I pray and borrow the powers of Talos, the god of Fury, yet I have little to no belief. Some call it divine intervention, I only see gods sacrificing pawns and moving rooks and knights in their intricate and never-ending games. That made me Faithless, but this is a story for another day.

I walked aimlessly through the slums of Waterdeep, city of splendours, the so-called jewel of the north. Promises of rich and gold had dragged me to the city as many adventurers before me. Soon I would find more gold than many poor souls could ever wonder to acquire in a lifetime.

The noise of fight and clashing swords caught my attention, and I proceeded to a windmill where urchins and vagabond took shelter. Noise came from the first floor and I cautiously stepped through the staircases only to meet Zoidberg, a tiefling sorcerer; Mirith, a dragonborn sorcerer; and Tasha’lin Mizzym a drow fighter in a heated discussion with a helpless woman.

The whole scene is barely describable. Ripped paintings hanged on the walls. A werewolf and a crawling-hand laid dead on the floor. The woman screamed about some Neverember person and how he or she had sent the party to blackmail her while the party counter-argued that they did not care. They were only looking for a vault in the vicinity. A vault! That caught my attention.

It’s uncommon to accept strangers so quickly in an adventuring party, but birds of a flock stay together, and so, the four of us kept exploring the windmill. The eccentric trio that I’ve banded with kept sweeping the place. Pigeons flew through holes in the building’s rooftop as we moved, and the creaking sound of the old wood was an interesting contrast to the joyful conversation of my companions. Eventually, we found a trap door leading to the bowels of the earth.

The vault doors, adorned with dwarven champions, was massive. Carved in adamantine, it was a testament to their smithing skills and no battering ram could break through these doors. Fortunately, Tasha’lin had some magic scroll that allowed passage.

The first room of the vault was empty, it held equally adorned adamantine and brass doors. They depicted images of dwarfs fighting orcs, singing in long-forgotten halls, and exploring caverns old and dungeons deep with an eagerness only comparable to a dwarf’s greed.

We cautiously processed through the vault, and I was able to find a hidden passageway through one of the adorned images. The corridor led us to yet another floor with broken bridges and vault rooms.

As we explored them, black ooze fell from the ceiling. A massive creature that had lurked and feed on the metal of the vault was ready to attack us. Its touch was acidic and, as any drow familiar with creatures from the underdark, Mizzym warned us to not engage in melee combat with the creature. We followed her advice hurling powerful spells at the beast. The impact spilt drips of black ooze, hurting Mirith, who was the closest to the creature. Disengaging, the creature pseudopods reached for Zoidberg as his next prey. The sorcerer teleported and positioned himself in one of the bridges preparing to melt the creature. As the black ooze expanded to grab the tiefling in a death embrace, he cast a firebolt boiling the ooze’s skin. The odour of sulphur filled the air as the last liquid pieces of the creature fell from the bridge solidifying in a stalactite. Its dead body would be a warning of the dangers of the vault for future adventurers.

We finally got to the vault’s final room, where an old dwarf met us. It was impressive that he was still alive after being trapped for so long. His demeanour warned us that he was no ordinary being, and he ordered us to leave the place.

The dwarf was, in fact, a gold dragon! There was no point in fighting, and Mirith’s draconic ancestry played a central role in persuading the creature about our mission. We were to prove that we had found the gold once stole by Neverember and restore his name to the league of lords of Waterdeep.

As we backtracked through the vault’s halls eager to restore a noble’s honour, four drows blocked our way. It seemed that my friends were holding some information back from the dragon and that they had some feud with these drows. Of course, so much money and wonders would drag the attention of different factions that had headquarters in the city.

The drows “kindly” suggested that we should return to the dragon’s room. We were supposed to help them stealing some artifact from the dragon and we had a poor choice of actions: to fight a powerful gold dragon, or Jarlaxe - one of the most notorious drows to walk out of Menzoberranzan. Little I knew that my party mates had a plan.

The dragon was furious. A polite conversation between him and Jarlaxe hid numerous threats and made us shiver of the battle about to emerge. We had to pick a side. Would we assist the dragon or the drows? We had both a Dragonborn and a drow in the party. I could see conflict in their eyes.

Suddenly, Zoidberg teleported to the dragon’s side and assaulted the drows. The dragon breath fire down the corridor and I ducked away. Jarlaxe’s hirelings were barely alive after the attack though Jarlaxe fought the dragon back. It was a quick battle and both sides threw all their cards on the table. Although it seemed clear that the dragon had the upper hand, none of us could anticipate that Jarlaxe would teleport away.

By the end, we assisted the dragon, restored Neverember’s name, and made a powerful drow enemy that would eventually return to threaten.

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.