Finding some rough-hewn stairs leading out of a tree, Flint was immediately suspicious. Stalwart as ever, he barreled in, only to notice two horrible Quicklings. Luckily he dispatched one with extreme prejudice via divine might. The second quicklinged its way up and stabbed him in his ribs, shoulder, and kidney in a split second.
About the same time, a monstrous Domovoi emerged from beneath the threshold, behind him.
Well and truly screwed, Flint hoped his companions could drop at least one of the two so Adreham could guide his hammer home on the other.
Lynnya was also briefly downed by one of the Quicklings, but Volodemir remedied the situation rapidly. That fight ended in some way. The haze of battle makes it hard to recall. Flint was good enough to delve deeper, thinking the worst was over.
Girl, it was not. Don't stumble in to a storeroom with a roughspun cot against the wall and assume you're good. A flippin' Blemmys jumped out of nowhere and pummeled the shit out of Flint as he protected his less blessed companions with some divine guardianship.
The group did their usual pummel/magic/shoot business on the awful beast for a while, but eventually Flint found his head potato rattled against his brain box and couldn't move. This was a real first. To be followed shortly by another first. Being swallowed whole by a Blemmys. Without many options, Flint chugged his emergency major healing potion and hoped for the best from his companions. Just as he was about to open his ever-smoking bottle just to see what would happen, Goblin struck down the beast and Flint started acting like being eaten and digested wasn't the scariest thing that had ever happened to him. In unrelated news, he advocated for a retreat, to see what Thornlet Thistlekin had actually known about what she had sent the Abolitionists in to in the first place.
Gotta find some sort of ring of stomach acid resistance...