Last night our town was attacked. A mere day’s travel from the settlement of Alfhaven, we should have been safe from the ravages of brigands. Yet the Dread Elf corsairs are no ordinary threat. They attacked at dusk, when our watch was lowest, and when no ordinary captain would have risked a landing. Still, even with little notice, a defence was assembled which should have withstood the two attacking ships. Then one of those vessels, already sitting low in the water, rocked violently, and a monstrous shape vaulted its rail. Waves swept the dock, unsteadying the men who waited with levelled spears. A giant, on a ship! Armed with a cruel blade, it charged, scattering soldiers before it. It fought with no great skill, yet each stab of that wicked sword twisted brutally, ensuring death came to all it struck. The worst was still to come. As it approached a watchtower, with a great brazier casting light upon the beast, we saw its face. A horrifying visage, it struck terror in our hearts, an inked pattern of snakes writhing around glittering eyes. Meanwhile, the raiders rounded up captives, the giant himself grabbing up half a dozen and tossing them to the deck, pushing the ship into deeper waters before clambering aboard. By the time artillery was brought to bear, they had vanished once more into the night, and we were left to pick up the pieces.