Our last D&D session was a debacle. So much so that I’ve been having trouble getting my head into the zone for writing it up. Every time I think about it, my brain shudders at the memory of all the stupid decisions we made.
In between sessions, I had spent a fair bit of time going over all my notes from the previous sessions, collated all the clues and came up with a theory of what we should do next in terms of infiltrating the orc stronghold.
That was all well and good. But nothing ever happens the way it’s supposed to, and when we broke off, our party of idiots was in a bit of a pickle. (That is, we are still in that pickle.)
I am going to wait until we’re out of the pickle to write the story of what happened/will happen in terms of us versus orcs (and gnolls and troglodytes). But there was one thing that happened that needs to be acknowledged separately.
One thing I’ve found, since joining the Watch of Rivermeet, is there is never a shortage of wondrous adventures to immortalise in song. Instead of hearing about events secondhand, I am now living them.
But not everything goes to plan. Not everything is a wondrous adventure about a magical cat or Aramil’s dashing battle-skills. Sometimes tragedy happens, and we are left despairing, second-guessing what we should have done differently — which is completely pointless and unhelpful.
We lost Brosia last night.
We should not have lost anyone, but that’s what happens when you camp in the territory of a family of cockatrices. Even if that little bit of scrub was the only mildly welcoming location along a cliff road.
We needed to regroup after a skirmish with orcs and plan for raiding their stronghold, but… we really should have heeded the two stone orc statues. We have no excuse.
Our only hope now is to find a way to reverse the curse of the cockatrice’s bite. The healing Pool of Labelas is said to be nearby, but we still have the orcs to deal with. It feels impossible, but we’ll not give up on Brosia yet.
So, this song, this lament, is not a wondrous adventure. There is no pride in singing it. There is certainly no joy.
There is only sorrow.
Song for Brosia
By Sariel Donnodel
Of all the comrades that e’re I’ve had
There is one whose trust is locked away
With all the danger we’ve faced as one
I’d hoped to win them around someday
What have we done, for want of wit?
The signs were there for us all to see
So our friend must stand in the shadow alone
With heart and soul and flesh of stone
Of all the places we chose to rest
This one was already claimed as home
And with all the knowledge that we possess
We should have run, oh had we known
So now it falls unto our lot
While grass does grow and the wind does moan
To return someday to save one of our own
From heart and soul and flesh of stone
Oh heart and soul and flesh of stone
(To the tune of the Parting Glass)
You might have gathered that our attempt to storm the orc stronghold is not going that well… Standby for the next post!
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