The tavern in Alese is insufferably hot. Kai is inside, speaking to Trent and Anders, both garbed in thick black leather and wearing their swords. The tavern is cramped with just three men sitting around a table. The roof too low for much comfort. Though clausterphobic to Braelik, he enters the tavern carrying but his staff.
The Mist of Ahmanut swirl gingerly about Kai’s feet. There is a greater mist forming above his head. The boar’s head, Nifnut, the lord of war, the boar! Kai has yet to realize Nifnut is now guiding his strong arm and making him the warrior he is. He shall, perhaps soon, come to realize this.
The words of Kai make it clear that Nifnut has carried the day. “Strengthen the walls and bring all the men into the monestary. We carry the fight to uruk on the morrow and a you should expect reprisal.”
“We do not have enough men to hold the monestary,” Anders began saying.
“Have no fear Anders. Have faith in the Old Ones and they will protect you.” Braelik intoned and he walked to the table.
Trent looked up, skeptical, “I prefer a sharp sword and many men for protection.”
Braelik glanced down at Trent. The dragonfly whirled around him. Teestimik, the Lost One, the one who fears what the future holds. There is little Braelik can do to reassure him, so he does not bother.
“When do we leave Kai?”
“Before the sun rises, we cross the river and go down stream. I intend to cross and come back by tomorrow evening, and then we leave again on the following day. We repeat this until we are dead or there is nothing left of the uruk.”
“The gods will.” Bralik turned and left, heading back to the monestary.