Day Eighteen (1 of 2)

It is the persistent, close, damnable heat talking.  Or it is the humidity and lack of breeze.  Either one may be blamed for encouraging a desire to close off the major blood vessels to Pulp’s brain with my talented, long-suffering, surgeon’s hands.

He was at it again today.  The sun was well overhead, high noon and blazing half the width of the sky if it was an inch.  Free of the lizardmen, we had shoved around the cargo crates and fashioned a rough lean-to shelter under our flattened tents.  This provided shade but not cool, and found us crammed in close to stay out of the blistering heat.

No one had anything to say.  We endured the heat in deflated silence, knowing it would be hours until Pelor’s yellow-white avatar crawled into the treeline and shade returned.  Pulp, however, found something to say, and to me of all people, and on that same gods-tiring topic.

Friendly as before, mistaken in belief of being helpful as before, Pulp confronted me again about my role in combat.  I will not relate his every word or even the broad strokes of his monologue.  Perhaps I have before, in a previous entry.  And if I have not, I’m glad.

Enough already !  I don’t get it.  I really don’t.  He seems so concerned with what I am doing near the end of combat…  As if it will make a difference to the outcome if I take no action whatsoever in the final furious moments of a fight, when it has typically been the case that it is one battered and failing enemy collapsing under the blows of at least four of our fighters.  Would a rock or a crossbow-bolt sent by my hand REALLY be so decisive ?  Does it pain him so much that I stand by during a fight to wait my turn to act after the fight is done ?

Pulp was annoying Wilhelm.  That, at least, makes me happy.  Not that Will is agitated by Pulp’s ceaseless advice.  But rather, that I have someone on my side on this.  Wilhelm rumbled out pointed sighs of dismay as he whittled, and rolled his eyes when they met mine.

I gave Pulp some sort of terse, dismissive, noncommittal answer and went about ignoring him by making this entry.  So help me, if he gets on about this when we get back to our barracks at the Guild-hall, I will find out both the Guild policy on fratricide, and Pelor’s policy on broken vows.

Journal of Dr. Marcus Grant
Healing Cleric of Pelor, Order of St-Jude Academy (Silabrek)
18th Day, travelling by river from Mid-Plain to Callia, territory of Ælim.




About d20horizons

D&D player.
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