Dwarf Lord

They're here. I'm sure of it. I cannot fully explain why but I know they've come for me.

Outside the Pony, I saw a group of runes carved against the steps. Most would probably see this as simple graffiti, or an unintelligible scribble, but I know it as much more than that. This is Azkas' work. 

Rumors are terrible things. They create hope. Hope can be powerful, hope can be good. But too much of it can be a dangerous thing.

I'm hearing whispers around this town, whispers that I'm not alone. Whispers that my kinsmen are still searching for me, whispers that my clan has not been forgotten. 

We still have a chance, a chance to push back the growing darkness, but the company needs to be restored; needs to be returned to its former glory. 

I've never liked Bree. It's years since I've been in this town. A town of cheap ale, sellswords and corruption. I'm still weak, my body is beaten and bruised, bloody and broken. I need to find my Kinsmen. I need to send word to the Blue Mountains.

Lord Veinbolt lives, and he shall return.