Winter Arrives in the Axeblades
Weather on Aeroth has been badly disrupted by the release of so much Wild Magic during the Death and now fierce storms have been hammering the high mesa and wild passes surrounding Dum Zamor and the Dwarves are desperately bringing in supplies in order to survive the sub-minus degree winter.
To make matters worse one of Gorgar Khans commanders, Krull Goreblade, has been sent into the area with a sizeable force in order to ambush the Dwarven supply trains and if possible destroy the keep itself.
The Tarn of Gorm
Grimli and the Boar Company have found themselves cut off by one of Krulls raiding parties near the Tarn of Gorm, a bleak and windswept pool high in the mountains. The Tarn itself is a grim place with dark tales of the restless spirits of long dead ancients haunting its shore.
On the eastern shore the Boar Company has sought shelter in the ruins of a long forgotten village and await the coming of dawn.
Grimli nudged the embers of the pitiful fire with his boot. Flint stood nearby, wrapped in a heavy fur and stamped his feet in a futile attempt to keep out the biting cold of the high mountains. Nearby Gunnar was trying to calm the Wildling, its breath steamed as it grunted uneasily.
"He senses something he doesn't like!" Muttered Flint.
"I know how he feels!" Replied Grimli rummaging thorough his pack for a flask of Fire Brandy, popping the lid off and taking a generous swig before handing it to his second in command. "I don't like this place. Theres something unnatural about it which sets my teeth on edge."
"Me to chief, but I've got sentries posted in pairs and hopefully we will be able to move for home at daybreak if we can avoid any Blackblood patrols!" Replied Flint handing back the flask. "What worries me more is the bodies of Orcish scum we found down the trail". "They looked like they had the life drained from them; what could do that to a body?"
"I don't know but I've heard tell that this place is cursed, I guess we are going to find out soon enough for ourselves!"
Suddenly cries sounded from the sentry post nearby "Lights! Moving over the tarn!"
"Orcs!" Cried Flint grabbing up his battleaxe.
"I certainly hope so!" Replied Grimli as he strained to see through the darkness.
Dimly at first he saw them but out over the tarn, a sickly green light bobbed slowly toward the Dwarven positions.
"TO ARMS!" Roared Grimli, "Beware! Theres sorcery afoot, Boar Company to me!