That was, certainly, a very intriguing day. As the sunset transcended into a memory and darkness came back to rule the sky, a few daring stars and the lamps of Othrikar remained the only sources of light.
Erasm remained outside, enjoying the sounds of night, relative solitude and his aromatic pipeweed. Fredericka was far superior at any negotiations and he, a scholar, wasn't the most skilled orator, by default.
So, some of the Dourhands wanted to seek reconciliation? The chronicler wasn't surprised, at all. Their race was somewhat set in their ways and incredibly honourable. They would follow their leaders almost blindly, in many cases, often valuing their word as highly as their own lives. Fortunately, now that the imposter had been killed, the uncorrupted Dourhands were free. Or, at least, their minds were.
Erasm knew it wasn't easy to even start the talks. Fredericka was the one to do that, though. Eloquent, charismatic and used to coerce others, she was exactly someone to face some hot-tempered dwarves, not more than a few months ago enemies of the said Dourhands.
Nevertheless, it would take more than the remarkable woman, Erasm and Svaroh combined could muster, in order to reach to the hearts and minds of the dwarven leaders.
There was, like always, a lot to do.
And, like always, so little time.
