The devout acolytes of the Weynon Priory will tell you that the most important thing in their life is their faith. But faith nourishes only the soul, for the body the Priory relies upon sending people out to collect vital supplies from towns and forts around the province. One such courier, Lucius, has not yet returned from an expedition to Pell’s Gate, and the acolytes fear for his fate, and that of the desperately needed supplies.

Unfortunately the news I had heard back in a tavern at the High Rock Gates was that, like so many small settlements in the region since losing the protection of the Legions, Pell’s Gate had been left but a smouldering ruin by bandits. I have not the heart yet to pass on that news, not whilst the acolytes still cradle the hope that their friend yet lives. They believe he may be camped out in Coldcorn Ruins, an old fort to the east he regularly used as a camp.

I arrive at the ruined fort only to find a group of trolls has moved into the area. Trolls are usually solitary creatures, to find such a horde living together is rare. But I guess with so many armies battling across the province even these beasts feel safer in a pack. The many ruined forts scattered across the Lonely Hills make perfect refuges for them during the day, before heading out at night to scavenge the battlefields of men and mer.

Within the last standing tower of Coldcorn I find a body. Alas that Lucius had survived the bandits at Pell’s Gate and somehow miraculously returned with the much needed supplies, only to fall victim at the last furlong to an unlikely band of trolls. It seems even Akatosh holds no sway over fate.

S.K