The Curse of Cal'Riel

The Wrong Rogue

15 Claeg '22
Not the Answers I was Looking For

The gods have the wrong rogue. I'm not cut out for any of this horseshit.

My biggest disqualifier is that I don't care. Why would they endorse me when I don't give a damn about their divine drama. I don't have the insights of our druid or the faith of our paladin. I don't have the curiosity of the ranger who seems to just be along for the ride. I don't have the monk's commitment to keep the ranger's curiosity from killing her. I don't have the desperation of the warlock who'll suffer this fucked up calling because it's better than starving. And I especially don't have time to play the pawn in these gods' games while Mother is dying in her bed.

We found the temple. And it had answers. And those answers only bred more questions. Questions I don't care to stick around to find the answers to.

I thought everything was going to be alright once we found Tempist's strange druid friend. His name was Bud and he was a connoisseur of the bud, which he had an impressive collection of in his home. Once we finally reached his place, we were treated to the finest in pampered ecotourism, but first we had to get there.

We'd spent another long day trudging through the forest, our pace slowed since the old trail had long grown over. Those of us with bladed weapons were put up front, hacking a clearing wide enough for Moxie and the cart. Erevel's sword was more efficient at that than my daggers, one hefty swing clearing what several of my swipes could. I was exhausted when we finally reached a clearing, wiping layers of plant guts off my arms and armor.

"Are we there yet?" I asked out of breath.

Tempist ventured out ahead, shielding her eyes as she studied the sun's position. She pulled an old map from an assortment of parchments she carried with her, unrolling it and comparing its sketches with the treeline ahead of us.

"Hmmm..." was all she said.

"Great," said Astra, peeling off her tattered jacket. Hiking through rough terrain all day made even the autumn sun too warm for the non-fieries. "We're lost."

"We're not lost," the druid assured, her gaze bobbing between the map and the forest. "I just haven't been here in a while."

I couldn't tell what the hell 'here' even was. The trees all looked the same. Sometimes the thicket would be ferns instead of serrated vines, sometimes there were ponds and streams to avoid, and occasionally we had clearings of grass like where we stood, but all in all, I had no idea how to navigate a place like the forest.

I turned to Eiris. "What's your opinion on this, Feathers? You got those nature instincts that make this your thing, right? Is the kid taking us in circles?"

The ranger didn't answer. Just narrowed her eyes at me and turned away.

"The fuck did I say this time?" I was genuinely confused.

Charcyrl sighed at me, shaking her head.

I would later learn its bad form to call an aarakocra 'feathers.' That was the equivalent of someone calling me 'sparky' or 'hottie.' which I honestly didn't mind regardless of its creative lacking, but I couldn't keep assuming my tolerances were the same as Eiris's. She didn't grow up around other aarakocra, didn't have the shield against racial jabs the way I had by growing up with other fire genasi.

Neither Eiris or Charcyrl talked to me for the rest of the day, which made the remaining trek suck more than the first part. I couldn't distract from my mind by making small talk with anyone, not even Astra. She's been really quiet ever since Erevel joined the party, like she didn't want to draw attention to herself. I even tried talking to Moxie but she seemed annoyed too.