Jul'rad and Kerian sheathed their swords, and I marveled as the world--once resplendent in marvelous lights--started to dim back to the natural gloom of the midnight moon. Hellreaver in particular, a nasty flaming sword that both cut and burned through swathes of enemies, had a tendency to light up both cave and nighttime alike. Hellreaver belonged to Jul'rad, and he earned it from a Fairy Queen while he was on his first adventure.

How I envied him. His sword was spoken of in legends and envied even by kings.

Of course, that didn't mean that the rest of my comrades didn't have impressive swords. Kerian had Spiteblade, the Drinker of Souls. Like its brother Hellreaver, Spiteblade wasn't forged by human hands. Born in a land far from us and made by fae that were no longer among us, the magics that gave birth to it were strange and undecipherable to us. All we knew was that it had the capability to deal catastrophic damage to the undead, who were nigh invulnerable otherwise.

While it didn't glow in unholy hellfire like its counterpart, it did glow a slight, ethereal blue that captivated me in the late nights when Kerian decided to tend to it. There was no source of the glow, Kerian wasn't quite so experienced in magic, but that didn't stop the blade from glowing all the same.

We had a running bet that it was glowing from the power of the souls that it devoured. I tried not to think about that.

"Well, we might as well set up camp, then," yelled Charmy. She was a chipper young dwarf that barely came up to our waist. Unlike the rest of her kind, she was bouncy and bubbly, and never without a wide, face-splitting smile on her face. She had come to us rather early in our journey, and invited herself into our party most handedly. "We won't be moving much further without any light and the local monsters don't seem to like us moving at night."

The other two grumbled amongst themselves, but they eventually relented. It was an arguing match whenever I decided that it was time to camp, but for some reason they were always willing to stop when Charmy called for it.

I didn't know whether it was because of Charmy's goodwill, or her inherent beauty, and honestly I wasn't going to ask. She was an easy way to keep them in line, and for that I was grateful.

"Get your things unpacked and set to doing your jobs. I'll start to work on the campfire."

The three of them nodded at me, before getting to work on their own tents. As a druid, I personally didn't enjoy tents. I enjoyed sleeping under the night sky and feeling the forest dirt on my back. I watched as they set off, making sure that they were doing their things, before sitting down.

Spirits of the forest, heed my call. Let the fallen branches be recall.

The tittering of field mice and the low, droning hoot of the single active owl responded to my plea. They arrived shortly, carrying old, dry branches that I could use for the campfire. I nodded and thanked them for their service before letting them back into the forest.

One fire spell later and the campfire was set.

"Charmy. We're all ready for you."

The young dwarf looked up from her project, her telltale smile already on her face. Again, she was a bright and kind and bubbly little thing, who didn't look as if she could hurt a fly. The sword she was currently sharpening, however? That didn't fit her visage at all. It was a large broadsword with nasty jagged edges and a black and red tinted blade. There were magic insignias forged directly into the metal, and they glowed with every stroke of the whetstone along the edge.

It was a truly nasty weapon, one I only got to see in action once. Charmy did not enjoy fighting, another trait she did not share with the rest of her brethren, but she did enjoy creating weapons. Her most recent weapon, Dragonstooth, was her shining masterpiece, and she took meticulous care of it.

It was already a legendary blade. I was sure of it. She said that she had made it from the scales and claws of an Ancient Dragon. I couldn't even imagine what it was like to face an Ancient Dragon. Even their corpses radiated enough strength to taint the land for centuries.

"Gotcha! I'll be right over!"

I nodded as I watched her carefully sheathe Dragonstooth, a blade that cared very little for whatever was placed in front of it. It cut and sawed and tore through any and everything it touched, and Charmy was surely a terror on the field as she carved a path through her enemies.

The stark difference in behavior was so jarring that I had to remind myself that Charmy in combat and Charmy out of combat was the same person. Rather than dwell on the thought, I rose from the firepit and made my way into the forest. If the others saw me go, they didn't say anything. They were already used to my own antics as a druid, and they understood how I preferred the company of the local flora.

As soon as I was surrounded by the oaks and far enough away from the fires, I took out my own sword. It wasn't a legendary blade that could glow in the dark and capture souls, or burn with eternal hellfire. It wasn't a legendarily crafted blade that could slice through anything with a single swing.

Rather, it was a normal shortsword. One that was surely too short for me. It was more akin to a dagger in my large hands, and since I fought with magic it wasn't something that I ever used in combat. I doubted my companions even knew that I had this. If they did, they would ask me why I carried around something that I never used.

Of course, I couldn't use it. A single swing would have been more than enough to snap it in two. And I couldn't have that. Not again.

"Glorious Starlight, Jeff," I whispered. My voice, which would rouse dryads and inspire forest nymphs to dance, was barely strong enough to spur the errant blades of grass that I trampled underfoot. "How went your day?"

I unsheathed my sword, and I smiled as a faint glow, barely stronger than firefly light, emerged from a crack that ran through the middle of it. This was a short sword that I had in my youth, and I used it liberally alongside my best friend as we travelled the forests of our hometown. I had wanted to be a swordsman, you see. As did my friend. Things... did not work out in our favor.

"My day was fine, old friend," Jeff responded. "I reckon it would be better if you tell me what we did while I was stuck in your sheath."

I smiled at the familiar snark in his voice. It was comforting, if not sad to hear. Still, I did owe the old goat a rundown of the day, so I sat myself on a log and prepared myself to tell a story.