Camp Full of Monsters

Worm in my head and a camp full of problems,

everybody needs therapy, nobody brought plans.

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.

Bless stacked high, advantage on top,

still somehow misses the whole damn lot.

Shar in her ear,

bad aim in her wrist,

enemy standing still and she's swinging at mist.

Then folds her arms,

judging decisions, hit a target first,

then discuss religion. Gale got a hunger like loot is narcotics,

sees a glowing necklace,

goes psychotic. "Just one artifact." Brother,

that's what you said,

three magic rings and some boots ahead.

Bomb in his chest,

ego big as the blast,

lectures on magic while eating my stash.

Every chest I crack,

he appears like a ghost,

"Is that enchanted?" Man,

get off my coat.

Whole camp fucked, everybody got issues,

swords, gods, devils, trauma,

blood rituals. Seven weirdos all demanding a hand,

I'm the asshole when it doesn't go planned.

Save the damn world,

get no check, another companion breathing down my neck.

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

every sentence sounds like a threat.

"Chk! Istik!" Cool, inspirational speech.

Try one sentence without baring your teeth.

Wants a creche now,

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

Diplomacy enters, she breaks its spine,

then looks confused like the fault was mine.

Astarion glides in, theatrical parasite,

shirt half open, perfect hair at night.

Tried biting my neck while I'm dead asleep,

then gets offended I'm not impressed,

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

sees a helpless stranger,

checks his sword. Every crime I commit,

he's delighted as hell,

do one good deed and he disapproves as well.

Gale wants a necklace,

Lae'zel wants a fight,

Shadowheart missed twice, Astarion wants a bite.

Wyll got a contract,

Karlach caught fire, everybody got a crisis,

stakes climb higher. Dodging arrows,

drinking potions, picking locks,

kicking goblins off cliffs,

checking the clock. Wizard going nuclear,

vampire theatrical, githyanki screaming,

cleric impractical. Inventory packed,

twenty swords, no gold,

camp full of legends needing to be told: quit crying,

start swinging, somebody hit something,

sick of doing damage while the squad keeps bluffing.

Dash, jump, shove, crit,

counterspell, run, Gale sees magic gloves,

there goes another one.

Shadowheart whiffs, Lae'zel starts screaming,

Astarion's in back doing vampire scheming.

Wyll makes vows, Karlach breaks doors,

carrying seven while fighting twenty more.

Roll initiative, fuck it,

everybody attack, three turns later,

guess who carried them back?

Wyll calls himself the Blade,

heroic and grand, devil contract got a grip on the brand.

Speeches on honor, justice and fate,

then Mizora pops up like,

"Remember our date?" Fine print stitched into half of his life,

still gives advice like everything's alright.

Karlach kicks doors like they insulted her mother,

hotter than hell, laughing louder 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,

tavern wrecked but the enemy's withdrawn.

Honestly effective, can't even complain,

only one turning chaos into actual gain.

Whole camp fucked, but the crew stays moving,

bad decisions somehow keep improving.

Seven disasters and a parasite brain,

saving the world through dysfunction again.

Whole camp fucked, put the truth on the stone: "Saved all Faerun

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

write: "One exhausted bastard carried the whole damn pack."