Under the shadowed canopy of the Witherbloom swamplands, the air hung thick with humidity and the scent of decaying foliage. Krenn Smith brushed aside a low-hanging vine, his half-elf senses keenly attuned to the subtleties of the murky terrain. Beside him, Bob, the stout dwarf with a fiery beard to match his temper, trudged through the muck, grumbling about the damp seeping into his boots. Ophelia, ever graceful despite the treacherous footing, moved with quiet determination. They were close—so close—to completing their arduous task.
For days, the trio had scoured the swamp in search of the missing Strixhaven mascots, peculiar creatures each embodying the essence of their respective colleges. The mission, assigned by Professor Sharpbeak, had seemed straightforward at first. But the deeper they ventured, the more they realized that something was amiss in the heart of the swamp.
As they approached a cluster of gnarled trees, Krenn halted abruptly. “There,” he whispered, pointing upward. Perched among the twisted branches, two massive insect-like creatures clung to the wood. Their carapaces glistened ominously, reflecting the sparse shafts of sunlight piercing the canopy.
Bob squinted, gripping the hilt of his axe. “Ankhegs,” he muttered. “But what in the Nine Hells are they doing up in the trees?”
Ophelia’s eyes narrowed. “They don’t belong here. Ankhegs are burrowers. This isn’t their natural habitat.”
The creatures remained motionless, their multifaceted eyes fixed on the intruders below. A sense of unease settled over the group. Krenn considered their options. “We need to get to that hut,” he said, nodding toward a weathered structure just beyond the ankhegs’ perch. “It could be where the last mascot is hiding.”
Bob grunted. “Well, let’s not provoke them. Maybe we can slip past without a fight.”
Cautiously, they began to move beneath the overhanging branches. The swamp seemed to hold its breath. Just as they thought they might make it through unscathed, a chittering sound echoed above them. Without warning, one of the ankhegs reared back and spat a stream of corrosive acid toward the party.
“Look out!” Ophelia shouted, leaping aside with elven swiftness. Krenn managed to dodge, but Bob wasn’t as quick. The acid splashed across his armor, sizzling against the metal.
“Blast it!” Bob roared, pain and anger flashing in his eyes. “That’s it. They want a fight? They’ve got one.”
Krenn’s fingers danced as he summoned arcane energy. “Agannazar’s Scorcher!” A blistering line of fire erupted from his hands, searing through the foliage and striking the ankhegs. The creatures screeched, their exoskeletons cracking under the intense heat.
Ophelia joined the fray, conjuring a flurry of ice and snow that battered the ankhegs, contrasting sharply with Krenn’s flames. The combination of elemental assaults staggered the monstrous insects.
Bob, not to be outdone, pulled a small orb from his pouch. “Let’s see how you like this!” he yelled, hurling a fireball upward. The explosion engulfed the remaining ankheg, the force of the blast shaking the branches.
Singed and wounded, the ankhegs decided the battle was not worth their lives. With a final hiss, they retreated into the depths of the swamp, the sounds of their escape fading into the distance.
Breathing heavily, Krenn glanced at his companions. “Everyone all right?”
Bob inspected the damage to his armor. “Nothing a good blacksmith can’t fix,” he said, though his pride seemed more wounded than his flesh.
Ophelia dusted herself off. “Let’s hope that’s the last surprise this swamp has for us.”
They turned their attention to the hut. The door creaked ominously as they pushed it open, revealing a dim interior. In the center of the room stood the spirit statue mascot, its metallic form standing out against the rustic surroundings. The mascot’s eyes gleamed with mischief.
“I’m tired of doing what Professor Sharpbeak says,” it declared with a defiant tone. “I’m a free spirit now. It’s time to misbehave!”
Before they could react, the mascot darted toward the door, intent on escaping into the swamp.
“Not so fast,” Krenn warned, reaching out. But the creature was nimble, dodging his grasp with ease.
Bob frowned. “Little rascal’s quick on its feet.”
Thinking swiftly, Krenn began to weave a spell, but the mascot was already slipping past them. Ophelia’s eyes sparkled as she extended her hand. “We need to slow it down.”
Bob rummaged through his pack and pulled out a length of rope. “I’ve got an idea.” He fashioned a makeshift lasso, spinning it overhead before casting it toward the fleeing mascot.
The rope looped around the mascot’s leg, tripping it up. The creature tumbled to the ground with a clatter, struggling against its bindings.
“Good throw!” Krenn exclaimed, moving quickly to secure the mascot.
As they fastened the collar provided by Professor Sharpbeak around its neck, the mascot’s resistance ceased. It looked up at them with a resigned expression. “I suppose I should go back to Professor Sharpbeak,” it said meekly.
They watched as the mascot trotted off toward the heart of Strixhaven, its rebellious spirit seemingly subdued.
“That’s the last one,” Ophelia said with a sigh of relief.
Bob stretched his arms. “I could use a good meal after all this.”
But Krenn’s brow furrowed. “Something still doesn’t sit right. Those ankhegs, the aggressive wildlife… it’s not normal.”
Ophelia nodded. “And don’t forget the black goo we found earlier. There’s a pattern here.”
Weeks prior, they had encountered strange incidents throughout the campus—the transforming frogs during the race, the animated stew pots in the kitchens, and now, corrupted creatures in the swamp. Each event was marked by traces of a mysterious black substance and cryptic writings in an unknown script.
“Perhaps Professor Sharpbeak will have some answers,” Krenn suggested.
Returning to the university, they sought out the professor. Professor Sharpbeak greeted them warmly, her plumage shimmering under the afternoon sun. “Excellent work,” she praised, handing them each a parchment. “These vouchers are a token of my appreciation. The student store has some items you may find useful.”
Bob’s eyes lit up at the mention of rewards. “Much obliged, Professor.”
“However,” Krenn interjected, “we’ve come across some troubling findings during our mission.” He produced the copied notes of the strange script and recounted their encounters with the black goo and aberrant creatures.
Professor Sharpbeak examined the notes, her expression growing serious. “This script… it’s peculiar. A blend of Elvish runes and Orcish writing, but it doesn’t make sense to me.”
Ophelia leaned forward. “Do you know anyone who might be able to decipher it?”
The professor considered for a moment. “Professor Ironquill of Lorehold College is an expert in magical linguistics. As an Orc himself, he might shed some light on this mystery. You might also search the Biblioplex for resources.”
Krenn glanced at his companions. “Then we have our next steps.”
As they left Professor Sharpbeak’s office, the weight of the mystery pressed upon them. The sun cast long shadows across the campus, hinting at the encroaching darkness of unanswered questions.
They made their way to the Biblioplex, the grand library of Strixhaven, its towering spires reaching toward the sky. Inside, the scent of aged parchment and the soft glow of enchanted lamps created an atmosphere of quiet contemplation.
“We should divide the work,” Krenn suggested as they settled at a broad oak table piled with reference tomes. “Look for anything that might help us decode this script.”
Hours passed as they delved into ancient texts and linguistic studies. Krenn pored over volumes on arcane symbology, while Ophelia traced the origins of hybrid scripts. Bob, to everyone’s surprise, navigated the labyrinthine stacks with unexpected dexterity, pulling obscure texts that proved invaluable.
“Here,” Bob said, dropping a hefty tome on the table. “Found something on the development of magical shorthand.”
Krenn raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t peg you for a bibliophile.”
Bob shrugged. “Just because I prefer action doesn’t mean I can’t read.”
Together, they pieced together fragments of the puzzle. The writings appeared to be a personalized arcane script, a form of coded spellcraft used by wizards to safeguard their secrets. The symbols were not literal but held symbolic power in magical theory.
“It’s like a cipher,” Ophelia mused. “The words themselves aren’t important—it’s the arcane energy they represent.”
“But without the key,” Krenn sighed, “we’re still grasping at shadows.”
Bob tapped the table thoughtfully. “Maybe Professor Ironquill can provide the key. If anyone knows about blending languages for magic, it would be him.”
Krenn nodded. “Agreed. We’ve taken this as far as we can alone.”
As they left the Biblioplex, the sky had deepened to a rich indigo, stars beginning to peek through the twilight. The campus was quiet, but an undercurrent of unease lingered in the air.
Ophelia looked up at the night sky. “Do you think all these incidents are connected?”
“I’d bet my beard on it,” Bob replied. “Someone’s up to no good, and we’re caught in the middle.”
Krenn’s gaze was distant. “Whatever is happening, we need to uncover the truth. For the safety of Strixhaven.”
A hush settled over them as they contemplated the magnitude of the situation. The path ahead was uncertain, but their resolve was firm.
“We’ll meet with Professor Ironquill first thing tomorrow,” Krenn stated. “And perhaps then, the shadows will start to lift.”
They parted ways, each lost in their own thoughts. The mysteries they chased were growing more complex, but so too was their determination to solve them.
Session Notes