lonely mountain

A line of wagons extends a quarter-mile out from the eastern gate of Bree-town. At the front of the line a gate-watcher handles each of the merchants, collecting their bills of inventory and checking their trading permits. 'You're all set, sir. Now move along', he says, lackadaisically ushering the next wagon inside.

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.