I don’t know what in the Seventy Spheres of Mortal Souls possessed me to go into that swamp. I mean that seriously. What possessed me, or who possessed me? In a world of destinies, prophecies and mind-control, how can any of us be certain that what we do is our choice? Given that any of us can be possessed and used as puppets, one has to grip what one perceives themself as, tightly. So, I think that going into the swamp was my decision and my free will. I know I was chosen by powers beyond my understanding, and then cut loose to act on my own. I am not deluded. I was chosen. I knew at some point I had to become an adventurer. I’ve known this was coming, that I had a Destiny, but you know the thing about destinies? Great Destinies mean Great Funerals. I know that when I die, those powers that I feel inside will reach out to my soul, and I will be changed and welcomed. There is no doubt of it. But just the same, I don’t want to die. It is in the back of my head, all the time. I don’t want to die. I fear that when I die I’ll leave too much unfinished work behind. I fear I will leave someone stranded, or leave a promise unfulfilled. I’ve barely ever killed anything in my life, and this is a world where murder can be bought for pocket money. I can’t be called a coward---I have argued down merchant princes and barons on their own ground---but I know that the life of an adventurer is one of combat and physical danger that I am vastly unready for. I engage in verbal and psychological warfare amongst the royal, the rich, the powerful, and the otherworldly, but I have never been a physical fighter. I studied presence, not skewering people with spears. Or, hitting creatures with sticks. I know how to design forts and warships, but I do not know war. But war is what adventurers bathe in, to one degree or other. Some try to use their power to improve the world, or at least keep it from harm. I felt this adventuring party was good-hearted almost immediately, and time spent with them in the tavern convinced me. These were the ones I had been waiting for. Airen the bullywug is amazing to me. He is so much in the wrong place, doing the best he can, that I immediately felt fascination and kinship with him. He is no savage, nor idiot, and he navigates all these alien experiences with an inspiring gusto. Young Mora turned out to be a pleasant surprise---literate and sharp, with adventuring skills ready. Either she is the best human actress I have ever seen, or she is trustworthy to the core. Sandoval seems to me like the heart of the party; resourceful and determined, he is who anyone can depend upon to get them out of trouble. Torvald is who would get us into that trouble. Even for a fighting dwarf, Torvald is an unstoppable force. And that beard of his--- I can’t stop staring at it . It’s like watching a huge forest thicket, wondering what birds will flit in and out and whether a rabbit will wander out from it. Or if a deer will come by to nibble on it. And then, these people, who faced deadly situations together, invited me to join them. I shivered, feeling both hot and cold. It was the moment I wanted, and feared, and needed, and dreaded. An adventuring party wanted me to be one of them. They deliberated upon what adventure they would pursue next. I thought the pirate situation and the orcs needed priority, but I stayed quiet. I hadn't earned a say yet. So, we faced the swamp. I had learned from retired adventurers that most places adventurers go are too cold, too hot, messy, slimy, poisonous, or stink. I thought I was ready for that. I was nowhere near ready. I wore coveralls while everyone else had armor. When the giant frogs---yes, don’t think for a second that isn’t a terrifying thing---closed in on us, all my imaginings of dashing around, doing heroic things, dissolved into near-panic. But then--- Sandoval was hurt, and I took up a heavy fallen branch and dashed to help him. What I had always dreamed was inside me was actually there . I was brave. The scream inside me that shrieked I don’t want to die! was silenced the instant I knew I could help my team. I believed in myself. I half-flew, laden with the branch, and struck the giant frog crosswise from tympanic membrane to eye. Sandoval retreated, injured, and grabbed for me. I think he expected me to lift him. I dropped like a sack of flour, into the bog. The rest of the team fought off the giant frogs and slayed them. I hauled myself up, a soaked, stinking, filthy, ignominious excuse for an adventurer, more bait than hero. I found bravery, sure, but in the end, I was useless. I hope they do not decide to expel me from their troupe. Ineptitude like mine could get them killed. And so, we were left with these giant frog carcasses. I sent word back to Portlandia, and a wagon came and retrieved them. As I record this, it is my intention to share this bounty with the populace in the marketplace, in a free cookout, while the meat is still good. And while that’s underway, I intend to wash myself a dozen times. I feel like I have mud in body areas I didn’t know I had before today. I wonder if that is why I feel bad right now? I don’t feel very good at all... I’m starting to limp, and now twist to one side... What’s this... on my leg….