Kin to all those nights before it, this night cold and dark. Above high above the wind-blasted mountains and the rolling tundra, the slow aurora pours strange colours into the valley as Auriel casts her nightly spell over Icewind Dale.
Loneman sits on his yeti-fur cloak and softly washes the gnoll blood from the blades of his axe. The hyena-like heads of their quarry sit mounted on ropes across their axe beaks, ready to be handed over to their employer when they get to Caer-Konig. In their own tents, Valentine and Breeze sleep as soundlessly as their steeds. The fire burns low, crackling and spitting out little sparks.
What strange company I keep, thinks Loneman, looking over at the giant badger Breeze summoned from that red wizard’s bag of tricks, softly snoring opposite the fire. Still, things could be worse.
The bleary image of Alliak’s corpse, split in twain, dragged behind that undead behemoth, floats before his eyes. Loneman grits his teeth. There are some things you can’t swing an axe at, and Loneman hates those most of all.
Stuck out here with nothing evil in sight, there’s not much to distract him. He’d thought that killing those yammering gnolls might have done the trick. He looks at his bandaged arm, where the big one had bit him. No, it hadn’t done him much good.
The wind picks up for a moment. He lets the cold wash over him, cooling his thoughts. If there’s peace in this world, Loneman has yet to see it.
Paddy Dobson
20th December 2020