“Mondas, you old fool..”

Stormhold was a familiar site as I rode into town. The swamp had neither consumed the meager docks nor allowed them to expand beyond their limited numbers. The townsfolk walked by on their way to push back enough swamp to keep the vines from overtaking the village walls yet not far enough to encourage more people to take resident.

I think that’s why I liked it here. Not enough shelter to allow for complacence or comfort. When the rains came, you could seek shelter in the Inn, drown your misery while the skies tried to drown the village. Or you could suffer through the deluge.

a brief prayer to Meridia for good health

But when the rains clear you’re often greeted by the gentle glow of sunlight cutting through swampy gloom.

A gentle cough rolled into heavy wracking. “Mondas, you old fool.. this swamp will be the death of you..” I chided myself.

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