Content Warning: Alcoholism, Grief.

I’m not sure how to write or organize this, I am not like Quiet or Soulcatcher who keep steady diaries about their journeys. I am just an old man who won a medal and lost his wife, so much for life accomplishments. Then, life lost most of its meaning, many years went as a blur, I could have drowned myself in alcohol if not for this weird kid who moved next door. Hell, how he was annoying. As soon as he heard I was a medalist, he kept probing. First picking my newspaper, then asked mundane questions the few times I was sober doing the lawn. Somehow, something about that kid kept bothering me until I cracked one day. I bought baseball gear asked the kid to come over. I would wear him out by asking the most irritating questions. He would see me as the boring middle-aged failure that I was, so I could be alone and get back to the not-so sobering business.

He dodged most of the irritating questions I threw at him with the same accuracy that he hit the ball. Something told me that this was not his first rodeo and that I would have to do better. Eventually, I threw him a curveball “Hey kid, how come I am the one playing with you here, what about your father?”.

The kid flinched, he missed the ball and it kicked through the asphalt till it stopped at a curb near a drain. “Mom and dad divorced when I was around four or five. I go to call him once over Christmas. When she was distracted, I poked around mom’s phone and eventually found his number. Thought that would be the best Christmas ever. Gotta know who dad was. He said that the best Christmas gift he ever got was when he left us. I hang the phone.”

God riddance kid. Only once or twice before I felt a like this throb in my throat; when the doctor said, Kate had cancer and then, when she passed away. “I’m sorry, kid. I mean no disrespect [yes, I actually did]. Tell you what. How about I teach you one or two sports tricks. You can call me coach”. The kid smiled back as if this was his plan all along. “You can call me the most terrible middle schooler”. What? So much for building rapport, this gen-z and their nicknames.

We both somehow found solace. I taught the kid; got attached to him and his family and we became good friends. When his mother said she got his weird letter saying he left in school trip, I had to find him. Only clue I had was where he was BAROVIA.

It’s been a couple of months since I got to Barovia. Thank goodness we found the kid and he went back home. Yet, here I was with the damn throb at my throat again. It started with this Burgomaster, Ivan Randovich, getting fat as a hog before Thanksgiving while his denizens starved and worried about how to make it through Winter. It just worsened afterwards, tax collectors came and killed most of the livestock, wealthy people who lived close did what wealthy people do best, they couldn’t care less. Hope was hanging by a thread.

Then, the same Ivan spoke about some sort of magical box buried in crypts of old. It held power that could save the townsfolk. I was not keen on the greedy mayor’s change of heart. I could also not explain how I went off retirement in my small and quiet town in the middle of Alabama to hack’n’slashery in these so-called Domains of Dread, but here I was, getting ready to enter the Amber Temple and find pandora’s box.

I was not alone, though. I had much brighter and capable minds with me. Nissa, a charming and powerful sorcerer; Kaspian a noble and bon-vivant bard; Lyubov a brave fencer; Bako a strong and tall boxer, sturdy as a rock; and finally, Paul, some kid with kleptomaniac problems. As for myself, I was just their coach. Motivating these kids and making sure that they were safe and sound remedied my poor old soul. It gave me joy that all the years of training and hardship to get some shit piece of metal in my chest would never give.

The crypt was old. Filled with dust and bones from grave robbers that tried their luck before us. Luckily, Ivan gave us a map and hints about a secret vault. Something about the change of heart in the burgomaster did not sit well with my companions and me. Was he afraid that a harsh winter would mean the townsfolk sacking his nice chateau? In time, we would get answers to this question. For now, it would be better to focus. Some of these dungeon passageways look as dangerous as the streets of my youth.

We broke through several magical wards. Ghosts from the past explained how dark gods were imprisoned in the temple. Someone was murdered. Someone tricked the others into binding their soul to this place while they collected the goodies. The poor old souls shared their tale with us and we followed bread crumbs in a crime scene untouched for millennia. I am not a keen on all these thriller shows. I remember that I watched them with Kate just to see her intrigued face discarding suspects and trying to find the killer. Anyhow, Nissa cracked the murder, which helped us find the missing key that would lift the last magical ward protecting the said box. We got it. The throb in my throat softened a little, but better not test our luck and leave this forgotten place.

We left. We meet Ivan. He was not happy nor thrilled that we had the artifact said to bring hope to the burgomaster and his townsfolk. He had other plans. Of course, he did. Tell me about some rich colonialist who saw the new world and did not think “all of this? mine”. Why would a greedy burgomaster did not think the same? Besides, his armed companions would ensure that we gave the artifact to him. He bet.

Lyubov was the first to engage them. Her sword, fast as ever. Nissa also threw powerful spells that nuked most of the burgomaster’s goons. Paul did his swashbuckling and the others engaged in the fight too. Seeing his hirelings fall, the burgomaster summoned ghosts entrapped in the old crypt to do his bindings. Their claws brought back nightmares about all that my Olympic medal ever gave me: all the time that I could have spent with Kate if she had not withheld the news about her cancer to not distract me from my competition.

There it was, the throb at my throat. Then, somehow, I swallowed it. Same as when I played baseball with the kid next door, I pitched Lyubov her next move. She heard it. Her sword lightened with holy mighty cutting through the ghost’s shadows. I could not make up for all the time I lost, but if I could say a kind word or make a difference to any of these kids, it would be worth it.

Details were omitted and/or modified, so I don’t spoil much of an official Adventures League game. I am not a native speaker and this is a small exercise to improve my writing. Please be kind.