Staring out over the world, Taraborn admired the view. A great, solitary mountain loomed in the distance, it’s tall jagged peak piercing the sky. Beneath the mountain was the great city of Dale, and further to the south lay the Long Lake and he could just about make out Lake Town.
They were nearly there, maybe another week till Taraborn could rid himself of the tomb-robbers that had employed him.
Part of him wanted to steal what he could from them and ride on to Dale to sell it on, but he would lose any credibility as a sell-sword if he did. He resolved then, to grit his teeth and push through it. He felt constantly on edge, his fingers never far from the hilt of his longsword or his dirk, his senses sharp and alert.
He was beginning to regret coming, he could have been sat by a campfire with Narys, but no. He was leagues and leagues away, hoping the journey would pay off.
