Firestorm - The Hrukvorn Lodge IV - Sacrifice
The stink of sorcery hung heavy in the air as the Hrukvorn Lodge trudged bravely on through the howling winds. Though the Brightblade was gone, his scouts remained in the northern reaches of the Flamescar Plateau, and it was from them that Folkvar-Grimnir had learned of the presence of the vampire corsair's minions in the Sorrowpeaks. That they had chosen this place to create a foothold was unsurprising, saturated as the place was in death - or so Runesmiter Alsvir informed him. What troubled him were the reports of a captive duardin - a large and cantankerous Fyreslayer. The shadows of Ahramentia lay all around, jutting forth from the snow like desecrated graves. An icy wind whipped the snow into vicious flurries, stinging the exposed skin of the Fyreslayers. Suddenly, Alsvir - who marched at the head of the column astride his magmadroth - halted the column. 'What is it?' shouted the Runefather. Alsvir waved a hand, gesturing for silence, then motioned to his ear.