Lorgrimm sits atop the huge box shaped wagon looking out over the plains, the sun just starting to set on another day of travel, his 23rd best he can recall. With the city of Plagea fallen into the hands of Vecna and his followers the trip to Sulomur is even longer than it used to be, having to swing much further south to avoid infringing on his territory.
The stout dwarf is technically a guard in the employee of the caravan masters, but with the addition of a few thousand Plagean refugees he has become more of a herdsman, just trying to keep them together and moving in the same direction.
His nights are filled with vivid dreams where he relives his once gods death, and his one time clansmen refuse his offer of aid. Why was it the southern dwarves were so against him and his northern brethren… this is what he must find out – with all the changes in the realm infighting amongst the dwarves would help no one.
Drusett; she had never been here and knows not a soul who lives here, but Aria has made her way here none the less, Drusett is the closest city to the fabled ruins of Saddle-Brook and that wasteland is the home to Tiamat… and although she is not sure how yet, Aria knows that she must see that god dead one way or another.
It did not take long for her to fall into her old habits, a dark alley, the roof of a brothel, the sewers under the city… all of them have seen her slay someone… someone who is taking advantage of others that is. Yes, this city much like Dauos, has it problems and why not try to help that out a bit while she hunts for a way to bring down the five headed god.
The magical key she holds has recently started to throb around her neck when ever she gets near the northern gate of the city… pulling her north maybe… towards the Tiamat. So far Aria has been able to control the feeling and the want that the key is seemingly forcing into her mind… but for how long? How long before the key calls out to its master and revels Aria and possibly her plan to the dark god? The key, as powerful as it is might have to be destroyed… if it can be.
The pickings close to the walls are getting slim as more and more citizens are pushing there way into the wilds. Black Paws, in order to keep up his hunt for the fowl creatures, has to move further and further out… in fact he has not returned to Dauos for nearly three weeks this time, the longest he has been away yet.
He and Ghostdancer have however made a bigger name for themselves, just last week they were able to take out an entire encampment of twenty orc warriors and burn the crates of weapons they were transporting to ash. The fact that one hobgoblin was in the camp, with his own tent, and more gold pieces in hand than should be normal has however been stuck in his mind since then.
Orcs and Goblins have worked together before, and certainly do now, but seldom does one pay the other for goods and services… they more tend to take what they want when they want it.
Maybe a trip back to town is overdue… maybe.