Sarka, southwest farm, the fallows, Klos 19th, 350AC, 14:30  (underground, 65 degrees, half moon)

Thick amber goo starts to drip out of the dead beetle’s mouth in amounts large enough to fill buckets.  Plop.  Sllluck.  Splop.

Your group stands, in pain, weary, sweating with the exertion of the battle.  The area is still dimly lit by the lanterns, which outline the four dead badders around you.

Ragnor, see your private post.

The map below is to remind you of the layout of the farm.  Your characters are roughly at the white X on the map.  At this point, you cannot actually see outside of the fallows.