After some delightfully intriguing yet petty bickering amongst the group regarding Tupper's effectiveness at anything martial, we descended upon an island completely shrouded in mist. Flying around the island proved to be useless, as the fog overwhelmed my senses and prevented any scouting.
As history repeats itself, we watched Tupper set off a trap (arguably purposefully) that separated him from the group via a dropped portcullis, knocked cleanly out, and then dragged off to gods knows where. Then it's off to the races, trying to catch back up to him... right into the hands of an invisible stalker and a golem.
The stalker wasn't much - Nigori made him painfully easy to see to the rest of the party, and he fled while the golem started knocking its great fists into anyone unfortunate enough to be nearby. I step back, reaching into my pouches, in one hand a mass of clay and some drops of water in the other, and try to recall the words...
...where did the words go...
I curse to myself quietly, putting the reagents away. I had replaced the lines of the transmute spell I usually memorized with the more vulgar ones of a Flame Strike.
I drew my quarterstaff, keeping the words of Shillelagh upon my tongue, watching for a moment when I could summon creatures to attack the golem, but all possible flanking spots were taken by the oh-so-virtuous, sword-swinging Paladins. Within short order the golem was in fact destroyed, but not without me hanging in the back of the party, gripping my quarterstaff, feeling as damned useless as Tupper.
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