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Cleric Journal: Day Twelve



Today I chose to pray today and eat cheese. I even managed to wash my clothing in water I boiled from the swamp. I had no idea the number of crawling and biting things that were sharing my person. I washed as best I could, but I really wanted a nice hot bath. I scrubbed down as best I could and managed to slough off the worse of the swamp. Being on dry land, inside a walled encampment shows me just how much I miss that old abandoned tower. If I weren’t having such vivid dreams about the city in the swamp, I think I’d go back, start up worship with the local villagers and introduce hygiene.

I found a barrel of what I can only assume is rain water. It most certainly was not swamp water. I’d tasted enough of that over the past half fortnight. No, this has proven to be some of the best tasting water I’ve ever had the pleasure of drinking. Why does the water at the monastery taste so dull and flat?

I considered the conundrum and by my third mug of deliciousness came to a startling conclusion. This water must be holy water. I bet that’s it. During my evening rituals the night before, the wisdom of my words, the righteousness of my prayers and the purity of my spirit must have drawn the attention of Semaunya (may she reign in splendor). All I know, is I’m enjoying this water. It has a nutty flavor with a golden pallor. Which makes me wonder about the splendors of ale and mead that Sister Edna used to go on about. The little weak ale she experienced in the monastery (her words) just didn’t compare to the stuff where she grew up. Said it would put hair on your chest. I don’t recall seeing any hair on Sister Edna’s chest, but Sister Vera had some hair on her chin. I wonder if she’d had some of that ale as well?

Every day has been a new day of discovery. The undead, the snakes, turtles and frogs all stayed outside the palisades. Two or three times I thought I heard someone calling out for help, but those calls were either cut short abruptly by a snarl and a splash, or in the case of the last hapless victim, the undead surged in that direction, and frankly, I was not unhappy to see the backs of them.

Of course, the undead came back. For the first time since encountering them at the old tower, I had a good smell of the swamp without their putrescence. Amazing the difference in the rot factor when decaying bodies were not overwhelming the pungent odor of the rotting vegetation and water logged everything. I even realized just how foul my clothing had become. Luckily the boiling had killed most of the fleas and such.

More prayer tonight, along with more of that fine, sweet water.

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D&D 5E Player’s Handbook


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The wild ox; strength and power.


Creativity; words, music, and art.


The troll cross; wealth and prosperity.


The sun; energy, honor, guidance.


Personally earned or lucky wealth and prosperity.


The harvest; patience and promise.


The chariot; journey and travel.

Note: This is not the real book cover.