Written in a very neat hand-writing, in the Draconic tongue.

Dear honoured father and mother
When this letter reaches you, I will have been on this journey of mine for several weeks now. Let me first start of by admitting a smaller lie on my part; I didn’t just go on this journey to find new trade networks for our family’s mine and for Farranin’s betterment. I have in secret been studying magic, though no-one else in town or at the manor, should be aware of this, to my knowledge.

I have made sure to keep it a secret, as I know your stance on magic is one of distrust, and I do not blame you. If you disown me everything from our family, I will stand fully understanding to your choices. But know I that will still work towards the enrichment of Farranin as well of the continued wealth of our family and that of the Giemerac family.

I partook the journey partly to discover what I could do with magic, but also to use my knowledge on behalf of our town. Alas I have not yet made any connections with regards to trade, but I have made a decent amount of money from my adventures through the towns of Neverwinter and Phandalin. I plan to, when I make it back, donate as much as possible to our family and the town of Farranin.

I hope Earrys is doing well, if her marriage is coming up, I’d be happy to pay for a gift befitting the first-born of the Amblarex family.

Once again, I apologize for deceiving you, I never wished to harm anyone, which is why I asked for a task of this character.

I long for the familiar walls of our beloved manor, as well as the company of you, my honoured parents.
I remain, truly, your son.
Val’Kiroth Amblarex

A first-person experience of a D&D 5E campaign

With the prisoners out of their cells, alive and well, all things considered, I turned to ask my rather brusque companions on what our next course of action should be. As I did, I noticed that our height-imposed musician, had vanished completely. I even asked venerable Gloriosa, as the short one seemed to be quite content with running behind her well-armoured rump, whenever anything unsavory would poke it’s ugly head forth in our direction. Alas, even she had not seen him run away, and she had not seen (or heard) if any creature should have crept up and gobbled him down like a morsel.

As a jest, I suggested the idea that he might have hid in one of the coffins, as there was a distinct lack of barrels here. Maybe he had hid and attempted to prank us, and then closing the lid, only to realise his lacking strength, being caught inside the coffin. Still, no muffled cries of distress cam from the coffins. Somehow it made my mood drop into a sour area, while his antics were annoying and obnoxious, to the point where even I had been tempted to test his “barrel” against my magic, I suppose it was sort of a strange friendship. And while brave would be the last thing to call him, his heart was still in the right place; helping those less fortunate than himself.

Meanwhile I as pondering my honest feelings towards our short friend, the smelly Half-orc and the strange Elf had found an old armoury. Spears, swords and crossbows. And a lot of bolts. Most of the weaponry was crude, but solid looking, it wouldn’t break easily, even in the hands of someone untrained. I took the finest of the spears, weighing it in my hands. The balance was good, I remembered the annual boar hunts my father would host for the miners, some would be clappers, some would guard the flanks with these heavy spears, in the case of the boars charging in. The main group would be equipped with crossbows and longbows. At the time, I found a hunt like that barbaric and pointless, but as my father pointed out, the following feast, where he would sit next to the common mine-worker, listening to their grieves and troubles, served the business that the mine was well, by keeping the miners happy. I had the idea that if I could provide extra bolts for the hunt next year, I could partake in the hunt as well. This would surely make my father proud of me.

We left the manor with the woman and her daughter, it was hard to tell exactly how long the two had been held captive, but they both appeared in good health. For some reason, my gut told me that more Redbrands were en route to the manor, I loaded up my crossbow and said that I would guard the two women to safety, while the others would drag the well-beaten mage out. Their intention was to hand him to the town, for them to sign out a fitting justice, though I had concerns; no building looked fortified like a jail. And unlike Draig, who seemed just as unfaced by bathing as by death, I have standards regarding ethics and punishment, the call for an execution would go against my beliefs.

While looking out over Phandalin, I noticed that more people were out in the streets than when we headed to the manor, none of them with the notable red hoods. It was a pleasant change, as none of the people appeared fearful, almost as if they knew we had taken care of the Redbrands. The mage spoke word that concerned me, even if the Redbrands wasn’t the best lot of people, if they truly were the force protecting Phandalin, things could go downhill very fast for this community. Perhaps venerable Gloriosa had the same line of thought, or she just read my mind, but she suggested we used the weapons in the armoury of the manor, to arm up the citizens; creating a makeshift militia. Even if we didn’t have time to train them in the usage of the weapons, just the sight of visibly armed people could fend off smaller groups of thieves and brigands. As I had snatched up all the bolts, I felt a jolt of guilt hit me, but I couldn’t just leave this place defenseless. So while I waited with the woman and her daughter, the others went in to obtain the remaining weapons, and the knocked out mage. I can’t imagine Draig’s shoulder to be comfortable, to say nothing of the grime, dust, dirt and blood I have no doubt would be smeared in layers upon it.

We were informed that the knight, that we saved from the Goblins, was at the Townmaster’s Hall, and we figured it was the closest to a government or leadership this town had. The mage was still out cold, I suppose the rough-housing the others gave him earlier did have some effect. Sildar wasn’t exactly pleased to see the mage, and when I inquired into the mage’s claim of him being “an old acquaintance” of Sildar, he seemed reluctant for a moment, before he told us of the mage’s past as an errant trouble-maker. He did applaud us for keeping the mage alive (and for gagging him, which had been a suggestion of mine), he was handling a heavy bag, which turned out to be our reward for rescuing him earlier. I figured the plans to arm the citizens were better left with Gloriosa, who had been very charismatic and adamant in that request, which was part of why I agreed to part with most of the bolts. Meanwhile, I headed in to talk with Townmaster, and obese, but short man. I had hear others mentioning him as a banker, so I figured this would be a good chance to make a connection between my father’s mine and the general trade routes near Neverwinter.

Alas the Townmaster turned out to be the kind of person, who should NEVER be in charge of other people’s investments and money, and most certainly not be their head figure in terms of political achievements. He kept misspeaking about the town’s funds as “his own”, to a point where I suspected he was trying to line his own pockets, rather than making the town a better place. I calmly informed him that we had dealt with the Redbrands, and he asked if we had found the money they stole. I told him no, no stash of money or other riches were found, all that were there, was the coins from the gamblers’ table in the cellar of the manor, 20 silver pieces. I counted them up and pushed them across the table. He frowned, informing me that the Redbrands had stolen heaps more, though I had a feeling that he was trying to scheme me, or my party, of more wealth. So I bid him farewell, with a vague promise that we would take care of some Orcs south of Phandalin.

With all of that debacle settled, we headed to the estate of a certain Alderleaf. A farmstead, as it turned out, in a rather poor state, but with a decent amount of land for crops next to it. Seeing as our musician and joy-bundle was missing, I stepped forth, my tongue may not be silvered, but it would be better than Draig spouting angry spittle at a common farmer. Gloriosa might have turned it into a religious lecture, something I could do without at the moment. And mister Aspendew I wasn’t sure about, but as it didn’t occur natural for him to step up and introduce our cause, I am of the firm belief that I did the right thing, in telling the others to let me handle this. For once, no-one complained or argued, quite the refreshing change.

The door was barely opened for a woman to look out, but not letting us enter or look inside. I understood her situation; in her stead I would have done the same, seeing such a well-dressed, fine-scaled, horn-embroided Dragonborn at her door. She informed us that she didn’t know the location of the castle herself, but that a friend, who was a Druid out of Neverwinter, most certainly did. I thanked her, despite the minuscule amount of information. She told us to be wary of her sound, who could be quite the rowdy kid, and as if on cue, a young boy came swinging a crude wooden sword. Naturally, a boy with little hope for the future, would turn to swords and violence first, before thinking of knowledge, books and numbers, despite the fact that the town probably could do well with someone of intellect, rather than savagery and the ability to cut of heads. But the boy admired Draig. Not even the somewhat refined Aspendew, or the well-mannered Gloriosa, despite her slightly fanatic approach to certain things. I just shook my head, and turned away. At the corner of the next house over, I spun to look at Draig handing the little boy his two hand-axes, trying to teach him how to throw them. I murmurred a silent prayer to no god in particular, that Draig would never deliver children into this world, no shins or kneecaps would be safe.

Finally they finished up, I heard the boy calling Draig “sir”, a title fit for a knight or a guard commander… Draig was as far from any of those as any of us would be. I asked if we should procure a wagon to head to a locale called Thundertree, which was where we could expect to find the Druid, but neither Sildar nor the Townmaster, the greedy fop, had a wagon we could borrow. Sildar suggested we ask Barthen if we could use the ox-cart in which had arrived. An excellent idea; it had not been long enough for Barthen to sell cart or oxen on. It turned out Barthen had made some small repairs to the cart, a couple of cuts from a Goblin scimitar here and there, I presume, but I gladly paid the small fee he asked for, unlike the smithy on the other side of the street, Barthen seemed a reasonable man of commerce. I went behind the shop, to prepare the cart, whilst the others had some unfinished items they wished to trade with Barthen about.

Finally they all came around, Aspendew went to pet one of the oxen, I tried to warn him that they didn’t particular enjoy being petted on their rump, but it was too late, the otherwise calm creature launched a kick to his stomach. And it was is Aspendew had seen himself mad at the ox for this; he started questioning what we needed a cart for. I thought that he was playing a jest, surely he could not be suggesting that we were to WALK to Thundertree and back. But soon it dawned upon me, that he was being serious. I looked to the others, but found little support in my reasoning. After some pointless bickering back and forth, we decided to sleep the night, and head out first thing in the morning. We talked about going straight to the castle, if possible, though I have preferred to head to Thundertree first; another settlement with potential trade to be made. But I was outnumbered in that regard too. Oh why, dear father, must I surround myself with religious fanatics, murderous savages and an Elf so much in love with walking, that you’d think he’d be married to a pair of good hiking boots.

---

Heading north we discovered the castle Cragmaw; a mostly ruined set of walls and towers on top of a hill. As we had slept, I had dreamed of a visit from the same fleshy wall as from my past, I woke suddenly in the middle of the night and looked below my bed; a strange, humid book was placed there during my sleep. Flipping through the pages, I found incantations for some powerful spells, most interesting I must say. Aspendew called a glowing owl to his aid, for a second I hoped it would land a smelly bird-poop onto Draig, but no such luck was had. Instead the owl flew over the castle ramparts, and Aspendew looked blankly up into the sky while it did. When it returned, he informed us, poorly, that the castle was in fact occupied, with smaller and bigger types of Goblins. His owl had also spotted a ruined part of the northern wall, that seemed lightly manned. We kept our heads down, mostly, as a single patrol passed by. We agreed to silently take out the next patrol to pass, giving us a free moment to enter the castle unnoticed, hopefully.

Listening at a door, Aspendew informed us that multiple voices were in there, however we didn’t manage to enter without sound, and soon the clashing of swords and armour echoed through the corridors. Draig took point, I could see him swing at something through a door, as he moved forward I followed, only to be utterly clubbed down by the ugliest Bugbear I ever saw. The next few minutes are hazy to me, I remember getting up, and being cut down again by a dark-skinned Elf. As I came to, from Gloriosa’s friendly voice, the others had barricaded the tower room, with an unconscious Gundren amongst us. And a beast of some size roared from the outside of the castle.

I woke to find myself bathed in sweat, the cool air of the mountains chilled my spine. But in different way than I was used to. It wasn’t the winter months, and it wouldn’t be at least three more weeks till the first snow would start covering roofs and land. It was a different feeling, something felt… wrong.

I tucked a sheep-woolen robe around me, at this point, I feared my scales would fall off like icicles. The dark of my chamber told me the time of day; pitch black, it would be several hours till sun and the light of day would appear. Perhaps I needed something strong, to calm my nerves. I sat on my bed for a couple of minutes, trying to accustom my eyes to the dark of night, I could make out the nightstand next to my bed, but not much further than that. On top of the nightstand stood a thick wax candle, I had used it to read the past evening. A small copper bowl was placed under the candle’s base, to keep the wax from dripping.

I took it with my left hand, while opening the drawer to my nightstand with my right. I was sure that I had placed the tinderbox in there, but it wasn’t there now. My window had it’s curtains drawn, the fabric felt stiff and cold in my hand. No moon or stars lit the night sky, but I didn’t remember it as being cloudy when I went to bed. I had to find a light-source, if I wanted to make any progress in our manor. Fortunately my honoured father’s study was in the room right next to mine, I knew he would have a tinderbox in there, and that the study wasn’t usually locked.

The door to the hallway opened with a silent gasp, and for a second it felt like something big had rushed down the long, carpeted wooden floor. I held my breath, gathering my courage and looked out. But the hallway was just as dark as my room, and there was no sound of… something, going down into the lobby. With my right hand on the wall, I slowly fumbled my way to the study door. Father had been very specific about every piece of furniture in there, as well as the door, with the handle in the shape of a small dragon. The metal was cold to the touch, freezing, almost hurting in the very instant my fingers embraced it. I could see my breath as small clouds coming from my nose and mouth, as I pushed against the door.

The study had no windows, so the only light-source in there would always have to be a candle or a lantern, if the fireplace in the back of the room wasn’t lit. For this reason, it struck me as very strange, when I felt a short gust of icy wind rushing out between my legs, as the door was opened. I shuttered and squinted my eyes to peek inside. There it was, the tinderbox, right on the corner of my father’s study table. I rushed over, and lit my candle, putting the tinderbox away in my robe.

When the light was struck, I looked around, all the bookshelves had a fine cover of… frost. And inside the fireplace was a lump of snow, which would only be possible if the wind had been coming from a very specific angle. Shivering, I left the study, my father did have some alcoholic beverages in here, but those would be the finest vintage and most pricey drinks, so the thought of indulging in those would never occur to me.

The flickering light from the candle spread throughout the hallway. I immediately noticed that the door to my parents’ bedroom was open. I lurched closer, silently, as to avoid disturbing them. I couldn’t hear breathing coming from in there, so I pushed open the door. Their bed was empty, but from the look of their bed-covers, they had both left recently. I looked around in the room, but nothing seemed to suggest why, or where, they would have gone.

Heading downstairs, I found the door to the servants’ quarters had been knocked outward, and was now laying on the big, round carpet in the lobby. My father would not be pleased with this. I peeked inside the quarters briefly; no sounds and no-one appeared to be concerned. It was then that I noticed some deep claw-like marks by the door-frame, likely the cause of the door not being in it’s rightful place. I traced down the rough markings, the thick lumber, from which most of our manor was built, had been cleanly pushed in. Something very large, and undoubtedly very strong creature had made these marks.

The kitchen was a mess, plates had been torn out of cupboards, drawers broken apart and all my mother’s fine silvery had been scattered across the floor. This room, just like any of the other rooms, had a laying of frost on every surface. Where the kitchen looked as if a war-band had just been through on a raid, the pantry was surprisingly untouched. It didn’t take me long to find not only the alcohol belonging to the household, but also the private stash of our kitchen maid, Kirona. I had initially sought to let my father know, but despite Kirona sometimes being rather tipsy, she, as my father so boldly would proclaim; “Was the best damned cook for miles.” And I wasn’t exactly in disagreement with him on that note.

I had swiftly grabbed a tankard from the mess in the kitchen, and placed it on a shelf to pour. I had selected a half-full bottle of brandy. The cork was a bit stubborn, but finally it gave way, the pleasant, sharp scent of the brandy quickly went to my nostrils, already making me feel warm inside. As I took the first swig, a loud crash came from the lobby. I stowed the bottle down next to the tinderbox, and went to look with the candle in my left hand, the tankard in my right.

The double doors to the lobby and out in front of the manor, had swung open with some force, but no-one appeared to be waiting. I wasn’t much for leaving the manor, but when I looked out over the hillside, I felt I needed to investigate; footsteps, all leading away from the manor, through a fine layer of otherwise undisturbed snow. I collected and donned my good walking boots, and began to follow.

The footsteps would lead towards the village and in between the houses, never was there a set of prints heading a different way, always moving in unison. I had seen the village at night before, usually, there’d be light in the windows here and there, in particular the tavern, where those who had ended a late shift in the mine would usually spend the night. But there were no lights on. Every house, hovel and street was dark, cold and empty. I noticed a couple of open doors, but decided it better for me to not look in. More footsteps joined in with those from the manor. And they were all heading towards the entrance of the mine.

My candle had almost melted down, when I got to the foreman’s office. With it’s interior looking just like the kitchen; ravaged, as if someone… or something, had been searching for valuables or other items. In the last remaining light from the candle, I found a filled lantern that wasn’t broken. The lantern didn’t provide warmth as the candle did, so I poured myself some more brandy to balance it out. The foreman also had extra working gear, rough and primitive as it as, it would ward of the freezing cold better than nothing.

There was no snow inside the mine, and with the multiple shafts branching out as new veins were discovered, it was a labyrinth of caves, carved by hand for profit. Many times I would stop to listen, but apart from my own heartbeat, it was as silent as the grave. I had been walking for about an hour, always descending deeper into the earth, when I heard it. At first it was distant, like a deep, humming song, but as I got closer, I realized that it was a choir of voice, in a language I could not comprehend.

I turned a corner and almost dropped the lantern in shock; before stood every man, woman and child from the village, as well as my mother and father, with their backs to me. They were all facing a wall that didn’t look carved. It looked… alive, like a writhing mass of stone tentacles, slowly twitching, twirling in a mesmerizing dance. A deep, strange voice echoed in my head, the voice was powerful and I stumbled to my knees. I could not understand the voice, and it seemed to get louder as I didn’t answer. Finally I manage to scream “What do you want?!?!” and the voice stopped.

Everything went dead-quiet in that moment, and now the congregation of people began to turn towards me. Slowly, one by one, they would turn in their stead and look at me. But to my horror, their faces were… blank, well… gone. No mouth with which to talk, no eyes with which to see. The same was the case with my parents, no faces, just an empty wall of flesh. And yet I felt them staring, it was clear that I had interrupted something I was not meant to see. When the last person had turned their faceless head to look at me, the mass of people all reached a hand toward me and pointed at me. The wall-creature behind them made some kind of sound, and now they began to slowly approach. I instinctively held up my hand to stop them, and as a I did, a skeletal figure emerged from my palm, grinning it’s toothy skull at me, before blasting against the mass of people, knocking several of them down like a gust of wind against a stand of reeds.

Terrified, I screamed. And then I woke up. For real. My heart was racing, my bed soaked in my sweat. And in my clasped fist, was a tiny ice-crystal on a chain. In my head I heard a friendly humming, beckoning me to put the necklace on. And I did.