From the Public Annals of the Church of Pelor.
Transcribed by Beltak, Scribe to his Radiant Servant, Tremak the Plush.
The 28th day of Mirtul in the Year of the Ruins Reborn.
We had been waiting for over a day in silence – the only noise being the constant lapping of the waves against the bulwarks and the flapping of sail against the wind. Scouts had been sent in small boats to the mainland for one last check, to ensure that the beach and surrounding country was clear of goblinoids or worse.
When the scouts had returned they reported some small pockets of goblins near the landings, and Captain Abrahams had decided to hold firm until we had some form of cover to land.
It was too dangerous to approach by night – the reefs and sandbanks were dangerous without knowing the waters well, and with no jetty or port to dock with the ship could easily be pushed against the sharp rocks. Captain Abrahams had anchored The Guiding Fire outside the bay, and we waited for cover of fog.

When the mists came the silence became eerie, voices muffled and strange as we clambered into the longboats and began rowing slowly towards shore. Four longboats we were in all, with twenty men in each – a mixture of soldiers, builders, and healers.
When the first hull rasped against the sandy shore the men were out of their benches with weapons silently drawn in an instant. The soldiers rushed to the fore in a protective half-circle on the beach. The scouts used hand signs to show the soldiers the direction of where the goblins lay, and as a unit we all softly marched up the beach.
We were never sure how it happened, but one of the larger storage chests toppled off one of the longboats into the water with a great splash. The halflings in the same boat speedily tried to save the contents from damage. There was a short bark from the mists, and then whistling through the air. One of the soldiers dropped in an instant, a feathered arrow through his neck.
The whistling noises rapidly multiplied, as arrows sped through the air, hitting the sand with soft thuds. Three or four of the soldiers at the front were hit, some badly, but most of us managed to get to some form of cover.
From behind the prow of one of the boats I saw the soldiers creeping steadily forwards, their shields held out in front of them, protecting them from harm. When the volley of arrows subsided, a small group led by one of the sergeants, Valino, charged into the mist with weapons aloft. The muffled sounds of metal striking metal, and gurgling of voices crept down the beach towards us. Then silence.
We waited with bated breath and then out of the mist strode Valino and his soldiers, bloody, but alive. They reported back to the Guard Captain and there seemed a sense of relief. Scouts were sent out and a basic camp was started on the beach.
As we waited by the camp the mists began to clear as the sun burned through. We had landed in the perfect place – a long, wide beach in a calm bay, with plenty room to build a jetty. Rising up from the beach was a fertile headland for farming, and beyond that trees and stone for building.
The scout reports and months of planning had served us well.
Here was a place we could call home.
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