Snake Island

And so every year, on a particular day that seemed to most to shift all the time, the celebration of the salvation of Snake Island would commence, in conjunction with The Night of Mysterious Objects; the strange nature of the staff finally determined.  So it happened that the cleric had a vision, of an island filled to the brim with snakes.  It had long been known, but rarely visited for excellent reason.  This vision was one of a flood, that claimed the lives of all the inhabitants.  While the cleric was one of light, the thought of these deaths weighed heavy on his soul.  He knew it would happen in 3 days time.  So he took to the winds, whispering the dream to all who would listen.  With his faith he gathered the clerics of the realm, many of whom were glad to lend a hand.  With his knack for magic, he alerted the wizards, who lit torches along the realm alerting the rest.  When the day came, he took the ship to the shores, uncertain of exactly what he would find.  When he stepped on shore, they were empty, save the hordes of snakes.  He sighed, and resolved to do what he could.  He knew he could fit them on his ship, but most would be lost, crushed under the weight of those above them.  Knowing the snakes would survive unscathed as piles of wood, he had prepared snakes to sticks, and wisely, protection from poison, but alas even with his skill, he could not hope to turn them all.  He took a breath and decided to save all he could, as they approached curiously.  He chanted the first prayer, and the group ahead of him stiffened into branches.  As he was picking them up, he heard the woomp of a portal opening, and he looked behind as several more bands of clerics and wizards arrived, smiling graciously "I hope we're not too late."  The waters had just begun to rise, and the man found himself surrounded by allies.  The portals would not have worked, due to the massive numbers and strange origins of the snakes here, so they took to forming bundles, and using discs to transport them to the boat.  Some bards even showed up, to assist some, but mainly to revitalize those participating and immortalize the day into song for later.  Within hours, the boat had been filled to the brim, moving closer and closer to the island's center as the tides encroached.  When the deed was finally done, they enjoyed a cruise, with countless wooden companions in tow.  The island was submerged for less than a day, and soon the branches were spread right back where they came from, no worse the wear.  And so every year each cleric involved prepares snakes to sticks, on the off chance they can reenact the day the island was saved.  And so when they encounter a snake of sufficient size on this day, they immediately turn it into a stick, and walk around the rest of the day with a staff, sharing stories of their adventures like they might with a childhood friend.  Periodically they'll crush the head of their staff with a thumb, so ancient curses do not go unfulfilled.  Then when the incantation is just wearing off, they prepare protection from poison, just in case.  As it has become known by snakes far and wide what the clerics did for them that day, instinct still has them strike when touched, and so the cleric cautiously waits until the snake begins to take flesh once more and then casts it aside before running away, knees high, hooting and hollering off down the path.  Notably, on this day snakes and lizards have a truce as well, as when the snake turns to hiss menacingly, lizards will often join them to chase off the interloper, shaking their fist or doing some very intimidating push-ups in solidarity.

And so it goes, the island was saved by a dream, a dreamer, and all those that rallied to his side that day.