====== Hargle Time ======

Date of Entry: 8/1/2024

Previously, the party had tumbled into a strange clearing in the forest; an obscure figure was seen as the party entered but then vanished without a trace. A stone monolith stood in the center of the clearing and was covered in arcane inscriptions that were unintelligible to the group. Just above this stone pillar there was a pulsating spherical mass of abyssal energy.

//it smelled of old marinara...//

Naturally, Ratfink hungrily lunged at the pulsating mass and was finked into the Venerated Realm of Spaghetti-ism. After a brief legal transaction of scribbling on the dotted line of a greasy takeout receipt, Ratfink was newly initiated with the peculiar pasta patron.

Uncertain of what just happened, but not curious enough to interrogate a diseased dog-lizard, the party simply agrees to continue delving further into the woods. 

Very soon they were attacked by three beautiful and voluptuous harpies with voices like warm butter. Tucking boners aside for the moment, the gang dispatches the harpies, though let it be known that Hargle was momentarily woo-ed by these winged beasties. Heywood nearly fucking died.

Hargle takes the night watch as the group settles in to camp. Through some profound meditation in the evening, Hargle discovers the power of being Level 3 kinda like everyone else. It helps that he paid zero mind to actually keeping watch. [Nat 1 - Perception]

===== The Next Day =====


Waking and feeling refreshed, the party continues to follow upon the game trail that had led them so deep into the forest. The rotten corpse of a bear is left from a previous encounter. It is besmitten with a spear.

//besmitten, besmited, besmote...?//

There is a swelling cacophony of birdsong as the party ventures further into the forest; the trees also seem to grow more thickly together. The trail between the trees has become progressively thinner as a result, such that now only a single-file line may proceed.

Hargle is set to lead the rear, for the others fear of being caught upwind of him. Martyr is next, and Heywood is leading the party forward. They proceed carefully, stepping on each others heels as a display of solidarity. The path soon gives way to another clearing...

//ratfink has tummy issues, and is curled up in a backpack carried by heywood//

Within this new clearing there is a patch of moss, which Hargle entirely fails to identify the nature of. Rather, he deftly identifies the rocks they grow upon. The rocks are composed entirely of rocks, and date to some time in the past.

Heywood is very perceptive and notices the glean of white polished bone upon the mossy patch. Responding appropriately to the scant sight of a corpse, Hargle begins to cover himself in a thick slimy coat of lichens and fungal growth.

Heywood approaches moss pile to investigate the bones, they seem to be of human origin. Martyr puts on a mocking tone of the resident Sherlock and confidently walks over to check out the bones himself. Quite similarly, he discovers that they are indeed bones, and probably of human origin. These two forensic specialists scratch the dandruff off their scalps while bickering over who is better at making surface-level observations. 

Being smelly and curious what the fuss is about, Hargle hunches over and turns a good eye to the ground. Finally, he realizes the sort of moss they've been treading upon.

It is dream moss, the color of seafoam, which when disturbed expels a thick haze that can sweep victims away into a deep, permanent slumber.

//hargle smiles contentedly, but neglects to say a single word//

Heywood, who isn't telepathic, gets a slight hard-on while looking at the moss. He attempts to rip handfuls of it from the ground and releases of drowsy iridescent haze. Heywood slowly falls limp to the ground and is fast asleep. Martyr follows close behind.

Hargle, letting out a small yawn, turns his good eyes up from the ground. Very content with himself, he declares to a slumbering audience; "This be Dream Moss, don't wiggle y'er toes too much or you'll be catching some winks."

Realizing the others were sleeping through his presentation, Hargle  thus prays to Shiggorath, the Scion of Spores, who offers to turn them into portabella mushrooms in a years time. Not having such time to spare, Hargle then turns to a deft understanding of medicine, and shakes each of them hard as shit until they are awake with groggy eyes.

Heywood, Martyr, and Hargle smile, glowing with the aura of comradery.

The party slowly meanders further along the trail, Heywood looks intently at the trail and determines it was made by animals.

//hargle smacks heywood's ass hard//

After cresting over a small bump of a hill the party has stopped abruptly at the next sight. 

A foreboding chasm is right before them, it is nearly 50 feet across and the bottom is not visible. Heywood drops a rock, it binks and bonks a few times before going silent. Hargle correctly observes that it is a hole in the ground.

"Hwell boys it looks like we be going down de hole lol" Heywood says to the group.

Martyr throws Ratfink like a piss-missile against the far side of the gaping hole, Ratfink clings on to the side of the hole for dear life.

Then, agreeing with Heywood, they each begin to climb down the pit. Hargle and Martyr descend with little effort, while Heywood haphazardly tumbles behind. The rest of the cavern opens up as the party gets to the bottom.

Continuing down the stony path, Hargle and Heywood manage to carefully navigate the bumpy ground while Martyr stumbles and hits his ass hard as fuck on the rough stone. Either way, the party continues onward.

As the party proceeds, they notice that the cavern doesn't seem entirely stable. Each heavy step from Heywood seems to send a slight tremor up the walls.

Hargle pans his good eye across the room and sees the remains of various creatures along the tunnel path. Along with the scratches and various impressions upon the stone surface it seems these creatures died after a period of struggle.

Further in, there is a foul smell of waste coming from deep in the chasm. Hargle knows the scent well enough to tell it is not from a wild animal, but rather something humanoid; likely some sort of cave-dwelling, subterranean knuckle-dragger.

//aka probably an ogre//

Hargle slaps Heywood's ass for motivation, Heywood says "Awesome lol :)", Hargle and Martyr wonder how he said that bit out loud.

After a bit more walking, the path opens up again into a small cavern; the party is finally at the ass-end of the cave. Heywood sees nothing. Hargle notices that the stone has been disturbed, and that around a corner there seems to be a trail going up to the surface; further down there is another path that presumably only leads to a bit more cave.

As the party is stumbling around the dark cavern, only dimly lit by the light bleeding from the surface, a presence slowly becomes apparent to the party. Looking toward the second path further down the cavern, a hulking outline of something seems to be attempting to sneak toward the party. 

Of course, the size and smell of an ogre seems nearly impossible to conceal, especially when the very cavern seems to creak with each padded footstep. The party is immediately aware of the creature's presence.


==== BEGIN COMBAT ====


As Heywood and Martyr turn to engage the ogre, Hargle leaps to action, dripping with viscous fluid from an entire ecosystem of fungal growths. Rushing forth and getting within spitting distance, a burst of spores shoots out at the ogre but is swatted away. Hargle attempts to manipulate the ground beneath the ogre, but hardly manages to disrupt its balance. Finally, Hargle draws his scimitar and sets it alight with a quick invocation. 

Heywood and Martyr are close behind and brace together at melee range, Martyr providing divine and physical protection over Heywood as the latter throws a powerful punch at the ogre. As swift and forceful as these punches were, it was difficult to inflict much damage against the ogres thick skin.

//if punching an ogre isn't physically effective,
it may still deal damage to its mental health.
next time, maybe ask an ogre how it is doing.//

As the ogre is still surprised by the failure of its own ambush, Hargle closes within melee distance of the beast. Everything about the creature seemed to be setting off a reaction within Hargle, barely recognizable under a fetid layers of decay and growth. The putrid fumes surrounding him begin to channel into the magical flame of the blade, now burning white-hot.

In a swift impulsive movement, Hargle clenches the hilt of the burning scimitar and cleaves it against the torso of the ogre, the loud hissing of burning flesh clashes with the anguished outcry of the ogre. A wide mark is left as the blade cut as though the flesh were melted butter, leaving the gaping wound cauterized. [Nat 20 - Melee, 34 dmg]

No longer dazed, the ogre stares at the rotting dwarf with unbridled hatred. It pulls its massive club as far back as it can, and swings it desperately to turn Hargle into a paste; however it entirely fails to hit near the dwarf, and instead drives the club into the wall of the cavern. It frantically attempts to pry it from the stone, which only shatters the club into splinters. 

Seeing the tide of battle turn against the beast, Heywood cracks a really big smile.

Seizing an opportunity against the unarmed ogre, Martyr summons a spiritual Warhammer behind the beast, who is now flanked in every direction. The divine Warhammer twirls with great force and crashes against the ogre's legs followed by the sickening sound of cracking bone.

Keeping the momentum, Heywood takes his turn with the wounded ogre and drives his mace against its ribs. Not satisfied with the lack of crunching sounds, he drives his free hand against the back of the mace and succeeds in cracking through the ribs. The ogre groans in pain and barely maintains consciousness.

Hargle comes within an arms length of the creature, plunging the flaming sword once more into the dying beast. The skin burns to a crisp, and any organic matter rapidly deteriorates into a putrid, vicious black sludge that smells of burnt flesh and decay.

//makes searching the body easier at least..?//


==== END COMBAT ====


Bravely, Martyr sifts through the sludge and finds a handful of coins.

Investigating the rest of the lair, the party finds yet even more coins. There are some weapons upon a rack on the wall that includes Javelins and some other shit (a lousy old spear).

Upon a shabby table there is a journal written by an adventurer which seems to be describing the woods at the surface; it has no mention of the chasm. There is a sort of ivy further ahead that remedies painful boners. Martyr and Hargle take turns flipping through the stained pages and nod wisely in unison.

//heywood, being as literate as he is, assumes the writing is just ogre smut//

Hargle keeps the dead man's journal in his moist bag covered in mildew. With no more business in the cavern, the party goes up the path to the surface. 

Heywood dexterously scales the path in mere seconds. Martyr steadily and carefully scales the rocks, while Hargle fatly slides back down repeatedly. Heywood drops a rope down to Hargle, but him and Martyr fail to pull his fat ass to the surface without Hargle trying his best to climb up at the same time.

//these brave goons have certainly earned a short respite...//