Beneath Winter's Wings

I never trusted letters. Paper carries promises too easily—ink bleeds lies better than blood bleeds truth. Yet, when a sealed parchment arrived on my cabin table aboard the wreck of a ship I no longer called mine, I opened it.

The signature was only two letters:VM.The words inside, though, stirred something I thought long buried:“A new crew awaits you in Phandalin. Riches beyond measure. Treasure enough to buy ten ships. Come.”

I laughed. A dry, sharp laugh. “A crew and gold, eh? Whoever you are, VM, you know the language of pirates well enough.” And so, with nothing better to chase, I turned my boots toward Phandalin.

TheStonehill Innsmelled of roasted meat, damp wood, and ale that had traveled one keg too far. By the time I pushed through the door, snow clinging to my cloak, the first of my so-called “crew” had already arrived.

A young man—elf, though rougher around the edges than most—sat by the fire, lute across his lap. He strummed a bright tune that filled the room with cheer, though the sound was nearly drowned by his own laughter. His skin carried a bronze glow, curls as wild as storm waves, and a grin that clung to him like ivy.

He spotted me at once. “Ah! Another mysterious guest! Let me guess—youtoo were summoned by a letter signed VM?”

I raised a brow, letting my golden eyes narrow on him. “Depends. Do you usually accost strangers like a drunken minstrel on stage?”

He sprang to his feet, bowing with a flourish. “Only when the stranger looks like someone straight out of a ballad! Name’sPelope—bard extraordinaire, voice of the ages, breaker of hearts. And VM, bless their secretive soul, promised menew gifts in music and magic. What’s a bard to do but follow the tune?”

“Or march straight into a trap,” I said dryly, brushing snow from my shoulders as I moved closer to the hearth.

He strummed a mischievous chord. “If it’s a trap, then at least it will be an entertaining one.”

Before I could respond, the door opened again with a heavy creak. A figure taller than most men stepped inside, framed by the cold light of the snow. She was clad in gleaming armor, helm tucked beneath one arm, her long black hair loose over her shoulders. Her gaze was stern, heavy, the kind of stare that made most men look at their boots.

I muttered under my breath, “A paladin.”

She advanced with a purposeful stride, stopping before us. “I amJanja, sworn to Sune, goddess of beauty and redemption. VM’s letter spoke of service, of rebuilding what was lost. If you too were summoned, then perhaps our paths are tied by more than chance.”

I leaned back in my chair, smirking. “Or perhaps we’re all tangled in the same noose.”

Her eyes narrowed, but instead of anger she gave a solemn nod. Whether it was respect or warning, I couldn’t yet tell.

The inn door then flew open with a gust of snow, and in tumbled a much smaller figure—barely four feet tall, cheeks flushed red, hair blazing pink-red like a torch in the night.

“By the roots of the forest, it’sfreezingout there!” she shouted, stomping her boots. “Where’s the ale? And who in the blazes are all of you?”

The bard laughed, nearly doubling over. “Delightful! A firebrand in both size and spirit. Come in, come in. And your name, friend?”

She flashed a wide grin. ”Yue!Forest gnome, friend of storms and trees. VM promised I’d find a deeper connection with nature here—so here I am. And if there’s drink, even better.”

I chuckled darkly. “So, let’s tally it up. A bard hungry for power, a paladin chasing redemption, a gnome who listens to trees... and me, a pirate who just wants gold. Sounds less like a crew and more like the start of a tragic comedy.”

Toblen Stonehill, the innkeeper, arrived at our table with keys in hand.“Your rooms are already paid for—by whoever this VM is,” he explained. “Two rooms, one bed each. Strange, I never met the person myself, but the gold was good.”

Pelope took his key with delight. “Splendid! Yue, would you like to share a room? I promise I only snore in rhythm, like a lullaby.”

Yue giggled, hopping off her stool. “Perfect! As long as you don’t talk in your sleep about broken hearts, we’ll get along just fine.”

That left me with the paladin.

The night was long. Janja’s snoring rattled the shutters, heavy as a war drum. I tried stuffing my ears with cloth, but still, each rumble vibrated through the mattress. Sleep came in fragments.

And then I woke in the gray hush before dawn to find her arm—armored gauntlet and all—thrown across me as though I were some shield she had misplaced. Worse, she had half rolled onto me, pinning me down with the weight of iron.

I shoved at her shoulder. “Off, knight. If I wanted to be crushed in my sleep, I’d have stayed at sea and drowned.”

She stirred, blinking awake, utterly calm. “You are surprisingly light for someone so sharp-tongued.”

I groaned, dragging myself free. “Next time, I’m sleeping in the stables.”

Pelope and Yue, of course, emerged from their room in the morning looking far too cheerful, hair tousled but faces rested. Pelope strummed a happy tune while Yue stretched with a yawn.

“Best sleep I’ve had in weeks,” the gnome chirped. “How about you two?”

I glared. “Don’t ask.”

Pelope laughed so loudly the whole inn stared.

The next day, curiosity dragged us to thePhandalin Miner’s Exchange. The building was neat, stone walls and polished counters, but the air inside felt colder than the snow outside. Behind the desk sat a sharp-eyed woman with an expression that could curdle milk.

She didn’t bother with a smile. “State your business.”

Pelope stepped forward, strumming a gentle tune on his lute as if the notes alone might soften her. “We are but humble travelers, noble lady, in search of a mystery benefactor. The name signed onlyVM. Perhaps you, with your esteemed records, might help us?”

Her glare could’ve cut steel. “Spare me the charm, bard. We keep ledgers. If VM exists, their name should be here.” She slid a thick leather-bound book across the counter.

I cracked it open, scanning the initials. The ink smudged under my fingers, pages filled with endless names, signatures. But no VM. Only... VY.

“Close,” Yue muttered, peering over my shoulder. “VY, VM... maybe it’s the same person with bad handwriting?”

Halia’s lip curled in disdain. “Do not waste my time with games. If you have no business here, leave.”

Janja’s voice was calm but firm. “Your tone is unbecoming. We came here seeking truth, not mockery.”

Halia leaned forward, eyes glinting. “And truth, paladin, is rarely free.”

I shut the book with a snap. “Fine. We’ll find our answers elsewhere.”

As we left, Pelope whispered, “Well, she was a delight.”“More like a snake,” I muttered. “Best keep our boots out of her den.”

That evening, back at theStonehill Inn, my instincts pulled me to shadows. From the stairwell I caught whispers—Toblen the innkeeper speaking to a cloaked figure by the bar.

“...theJavatre Trail,” Toblen hissed. “Dangerous ground. Raiders tore it apart. But near there lies theShrine of Savras. Ancient, forgotten, filled with treasure... or curses. Only fools would seek it.”

The hooded man replied in a low growl I barely caught: “Treasure is never forgotten. Someone will go.”

My blood stirred at the wordtreasure. My fingers itched for maps and daggers. But I stayed quiet, the secret coiled tight in my chest. No sense handing over gold to strangers I wasn’t sure I trusted yet.

The next morning, we stopped at thetown’s notice board, a battered plank covered in parchment nailed with shaky hands. One in particular caught our eye:Help Needed—Adabra Gwynn, the town’s healer, has not returned from her windmill.

A man was waiting there, bouncing on his heels as if ready to explode with excitement. He had a voice too loud for the quiet square.

“Ah! Adventurers! You must be here for the healer’s quest!” He nearly shoved the notice into my hands. “I amInverna Brisa Noturna—don’t worry, the name’s longer than I am important. But Adabra must return! The reward may be small, but Phandalin needs her.”

Yue crossed her arms. “You seem awfully eager to send strangers into danger.”

Inverna beamed. “Because I believe in you! And because I... well, I may have tried to convince her myself and she threw a pot at my head.”

Pelope chuckled, strumming a playful riff. “A healer with spirit—sounds worth rescuing.”

We agreed, though more from necessity than conviction.

Before leaving, we knocked on thetownmaster’s hallto confirm the reward. A voice squeaked through the peephole without ever opening the door.

“Yes, yes, yes, the job is real, the pay is modest. I—I prefer not to meet face to face. Dangerous times, you see. Orcs, bandits, dragons, everything. Very unsafe. Please just... do the job and go.”

I rolled my eyes. “Mayor Harbin Wester, the mighty. Can’t even unlock his own door.”

“Perhaps fear keeps him alive,” Janja murmured, though even she sounded unimpressed.

Supplies were needed, so we made the rounds.

At theLionshield Coster, Linene the shopkeeper eyed us like a hawk. “Phandalin was raided by orcs not long ago. Left scars on the people, and on me.” She tapped a scar across her cheek. “Clubs, axes, bows—they came ready for war. We drove them off, but it cost us dearly. Remember that if you’re here just for coin. This town still bleeds.”

Her words sat heavy, though Yue broke the silence. “Do you sell flowers? Or just sharp things?”

Linene stared at her. “Sharp things.”

AtBarthen’s Provisions, the tone was gentler. The old shopkeeper leaned over the counter, lowering his voice. “I’ve seen strange folk lately. A hooded figure passed through, quiet as shadow. And rumors say Neverwinter Forest is cursed—creatures vanish, travelers never return. If you head that way, there’s an inn by the river. Run by a war veteran. Safe place, or so they say.”

Pelope grinned. “A hooded figure, curses, abandoned inns—it’s like the gods are begging me to write a ballad.”

I groaned. “Write it later. Survive first.”

On the edge of town, a house overflowing with flowers caught our eyes. Colors spilled from the garden in waves—daisies, lilies, roses, all stubbornly blooming despite the cold. A frail-looking woman with silver hair was trimming petals.

“Travelers!” she greeted warmly. “Call meMirelda. You’re searching for Adabra, aren’t you?”

We exchanged glances. “You know her?” Yue asked.

“Oh, quite well. She’s stubborn, that one. Won’t leave her mill for anything less than the gods themselves. But she has a soft spot.” Mirelda plucked a daisy and twirled it. “Bring her these. Daisies. They’ll remind her of home. They’ll remind her of me.”

“How much?” I asked flatly.

“Ten gold pieces.”

I scoffed. “For flowers? You could buy a ship’s sail for that.”

Her smile was sweet but unyielding. “It’s not the price of the flower. It’s the weight of the memory.”

Pelope sighed dramatically. “Oh, how can one put a price on sentiment?”

I rolled my eyes. “Watch me.”

In the end, Mirelda softened and gave them to us for half. A bargain, though my purse still stung.

We set out soon after, guided by Inverna along the snowy trail. The air sharpened with every step, wind howling through the pines. My fingers never strayed far from my daggers.

And then came the sound.

A thunderous beating of wings. A guttural roar that shook the very bones. Snow poured from the trees as a shadow blotted out the sun.

The beast descended—scales gleaming, tail barbed like a spear, wings wide enough to darken the earth.

My heart raced, but my lips curved into a pirate’s grin.

“Well then,” I whispered, blades sliding free. “Looks like the real story begins.”