Role

Chapter 2

An ancient work of the dwarves in the ruins of the former home of the battle
ragers. Ysaloerye suggested such would be found there, an example of dwarven
craftmanship. All too happy to go forth and find this Thendrell set out,
recalling what he had of the former home of the ragers. The forests, the
subcontinent. The break from the road was not hard to find, but the opening
always escaped his eyes at first glance. Not this time. There it was,
something he could squeeze through. Inside, the air itself was still. A mound
of bones sat nearby, and with hands at the ready, Thendrell approached.

Inside a scene of what must have been the home of the battleragers awaited,
though its use seemed long since abandoned. The Throne of Bone, echoing its
hunger for skulls of the fallen in a voice Thendrell could have sworn came
from the heavens itself. Thendrell's hands gripped his sword as he
approached, images flashing and disappearing. The village, destruction laid
upon on by some mage it seemed. The earth itself almost retained the hatred
of magic, and called for revenge. But the phantoms seemed to be just that, as
they manifested they just as quickly faded from view. Thendrell ran his hands
over the throne, and the nearby pedestal. Something had been there, but long
before his time it likely had been removed. The orb perhaps, it being
destroyed by that mage was the last image he saw.

He looked at the weapon racks, and the granite. A forge had been here, no
doubt weapons for the villagers. But dust made it clear, nothing was left. A
little search, but nothing was revealed. No armor. No weapon. No work of the
dwarves. Ysaloerye might have misled him he thought. For a half second. The
Paragon did not waste time on foolish errands. Everything had its purpose. If
he was to find something, he would find it where she said. He walked back
from the throne, among the bones ground into the earth.

Thendrell's foot caught one such bone, and his dwarven agility did little but
give him time enough to voice out a few choice swears before his face smashed
down on the ground. He got up, running his hand over his nose. When he pulled
it away, he realized it was bleeding. A bit too much for such a fall alone to
cause. He looked down, expecting to see a shard of bone, which he would
promptly destroy. Instead he noticed something, a glint from something in the
ground. He looked deeper, removing bone, and there it was. An ancient blade.
Broken at the hilt, which was still missing. It's quality was amazing.
Thendrell chuckled and rubbed his nose, thanking the paragon for his
fortuitous fall and for not being born an elf that would have managed to
catch himself before hitting the ground. With blade in hand, he began his
trek back to the inn, to see what Ysaloerye might know of his discovery, and
where she might next lead him.