_Far over....the misty mountains cold.  To dungeons deep and caverns old.  We must away...ere break of day.  To seek the pale..forgotten gold.  The pines were roaring on the height.  The winds were moaning through in night.  The fire was red, it flaming spread.  The trees like torches...blazed with light._

Softly the brutish woman sang to herself, her sword slung over her shoulders in such a careless manner and her coarse, iron armor clanking and clattering with each stride of her muscular calves as a joyous and jovial smile crossed her lips.  Ahh...the sweet scent of the city, such a pleasing allurement as it crossed her nose, bringing with it the many smells, the pungent, smoky flavor of freshly cooked meats and fish upon a crackling fire of pine and spruce wood, the heart-warming aroma of baked breads and sweets and confectioneries, cinnamon buns drizzled with a yummy vanilla icing or fresh tarts made with the bounty of the Earth Mother, the sweetest of fruits like strawberries from the Faelands or pomegranates and apples.  Then, noises flowed through her ears.  Not the natural sounds of the forest like meadowlarks chirping in the tall trees or a brook of fresh melted snow trickling through the jagged rocks of the mountains, like she was used to.  No, it was the voices of the merchants and the fish mongers shouting their typical banter of, “Fresh salmon, straight from the fjords!  Salted haddock filets anyone?  Only five pieces of gold!  Aye! You there, sir!  You look like you could use a nice mud crab for dinner!”  But the more familiar of sound of the city was the telltale clank of a hammer striking searing hot iron against a rusty anvil.  *KLANK!  KLANK!*  Twas the sound the warrior was hoping to hear.

  **"Aye!  Old man!"**  Her voice, feminine yet with a gruffness, carried with her regional dialect through the bustle of the market and fell onto the lowly blacksmith's ears, a dwarf perhaps...or maybe Talaran just towered over him, a typical trait of the Dunenmer people.  "What can I do for ye, lass?"  He returned setting down his hammer against his anvil and dusting the metal shavings off his thick leather apron.  Talaran, with one arm she lifted her heavy sword off her shoulders and set it down carefully against the anvil, **"Me sword needs sharpening.  Can't wait either.  I must be on me way to Drevak's Hollow."**  The man nodded stroking his stringy and peppery gray beard, "Aye, I've heard the rumors.  Apparently a nasty wyvern has taken refuge in them old caves.  Been terrorizing the farmers and eating their livestock.  Tell me lass, ye a monster hunter?"  Talaran chuckled, **"Perhaps.  I take whatever job I can get, as long as it pays good coin."**  "Aye, so yer a sellsword."  Replied the blacksmith.  "Well, ye'll need a sword sharp enough to carve into them scales, I'll tell ye that, lass.  Let me see here..."  Quietly Talaran awaited as he examined the sword.  "By Tha'agorn!  This sword....it's Dunenmer!  I've never seen such amazing craftsmanship."  She chuckled heartily at his amazement, **"Indeed it is, me friend, forged by one of the finest blacksmiths in the mountains, Harken Greywulf."**  Her father to be exact, one of the most revered of blacksmiths in the land.  His steel twas far more legendary than his name.   Even the Elven Empire of Sardisiat to the east hailed Harken’s steel as the best….at least until they discovered rare mythril and began forging weapons of their own. Since...there hasn't been much business as of late...and the fires of Harken's forge...and his heart....soon grew cold with the coming frostfall of Icy Aureim...  Talaran could only pray that her father find safe refuge amidst the warmth of Tha'agorn's forge in High Altia.