Rolled 18, 8, 10, 2, 11, 7, 1, 8 = 65 (8d20)
>>5400828>>5400494>>5400311>>5400218>>5400208>>5400204>>5400203You are not so foolhardy (whatever the others may think of this hunt) as to charge in alone to the belly of a beast which can so distort flesh, stone, and perception itself. Your mind has not been changed, though, your resolve has not wavered. A True Dragon does not flinch and flee. And you… You will be a True Dragon!
You expend much of your mana to ascend to <Dragonshape III>. The roof of the cavern grows closer, your stature increasing and head rising to meet it. You feel strength fill your expanding limbs, as rebounding courage fills your heart. Still, the environmental distortions do not cease, even if that soul-deep revulsion is no longer so afflicting. You roar, a summons and a challenge at once, and let the aura of your expanded Fearsome Presence shine like a beacon.
Karz the Throat-singer finds you first, before the others, or even the shoggoth to whom you issued this challenge.
“Where are the othersss?” you ask him, in your heavily-accented Norther Common-tongue.
“I don’t know,” he says, working hard to catch his breath between words. “The caves… Shifted. We were separated.”
A troubling notion, with such a deadly foe present, and in unknown territory. Still, it is good that the Throat-singer found you—his mystically-charge song may make the difference, and as he is no skilled warrior, it is best to be within range of one who can guard him.
This ability to protect the Throat-singer is soon put to the test. Your challenge is met, or perhaps the shoggoth are simply drawn to the warmth of two bodies, or the surging of your magic to transform. Whatever calls to them, the black slime oozes from cracks and crevices in the underdark, emerging from deep and unseen places of the earth to converge on you.
“Begin the sssong,” you command.
The Throat-singer begins his rhythmic, wordless chant, and you feel further enervated. You draw your sword—your first elven blade, unmagical but well-crafted, for the moon-blade remains bound and hidden. You and the Throat-singer back up as far as you can go before the rock seems to close in around you. You confirm that there is still an exit—there is, though its exact location has changed—and then return your attention to the foe before you. Multiple shoggoth-slimes are present, but as they approach, many coalesce. Bubbling orbs, like hundred of eyes haphazardly scattered about the dark fluids, rise to the surface to fix you with their vile glare. From the shapeless mass arise limbs somewhere between tentacles and the segmented limbs of arthropods. Their shapes are wrong, barely-functional, breaking hideously even as they reach out to seize and grasp you.
[5 dice for sword mastery, 3 for spellcraft; DC 13/15/17]
