I write these words with hands that still tremble.

Yesterday, I was a ward of Candlekeep. Today, I am an orphan.

Life within the keep now feels like a dream. The monks argued over books, the guards walked their walls, and I spent my days running errands for people who seemed convinced I had nothing better to do. Still, it was home. Looking back, I realize how sheltered I truly was.

Gorion was restless before we left. I could see it in his eyes, though he spoke little of it. Whatever danger he feared, it found us on the road before we had traveled far. A towering armored warrior confronted us, demanding answers I did not understand. Gorion ordered me to flee.

I obeyed.

Cowardice or wisdom, I cannot say.

From the shadows, I watched my foster father die.

I remember the sound more than the sight—the clash of steel, the crackle of magic, and finally silence. When it was over, Gorion lay dead and I stood alone beneath the night sky.

Not long after, little Imoen caught up with me. She claimed she had followed us from Candlekeep. Part of me was glad to see a familiar face, but another part wanted no one near me. Death seems to follow me now, and I would not drag her into whatever fate has claimed Gorion.

So I sent her away.

Perhaps that was a mistake.

The road south has been strange. Twice I crossed paths with suspicious travelers who seemed eager to speak with me. Adventurers, mercenaries, drifters—hard to tell. I kept moving. Trust feels like a luxury I can no longer afford.

I’ve survived my first real battles as well. Small, twisted creatures that gibbered nonsense while attacking with surprising ferocity. Nothing like the training bouts in Candlekeep. These things wanted blood. Fortunately, I proved quicker and stronger than they were.

Among the few treasures I’ve found is a curious ring hidden inside a rock. Why someone would conceal jewelry inside a stone in the wilderness is beyond me. The ring bears no obvious markings, and I have yet to discover its purpose. It may be magical, or it may simply be valuable enough to buy a few nights of food and shelter.

For now, I continue south toward Beregost.

Gorion is dead.

I have no plan.

Only questions.

And somewhere ahead, I suspect, answers.

— Cail