Having buried to the former elf prisoner, the cleric of the Travelling God gives a short blessing over the grave to ensure that the remains are never tainted by the undead.

Those who stay behind watch the rest of the team climb several stories up the giant sandal to reach and archway, and they prepare to enter.

At the base camp, an old man feels the wind tugging at his beard. His stout hound scents the air and they look to each other, The old man nods, and turns to his companions.

He wishes each of them well, and after the heartfelt goodbyes, he and his furred companion wander back towards town. Perhaps he'll follow the trail of mountain peaks. Perhaps he'll spend his coin on an old rowboat at skirt the coastline. Or perhaps he'll follow the ebbing floodwaters to explore what the washed away soil has exposed.


What's your name, vagabond?
Where have you been?
What's your aim, vagabond?
What have you seen?
Where do you come from?
And what do you strive?
Come, tell me about a vagabond's life

Back in Masondain, in the Sword and Board, a section of a bar still waits for his triumphant plaque.

Regdoc and Chomper have exited the tale, for now.

Menawhile, on the surface, a deep bellowing echoes through the mountains. Not human, for certain...but why does it make even the mighty Amalrik shudder?

While the delving contingent is busy below, Amalrik begins leading the others in pulling together logs and lashing them together to make a primitive fortification.