Summer Afternoon Storm

The heat of the day had settled thick and heavy over the valley, the kind that made armour stick and tempers rise. The adventuring party had stopped beside a lake ringed with wildflowers, too weary to continue their journey. The air around them was still save for the droning of cicadas that filled the air with a chorus of sound.

Then the wind changed.

It came first as a sigh through the grass, then a sudden breath that rippled across the lake’s glassy surface. The Tortle monk roused from his meditation opened one eye and smiled.
“Storm’s coming.”

Beyond the western hills, clouds were gathering—great bruised towers of grey and violet, swelling higher and higher until they devoured the sun. The light turned strange and amber, and the first low roll of thunder grumbled like an old god waking. The gnome shaded his eyes and grinned.
“Finally, the sky’s doing something interesting.”
The Half Orc chuckled and began gathering their gear, though she didn’t hurry. The paladin had always loved storms; she said they made the world feel alive again.

The first drops of rain landed heavy and cool against their skin. The bard tilted his face to the sky, laughing, arms spread wide.
“A blessing from the heavens!”
he declared, before immediately being drenched by a sudden sheet of rain.
They took shelter under a wide oak, the tiefling warlock lighting a small protective charm that hissed against the downpour. Thunder cracked close enough to shake the ground, and for a heartbeat, they all fell silent, watching the storm dance over the water—lightning spearing the lake, wind whipping the trees into wild shapes and rolling thunder drowning out the chorus of cicadas.

It was fierce, and loud, and absolutely beautiful.