Cleric Journal: Day Two Hundred and Eleven




I put Lilith under the dragon hide cloak with Liz and hit them both with a solid healing that would make them sleep. Then I discussed watch with the fairies. They did not seem to sleep ever, which partially explained their incessant chattering. Morning Glory said that assessment was rude and took her squad out for the first watch. It took me twenty minutes of cajoling and flattery to get her to acknowledge me again. Of course, I started with an apology, which is usually the best way to start when being unintentionally rude.

Booty Shake and her crew offered to gather firewood, but I was tired of menial labor. I told her to get some rest. Then I prayed. What was the use of having all this power if I had to do so many menial chores. I remembered that I discovered the cantrip to clear small containers of their contents (mainly used for chamber pots), and figured I could do something similar for firewood. It took a bit of experimentation, and a few dozen misfires, but I got it after two hours of concentrated work. Yes, it would’ve been easier to just gather the wood by hand. But it was the principal, and frankly, reduction of future work. I picked up a stout stick and broke it in two, while channeling the divine in a spiral pattern out from the fire, to encompass a quarter league around. Soon, wood flew through the air from all directions and landed in a pile at my feet. I was quite pleased with myself until Jackson pointed out that the pile contained several spears, a few cudgels and one long bow. Perhaps the magic needed to be more specific.

Jackson had seen the objects fly here, so he had a good idea of the direction they had come from. I sent him and the rest of Booty Shake’s crew out to scout in that direction with the express orders not to engage the enemy, but to report back if we were being attacked.

I had not rebuilt the fire yet, so the camp was fairly dark. Of course, Liz and Lilith were buried under a bright white cloak, and my armor glowed it was so white. So much for an ambuscade. Of course, I was a cleric, was it truly moral for me to catch an enemy unaware? If I think back hard enough I am sure I’ve done it before, so likely there would be no repercussions. Likely.

I found Morning Glory and alerted her to the situation, so she and her squad made ready. They were fierce fighters, if a little prissy about it. So we waited. While it seemed like forever, it was only an hour or so. My spell had been fairly strong, and the frogs that hopped into my camp were a bit discombobulated without their weapons. There were five warrior caste with a caster of some ilk hiding in the back of the group.

My shield had been damaged in the battle with the madness monster, and I had not tried it in combat yet. I hefted it anyway, and gripped my mace tightly. The frogs made a quick scan of the clearing, saw the pile of wood with their weapons and jumped for them. I lunged forward, putting myself between them and their toys, and smashed the lead frog a bone crunching blow. He spun in the air and fouled the next two behind him. I had no compunction about killing a fallen foe, and made quick work of the two tripped up frogs. This, unfortunately gave the remaining two a chance to move around me and recover their weapons.

In the meantime, the caster began a spell that involved a lot of swearing and some form of dark magic that smelled like offal. Luckily for me, I have good allies. Morning Glory and her folks flew down from the trees, bows twanging and spears flashing. Before the caster could get off his foul spell, he was punctured and slashed by half a dozen tiny poison covered weapons. He didn’t die so much as swell up like a puffer fish (yes, I have heard of a puffer fish) and fell over, his fingers the size of sausages and his face a tapestry of various colored swollen patches. I don’t know what they did to him, but perhaps it was time to reevaluate my loathing of the Cornish pixies. These fairies were lethal.

I danced with the frogs, but it was a short dance. I did take one slash to my shield arm when the frog’s spear slid along the front and punched through where the burned slash was. That hurt a lot. He died with my mace in his face. I’m thinking of having that phrase tattooed on my body somewhere. It just sounds so cool.

The final frog dropped his spear and begged for mercy. I granted it to him, believe it or not. I had need of information and besides, I could always kill him when I was done. Not the kindest thing to do, but I’m fairly sure if I didn’t one of my allies would.

We were just congratulating each other on a fight well fought when a new person stumbled into my camp. It was a hob. It was one of my hobs. I had miscounted (apparently). He was more shocked to see me, than I him, I think. Which was strange since I had not realized he existed. That being said, he had a quiver on his belt I recognized as Liz’s and two swords on his hip, also Liz’s.

He turned to run back into the wood, but Booty Shake did her thing. The hob was mesmerized as she shook her proverbial booty and while he was so otherwise engaged, I hit him in the back of the head with my mace. Not too hard, just enough to knock him out.

Or at least down. Hobs have hard heads. I had to hit him a second time, and then I had to decide if I was going to heal him or not. I had perhaps gotten a little over zealous. It was just the fact he had Liz’s weapons, and had run from me.

Those two things were not doing him any favors.

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