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Cleric Journal: Day Thirty-Eight



Liz woke up before dawn and took over poling the raft so I could sleep some. She doesn’t really know where her tribe were taken, but she saw the direction they went while she hid in the swamp.

Seems she had been out hunting for healing herbs for her father, who was the shaman. I told her I dreamed about her father and she said it was an omen. She said that my mind was not fit for the likes of her father so the great Semaunya (may she teach her smarty-pants children to be less sassy) must have decreed I was to save them.

Her logic was a little muddled, but she was a child who had been traumatized by the loss of her people. She sure knew how to use that spear on the Bullywogs, though. She has a serious hate on for those lousy toadies.

She also said that the Bullywogs are not a brave people, but cowardly and were afraid of her folk. There is a greater evil at work here. Something strong enough to cause the opportunistic and obsequious Bullywogs to raid the village. She claims to have killed several of those who scouted the surrounding swamp area looking for stragglers, but that she can stay under water so long, that the toads gave up.

I have to pause here and discuss something different. Do you ever have that moment where you turn around and see something you’ve looked at a gazillion times in a new light. That’s how I’ve been seeing the whole world lately. I’ve not put a significant amount of thought into life in the monastery lately, but there are memories that have begun to trouble me. And I’m remembering bigger words. Just yesterday I was making a list of all the holy words I could remember, so I could see if any of them triggered a meaning with Liz, and I was writing down words like obsequious and opportunistic for the first time in my memory. Truly the divine has moved through me in strange and phenomenal ways. See, phenomenal, how do I even know that word. There is definitely something strange going on in my mind.

Anyway, back to Liz. She’s quite a remarkable child. Twice during the day she managed to spear fish. While I poled us ever deeper into the darkest part of the swamp we ate raw fish and shared stories. She was fascinated by my description of Kithri and I laughed at the childish stories of pranks she and her friends had played on the adults of the village.

Unfortunately that ended the conversation and she grew sullen once more, sitting cross legged near the front of the raft, just shy of the giant toad skull I’d placed at the prow. She said it should give small bands of Bullywog’s pause when they saw us. Every little bit helped, right?

At least we had full bellies and company for the dark memories. She had suffered trauma, for sure and true. I just wish I knew an appropriate form of healing for her. I think just now, that the art of quiet conversation may be the best medicine. That and the silent company which allowed one to have the security of a nearby friend, but the sanctity of their internal thoughts.

I missed having a friend. Okay, Brother Charles was a boon companion, but he was just difficult to converse with. Liz helped with some of my own melancholy. Feels like much of the world would be better served to just sit and share a quiet meal with someone they cared about. Would make us all kinder people.

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What I'm Reading


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.