Open Chronicles Hellboars on the Highlands

[Sigrun Flintfeet]

Spoiler: Music

“Yeah. leaving this thing here would be a real bad idea, wouldn’t it?”

“Let’s wrap this thing up with any of those charms that didn’t break. Then I guess we can pool the reward money from the adventurers guild and get ourselves a horse, a cart, and however many divine blessings the local priest can manage to keep this freaky thing shattered and inert.”

A weak smile crossed Sigrun's features.

"Aye, that seems fair. Split the cost evenly, eh? Half and half, 'tis the Yaegir way."

From the aggressively haggling dwarf before, her tone had considerably mellowed. Now, the arrangement sounded less like a fierce demand and more like a pact of cooperation. This nightmarish apparition seemed easier to bear with a fellow hunter by her side.

Emerging from the strange, small crypt below the tree, the two of them struck out for new territory. The stale, dead air gave way for a fresh mountain breeze, and she sucked it in through her nostrils and closed her eyes, relieved. Hopefully, it would be a mild journey to Quarry Hill; a place she wasn't keen on staying in for long, but which might be a necessary stop on the way.

And perhaps, over a flagon of ale or two, she might finally be able to ask the question she hadn't seemed to find the right time or manner to pose so far.

How does a hare wind up as a hunter?