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This will prove I am either entirely inept, or not as inept as you think I am. Likely the latter. Excuse any awful spelling or grammatical dipshittery as it is 2 in the morning and I've been up since 5 the day before. A bedraggled sage-esque Orcish woman would saunter into any city or town with a large populus, clearly dazed and emaciated. She’d creep to the largest group she could find, regaling her tale of the spirits informing her of a grand catastrophe that’d lead to a great finding. Later she would tell the group who accepted the task that she is a shaman, despite how obvious she may have made that fact. They would trek deep into the spookiest bit of whatever the new map is called, as we will switch to it in less than a week, and eventually come across a frightfully deep chasm in a massive basin, which would later be found to be a drained lake.. The shaman would warn the group of the perils beneath, and I’d [!] to make it seem as lackluster and typical as possible to breed suspicion about the group. After some time, the shaman would shout at the group, continuing to warn them. Either after some time still, or after someone would inquire how dangerous, the shaman would tell them She’d show them, and ask for the party to stand back. She’d rip a dried and marred skull, whose openings would be sealed with fat and sand, from her bandolier of many shaman-y things, and toss it in the hole. A fiery heat and light would wash out of the hole, provided with a noise similar to a flood. The shaman would shriek to the group to run up to the shore of the basin as an awful sludge would spring from the chasm. The shaman would make it out in time. The goop fills the majority of the once-lake’s basin, sloshing up in a slight wave that’d pool at the slight of the shore, before reeling back into its mass. In the puddles’ pseudo-nucleus, deduced by its darker colouration, would be a blackish boulder, quite hefty in size. The sludge would quiver and quake, shifting about to eventually come alive. I’d [!] something pertaining to the fact that the lake was filled with a puddle of death, just so everyone was clear on that. The shaman would stutter, stepping back aways in disbelief and mumbling something about the spirits because shaman. She’d shout at the party to keep the beast away from her as she’d do her work, being as vague as possible, to aid with the suspense. She’d request the group to allow her back into the trees or some equal convenient vision-obscuring device for long enough for her to call for a favor. If arguing would ensue, I’d bolster the severity of the situation via the blob slamming wads of itself into the ground or something similar. If still the group would deny the Shaman the clearance to hide behind something, I’d have the blob do something rather distracting so everyone wouldn’t focus on the Shaman for a moment. Once she is obscured, I will interact with the party as the slime for an amount of time deemed fitting, at which point the bit of obscuring nature the shaman hid behind would cough an animal of fire, which would sprint into the jiggling mass of blob. The canid engulfed in flame would charge through the goo, entirely unimpeded, as its heat is enough to dissipate the slime into a foul smog, which too would dissipate into basically nothing. From the three other cardinal directions would charge similar beasts of flame, that’d cut into the thing that consumed the lake. The creatures would pool in the centre of the slime, chasing each other in a seemingly-choreographed circle, slinging whips of heat through the basin of sentient sludge. The ropes of expanding heat would sling further and further, ending the bizarre ceremony with the tendrils of fire scraping at the basins shoreline. The blob is entirely evaporated, along with the wolves, whom sizzle out into a quaint nothing after their deed is complete. The group would likely not understand at first, and should they not deduce that the random flame-wolves weren't conjured by nothing, I’d emote the shaman groaning or somesuch. Upon the hopeful locating by the group, the shaman would be in deep concentration, mumbling words unknown to any lest they understand the True Blah. They would be visibly shaken, and likely looking as though on the verge of death, as her disheveled state mentioned at the beginning of this awful spiel was not remedied. Should she be disturbed in any way during this bout of gibbering, her mental connection to the spirit realm would quickly severe, shattering her fragile psyche, whereupon she’d bury the smaller end of her staff into her eye, pressing it further until her demise. Should her True Blah requests be allowed to finish by the party, She’d end her connection, and peer to the group with a frightened, thousand-metre stare. If anyone would touch her, she’d collapse as though dead. Should anyone continue to try and tug her back to some form of safety, she’d flip a **** and begin smashing and clawing at the party. Around the beginning of the party’s interactions with the gibbering shaman, a peaceful storm would be forming, with lazy clouds bobbing about to assimilate into larger versions on themselves. The only gesture the shaman would offer, is propping a palm facing the lake on her knee, with a finger stretching towards the basin should the party still now understand what she was asking of them. Upon the party’s hopeful inspection of the lake, which would be caked in foul ash, they would come across a meteorite, entirely whole, laying near the chasm the sludge creeped out of. It is likely a large slime lived about the lake, and the meteorite slammed into the centre of such a lake, causing the lake’s water and any slime dwelling within it to sink into the massive chasm caused by the falling rock, in turn causing the slime to assimilate into one massive slime, which would swell to even larger size via absorbing the water drawn into the chasm. The shaman would not interact with the group apart from the ways mentioned above, she’s asked too much of the spirits and in return they’ve stolen her sanity with the aid of Ixli. Should anyone who speaks True Blah wish to study her babblings before her inevitable starvation, they would learn much, as Ixli’s mind-tearing inducts the knowledge of several well-learned scholars within oneself. The meteorite is enough of a size to lug back to a village with the aid of the party, though carrying would likely be much easier if broken in chunks. The shaman perishes, and will perish no matter what any would do. Weird-ass idea conjured from nothing, sorry if its shite. Sorta not, because creativity, but sorta am at the same time. Please, tell me how awful I am in the comments, It makes me feel as though I lack a skeleton. Sorry about the textwall too Sleepy