that ring, and finally head home to Frozenfar.” Ring? What ring? This was the first we’ve heard of any ring.

Again, we were glad we left the rest of the group hidden in a camp just past the jungle’s edge. We expect this to be a suicide mission, but if the impetuous Xandala had heard these giants call her father a bastard, we would definitely be fighting right now. Even so, we weren’t likely to come out of this alive. We had been lucky once against a single Frost Giant skeleton, but to take on a dozen living giants is a good way to get yourself killed. Steeling ourselves, we approached the giants.

“Good day, mighty giants. We come in peace and mean you no harm.”

The giants laughed at this, “Harm? Heh, heh. And what would you use to harm us, little one, those toothpicks you call swords?”

From a wanted poster we found, we knew the name of their boss. Ignoring the insult, we held the poster up. “We wish to speak with your leader Drufi, about this man, Artus Cimber.”

This piqued the giant’s interest. “How do you know that name? Where did you get that poster?”

Pointing to the boat, we replied, “We will tell that to Drufi. Will you take us to her, or not?”

“Sure, we’ll put you on the boat. But I doubt you’ll ever get off it.” So do we.

Twenty men could not have moved the rowboat that just a single giant used to take us to the ship. Then we struggled to climb the giant ladder onto the giant deck that towered over our tiny heads. Two more giants were on deck with untold more below. More unexpected, was the pack of enormous winter wolves that roamed about, looking like they could swallow us whole. An assault on this ship was definitely out of the question.

We were escorted to the captain’s chambers. A disinterested male giant sat in the shadow in a corner, picking his fingernails with a dagger the size of a long sword. We were introduced to the blue giantess sitting at the giant desk, pouring over a very crude and incomplete map of the Chultan peninsula. (Ours is better.) We tried to sneak a peek, but she rolled it up as we entered. Our escort announced us. “Lady Drufi. You should speak with these Korte (“short ones” in Norwegian). They could prove useful. Or at least edible.” He laughed as he closed the door behind us.

Drufi, proved to be polite and cordial, but blunt and vaguely threatening. “What business could you possibly have with me? Speak quickly, before I throw you to my wolves as a snack.”

Like true mercenaries, we slammed the wanted poster on the desk and asked, “What would be our reward, if we brought this man to you?” At last, we were playing both sides of a conflict, claiming to rescue the man for one group, and capture the same man for another. Of course, we’ll have to betray one group, maybe both, before this is through.

Drufi laughed heartily. “I like this group. They have Motet! Guts.” The giant in the corner merely shrugged. Then Drufi stopped laughing. “But tell me how you came to possess this note. I know to whom I gave it, and you are not he. Speak carefully.”

Sensing the subtext, we lied. “My liege, we did not harm your clansman. We found his body in the jungle. He was already dead.” That last part was technically true.

This satisfied Drufi. “What makes you think you’ll find this man before we do. We cover more ground.”

“True, your stride is mighty, but your stealth is not. You will never catch a man who runs away before you can get close. He will not suspect us, and we will catch him off guard.”

“Very well. It shall be a race between man and giant. I would offer 500 gold for his capture, dead or alive. Dead is better. But I must warn you not to take anything off his body. The gold I offer is for the man and all his possessions.”

“What does he have that you want so badly? What did he do?”

“The thief Cimber possesses something which was stolen from us long ago. A ring signifying the right to rule among the Frost Giants. It is a simple gold ring flecked with white gold to look like ice. We call it the Ring of Winter. It is important to us, but to anyone else, it is just a piece of jewelry.”

We knew she was lying and there was more to the story and this ring, but she wasn’t going to tell us. Instead, we negotiated the price. “You said 500 gold. This ring sounds more valuable than that. How about 2000?”

“800.”

“1500?”

“850. Final offer. You should know that today, our ship is sailing on from here. If you find this man, we will be moored at Refuge Bay, south of here. Be sure to bring him to us untouched and we will reward you. Properly. Good day.”

Cleary this interview was over. Counting out blessings, we took our leave. The silent one in the corner stared at us and said something in giant that we did not understand, and on deck the others laughed again as we struggled once more to climb down the ropes to the rowboat. On shore, the first guard said, “Now you can tell all your tavern buddies you survived facing a giant. Not that they’ll believe you.” Then he poked the second guard and said, “Told ya so, now pay up.” The second placed some coin in the other’s hand and said, “I should kill them myself just to get my gold back.” Not waiting to give him the opportunity, we beat another hasty retreat back to the group hiding in the jungle. As expected, Xandala was still entitled and aggravating. “If you’re done doing your errands, can we get back to finding my father?” As you wish, my lady.

As we journeyed further south, the next location we came to was an old supply post called Port Castigliar. Back in the time of Artus Cimber, this was a thriving port of entry for exploring the Olung River, but now it was nothing more than a few washed out foundations and a desecrated graveyard. All the graves had been looted and their bodies taken away for food or turned into something worse. All except one.

One grave is still in pristine condition despite being erected in 1363, almost 130 years ago, again during the time of Artus Cimber. Oddly, fresh picked flowers had been laid recently around the grave, whose epitaph reads, “Sir Hydel Pontifax, Healer and Loyal Friend.” A silver medal, with a lightning bolt emblazoned in the center, is affixed to the tombstone, placed in a carved niche. The medal exudes an aura of evocation magic. Intrigued, Roland removed the medal. The front reads, “Order of the Golden Way”, while the back is engraved, “Presented by King Azoun IV for merit during the Arabel Crusade.” None of these names meant anything to the naive ex-fisherman turned paladin, but it looked cool, so he attached it to his own tunic. We may have disagreed with this desecration, but no one spoke up about it. As Roland is fond of saying, “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Following an inaccurate map once owned by Feron Silvermace (a lost noble we met in the jungle), and drawn during the time of, you guessed it, Artus Cimber, we arrived and made camp at a strange memorial. It is a carved stone bust, a statue featuring the head and upper torso of a man. The statue is over twelve feet tall and goes straight into the ground, making it appear to be a stone giant buried up to his neck in the dirt. The local natives say it is a guardian and warning planted by Ubtao to keep enemies out. They refused to camp or even go near it.

We did not share such superstitions and investigated. Clearing away the vines, we could read a bronze plaque written in Common. “On this spot, Sir Ilybir Kitcher, explorer, scholar, and nephew, was tragically murdered by the Tabaxi while attempting to broker peace between the tribes. All shall remember Sir Kitcher of Scardale, the great man who could have been. And all shall tremble, for I curse this wretched land.” It’s not a giant or a divine warning. It’s a just some bizarre tribute by a pompous and grieving uncle. Odd way to end a memorial though. We stayed the night protected by Sir Kitcher’s stony  shadow, but maybe the natives were right. All the next day, we failed more often than not to perform the simple tasks that we’ve done everyday since arriving in the jungle. And as for Feron, we rather liked that foolish noble, but he refused to leave the jungle, so we left him to his fate. We hope he survived.

That night as we slept, we were plagued by more visions of the past as we relived the death of yet another victim of the Death Curse. For tonight’s nightmare, we are Kallista, an old elven adventurer who retired to be a clothing dyer in Port Nyanzaru. We are fighting in an enormous battle being fought in a city divided into quadrants with a golden ziggurat standing in the central crossroad. A horde of Batiri goblins has breached the walls and is pouring through the city, killing everyone they can.

We are in the residential district, defending a school from being overrun where dozens of children are hiding. We are fighting beside a sorcerer in royal robes, who uses gems to wreck devastating mystical havoc on the goblins within the city. Meanwhile in the nearby scholar’s district, a dozen wizards were struggling to contain a giant silver demon in a magical cage. By the gods, this is the Battle of Mezro, the same battle where Artus Cimber saved the city in 1363.

We were close enough to the outer walls to see that a battalion of skeletons and zombies were fighting for Mezro against the goblin horde. The undead were led by a handsome Chultan man wearing the noble attire of Cormyr. Even from this distance, we could see the blue triangle tattoo that branded his forehead. This must be the Exile, Ras Nsi. But he is defending the city that exiled him and the Ras Nsi we know is a Yuan-ti, not human.

As we are fighting the goblins in the city, a small Chultan boy about the age and size of Bucketboy, runs up to the sorcerer. The boy is leading the very same man from the giant’s wanted posters and Xandala’s locket. It is Artus Cimber himself. Artus and the wizard speak quickly in hushed tones. We hear the words, “Ring of Winter” and “Hall of Champions”, then Artus Cimber runs off again. We happened to look at the small boy who led Artus here, then we see a goblin notch a flaming arrow and aim it straight at the boy. We pull the child behind us to shield him just as the blazing bolt pierces our heart. As we fall to the ground, we hear the familiar, grim voice from the depths of a tomb, “You escaped my wrath once, but no more. See you soon.”

We awoke the next morning disturbed by these omens, but resolved to learn the secrets of Mezro, and cure this Curse. But before we could travel on to witness for ourselves the ruins of that once great city, we had one more errand to run. Sorry, Xandala. Since the start of the adventure, we kept catching glimpses of something or someone following us via the rivers and waterways of Chult; an eyestalk here, the splash of an exoskeleton there, and so on. During the Defense of Camp Vengeance, we finally saw one in full, learning that they are a race of reclusive lobster-men. Then, in Session 20, we had our first encounter with one. A lobsterman approached us from the river, silently presented us with a gilded conch shell, and disappeared into the water.

When we put the conch shell to our ear, instead of the usual rhythmic thrum of the sea, we heard a lilting, dulcet voice bearing a message. “Go to the mouth of the Olung and blow your horn.” It has taken us months to get here, but we are finally about to cross this item of our To Do list. We weren’t really sure where the mouth of the Olung River began, but we figured anywhere here in the bay would do. We took out the conch, put it to our lips, and blew. A harrowing wail of a trumpet burst forth from the shell and seemed to reverberate across the water. Now, we wait.

We waited for several hours with nothing to show for it, all while Xandala complained that we were wasting more of her precious (and paid for) time. We were about to give up and head off, when something rose up out of the sea. A golden chariot pulled by a pair of giant seahorses immerged from the churning surf. At the reins is another lobster-man, or maybe it’s the same, they all look identical. We had assumed they were mute or spoke an alien language, so we were shocked to hear him speak in Common. “You are several miles north of where you were expected. This is not the mouth of the river. You are lucky that we still heard your call. My name is incomprehensible to your ears, but you may call me Dari. Come, get in the chariot. My mistress is anxious to meet you.”

We had a ton of questions first. “Who is your mistress?”

“Lady Olung. Mainu, Queen of the Deep.”

“Where are we going?”

“To her palace under the waves.”

“But we can’t breathe underwater.”

“Sure you can. The conch conferred that ability when you blew her horn. It will last about a day. Get in.” This conch is a magic item? I hope we get to keep it.

Xandala burst in. “A day! How long is this little field trip going to take? We’ve wasted enough time already!”

Dari looked at her and then back at us. “She is not invited. In fact, the journey is only meant for you four.”

We told Xandala and the group to head on to Mezro without us, and that we would catch up. We promised Xandala that we would be quick and then devote the rest of the trip to finding her father, whom we were beginning to doubt he was. We put Grum in charge. And to think, Gwen has repeatedly tried to get rid of this ludicrously loyal minion. Then we hopped in the golden chariot and told Dari, “Take me to your leader.” We all took an unnecessary breath of air before we plunged beneath the waves and into an alien world of dazzling color.

We all held our breath as long as we could, but eventually we each had to take that first terrifying gulp of water, each convinced that we were going to drown. But none of us did. Dari laughed and said that everyone reacts the same way the first time. We tried to respond and learned that while we could breathe, we could not speak. I hope none of us have to cast any spells with a verbal component, which is, essentially, all of them.

While we could not speak, our guide, Dari, could. Since we were hours off course, he had plenty of time to talk all about himself. He explained that they were called the Aldani, and were once a tribe of human fishermen, who cursed Ubtao when the Aldani had not prepared for a dry fishing season. For our greed and selfishness, Ubtao cursed us and our ancestors into our current form. In fact, Dari is a tenth generation Aldani, and the Aldani live for a very long time. Yet the Aldani bear no ill will, and still worship Ubtao. “We were wrong to demand anything of the Creator. Is it not enough that he birthed the land of Chult and all the plentiful bounties within? Ubtao does not serve Man. Ubtao creates and leaves it up to Man to walk his own path and choose what he does with that creation. Just as the jungle has monsoons and droughts, so too is it Man’s duty to take only as needed, to save sufficiently, and prepare for life’s good times and bad. That is the way of Ubtao”

We were travelling through a spectacular coral reef valley, when Dari needlessly warned us to be quiet. “This is the domain of the Merrow. We must move quickly. They will kill us if they catch us in their territory.” Then to no one’s surprise, a coral-crusted rock tumbled down the canyon’s edge and struck one of the seahorses, rendering it unconscious, which sank to the seabed, dragging the chariot and us with it. Like fish in a barrel, we were trapped as six abhorrent mutations of man and fish attacked from all sides!

We were decidedly out matched here. Even though we could breathe and swim, we were not prepared for this onslaught. The merrow could swim better than us, plus they were using weapons designed for water; tridents, nets, and spears, all while we clumsily swung our swords and maces. Martic’s bow was useless, his bugs could not enter the water, even Thames’ homunculus could not follow; we don’t know where they went. But the inability to speak was catastrophic. The spellcasters were crippled, the paladin could not call upon his god to smite his foes, and without our voice we couldn’t even make any battle plans or coordinate our attacks. It was a slaughter.

Everyone did the best they could with what they had. Fortunately, the Aldani was able to grapple two merrow with his claws, keeping them occupied. We held our own, but we were losing health faster than the merrow; it was only a matter of time. That’s when Gwen abandoned us and swam for the surface! We yelled at her to come back, but in the sea, no one can hear you scream.

Although the coral canyon was about 100 feet deep, we were fighting about fifty feet below the surface of the water. It didn’t take long before Gwen bobbed out of the water and she saw that we were in the middle of the ocean. From her low vantage, she couldn’t even see the tips of the Peaks of Flame, the tallest mountains of Chult. But Seppi the homunculus and all Martic’s bugs were here, diligently hovering over their masters as best they could. Now Gwen could unveil her plan. With new air in her lungs, Gwen could finally speak and she cast mass healing word and healing word, over and over again, as many times as she could. The health boost was small, but just enough to mean the difference between victory and death.

Finally, the merrow were put out of our misery. For all our effort, except for their exquisite underwater weaponry that shimmered like pearl, they carried no treasure. We awakened the knocked-out seahorse and resumed out nautical quest. A few hours later, we arrived at an absolutely stunning royal palace. Like the merrow weapons, the entire palace seemed to be made of mother of pearl but on a massive scale! There must be millions of pearls adorning these walls. The palace sparkled and glistened like an underwater sun. It was dazzling. It was so bright that, like the sun, you could not look directly at it. But Dari did not seem to have any trouble finding his way. He guided the chariot straight at the palace and steered us into an unseen grotto.

Once inside, the dizzying effect was less pronounced. The inner walls seemed carved right out of the living coral. It was still vibrant and colorful, but you could see. Although we were still a dozen fathoms underwater, we surfaced up into some sort of moon pool that had an air pocket. We found that the air was breathable and we could finally all speak again. Dari moored the chariot, and lead us down a labyrinth of coral corridors. He informed us that his mistress is of royal blood and she is their Queen, so she should be addressed as “Your Highness” or “Majesty”. We must remember that we are her guests, and she is a stickler for protocol.

At long last, we are led into a grand audience hall. The promenade is lined with columns made of the same iridescent pearl. A dozen Aldani guards stand at attention along a plush carpet of woven seaweed that leads up to a raised dais. Atop the dais sits a silver throne, upon which sits the most thrilling woman we had ever seen. She was at once both horrific and captivating. Seemingly ten feet tall, she had the head and torso of a stunningly beautiful woman yet the lower half was that of an octopus with twelve, fifteen, maybe twenty tentacles. Around her waist as part of her body, the living heads of six jet black wolves snapped and nipped at each other, until they were calmed and stroked by the gentle touch of their mistress. With golden eyes, she cast her terrible gave upon us and said, “I am Mainu, Queen of the Deep, Bara of Mezro, and Paladin of Ubtao. I’m sure you have a lot of questions for me.”

Next week, we learn the truth about an old enemy. We watch an old friend die. Then we stumble upon an old man in an old ruin with an even older ring.

As always, find unique ways to remove a player’s ability, such as speech, exploit it, and Game On!

In the week before this session, I was struck by a bout of malaise and I wrote this poem in my notes for the session. I rediscovered it while writing this post, so enjoy.

I stood in a wood of my own decline

With infinite roots ahead and behind

Nigh solace nor egress I would not find

In this desolate wood of my own design.

Don’t forget to check out my Tomb of Annihilation Resources Page, filled with all the stuff I use to make this epic campaign even more epicier: My full Campaign Diary, plus Handouts, Maps, Charts, PDFs, Images, and more to use, abuse, or ignore at your peril.

And written specifically for this adventure, read my Explorer’s Guide to Chult to delve into all the legands, lore, history, religion, and culture that I used to bring even more life to this adventure.