The Curse of Cal'Riel

Prologue

A collaborative Dungeons & Dragons adventure told through the journal of the party's bard. It's set in the homebrewed world of Cal'Riel created by my collaborators. The campaign started in 2019 and several characters have finished major story arcs, so now it's time to tell their stories.

The bard's name is Inigo Oakensmith. He is the middle child of the mountain dwarf, Vivian Oakensmith, and the fire genasi, Ryshard Baskara. The following is an excerpt from Vivian's memoir, written shortly before the events of the first chapter.

9 Eris '22
On Mothering the Troupe

I fell in love with Ryshard Baskara because I wanted to create life with him. I have never questioned this about myself. My instincts knew what they wanted in a mate, and I come from a line of highly pragmatic dwarves who don't argue with their instincts, as a matter of survival.

My parents, on the other hand, argued, intensely, about thinning our dwarven bloodline with a short-lived and volatile race. They refused to believe our family should be matched with anyone more foreign than a hill dwarf. "Genasi live but a fraction of a dwarven span!" they warned. "Viv, you will watch your children die of old age before your hair has a single strand of silver."

I put on my best persuasion game and told them that the gods allowed our blood to mix, thereby strengthening it. That I intended not to sacrifice my heritage, rather enrich it, giving my children quality of life over quantity. I spun whatever logical reasoning I could to cover for my infatuation. My parents were too many years removed from the spark of chemistry to understand where my head was at.

In hindsight, I wish I'd had the wisdom to argue against the heartache I'd feel in watching them die. I wish I'd said "I'm choosing to be a mother for their sake, not for my own."

Their next protest targeted Ryshard's career, or "lack thereof" in the performing arts. I didn't have a retort because I honestly can't blame them for that. Most artists can hardly feed themselves, let alone a family. Fortunately, I had a plan.

"Have you not shaped me into a master of carpentry?" I said. "These arms still swing the hammer, even as my belly grows. These hands work harder because they're now working for two."

"Three," my mother corrected, referring to Ryshard. She wasn't wrong.

Ryshard was technically out of work while we poured the foundation of our future home, and that was all part of the plan. The Oakensmith Playhouse was our dream and I needed his help, literally, to build it. I had enough money saved to get by, and my folks, against their better judgment, chipped in. They would even make weekend trips into the city to lend a hand. Ryshard hated every minute of their presence so I would often send him out to buy supplies. The last thing I needed was his temper torching the framework he'd just nailed together while my father lectured him about "real work." It was a brutal time, more difficult than my rose-tinted blueprints had envisioned. But we made it through with minimal scars. My first child, Vix, my only daughter, was born merely days after the final nail was hammered in. It's almost like I planned it that way.

Oh right, I did.

This was the first time in my life where everything felt perfect. My family name was now in the notable architecture journal of Allerton, our home city. Our grand opening even made the paper's front page. Ryshard scrambled to perfect his first show in this new space, a two-person magic act, rich with music and comedy and dazzling costumes. I barely remember it, to be honest, too focused on my newborn. I do remember Ryshard's glow when the good reviews spilled in and the admission sales netted a profit well beyond production costs. He was elated, and I was in love a second time. A love unique to new mothers.