Bellhaven is a prosperous regional city on an important crossroads — large enough for guilds, courts, warehouses, temples, professional couriers and estate administrators.
Brackenford is twenty days east by road, the final days taking travellers steadily further from the major trade routes.
The five family members have already answered an advertisement:
Start with character introductions as the five family members arrive at Helena's office.
Helena Vey is in her late forties or early fifties. Licensed Executor is her actual profession, though people informally call her Magistrate Vey from her years working for Bellhaven's civil court.
She is efficient, intelligent and extremely busy. Most importantly, Helena knows nothing about Brackenford's secret. To her, this is paperwork.
Her office holds shelves of legal volumes, bundles of documents tied with coloured string, locked cabinets, a large desk, wax seals, a clerk, and five chairs — someone clearly had to go and find the fifth. Against one wall sits Eamon's inheritance.
Helena contacted three professional courier companies. The first refused the job. The second offered a ridiculous price. The third offered an even more ridiculous price.
Not because Brackenford is dangerous — because it is twenty days away. A courier travelling there and back spends roughly forty days on a single delivery, plus food, accommodation, protection and possibly replacement horses, and there is little commercial traffic toward Brackenford to combine with the trip.
The contents aren't particularly valuable. At least, not compared with what three courier companies wanted to charge me to deliver them.
You people travel anyway.
If the party calls themselves adventurers:
Precisely. You're already accepting the inconvenience of roads, rain, questionable beds and occasionally being attacked by wildlife. Professional couriers charge extra for all four.
Edric Vale was a 76-year-old human, originally from Brackenford. He left as a young man and settled in Bellhaven, working as a cabinetmaker and furniture restorer.
He never married and had no children. His closest surviving relative is his nephew, Eamon Vale of Brackenford, whom he had not seen in many years.
There is no conspiracy here. Edric simply died of old age.
The Proof of Receipt identifies Eamon Vale of Brackenford as the sole authorised recipient. Eamon must personally sign the magically prepared signature field. When he does, the black ink briefly becomes gold before settling into a dark metallic colour, and Helena's seal changes to match.
Someone else can physically accept the inheritance — but the party then fails the contract and does not receive the remainder of the payment.
The professional courier quotes were considerably higher. The adventurers genuinely are the cheaper option.
Give the characters 15–20 minutes of freedom before departure.
Possible concerns: food, tents, rope, ammunition, healing supplies, transport, cookware, blankets, and whatever else they think they need. Use this mainly to establish the family dynamic.
Ahead is twenty days of road. No dungeon. No dragon. No ancient curse.
They have one job: deliver several boxes to a farmer, get his signature, come back. Easy money.
Montage the journey rather than playing every day. These are roleplaying prompts, not skill checks — spend roughly 10–15 minutes.
Rain begins during the afternoon. The road becomes muddy and darkness approaches. Then they see light.
A wooden sign beside the road depicts a goose whose neck bends at a ridiculous angle:
The Crooked Goose
Warm yellow windows promise food, ale, fire and beds.
Make the inn genuinely wonderful: a warm common room, roasting food, laughter, local cider, perhaps a bad musician, and an enormous fireplace.
Then the party asks for rooms. Every room is occupied.
Maud Tallow is a friendly, practical 52-year-old human who is absolutely convinced the guesthouse is haunted. Tonight the inn is full of travelling merchants, two drovers, a family of four, two labourers and an old travelling scholar.
Eventually Maud says:
Well… there is somewhere.
Her husband: “Maud.” She ignores him.
The guest cottage.
You wouldn't have to pay.
The guest cottage stands about 100 feet behind the inn. It is small and comfortable — two rooms, a little loft/storage area, a fireplace, and enough beds for the party.
Nobody has successfully slept there for three nights. The first guest heard scratching. The second claimed furniture moved. The third ran into the inn around 2 a.m. wearing only a nightshirt and refuses to return.
You lot are adventurers. Figure out what's wrong with the cottage, and you've got beds, dinner and breakfast for nothing.
Something is living here.
Maud remembers Maela always leaving milk out. Maud's husband remembers: “She used to knock on that bloody fireplace every night” — and demonstrates. Knock. Knock. Knock.
The old scholar, if given the clues, suggests household fey but does not know the exact species.
Eventually someone must remain in the cottage. Nothing happens. Five minutes. Ten. Twenty.
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.
Inside the wall. Then, from behind one character, comes another PC's voice — “[PC's name]?” — except that character did not speak.
The Hearthburrow has started playing.
Do not immediately roll initiative.
A boot disappears. A cupboard opens. A backpack moves. A candle goes out.
Shutters slam. A chair slides across the floor. Soot drops down the chimney. Something whispers: “Mine.”
If the party tears the house apart or attacks, roll initiative. The Hearthburrow uses abilities such as Pulled Rug, Flying Crockery, Chimney Soot, Snuffed Flame, Wall Scurry and Mimic Voice.
The encounter should be chaotic and funny rather than deadly.
The creature is tiny, scruffy, huge-eared, dressed in stolen scraps, and furious. If someone speaks Sylvan they can communicate; otherwise use pantomime.
It points at the party, the food, itself and the hearth, gesturing angrily. If somebody eats in front of it, it becomes deeply offended.
If the players reconstruct Maela's routine:
The words are not a magical password; the hospitality matters. The cottage falls silent. A tiny hand takes the bread. Another takes the milk. The party's missing possessions begin sliding back out. Finally the Hearthburrow cautiously emerges, no longer hostile. Problem solved.
Do not require the ritual. The party might negotiate, offer another home, promise future food, capture the creature, or kill it. Creative solutions should work.
If resolved peacefully, the Hearthburrow gives one character an old brass button. Once, while carrying it, the owner may reroll a failed Dexterity (Stealth), Dexterity (Sleight of Hand) or Wisdom (Perception) check and must use the new result. Afterward, the button inexplicably disappears.
After sleeping properly, the party advances to Level 2 using milestone advancement.
Maud provides breakfast, food for the road, free accommodation, and perhaps a bottle of cider. Then she asks:
So what was it?
If the party exaggerates the story themselves, make the eventual legend even more absurd.
Approximately five days remain. The countryside becomes hillier, less travelled, more agricultural and more isolated. Road signs grow older and settlements smaller.
Nothing supernatural happens. No worms. No undead. No ominous ravens. No visions. No vampire clues.
Not yet.
After nearly twenty days of travelling, the party reaches a ridge. A weathered milestone reads:
Brackenford — 7 miles
After nineteen days of rain, campfires, hard roads, one supposedly haunted cottage and far too much trail food, the easiest job they have ever accepted is almost finished. Deliver the inheritance. Get Eamon Vale's signature. Go home. Get paid.
Eamon should encounter Aldren while the characters are already on the final two-hour stretch toward Brackenford.
While the party thinks their job is nearly over, Eamon is outside the village and sees a pale man he immediately recognises from centuries of village stories: Sir Aldren. Aldren tells him:
Tell them the blood is no longer enough.
Eamon runs back to Brackenford. The council scrambles. Garrick Voss gets involved. Eamon is hidden away. Roughly two hours later, five halflings walk into Brackenford carrying his inheritance.
They are not the chosen five. They are simply the five people who happened to be there when Brackenford finally needed someone.
Continues in the Campaign Overview — see “The Five and the Five”.