Remis

From Bree they rode in the storm. Ever south and east keeping to the road, moving fast. Much to the displeasure of a few of the hardier dwarven warriors, they passed the Forsaken inn and galloped on. On the sheltered porch of the inn, sat a man, whittling on a piece of wood. He barely glanced up as the group rushed by. Gray spectres driven by the wind

 

A few miles on Donhelm signalled a halt. They dismounted and made a small camp. Donhelm took from his pack an old well used map and peered at it. He became aware of someone standing behind him.

A dark afternoon to depart... The leaden clouds hung heavy over the group gathered at the south gate.the conversation was sparse, many thinking of the dangers to come, many embracing their children, or the families they were leaving behind. Donhelm stood a little way apart from the others,

already the responsibility of what lay ahead had begun to weigh on him. He sparked the tinder to his pipe and sighed as the first fat drops of rain began to fall.

The first I came upon this old rusty sword, I thought little of it...

 

It had spilled from the wooden chest which Remis had brought forth from the Troll cave.