Campfire Carnage

Got a worm in my head and a camp full of problems,

everybody needs therapy, nobody brought options.

I’m saving the realm with a crew this cursed,

if the Absolute don’t kill me,

my teammates first.

Shadowheart steps up, spell ready,

real proud, Sacred Flame launches,

enemy laughs out loud.

Sixty buffs stacked, advantage,

bless on top, still somehow manages to miss the whole damn lot.

Girl got Shar in her ear and bad aim in her wrist,

enemy standing still and she’s swinging at mist.

Then she folds her arms,

judging every decision, hit a target first,

then we’ll discuss religion.

Gale got a hunger like loot is narcotics,

see a glowing necklace,

starts acting psychotic. “Just one artifact.” Brother,

that’s what you said three magic rings and a boot collection ahead.

Got a bomb in his chest,

ego big as the blast,

lecturing me on magic while he eats up my stash.

Every chest that I crack,

he appears like a ghost,

“Is that item enchanted?” Man,

get off my coat.

Whole camp fucked, everybody got issues,

swords, gods, devils, trauma,

blood rituals. I got seven weirdos all demanding a hand,

and somehow I’m the asshole when it doesn’t go planned.

Whole camp fucked, but we’re marching again,

every conversation turns to somebody’s revenge.

Save the whole damn world,

get no bonus or check,

just another companion breathing down my neck.

Lae’zel talks tough like aggression’s a language,

every sentence sounds like she’s threatening anguish.

“Chk! Istik!” Cool, inspirational speech.

Maybe try saying one thing without baring your teeth.

Wants a crèche right now,

wants Vlaakith respected, wants everybody dead if the plan gets rejected.

Diplomacy enters, she breaks its spine,

then looks at me confused like the fault was mine.

Astarion glides in, theatrical parasite,

shirt half open, hair looking perfect at night.

Tried biting my neck while I’m dead asleep,

then acts offended that I’m not impressed,

neat. Morals hit the room and he’s instantly bored,

see a helpless stranger,

dude starts checking his sword.

Every crime I commit,

he’s delighted as hell,

but do one good deed and he disapproves as well.

Wyll calls himself the Blade,

heroic and grand, but that devil contract got a grip on the

brand. Gives speeches on honor,

justice and fate, while Mizora pops up like,

“Remember our date?” Man got fine print stitched into half his life,

still dispensing wisdom like everything’s alright.

Karlach kicks doors like hinges insulted her mother,

burning hotter than hell and laughing harder than thunder.

Plans go tactical? Nah,

she ain’t built like that,

her strategy’s “hit it till it stops hitting back.” Engine screaming,

axe swinging, furniture gone,

whole tavern destroyed but the enemy’s withdrawn.

Honestly, effective. I can’t even complain,

she’s the only one here turning chaos into gain.

Meanwhile I’m broke, overworked,

under-rested, every campfire scene turns emotionally congested.

Gale needs dinner, Astarion needs blood,

Lae’zel needs violence, Shadowheart needs gods.

Wyll needs freedom, Karlach needs repairs,

everybody needs something, nobody brought shares.

I’m bargaining with devils,

fighting cults in a cave,

and still gotta hear “Can we talk?” when I save.

Miss, crit, dodge, heal,

loot, run, Gale eats gloves,

there goes another one.

Shadowheart whiffs, Lae’zel screams,

Astarion plotting six separate schemes.

Wyll makes vows, Karlach breaks walls,

I carry the party while everyone falls.

Roll initiative, watch the circus attack,

three turns later, guess who carried them back?

Whole camp fucked, but the crew stays moving,

bad decisions somehow keep accidentally improving.

Seven disasters and a parasite brain,

somehow saving the world through collective dysfunction again.

Whole camp fucked, put the truth on the stone: “Saved all Faerûn

while babysitting grown folks.” If history asks how the victory was stacked,

write: “One exhausted bastard carried the whole damn pack.”