Once I heard this song by Frank Loesser – a famous bard – who said ♪ baby it’s cold outside ♬ so the view of Caer-Dineval was quite the sight to me and to my companions who had been travelling through the cold and harsh north for quite a while.

We heard rumors that cultists had infiltrated the city and there was money for finding and exposing them, so here we were. Nonetheless, I cannot fathom what cultists would do in this shitty hell of a town. Since Auril the frozen lady had cursed the land, few travelling souls would cross the city to the point that the inn was abandoned and the warmest welcome we could hear was the howling wind of the ice lady mocking at our frustration.

At least there was still a tavern and we spoke with some of the townsfolk asking where we could find a place to rest. Our best guess would be the small fort home to the town mayor and some other affluent citizens. Anything was better than the deteriorating inn, so it wouldn’t hurt if we asked for shelter in the fort, right? Little I knew that we would have to kill for a good night of sleep, but anyway.

Atop a small hill that provided clear sight to the city and its now frozen lake, the fort had well-made brick walls, a closed iron gate, and arrowslits that didn’t look that welcoming to worried travellers. The guard who spoke to us through one of the said arrowslits was also not that welcoming. She basically “sho shoed” us as a mother kicks children from the kitchen while baking a delicious stew.

There was something suspicious about it all. The fact that the guards said that the speaker was sick and that they rejected the hideous magic from our cleric, Magnus raised even more red flags. Some of us decided to distract the guard while Pox and I climbed one of the walls. Or’o, the druid, also transformed into a spider and started climbing another wall.

My plan was simple, take a look inside, cast my illusory magic and transform into a guard and get a hold of what was happening. It would have been a better plan if, first, I had said it to my companions; and second, if Wreckage and Ranmorr hadn’t decided to set the fort’s gate on fire and assault the front door.

Everything that unfolded after is still a blur to me. The short version reads like this: few were prepared to face the monster that was unleashed inside Caer-Dineval’s walls, the monster name? Pox, our barbarian. The longer version, if you have the time and patience, reads like this:

The guard blasted the fort’s horn, there were footsteps coming from all directions. Pox and I would soon be surrounded. Magnus came to our assistance. Pox went down into rage and rushed towards the guards. I flew arrows from my short bow giving him some cover. When the small and unarmored gnome cleaved the first guard in half while laughing at the scratches that the enemies’ blades made at him, I realized the Pox didn’t need assistance and I tried to find a lever that could open the gate. Soon, robed cultists joined the fray. Magnus engaged one and the other casted spells that made my muscles rigid for a split second. Realizing the danger from the cultist’s nefarious spells, I retreated behind cover. Wreckage and the others joined the battle at the walls and towers. I can’t remember how they did it though having towering goliaths between me and the guards and cultists was comforting to say the least.

I am still impressed by all my companions, Wreckage man-at-arms abilities were unpaired and he delivered several strikes with his rapier in the blink of an eye. I swear that some of these strikes were misses, but I also swear that Fate, our wizard, bent reality and augmented the fighter’s sword with uncanny precision. As all the towering humans killed themselves, no one would pay attention to the small and non-threatening halfling, which helped me sneak through all the chaos and fire some good shots. At some point, only the sound of creaking doors and our exhausted breaths were audible. To my left, five of my companions and some dead bodies; to my right, Pox was resting (covered in blood from head to toe) against a pile of corpses. I hope that Frank Loesser could write Pox a song as my notes do not make justice to the gnome’s bravery.

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.