Elarie's Journal - Arrival at Camp

…I do not think I was meant for boats.

Today I arrived—somehow still alive—upon the creaking vessel that carried me to the N.O.D.E. expedition camp. The others claimed the crossing was "mild." If that was mild, I dread to imagine a true storm. I told myself real adventurers must go by sea at times… but I am not yet convinced the sea wants me to become one.

Still, my first steps on solid ground were met with an unexpected blessing: Rutherford Hootie, an owlin as warm and kind as a campfire on a cold night. I could not tell if he meant to comfort me or simply distract me from the fact that I was about to be sick. Somehow—and I cannot recall if it was his idea or my desperation—I ended up with a new book. A good omen, I think.

The camp's heart bustled with smoke, voices, and the shuffle of tents around a central fire. A perfect spot to watch these new faces: Shadow—a cat ninja, leaping and fighting the air?! Mel—seemingly in charge of… everything? Sweeping through camp making it fancy or something.

Madam Helena—who creeps me out just enough to keep my whiskers alert. Drawing some sort of cards and telling people about their own life? Jorath—staring out at the sea (far braver than I), nose deep in tomes about mythical beasts thicker than some of my brothers' skulls.

And then in the center of this chaos, Chef Simon—a dwarven woman who looked prepared to duel the world with nothing but her frying pan.

Yet even she blinked in shock at the mountainous heap of crab meat someone had delivered to her. Jorath apparently knew where it was from. Something about a giant crab battle he did not want to think about. He looked as I felt when waking for the last time. Once Simon decided the meat would not kill us, she put everyone to work preparing a feast.

Shadow ninja'd around. Mel organized everything. And I tried not to cry when the cooking smells reminded me of home. I kept my face steady. Adventurers tuck grief into some small pocket and keep walking, do they not?

Still, something good sparked from it all. While thinking about water for cooking, I remembered a book on aqueducts. Suggested a simple channel and filter from river to camp. Mel said it was a good idea—and she and Jorath told the foreman, Smith, to build it. People listened to me. Me!

In the midst of our preparations, another ship limped into the makeshift dock… —or perhaps crashed is more accurate.

Shadow sprinted off to assist. The rest of us kept cooking but watched wide-eyed as the battered crew disembarked. Among them: Captain Embercrest, a gold Dragonborn wearing a face full of horrors. Their companion ship had been lost. Something about reefs… or a dying rock… I stopped listening once it became clear I would not be expected to go back onto the water.

One thing was clear: that wreck at the dock will never sail again. And since I refuse to set foot on a boat ever again, I suggested turning it into a stationary shelter. A land-ship—a home, a kitchen, a place that does not sway.

Mel made it happen. Chef Simon looked like she had just seen her deity when she realized she might have a real kitchen.

Later, Madam Helena did a really nifty spell to tell everyone dinner was on!—and still a bit spooky. The ache returned then. I did not feel like I had a family around this fire… but perhaps I felt the spark of a team.

Everyone loved the food, busy with talk of tomorrow's explorations. I did not volunteer yet… but I will. I promise.

Oh! Mel taught me chess. She took forever on her turns, so I must have made truly excellent moves. Jorath received a Tarot reading. I want one too… but perhaps not just yet.

Tonight feels like the beginning of something—not a grand sweeping epic, but maybe the quiet first page of my own small tale.