After leaving the city of Ironholme behind, you journeyed with a human caravan bound for Caer Conig. These men were agents of the craftsmen of their town, shrewd in business dealings and most spoke good Dwarven and were literate in it written form also. Their escort are hired human mercenaries who seem to be unafraid of the wilderness or what may come at night. Many of them piss away their wages in bouts of craps and purchasing strong liquor from passing merchants on the roadside. It takes approximately 3.5 days of this slow pace to reach the town of Caer Conig. This train consists of 4 large wagons, six pack horses, two dogs, 12 mercs, 4 human traders, 1 human teamster, and 1 human cook. The next day is blissful, you enjoy the beauty of the thinning landscape as you come down from the majestic Gate Mountains and see nothing but lush green pastures, emerald hills, deep valleys and far south the enormity of the Black Forest Kingdom, where the Elves dwell.
At night, one of the mercs is overcome with sickness and his buddies summon you to his tent excitedly. He’s sweating and gasping heavily, and some of his friends were idly commenting that he had slept with a few whores back in Ironholme at the Screaming Banshee bordello there, most of the girls by which are slaves from the eastern kingdom of Jez’zur. “Save my life dwarf, and I’ll give you my month’s wages and a bottle of aged Elvish wine” he said to you pleadingly, fear in his eyes.