–Shortly Beforehand–

At the south edge of the Footprint, a small encampment sits, populated by a contingent of Deldrimor veterans, as well as any adventurer brave, or stupid, enough to explore the Footprint, and, rarely, the Furnace within. Recently, King Ironhammer had ordered open bounties on any Stone Summit General, mainly as an incentive for profit-minded adventurers to go out and kill things.

Currently, the War Camp was almost empty: about twenty Deldrimor veterans were sitting or standing next to the cook's tent, talking amongst themselves, and another dozen adventurers were walking around. Most of the adventurers were large, heavyset men, wearing thickly layered armour, though there were also a few elementalists, most of whom were sitting next to the fire in the centre of the camp, trying to get warm.

A storm front was moving in from the West; moist air from the Sea of Sorrows cooled as it climbed into the Shiverpeaks, dumping snow and hail into the mountains as the clouds continued to climb. Tarpaulins were quickly set up to cover the four heavy ballistae that perched on the ledge overlooking the Footprint's Crater, and the war yaks in the encampment were stripped of their heavy barding so they could bed down in the thickening drifts, as they did every night.

Two people walked into the camp shortly before the storm was estimated to roll into the Footprint. One was an immense warrior, clad in what seemed to be most common for anyone on the front lines of a conflict; heavy plate mail, ornately decorated with etchings in the steel. The second person, easily eight inches shorter than the warrior, was dressed in the raiments of a monk, though his arms were a solid crosshatching of scars, both old and new. They seemed to be in the middle of a long discussion, which ended quickly as both men paused and looked at the buttoned-down camp.

Then, shrugging, they walked to the still-open fire in the centre of the camp, and sat down heavily on one of the logs that had been turned into makeshift seating. The warrior, as he took off his helmet, scratched at an itchy spot in his greying hair, then leaned backwards just enough so he could stretch his legs a bit. Finally, he spoke, directing the comment to the monk. "You're sure there have been sightings of the generals up here? I don't need this much exercise just for a wild goose chase."

The monk nodded, looking into the glowing embers at the base of the fire. "Yep. The Yakslapper himself was confirmed less than a month ago, and his bounty's still open. You want to kill him now, or tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow, Tayos. It's late, my feet are killing me, I want some food other than five-day old dolyak jerky in my stomach, and I'm wondering why there's only about thirty people here, including us." The big warrior slowly stood up, towering over everyone else in the camp, excepting one or two others. Turning towards the cook's tent, he almost instantly stopped as a cold shiver rolled down his spine. Pausing, he looked at Tayos for a few seconds.

"Hey. You ever get a feeling that something horrible is going to be coming right at you in short order?"

Tayos nodded, still looking at the fire. "Yep. Usually right before I have to save your ass from a small horde of angry critters. After all, you may be named 'The Deathbane', but I'm usually the one who makes sure you're still alive after a fight."

Deathbane, as he went by no other name, simply shrugged. "Mock me, fine. Mock my home, fine. Mock the name given to me in honour, and be prepared to drown in your own blood, boy."

"Touchy, aren't we?" Tayos grinned as he hopped up, dusting snow off of his clothes as he took upon himself a pseudo-combative stance. He was promptly knocked onto his ass by a gentle shove from a massive dwarf that was standing beside him.

"Boy, shut up. All you're doing is making a fool out of yourself, and we have a standing bet of five gold pieces over how long it will take the Summit to return you to us as damaged goods."

Tayos glared at the dwarf, who also took the monk's spot at the fire. "Care to explain that comment away? I'd hate to find out that somebody's a sympathizer."

"If you want to be a corpse, keep trying to insult me boy. I'm talking about what the Summit do to people they capture. After a week or two, they send the poor suckers back here."

Deathbane, nonplussed, shrugged and walked over to where Tayos was still sitting in the snow. Offering his hand, he yanked the short monk to full height with no visible effort on his part. He then turned to the dwarf, who was sucking on the stem of a pipe, preparatory to lighting it. "And? There's something you're not telling us."

The dwarf nodded, lighting his pipe and taking a few slow drags before speaking again. "They're sent back without arms or legs. By the third day, they're usually begging us to let Grenth take them. A few ask for Balthazar's favour, but it's all the same to my axe."

Tayos paled for a few seconds, while Deathbane, having thought of the situation from a survivalist's perspective, merely nodded. A moment later, the entire crater echoed with a piercing wail of pain, setting nerves on edge, and, in a few cases, causing hair to stand on end. Tayos found his voice in short order, and stared for several seconds at the dwarf, who was still calmly puffing away at his pipe. "And that's normal?"

"Not particularly. I'd wager that somebody got away from Slappy. Probably that nice young thing I saw here yesterday; not much meat on her bones, but the look in her eyes could peel the skin off of an ettin if it weren't careful." Tayos nodded, then looked over at Deathbane, who was packing his things together into a small satchel that could easily be slung over a shoulder.

"And where in the Underworld are you going?"

"To help." Deathbane didn't even look at Tayos, instead walking over to a closed chest, which he opened easily before rifling through the contents. The owner of the chest, a rather young dwarf with a nasty scar running across his face frowned, but made no comments after Tayos threw a small bag of coin at him.

"And, do I get a choice over whether or not I get to go?" Tayos watched as Deathbane found what he was looking for, a heavy woolen blanket that looked almost as thick as a dolyak's hide.

"Sure. You can stay here and know that you helped someone die in a horrible manner because you were too afraid to go, or you can pull your thumb out of your backside, help me find her, and make sure that I don't become an ice pop out there while we're at it."

"Always with the positive thinking, eh? Fine. I'll go with you. I don't like the looks of that storm though."

"Neither do I. That's why I want to find whomever's out there, fast. You still remember how to ask for Dwayna's favour, right? After all, we don't need people bleeding to death after we rescue them from a cold, painful death."

"I have had no problems requesting either Dwayna's or Grenth's favours." Tayos looked slightly smug, until he remembered that he still couldn't fight his way out of a torn satchel. Which was why he had, for so long a period of time, teamed up with Deathbane, despite the latter's complete lack of conversational skills, willingness to depart with any past history, or tendency to cause far too much damage in a simple barroom brawl.

"Good." Deathbane looked up at the rapidly darkening skies, a frown once again creasing his face into a mass of lines and grooves. Nodding to himself, he picked up his helmet, placed it upon his head, and walked out of the slowly closing gates of the War Camp, Tayos following closely behind. Just as the two left the Camp, the wooden gates closed completely, the dull clank as chains rubbed against each other hanging in the chill air.