It's late into the night and the winter storm tears through my clothes, preventing me from keeping warm. The wind seems to attack me with snow and rain in equal amounts, forming it into ice attaching itself to my hair, beard and clothes. The weather is unnatural for this part of the land and I have a feeling it's there to prevent me and my self appointed task. I have not slept well lately, being tormented by nightmares about the doom of our village and the death of my friends, and I know deep within my bones that something is coming.
So I have sneaked out of the village during the night and under the cover of the storm, to investigate. Im headed towards the north eastern parts from Bancross, following my gut instincts that if I find something, it will be there. Easier said than done Duncadda, I mutter to myself. It's not easy to find any tracks or signs that have disturbed the nature, with little light and freezing weather trying to numb your mind. Despite the cold I take my time studying the ground around me, stopping from time to time, trying to hear something unusual in the crescendo sounds of the winter storm. I know deep within myself that there is something foul near, but I'm denied finding it.
As I move slowly towards a familiar cleft in these parts of the land, with the intention of using it as shelter against the dreadful weather that attacks me, I come to a full stop and hunch down on pure instincts. Somebody is there already… somebody is already within the cleft. I cannot hear anything, besides the piping sound of the winds sweeping around me. And there is no foul smell in the air, beside the fresh cold scent of snow.
I let my eyes walk over the details in the terrain around and within the cleft, searching for movements or something out of place. At first there seems to be nothing out of the ordinary, but then I see it. There are piles of snow of various sizes cluttered all over the place within the cleft. But something stirs within them and I'm suddenly aware that I'm looking at a large number of men, sheltering themselves from the storm. Something cold seems to grab my neck and at the same time, something rises from one of the larger snow piles with its back to me. A large man emerges from the snow, clothed in large furs and leather armor made for war. In his right arm there is a huge deadly ax of crude design, but made to endure a battle.
Slowly he turns around and stares directly at me and my first thought seeing the man's face is on Waelden and his family. I rise up and take one step towards the man, drawing my sword in the progress, before I manage to restrain myself and my anger. It would be certain death if I committed myself to a battle within the cleft against so many dunlendings.
The large familiar man smiles as he stares at me and signals silently with his left hand to me. Come, come. Come to your end. He waves his ax towards himself, as an invitation for me to meet him. When I either respond or move, he gestures with his hands again. Go. Go home and wait. Death comes. Despair comes. As I take a few steps backward and turn around to head back to Bancross, his dark crude laughter is following me through the hollow sounds of the storm surrounding me.
Let them come, let them try to wreak havoc upon us, let them feel our hard steel and resolve
