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| Cazic Thule I |
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| With visions of wondrous loot and coin playing to his
senses he accepted the offer from the demure druidic master Nommad of the
Spiritwind. True he had never been to
Cazic Thule but he had heard of it and he had always wished to test his mettle against the supposed fierce Lizard warriors. Checking the sharpness of his blades and the hanging of his armor he slung the pack over his shoulder and headed out with the elf. It did not take them long to journey across the dark jungle of Feerot. There were signs of recent battle and some not so recent all about them. The carnage of a recent tempest greeted them as they made their way to the mythical Lizard temple. There were corpses of elven kind and the cursed troll and ogres that inhabit this humid steamy part of the continent. As the sweat trickled down his forehead he could but think of his home in Halas and the frozen tundra of Everfrost. He mused to himself that perhaps the elf of the Spiritwind seemed to be knowledgeable of the lay of the land to a certain extent. His movements were deft and distinct as was the want of his kind. He was a jovial enough fellow but he needed some good blooding and fierce drinking and sophisticated enemies to make him a true partner to a Wolf of the North. Climbing atop a hill he caught a glimpse of the valley below. A great temple rose out of the mists with its stonework clearly worked in some fashion unfamiliar to him. There were two lesser temples to the right and left that had ancient inscriptions upon them that he neither fathomed or cared for. Unfortunately or fortunately depending on which you ask the Spirit of the Wind, Nommad, found them fascinating and garnered some understanding of them. Plopping down heavily, Kelorf stretched out and rested on his elbows as he watched the misty jungle about him looking for danger and perhaps welcoming it to some degree. Nommad was intent on his observations and took notes as he wrote on a parchment of skin with a quill. In all the years he had known Nommad he still could not fathom this need that he had for all things ancient. His mallet, almost as big as he is tall, lay strapped to his back. His shield all but unseen, still at least, grasped firmly to arm. Almost dozing off he was startled when the Spirit of the Wind came up and nudged him with his boot and indicated it was time to go on. Rising heavily he shouldered the pack again and trod on behind the elf. Keeping an intent eye on any dangers that may present themselves. They scaled the steps leading to what looked like the entrance to this ancient place and entered into the darkness beyond. It was as if they stepped across some unseen boundary. The air was alive with unseen and hidden dangers, it was then he noticed on Nommad's brow the beads of perspiration that had already collected on him. Nommad turned to look at him and without a word he unsheathed his swords and girded himself for battle, they had arrived at the ancient ruin of Cazic Thule. Kelorf of Clan McTaverish
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