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 Emily Schacher and Nick Davis. The campaign started in 2019 and several characters have finished major...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I hated the swamp. The only barrier between my boots and a few feet of putrid water was an untrustworthy boardwalk that was heinously not up to code. Mother would loudly disapprove. When we got up this morning, the sun was out and dutifully steaming off the autumn dew. I think the sun was still out in the swamp but it was hard to tell with the green leafy clouds hanging over our heads. Only cracks of rays could get through, not nearly enough to burn off the nasty moisture that clung to everything and made my skin itch.
"I hate the swamp!" I said out loud so there wasn't any confusion.
Charcyrl rolled her eyes at me, playfully. For once, I could actually see her eyes during the day since the trees blocked the sun and she didn't need her goggles. Her eyes weren't blood red like a typical drow's, but purple like a summer blossom. I guess the swamp had its perks.
"Never go to the Underdark," she said, matching my pace. "It's worse."
Her hair was coiled up into two tight buns, putting her sharp ears and long neck on full display. I took a moment to take her in before responding.
"Is that why you left?"
She laughed ironically. "You don't want to know why I left."
"Try me."
I watched her smile wither. She looked at me with saddening eyes that glossed over with, what I assumed, were memories of all the horror stories I've heard about the Underdark.
"You're trying to save your mother," she said. "I'm trying to save myself from mine."
My chest sank. That was a pain I'd never known, yet I still felt it.
I waited to see if she had anything else to say. She didn't. And I didn't ask for more. I was curious, but I didn't want to pry, didn't want to upset her. Maybe she'll talk again when we're not on the move, in a setting where the ale made the words flow easier and the truth less harsh to swallow.
"I'm sorry," was all I could think to say.
The wagon was leading our pack. Molly, the halfling cougar, was driving the mules. Sat next to her was the old dwarf she called 'Captain.' They kept a steady stream of small talk going, commenting occasionally about the druid kid who insisted on riding one of the mules. The beast didn't mind, actually seemed to enjoy Tempist's attention like one would enjoy the only other person in the room who could speak your native language.
The warlock and the ranger were a few paces ahead of us, engaged in their own chatter. Astra reminded me of Vix when she would gossip with our younger cousin, a small and impressionable dwarf girl who looked up to her. My sister was the shortest of the three of us so it wasn't often that anyone looked up to her. In the same way, Astra appreciated the way Eiris was adopting her as the big sister type. She never said that out loud, of course, but her smile would betray her when the two of them shared a laugh.
