The Harmach’s residence was not what Orun had expected and already his respect for the city’s ruler was growing. Instead of fanciful tapestries and gilded furnishings there were bare walls, with only a hint of decoration here and there, in the form of a vase or the pictures that humans seemed to love so much. Orun didn’t understand their fascination with them, truth be told; unmoving images of places and people that were usually long gone, there was no vibrancy or life to them, no matter how much these so-called painters tried to convince folk otherwise. 

Swords and spears were placed in racks along the walls and arrow-slits every couple of feet provided a commanding view of the terrain below. It was obvious that the owner of the fortress took the security of his home and subjects seriously. That was the reason for Orun’s newfound respect for the Harmach, who seemed to be a pragmatic man that placed value in practical things, as opposed to the wasteful fancies of other nobles. A ruler’s home should be like his land – rich kings had rich palaces, while the Harmach’s keep mirrored Thar’s harsh and barren features, which was exactly as it should be, as far as Orun was concerned. 

His would-be companions were a strange mix, but then again, what good adventure began with a group of ordinary folk? Even the stoic Orun smiled at that thought, as he made his way through Griffonwatch’s halls. The Grey Dwarf was certainly a rare sight, more so than even an Orc like Orun, which no doubt made the guards doubly anxious. An elven woman was the owner of the creaky cart he’d seen on the road and she had the look of a traveller or perhaps a wandering peddler. The other two humans that walked with their group seemed like the dashing sort that such calls to adventure often drew. 

The thuds of Orun’s morningstar echoed through the keep’s hallways, until they finally arrived at the Great Hall, where they found the Harmach awaiting them at the head of a large table. He greeted them curtly, without any flowery preamble, and bade them sit. Chairs were laid out in anticipation of the guests and so Orun leaned his weapon on one of the walls before taking a seat. The chair groaned precariously under his considerable weight and the table trembled slightly when he rested his big hands on its surface. 

“Harmach, I am Orun Greystone and I have come here on Kelemvor’s behalf.“ He began directly, repeating the words he had given to the guard sergeant. “Your lands are plagued by miscreants and the undead, it is said, and my Lord has seen fit to send his servant to investigate. You can rely on our continued support, as long as your plans do not go against the teachings of the Church.” 

Having said his piece, Orun leaned back slightly, causing the chair to wince yet again. What he had said was not a lie, nor an exaggeration. Kelemvor [i]had[/i] guided him here, he was certain of it – dreams did not lie, if one knew what to look for. Either way, he would find out soon enough.