Illunia 22

“Thanks,” I said uncertainly as I looked over the tome Daulf had just given me.

He moved on and examined the rest of the room with his magically enhanced gaze. His attention narrowed on the bowl of brown stones. Holding one up, he examined it closely in my light.

“Soul stones. Not from a person, but from some creature loyal to the necromancer. This is likely how he raised that dragon. I thought something was off about it. It didn’t move clumsily like the dwarves, but neither did it move like the one I’d fought in Landing. Curious.”

He placed them back on the table and continued around the room.

After finding nothing new of interest, I summoned a Ghost Light on a quill from the table and handed it to Trish.

Quills, I'd found, were one of the easiest everyday objects to attach a Ghost Light to—it's a very handy trick when writing in the dark. If my theory that the spell anchors to Will is true, then quills must have loads of the stuff. I should do some more experiments. Is it the act of writing? Or because it's from a bird? I could scribble with a quill, write with another, and then try to cast Ghost Light. Or maybe, I duplicate a quill in the Dahn. What would happen if I brought a bird in the Dahn? Wait a minute. What is happening with my body outside the Dahn right now?

Sorry, I'm getting carried away, but I will need to look into some of those.

I left the group to throw the journal into the fire and rid the world of its vile knowledge. The fire blazed briefly when I tossed it in. I sat against the wall and flipped through the pages of the book Daulf had given me. Your pages.

When I received you, you were a foot tall, eight inches wide, and three inches thick. And, as you know better than I, were filled with unreadable nonsense.

While I was looking through your pages, trying to make sense of it, Bearskin stirred.

"Good morning. Evening? I have no idea." I greeted him.

“Good morning evening to you,” he rose and looked around, seemingly recovered. “Where is the dragon?”

“Daulf slew it, and it turned into ash.”

He smiled and let out an appreciative hum, “Hmm, good for him.”

I took the opportunity to satisfy my curiosity. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, what's with the deep sleeping? We couldn’t wake you up at all. Neither now nor after we fished you out of the river.”

He walked over to his weapon, which was still where it’d fallen during the fight, and brought it back over to me. He pointed to the brown stone set in its face, “Bear spirit. It makes me tougher. It lets me enter a deep sleep to heal. I cannot wake until I have recovered fully. Sometimes, I get hurt using my Bond, and when it ends, I would die without this.”

“Bond?” I asked.

He looked at me, deciding whether he should answer. Eventually he gestured at his tattoos and spoke, “My tribe, we are the People of the Iron Veins. Our home was once a mountain. Deep within the mountain peak resides the Primordial of Bonds. Long before the flood, the mountain got struck by lightning. Over and over for years. Eventually, the ore veins became magnetic. The Primordial appeared and made it worse. Now the veins trap anything that touched them. We fled our peak. But, the waters rose. We were forced back up the mountain. We lost people to the veins that ran through the land, but eventually we learned to live alongside them. After generations, my people discovered we could use the magic of the Primordial.” He grabbed two pieces of wood from the fire pile, pressed them together, and handed them to me. The pieces were stuck together, as if glued. I struggled for a few seconds to pull them apart, until suddenly they gave way in my hands and my efforts flung them across the room.

With a chuckle, Bearskin continued, “My people discovered many wonders with the magic. Our greatest achievement was bonding the Totem. The Totem has selected our clan chief since before the flood, before the Primordial. It also grants the chief great power. We learned that we could bond to the Totem”—he gestured at his tattoos—"This bond allowed us to fill it with our strength for the chief to use. We can also share our energy, strength, and pain with the tribe. When my tattoos glow, I am Bonded with my tribe. I feel no pain and draw on their strength and endurance. We must only use the Bond in service of the tribe.” While he spoke the latter, his face twisted in disgust.

This is fascinating. A group of people that have lived around a Primordial for generations is unheard of. Most Primordials are not conducive to stable communities. What would it do to them? Well, create someone like Bearskin I guess. Is he typical of their people? Were they always this big?

“I take it not everyone follows that edict,” I asked, hoping to keep him talking.

“Once, it was unheard of to abuse the Bond. My tribe has lost its way. An outsider came and defeated our chief, but the totem did not choose her. After that, things changed. I opposed the change, and was to be executed. I escaped. I must go back.” He took on a somber expression and it didn’t feel right to continue probing.

The rest of the group came to join us, my light acting as a beacon in the pitch black room. When Daulf got to the fire he said, “Great, you’re awake. I would like to perform a brief service for the dead, and then we must get back to Edgewater.”

Do we have time for this? I thought, but decided against voicing my complaint to the group member oathbound to murder me.

We gathered near the ashes of the dragon in a circle under Dauf’s direction. Without ceremony, he spoke, “Illunia, patron of all those who seek knowledge, progenitor of dragons, protector of youth, I ask you to shepherd the souls of these lost to the Outer Realm, or to Torc’s embrace, wherever they choose to rest.”

And that was all, short and sweet. We dispersed and set out for the stairs, but on the way down, I saw something in the ashes. As respectfully as I could manage, I walked through the dragon’s remain. In the center, covered in ash, lay a golden sphere the size of a grape. The sphere was significantly heavier than something that size had any right to be. It must have weighed at least ten pounds. It felt cool to the touch, but as soon as I touched it, my mind felt clearer. It's hard to describe, but I'll try. It was as if I’d lived my whole life hearing a constant background hum, and I'd just grown accustomed to it. I'd accepted that was what the world sounded like and couldn't imagine a world of silence. When I touched the sphere, the noise went away, removing a burden I did not know I bore, allowing me to really hear the world around me.

Marveling at the new focus, I summoned a Light in my hand. The cantrip, which normally took minimal effort to cast, appeared in my hand as soon as the thought to cast it entered my mind.

“Whoa!” I exclaimed, shocked by my own spell.

Next I tried to produce a Flame in my hand. Piercing the Font of Fire had never been so easy. It was not as instantaneous as the Light had been, but it was much easier than it should have been. The most shocking part was that when the flame appeared in my hand, the Light did not disappear as I expected. I was able to maintain my focus on keeping both spell effects active, a task I’d not yet been able to perform.

“It seems that there is truth to the legends,” Daulf’s voice came from behind me, startling me out of my new-found focus and causing both cantrips to disappear. “Please, let me see that.”

His voice was uncertain, but with a tinge of reverence. I handed him the sphere, and the clarity vanished. He had slain the dragon after all.

“Amazing,” was all he said, as he marveled at the sphere. After a moment, he pulled a pouch on a cord around his neck from beneath his chain mail. He treated the pouch with the same tender regard as the orb, and he placed the sphere inside it. "I will see this returned to its rightful owners."

We made our way down through the halls of the fortress unimpeded. The smell of the ocean was renewed, but it smelled more pleasant this time. Like a fresh breeze off the waves, instead of the fetid stink of a tide pool. The water had washed away the evidence of our passage, the few bodies we had left behind were not where we’d left them.

We couldn’t find a way to open the secret entrance we’d use to enter, so we continued down. The first floor was a disaster. We hadn’t looked down here before, but now the place was covered in debris. It was impossible to tell what the room had contained. Remnants of wooden furniture, crates, and supplies covered the floor. The missing bodies were also present here. The ceiling was tall, once again beyond the reach of my lights.

Navigating the mess of wet garbage, we found that this floor had two large gates, each twenty feet across, set on opposing sides of the long walls of this floor. Both gates were unadorned stone, except for a small area of runes. They each had the same pattern of runes as the secret entrance. The stones had no effect when we held them to the door. Further inspection revealed a small room set near the gate, half buried in debris.

After a few minutes of digging, in which Bearskin did most of the actual work, we cleared the floor enough to open the door. Inside sat a system of gears and a lever. A manual override. Daulf pulled the lever easily, and we heard the now familiar grinding of stone on stone. Outside the room, the stone gate rose, disappearing into a slot in the wall above it.

It was morning outside the mountain, and the scene was nothing like we had left it. The river was once again flowing freely, and all remnants of the river bed camp were washed away. The palisade was gone, the bank of the river had eroded under the resumed flow and pulled the wall down along with it. Most of the supplies that had been gathered along the edge of the river were gone. Either the survivors had taken it and ran, or the army had marched before we restarted the river. With any hope it was the latter, and the resumed flood wiped them out.

Surveying the scene of destruction, I surprised myself by asking, “So, are we walking or can we build a raft?”

“I vote raft, if we are voting,” Trish volunteered.

“Raft it is,” Daulf conceded. “I’ll admit, I don’t cherish the idea of walking back.”

We got to work building a raft from the fallen trees that hadn’t made it to becoming part of the palisade. There was a stack of them already delimbed and ready for our use. With Bearskin's help, it was the work of half an hour to get the logs lined up in a ten-foot square and lash them together with some rope I’d found. Between Bearskin's strange bonding ability and my own use of Knit, we made a serviceable raft that could hold our whole group.

“This will last for maybe six hours before my bonds fail. I can renew them if needed, but then I will not be able to draw upon my tribe’s strength if the need arises,” Bearskin explained after it was complete.

We—well, mostly Bearskin—pushed the raft into the river and watched it float. Once it proved stable, we all hopped on and made our way downstream. The river’s current was fast, but it was wide enough that we were in little danger of hitting the sides before we could correct our course with poles brought along for the purpose.

The trip down river revealed the result of our efforts. The river bank was lined with the dead. Orcs, redcaps, elves and goblins. So many goblins. The carrion birds were already feasting. Further downstream Roland pointed out evidence of survivors, he even said he spotted them watching us through the trees, but I couldn't see them.

I spent the whole ride laying on my back looking up at the sky, exhausted. It was this posture that allowed me to see the dragon. At first, I thought it was a bird, but when it disappeared behind a cloud bank, the size became clear.

“Dragon!” I yelled, scrambling to my feet.

Everyone started looking around, suddenly alert but not seeing a threat.

“Up in the sky!”

They all looked up, and when it came out from behind the clouds they let out a collective gasp.

“Theral, give us a back wind, we must return to Edgewater with all haste.” Daulf commanded me.

I did as he asked and summoned a Gale to blow us down the river. It was not a spell I needed in day-to-day life, but it was one my mother had drilled into me and forced me to practice.

She had always said, “A Stormcaller that cannot harness a Gale is no Stormcaller. You will never take passage on a ship and not be asked to assist in its voyage. If you ever wish to travel openly as a sorcerer, you must learn this spell.”

Without a sail, the Gale had only a small effect on our speed. Bearskin and Daulf began using the poles to push us along. Combined, our progress increased noticeably.

After another hour of our focused efforts, Roland said, “I recognize the treeline, we will see the town soon.”

And then, as if his words brought about the failure, Bearskin’s bonds disappeared, and the raft became significantly less stable. Luckily, no one fell in, but it was now impossible to stand on the loose collection of logs in the turbulent water.

“I must save my Will,” Bearskin said, balancing easily on the uneven logs. “I cannot repair the raft and draw from my tribe. We may face this dragon.”

Face the dragon? Oh Riloth, please no.

We rode the last half hour of our journey clutching desperately to the logs, and trying not to get crushed. We could manage this if it meant keeping Bearskin in our back pocket for the fight. The dragon continued to circle overhead. Occasionally, it flew down and passed over the town, outside of weapon range. It was clear that the wyrm was looking for something.

Evidence of a battle covered the fields around the town. Large sections of the forest had burned to stumps; the distance between the town and the forest had doubled. Bodies lay littered on the field, and people were out there sorting the dead. Most of the bodies were concentrated around a newly dug trench and the makeshift wall behind it. Along the outer ring of buildings, a wall had been built from anything they had on hand. Wagons, barrels, boats, and ships were used to fill the gaps between buildings, and people still stood atop it watching over the field. The river took us straight past where the docks had once been; they were now gone, destroyed by the turbulence of the river’s resumed flow. I aimed our raft towards the docks, and we caught on the submerged piling that had survived.

Our approach must have been seen, because there was a welcome party waiting for us in the dockyard. The dockyard had been cleared of anything that could have been used to build a wall, and was now an empty tract of land, populated by Mobear’s tents.

The “bigwigs” Mobear, Deshiv, Ludvik, and Tobren were all waiting for us at the water’s edge when we disembarked. Behind them was a mass of spectators. When the last of us stepped onto the ground, the crowd broke into cheers.

“You did it!” Tobren shouted, with a big smile on his face. “Come, let us rest and celebrate. We will share our tales.”

Up close, I could see that all the people had signs of battle on them. Bandages and scratches covered them all. Tobren escorted us to the inn, where we could have privacy to debrief. He sent everyone out until we had the common room to ourselves. A meal was prepared and, without waiting for invitation, Bearskin grabbed an entire lamb shank and began eating it. Selflessly not wanting him to eat alone, I joined him by making a smaller, more reasonable plate of lamb chops with some greens and cheese. After that, everyone partook, and we all sat around a long table as Trish relayed our tale with a dramatic flair.

Her retelling filled me with suspense, her presentation so compelling that I forgot I knew the outcome at times. When she got to the part about the undead, the two dwarves slammed the table in anger, spilling drinks and flinging a plate across the room.

“Fauel Slime!” Deshiv cursed. “They desecrated our dead with their filthy magic. It wasn’t enough for them to kill our children, but they defiled our corpses too!”

I realized then that Trish had never read the note that set off Daulf, and I found myself interjecting, “Umm, actually, sir. We found this note that suggests your children may be alive somewhere.”

I fished through my bag and found the note, tucked in my old fake spellbook.

Deshiv ripped the note from my hand, and his anger turned into tears. He was smiling while he cried, so I assumed tears of joy. Ludvik came and took the note from him. After reading the note he whispered to Deshiv in Torcish, “We will get them back. The Hardune may be devastated, but the Empire is still strong. This will not stand.”

Empire? I thought, Aren't the dwarves a loose federation?

My musings at the weird word choice were quickly forgotten as Trish finished her tale with a description of Daulf’s victory over the undead dragon. She kept the references to his butt to a minimum this time.

“Hah!” Mobear shouted, “See, Daulf the Dragon Slayer.”

“No, friend, this dragon was slain by the enemies of all that is good. I only saw that it received a proper send off.” Daulf replied.

Our tale done, Tobren then described the events we had missed. More refugees had arrived by the hour, packing the warehouses to the brim. The townsfolk, refugees, and soldiers worked around the clock to prepare the town for a possible invasion. They built the walls and prepared a controlled burn of the forest. Deshiv helped with both by using his Blessings to dig the trench around the town and a firebreak in the woods.

The river’s flow had returned ten hours after we’d left. A few hours after that, the surviving enemies had begun to amass in the woods outside the town. The town’s forces lit the forest on fire, forcing an attack, so they could meet the enemy at the walls. By then, the force had been reduced from the ten thousand strong it had been. Dragon cultists, orcs both Fallen and gray, dark elves, redcaps, and goblin hordes fled the burning forest and ran to the walls of the town. The fighting was fierce, and the town lost half of its fighting men and women, but the enemy fared worse. The invaders were poorly equipped; the well armored having not survived the flood. The axes of the town’s lumberjacks, their arrows, and the blades of Mobear’s men clashed with the improvised weapons of the mob.

The cultists lit parts of the wall on fire early on, but when the archers focused their fire on them, their shields were quickly overpowered. Whenever a redcap used it’s magic, Deshiv would cause the ground below it to swallow it whole. Eventually, their scant magical support left them, and soon after the enemy broke and fled.

It was not a cohesive military force, they didn’t have the discipline to fight in the face of staggering losses. Neither did the townsfolk, but fighting for one's home will give anyone courage in the face of death. The dragon arrived from Landing after the battle. It didn’t attack, but circled the city, making occasional low passes, as if searching for something.

There was a moment of silence for the fallen, which was broken by screams and cheers from outside. We all ran out of the inn to find the market square filled with people looking up at the sky. I looked up and saw the dragon spiraling through the air.

No.

Two dragons, the white one from Landing, and a new much larger golden one. The golden dragon was at least three times the size of the white, but it was hard to tell as they tumbled through the air towards the ground.

Ice and flame blew in all directions from the falling mass as it spun. As they fell, I could make out that the white dragon was covered in blood. Shortly before impact, the gold dragon let out a mighty roar, and ripped the head off of the smaller white. The roar was nothing like that of the undead dragon, it shook the very ground, and I could feel it in my chest. Truly the cry worthy of a creature of legend. The white dragon’s head flew from the falling pair and landed in the square in an explosion of red gore. The dragon and the corpse crashed into Tobren’s inn, and the building collapsed around them. Dust billowed from the inn, shrouding the square in an impenetrable cloud.

The dust knocked me to the ground. When I regained my feet, I couldn’t even see my hand in front of my face. I summoned a Gale, and the wind quickly dispersed the dust as I walked around the crowd. Townsfolk and soldiers covered the square, all looking around in silent confusion.

The silence was broken by a beam flying out of the pile of rubble that was once the inn. Out of the debris, walked a man with faintly elven features. His head was bald with golden eyes, and his ears came to subtle points. His skin was a light bronze, and he wore an immaculate tunic, in the style I’d seen on the dwarves, but ornamented with golden thread in runic patterns.

He walked out of the dust and into the square, casually as if he’d just walked out of a standing inn. From my side Deshiv shouted, “Wyr Teshivanido! You are here!”

The man walked to Deshiv and embraced the much shorter dwarf in a hug. After the embrace he said, “I’m sorry, they have all fallen, but it is heartening to know some of you made it.”

His voice had a strong commanding tone to it, but in a reassuring way like a stern parent. As he walked closer, I felt some small semblance of the clarity I had felt when I held the golden sphere.

Ludvik cut in, “Aye Wyr Teshivanido, few of us did. I hope some of our brothers at the other outposts survived. These fine people here have recaptured this outpost. We were about to discuss plans to retake it.”

“I have told you, call me Teshiv. I am your ally, not your master. That is great news. We can retake the outposts from here. Have you gotten word to the dwarven army? Where is my son?”

At the last question, the two dwarves looked stricken, and then looked to Daulf. In a low voice, Deshiv said, “I thought you knew. Isn’t that why you are here?”

The strong commanding face of Teshiv went white and devoid of all emotion. He did not speak, or even move.

Daulf approached the dragon in human form, and knelt before him, eyes downcast. “Wyr Teshivanido, Child of Illunia. I am Daulf, Chosen of Illunia. I regret that I must bear this news to one such as you, but the forces of Faust have slain your son. I saw to him receiving proper last rites.” Daulf reached into the pouch around his neck and produced the sphere, and held it up to Teshiv, still kneeling.

Slowly, gingerly, the dragon took the sphere from Daulf’s outstretched hand. He held the sphere, and clutched it to his chest with one hand. “Thank you,” he whispered.

His face, once blank, now contorted with rage. His eyes turned from the golden eyes of a man, to the vertical slit eyes of a lizard, and smoke began to flow from his nose. “She must pay. The pact is broken. I will find her and end this once and for all.”

And then, without warning, he leaped into the air, easily rising forty feet. As he rose, he grew into his full dragon form, and took off into the sky. Below him, his wing beats came within inches of crushing awed spectators.

We were all left to watch him depart, in awe of what we’d just seen, and confused as to what it might have meant.

Seemingly unfazed, Ludvik barked, “Tobren, Mobear, we must secure the fortress before the enemy has a chance to retake it. Can I count on your aid? If we get there, I can summon aid from the dwarven kingdoms and repay your help in supplier. I suspect you will need them.”

The rest of the day, I was forgotten as the town mobilized to retake the fort. News of our adventure was quickly forgotten in the wake of the dragon’s departure. We all elected to stay in town and not return to the fortress, and we were given beds in one of the mayor’s homes. From what I surmised, he “disappeared” during the battle. No one seemed willing to tell me, but no one seemed to miss him either.

We stayed in Edgewater for two weeks. The town collected loot from the slain invaders, who were carrying quite a lot of wealth on their persons. They thanked us by giving us five gold each, which was a fortune for me—or anybody. We also lived those two weeks as conquering heroes. Trish’s retelling of our tale spread far through the town after the shock of the dragon faded. She took advantage and got herself fully outfitted—and then some—for our trip to find her ship. I was less greedy with the adoration of the town, and modestly outfitted myself for the road. Daulf refused the payment, and instead insisted an orphanage be built for the refugee children. He stipulated that the orphanage must have a school and that any local children should be granted access if they wish. Many refugees volunteered their labor and the building was underway before we left. Daulf promised to send more fund should he come acquire them.

Roland spent the time finding enemy stragglers in the forest, and leading parties out to hunt them down. Daulf oversaw the medical tent while also arranging parties to start construction on the orphanage. There was no shortage of labor.

The first time I saw Bearskin after the dragon incident, he was wearing a tunic and pants in the style of the town. “I didn’t know you wore clothes.”

He laughed, “Of course I wear clothes. No one ever offered me a shirt. It took a long time to get one made to fit.”

Bearskin followed me around while I tried to discreetly ask around about my father, and why he might have been coming here. My father’s notes in his satchel were of no use. It was all maps and pre-flood histories. Nothing that even mentioned this region, let alone plans for a rendezvous.

After a few days and no results, I settled into the small collection of books in the mayor’s library. I hoped that maybe the missing mayor was the man my father was to meet here. His library was full of impressive looking books of no academic or historical value. The ex-mayors house had become the headquarters for the town. I suppose it always was, but now it was filled with constant activity. Mobear’s command tent was set-up in the front lawn, and Tobren sat behind a desk, sending messengers to the dozens of projects he was managing over the area. The influx of refugees continued each day, and the town was working to rebuild the sawmill, so they could build homes for all these people. Mobear declared that no taxes would be due for five years for anyone who farmed a plot of land. He declared the land east of the town open for anyone willing to work the land.

After I’d read through the books in the “library” I somehow got drafted to be Tobren’s scribe. It was because of this that I was present when the gray orc contingent from Orinqth arrived. Three gray skin orcs, with long braided hair, and decked out in hides and furs burst through the entry to the mayor’s house as I was writing a request for aid Tobren was going to send to Lakeside.

“Where is he, Tobren?” The lead orc yelled as she walked in. She was a female carrying a large axe, her hair was shaved save for a small circle at the top, and the hair from that was braided and extended down past her waist. The other orcs had less impressive braids.

Tobren jumped back from his desk. “Tamra! It's been so long, you look, uh, strong. How have you been?”

She stopped right before the desk and slammed her axe down into it, cutting a stack of papers in half and wedging it in the table-top. “Cut the flattery, where is my husband?”

“Ex-husband.” Tobren corrected quickly, seemingly from habit.

“Orcs do not get divorced,” she said coldly, “Now tell me where my husband is.”

“Ahem,” came a polite cough from the still open door. Roland stood there, casually leaning against the door frame. “Hello dear wife, or is it Great Warchief Wife? You know I’m terrible at showing deference.”

Then, to my shock, the scary orc lady—who was apparently Roland's wife?—started giggling, and the giggle turned into a snort. Tobren relaxed, but I was still afraid she would snap back to anger and attack.

Roland and Tamra embraced each other in a hug, and after they whispered something I couldn’t hear, Tamra spoke for us all to hear. “I need your help.”

“I figured as much. What happened? Need help crushing your people beneath your iron heel?” Roland asked. I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

Her laughter stopped, she stood back from Roland and stared straight into his eyes. “I’m serious, you know I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t dire. A stranger has come, and put thoughts into my father’s head. She has convinced him that our people are weak, and that we must return to the Old Ways. She brought with her some giant men, and have won the attention of the people through success in the arena with their battle prowess. Her ideas have spread, and thousands of warriors have gone missing over the past months. I know not where.”

“Giant men? With tattoos?” I asked.

Tamra turned around, and noticed me for the first time. She looked me up and down, evaluating if I was a threat. “Yes, how did you know? We saw one of their kind last night when we reached the town. You know him?”

“Bearskin?” I asked, I hadn’t found him all day, which was strange, he usually followed me around and I’d begun to worry.

“I don’t know, but when we saw him, we tried to capture him. It, uh, did not go well, but no one died,” she seemed embarrassed to admit they’d been defeated by one man. “After he had disarmed us, he asked us why we had attacked. After we explained to him what I just told you, he set off to Orinqth. He told us to tell some ‘Theral’ that he would find him after he sorted this out, and gave me this,” she pulled out an obsidian blade from his weapon. “He said, he’d be able to find it again. I take it you are this Theral?”

“Fauel and flood,” Roland cursed, resigned. “You are in luck Tamra. I don’t know if I would have helped you, but I owe that stupid giant a debt.”

We moved quickly, preparing to set out after Bearskin. Daulf agreed to join us when Roland asked him to come. Trish pulled me aside, “Are we really going after this guy? You already saved him once, this is a great chance to slip away from your handsome jailor.”

I thought it over, Is she right? Should I flee from Daulf, and leave them to find Bearskin alone? I owe him. He repaid any debt a dozen times over in that fortress, but he still claims to owe me. And what would I do? Stay here and hope I find whoever was to meet my parents? Get found by the cult and killed? I think this is all related. The cultists killed my parents, and were at the dwarven fortress along with the gray orcs from Orinqth. How do Bearskin’s people tie into all of this? If I am going to find out why my parents were killed, I think I need to go.

After thinking it over, I rationalized to her, and maybe myself, “I have to go. We are probably still being hunted so we can’t stay here. It would be easy for whoever is looking for us to get at us among the chaos of this growing town. It's probably much safer travelling, especially with Daulf and Bearskin. It’s not like we are going to run into another situation like we just saw. Right?”