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Message: <blockquote data-quote="jasamcarl" data-source="post: 734801" data-attributes="member: 1251">The small caravan winds its way over the hill-ridden road which runs westward along the base of the Serpent Coil. Two days of travel are largely uneventful, though nights around the campfire are punctuated by the distant roars and drumbeats of nearby orc tribes. Eventually, in the hazy early morning fog that is common to these hills, known locally as the Heartsblood, the caravan comes to within sight of a series of cobblestone buildings resting near the top of a particularly large hill. The largest building resembles a traditional northern chapel, with its rectangular walls and triangular roof. A pole juts out of the roof and at its pinacle one can faintly see a glowing light, as bright as any star.The caravan winds its way up the hill until it reaches the flattened top. Infront of the chapel stands a group of men, dressed in plain, flowing brown robes. One, noteworthy instead for his plain, gray robe, steps forward. He is an aged man, all wrinkles, his hair being as gray as his attire. "Welcome! I am Martine Gerrard, abbot of this monestary. The fine men of Duvik's Pass have been sent by the King and All Father to aid us in our recent troubles?" He pauses as he catches sight of Jericho and leans forward, squinting to examine the black-armored warrior, "Our god has crossed our paths before, has he not? Yes! It's the D'orite mercenary who was in our company briefly. Jericho?"</blockquote>

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