05/15/2026: The Shambling Mound

In a vault-ceilinged room, the shambling mound shuffles toward the Hexmates beneath Witherbloom Tower, smelling of wet soil and rot. Massive, its vines and branches are held together with some sort of mucus, and they appear just at the edge of decay, suspended by magic rather than nature. Fungi grow in clusters along the upper ridge of what might be called its head and shoulders, some of them faintly luminescent, throwing pale light across the room in uneven patches. Gaping maws open and close along various places on its massive, moist body.

The Hexmates arrange themselves around it, wary.

⚔️

It is hostile at first, lunging at the group as they debate what to do.

The Hexmates hold their ground, and through trial and error they quickly determine what would be exactly the wrong choice: lightning. KFC's Witch Bolt heals the creature rather than harming it. The creature lights up and its outline expands as it consumes the electrical bolt.

Under the effects of lightning, the mound grows three feet taller. It begins to make a purring noise, growing calmer. Something in its posture — if a shambling mound can be said to have posture — shifts.

"Well..." puzzles KFC, somewhat stymied by this turn of events.

"That's right!" cries Hester. "Remember from Arcano-botany for Beginners class, in our first year?"

KFC  looks blankly at her.

Hester presses on, "Shambling mounds feed off of lightning!" She flings a Chromatic Orb spell at the newly enlarged creature, but it flies wide, spattering acid on the stone floor.

What works instead is simpler: wood.

They arrive at the conclusion in stages. First, Debbie loses the handle of a mop into the creature. Next, she fires some of the library pencils into it using the Architect's Compass. With each offering, the creature ceases its aggressive movements.

Finally, Debbie offers a table, snatching the single glowing potion phial from its surface before the table disappears entirely. The mound takes the table, tips it upward, and begins to devour it in stages — legs, crossbeam, the whole of it — consuming the wood in slow, deliberate movements while the party watches.

Alister, themself a creature of fungus, moves toward it carefully and speaks to it gently. The mound stills completely, as if understanding them. What follows is not a conversation, exactly, but it is a communication: the creature is frightened, and it is sad. It has been here for some time. It did not choose to be here.

Alister is affected by this. They speak their concerns aloud to Debbie — about the mound's rights, its intelligence, what it might be owed. Debbie gives the conversation genuine weight. Alister notes, quietly, that the mound belongs in a swamp. Whoever put it here, the shambling mound is not where it should be.

⚔️

Diro finds the shrine in a side room: a small alcove, deliberately arranged. At its center is a creased and aged photograph of a bullywug — older, formal in bearing, posed the way someone poses when they want to be remembered a particular way. The resemblance to Murgaxor is not subtle. Diro studies it, takes what information can be taken from it, and retrieves a ring of keys hanging nearby. He moves toward the other side of the room.

He does not see the shadow moving through one of the far doorways.

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The knob turns easily and KFC swings the door open to peer inside. In the light of flickering oil lamps, the spell-component room is packed: shelves dense with jars and jugs, piles on the floor, bundles of dried material hanging from hooks. Candles burn at various stages of their lives.

Safety-minded, KFC extinguishes the candles — a reasonable precaution. It is also, as it turns out, a mistake. The room goes dark immediately, and KFC, like chickens everywhere when it becomes dark, is asleep before they fully register what is happening. They go down between one breath and the next, slumped against a shelf, dumping several heavy books and a pot of something that might be ashes.

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Just outside the door, while Debbie and Alister debate what might be done for the shambling mound, Reyna is startled by the sound of heavy objects falling and smashing within the room KFC just entered.

Reyna finds the seven-foot-tall chicken barbarian laid out on the floor, head tucked beneath her wing, resonant snores rippling the feathers on her muscular arm.

She shakes KFC — at first gently, then firmly. The barbarian's golden eyes pop open, and KFC bobbles her head to clear her fuzzy thoughts. The pair regard one another.

⚔️

The remnant of Hester's Chromatic Orb — acid, pooled and still bubbling — is spread behind the purring shambling mound. No one notices how close the acid is to the mound: not Hester, not Alister, not Debbie, and not the mound itself.

⚔️

Diro rounds a corner and stops.

The figure at the end of the passage is large, filling the space. Its great horns and black hooves mark something very old and very dangerous. It clicks forward, smiling over a pointed beard, yellow goat-like eyes narrowing at Diro.

"What are you doing here, little humanoid?" The voice is vast, deep, resonant, and overtly threatening.

Diro struggles not to let anything show.

"I'm, um, Jonathan, er — Winterbloom — a student — a super senior, here on legitimate business, nothing unusual about any of this." Diro blurts this as rapidly as he can, then clams up to allow the devil to process his deception.

The devil considers this carefully, recognizing the surname as significant to Strixhaven.

"Well, Jonathan R. Winterbloom, take yourself from here. You are clearly lost, and there is nothing here for you. I am guarding prisoners and cannot be distracted by you."

The implication is clear enough: the past selves of the Hexmates are down here, somewhere in this dark, waiting, imprisoned.

Diro thanks the devil for nothing in particular, excuses himself, and walks back the way he came at a pace that does not quite become a run.

⚔️

The group reconvenes in the corridor. They have a ring of keys, a glowing potion, and a confirmed location — or close enough to one. They know where their counterparts are being held. They know what guards the way.

They do not know what comes next.

That, it seems, is a problem yet to be solved.