If you haven't read the first entry in our Barcadian story adventure, STOP READING, and go find Absinthia's Enchanted Festival: A Scroll from Wormwood!
And now, dear readers, our story continues.
Tipple adjusted his vest and smoothed out the parchment scroll, still slightly crinkled from his journey back in Wormwood. The tiny bard had endured hallucinations, mild embarrassment, and a suspiciously strong antidote, but his mission was clear—deliver Absinthia’s message and reconnect with the party. First stop: Merlo!
The journey to Merlo’s tower was scenic enough—a winding path lined with wildflowers and the occasional enchanted shrub that politely offered directions. He knew he was in the right place because the door read “The Magical Merlo.”
"Subtle," Tipple said to himself as he knocked twice.
The door swung open, seemingly of its own accord, revealing a library stacked to the ceiling with tomes, potions, and whatever magical oddities Merlo had been tinkering with lately. Among the organized chaos sat Merlo himself, absentmindedly stirring a bubbling cauldron with a spoon that was definitely meant for soup, not saucery.
And then, perched upon a stack of spellbooks taller than Tipple, was Sherry—Merlo’s dragon familiar, who, at that precise moment, was giving Tipple a rather unimpressed stare.
“What took you so long, pint-sized poet?” Merlo asked without looking up.
“Oh, forgive me, o wise one, I was busy being shot with enchanted arrows,” Tipple huffed, rubbing his still-sensitive shoulder. “I bring word from Absinthia!”
Sherry snorted. “About time. If this is a summoning, I vote for skipping the nonsense and going straight to the feast.”
Tipple squinted at the dragon. “Do you ever think about anything other than food?”
Sherry stretched lazily. “Only important things. Like treasure, naps, and how deeply inconvenient stairs are.”
Merlo chuckled, finally taking the scroll and scanning the contents. His brow furrowed slightly as he read through Absinthia’s words, the mention of camaraderie and shared victories stirring something nostalgic.
“She wants us to gather again,” Merlo murmured, tapping the parchment.
Sherry sniffed. “And celebrate National Pet Day, obviously.”
Tipple crossed his arms. “Did Absinthia write that? Because I don’t see the words ‘National Pet Day’ anywhere on that scroll.”
Merlo smirked. “She didn’t have to. If this is a reunion, Sherry will claim it in the name of all familiars, sidekicks, and loyal creatures everywhere.”
The dragon puffed out her chest. “You’re welcome.”
With a flick of his wrist, Merlo conjured a quill and began drafting a response to Absinthia.
As the ink shimmered against the parchment, Tipple leaned against the tower’s bookshelf, watching Sherry as she casually curled herself around a pile of books.
“You know, for a creature who claims to have deep philosophical thoughts, you spend an awful lot of time loafing,” Tipple teased.
Sherry yawned. “Loafing is philosophy.”
Tipple rolled his eyes, but Merlo simply laughed. “Come now, bard. If you plan to travel onward, you’ll need energy. And Sherry’s already decided that this reunion calls for a feast. So… are you staying for dinner?”
Tipple grinned. “Wouldn’t dream of missing it.”
As the scroll continued its journey across Barcadia, the first step toward reunion had been set. And if Sherry had her way, it would also include a banquet worthy of every adventurer and their loyal, occasionally exasperated, magical companions.
We'll see where Tipple journeys to next. We just hope Merlo's food goes down as smoothly as his concoctions.