Absinthia of Wormwood paused in her usual patrol of the forest’s edge, her keen elven senses attuned to the vibrancy of the day. The village below was abuzz with preparations for Wormwood’s Enchanted Festival, a celebration of nature’s bounty and spirited camaraderie. It was a time when elves, humans, dwarves, constructs, and other dwellers of Barcadia came together to honor the land and its gifts by imbibing in festivities… and refreshing drinks.
As one of the festival's guardians, Absinthia ensured the celebrations were uninterrupted by any lurking fiends. Her arrows, coated with a special potion causing hallucinations and blackouts, kept the forest’s edge secure. No unwanted guests would spoil this day of merriment. After all, nothing ruins a party like an uninvited troll crashing the punch bowl. (And she wasn’t talking about her ex. That’s another type of troll.)
She wished her party members could have attended the festivities, but since clearing the dungeon, they had parted ways to pursue their previous duties and passions. For Absinthia, that meant returning home, but she was hoping the heroes would once again reunite by the year's end to celebrate Winter’s coming.
She unfurled a parchment scroll she had fetched earlier and prepared a message for her fellow adventurers. With a flick of her wrist and a dip of homemade ink, she penned a group message, the ink shimmering with her magical essence.
As Absinthia rolled up the scroll, she caught sight of Sazerac, her wise owl companion, perched on a nearby branch, proudly holding a four-leaf clover in his beak. A symbol of good fortune, it was a promising sign for the festival and for her aim. He hooted softly and suddenly snapped his eyes to a spot behind her, giving her notice of an impending threat.
With unmatched precision and skill, she drew an arrow and turned, unleashing the string just as she heard a branch snap behind her.
“Owwwwww,” a voice let out. It sounded a bit familiar.
“Who dares to interrupt the local festivities of Wormwood on this, the day of our Enchanted Festival?” Absinthia asked as she approached the pink-clad shape crumpled on the ground.
“Girl, how many times have I told you to look BEFORE you shoot,” a snappy voice retorted.
“Tipple!” she exclaimed. “I was just about to write to you and the rest of the party.”
“That’s great, honey,” Tipple responded. “By the way, I see spots. Do you see spots?”
“I have been thinking about all of the good times we had together, and I think we need to plan a get together…” she trailed off, overwhelmed by nostalgia.
“Also… a bandage would be useful.” Tipple pleaded as he attempted to examine his wound while succumbing to Absinthia’s special arrows. “It’s either a scratch, or you shot… like… 20 arrows at once.”
“It will subside. I was not aiming to maim,” Absinthia assured him.
“Ha! Aim to maim. That rhymes!” Tipple laughed as he began to hallucinate dancing unicorns and fireworks in the sky.
“My friend,” Absinthia began as she collected the pint-sized poet and escorted him to the witch doctor’s tent. “We shall treat you with antidote, and then perhaps you can help me with this group message.”
“And you,” Absinthia said, addressing Sazerac, who would definitely be smiling if owls could smile. “You need to stop playing practical jokes and leave the surprises to me.”
“She’s the trickster with the trick shots,” Tipple sang.
But don’t worry, adventurer. For Absinthia may be quick to draw the bow, but her antidotes always measure up. Unfortunately, she could do nothing about Tipple’s hangover the next day. But he was fine. A little cranky, but fine.
And as the two of them caught up about the good old times, the tiny bard agreed to help his dear friend send her group text by traveling to visit their closest party member.
Who, you ask? You’ll just have to stay tuned as the scroll travels across Barcadia, bringing you tales from our heroic adventurers and their exploits after the events of Heroes of Barcadia.
Can't wait for the next installment? Go on a Barcadian adventure of your own!
