“…and so upon reaching the edge of Phandalin, all we could see for miles was nought but desolation and ruin. Of the dragons that had laid waste to the town many years before, there was no sign, but I could smell the brimstone tang of danger in the air. And so, taking up the lead, as always, I guided my errant companions onwards into that empty township, blades and spells at the ready–”

The door chose precisely that moment to be knocked upon, emitting a hefty wooden boom that jolted Madryck Roslof out of his narration. His hand twitched, sending a long streamer of enchanted ink running haphazardly down the unmarked portion of his memoir-in-progress.