“Ah yes,” Rictavio says, puffing out his chest. “My arrival in Vallaki — a tale of destiny, daring, and deeply questionable navigation!”

“It began, as all great journeys do, with me getting lost. I was traveling to the grand city of Waterdeep! …or possibly Waterdeep’s less famous cousin, Water-leak. Hard to say — my map was drawn on the back of a dinner napkin.”

He waves his hand dramatically. “Anyway, there I was, riding my wagon, when my horse, Buttercup, decided she’d had quite enough of bridges and simply stepped off one. Down we went — wagon, horse, me — into a river that I’m convinced was at least 80% mud and 20% frogs.”

“By the time I washed ashore, everything I owned smelled faintly of despair. And frogs. Then I saw the mist — you know, the kind that whispers, ‘come this way, it’ll be fine’. Naturally, I followed it.”

He leans in conspiratorially. “Three days later, I realized I’d been talking to a log I thought was my horse. The log was a better listener, to be fair.”

“Eventually, I arrived in Vallaki — soaked, confused, but looking fabulous. The locals asked, ‘How did you find our town?’ I said, ‘Completely by accident!’ and they applauded! I assume out of admiration. Or pity. Hard to tell.”

He raises his glass. “And that, my friends, is how the greatest monster hunter in all the realms arrived in Vallaki — entirely on purpose, with style, and no idea where he actually was.”