"By the way, who are these dwarves you speak of?", Hrothgar asks Daeman. "Stout help is always welcome, but do you know anything about them?".
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"This will be most useful", Hrothgar tells the youth. "Thank you for your help".
He nods in approval at Daeman's speech. "Exceedingly well put. It fully sums up my thoughts as well".
"Could you describe the small ones a little more closely?". Hrotgar was fascinated now - perhaps there was more to this story than he had thought first? Surely the toughest Stormwalkers would not go down so quickly if the enemy was not truly formidable. "Nevermind what they are called. Think of it - were they hairy, or were they scaly like their leader? Did they use weapons or wear armour? Did they seem well organised, or did they just swarm you and your clansmen? Anything you can remember will be helpful".
Hrothgar reluctantly pulls himself to his feet as Frindel throws the doors open, but quickly wakes up and pulls on his boots and shirt. "Thought I saw a river down there. Time for a bath, methinks. I'll be back soon enough". He grabs a towel-cloth and jogs a short distance up the river, before gleefully throwing himself into the chilly waters, lying in the sun-dappled grass to dry up afterwards. Could life possibly get any better than this?
"Thank you, Frindel", Hrothgar says softly as the owner walks past. "Your good deeds shall not be forgotten". He finishes his food while chatting with Daeman about the geography and wildlife of the North, before retiring for the night. It would be good to sleep out of his mail shirt - it had been a while since last time. With that, Hrothgar curls up next to the pack dog and contentedly drifts off to sleep.
"I doubt he will demand payment, at least not in the traditional sense. However, he is evidently in a state of shock after seeing his fellows being killed by 'demons'. His words, not mine - he is probably just confused. Anyway, a good conversationalist would certainly help". Hrothgar points over to the meadhall's kitchen. "I just spoke to the owner, who would be quite happy to let us talk to the lad. We should eat first, and then pay the youngster a visit".
“While manipulating the weather is beyond my abilities, I can offer some of us a modicum of magical protection against the wind and cold. I need to prepare first, though. However, the wait is of little consequence, as we will want to talk to the Stormwalker stripling tonight anyway”. Curious, Hrothgar turns to Daeman. “Somebody ran away with the blade stuck in their gut? Now, that’s Northern hospitality!”
"This fellow is of the impatient sort", Hrothgar mumbles under his breath in Giant as he greets Ethras. He turns back to Nedd. "I am Hrothgar, son of Halvard, of the Isfisker clan. We are waiting for young Daeman, Ian and Lythdrae. They are looking for supplies, and should be around shortly". "You wouldn't happen to know anything about demons, by the way?", he asks Ethras. "Apparently, something is attacking those that attempt to pass through the storm, and there is a boy who has seen the assailants. With some luck, we might see him tomorrow".
As he looks up at the newcomer, Hrothgar has to exert considerable willpower not to stare like some awestruck child. A half-elf! The wonders of this place never seemed to cease. Those louts back home would never believe him when he told them about this… With some effort, Hrothgar refocuses his mind to the question at hand. "Actually, I’m not entirely sure. I wish I could say with certainty that he underestimated the effects of this region’s relatively cold weather and thus was underprepared for it, but it hasn’t really been cold at all yet. So my best guess is that he was already beset by some malady and that our weather exacerbated it". His villagers would probably have blamed demonic possession, or even vampires; Hrothgar can’t help but let out a derisive snicker at their ignorance and superstition, but recovers quickly. "I’ll ask him about his overall health when he gets a bit better." Hrothgar turns his attention back to the exotic stranger. "Now, if I may ask, what has made you journey to this far-flung outpost?".
"We might just take you up on that kind offer, my friend", Hrothgar replies to Frindel. "I am a fair healer myself, but sometimes neither skill nor magic can fully cure the problem - I suspect that what young Arerath really needs in order to make a full recovery is time and relaxation". Hrothgar thoughtfully scratches his scraggly beard. "Demons, eh? Is the stripling touched in the head after his ordeal, or do you think there might be something to it?" As far as he knew, Hrothgar had never encountered a demon before, and the only one he really knew anything about was the fiercely aggressive Kostchtchie, who was widely worshipped by both giants and men in Wytelund. Sure, the old crones of his bleak homelands used to invoke demons to explain a wide variety of ills and afflictions, but that had always seemed petty and illogical to him. Why would evil monsters from other realities bother with curdling milk or afflicting children with measles? Surely they had better things to do. Similarly, any demon occupying itself with waylaying furriers and scrimshaw traders had to be a pathetic specimen. "He’s probably just confused, I wager", Hrothgar says with some certainty. "Many attribute the unknown to the demonic. It is probably just some unusually cunning snow goblins, or some similarly mundane creature".
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