20 Abadius – 4 Calistril, 4725 AR

There is a particular moment in storytelling, and I say this as someone who has told a great many stories, when the audience realizes they had the wrong read on someone. It does not matter if it was obvious from the outside. What matters is the moment the understanding shifts.

This was one of those stretches.

There was a woman named Steve standing between the party and Ben when they arrived. Armed, positioned, and clearly prepared for the conversation to go wrong. It did not.

Ben gave the party a small leather box. It looks exactly like a dopp kit. I mention this because it is the kind of detail that changes how you think about someone: not the grand gesture, but the practical one. He gave them supplies for a twelve-day journey out of the jungle and sent them on their way. That is not the behavior of a villain. The Dungeoneers are processing this at their own pace.

The travel itself was eventful. There was a manticore. Devon backhanded it. I have, in every version of this story I have told, included Devon’s exact words when he asked me to write it down, because they are the truest encapsulation of this man I have ever heard. He described it as a bitchslap. He was not incorrect. We called the creature a demogorgomanticore for the remainder of the trip, which I understand is not a real category of creature but felt emotionally accurate.

We ate chili from Macaulay Cauldron every night. Someone added something new to it each time. I stopped asking what.

Nobody died. We emerged from the jungle twelve days later, somewhat worse for wear, with a much clearer picture of what we were dealing with.