I hope you’re alright. You left so suddenly — you needed to go somewhere to save something — it’s what adventurers do. I know that; I’ve worked in this tavern my whole life. I hope you’re not hurt. News came in from a scout that a chasm opened along the trail south, where you said you were going. They said they found a modest grave a couple yards off the pathway near it. Before you left, I got up early, split our family’s culture, kneaded it into some dough, let it rise. I sang songs to it from my family — stories of tavernkeeps from long past — and from my favorite local bard who can never settle on a name — songs of decaying drow corpses and sacrificing souls to Nerull — before baking it in my family’s hearth as old as the grove itself. I snuck it into your pack before you woke up, so that maybe when things got dire, you might find a second wind and be able to ride it back to me.
This poem is part of a collection called Shards of Kardpaz, which are texts I’ve written for the world of the Dungeons & Dragons campaigns I run with students at my school.