Glodin watched as his friends burned in the funeral fires. The Elf lass, strong of will, mind, and body. Her human lover, a well trained fighter with tremendous strength and as stubborn as a mule. He lost two great comrades that he escaped hell with, and he will not let their deaths be meaningless. Glodin vowed to aid in the fall of the so called "Dead God" even if it cost him his life.  The dwarf retuned to his room once the ceremonies ended and packed his things to be ready for the ride and whatever may happen on the road. He made sure to carefully wrap a plate from Bartuc's old chest peice and Ruinil's dagger before placing them into his pack. Glodin barely managed to stap his pack shut when the messenger came to tell him that his Captain was ready. Glodin nodded his thanks to the young man before donning his armor and weapons, then lastly the bulging pack onto his back. He was a sight as he walked through the halls and to the stables with a backpack on his back roughly the size of him, while being fully armored and armed with a copy of the Captains sword resting on his shoulder.

He set his pack down with the Captain's gift on a crate before saddling up his mule, making sure that a tent and bedroll were securely attached to the side along with his pouch of trail rations and a second pouch of nothing but bottles of ale. He was silent as he prepared and he only gave a sad nod to his Captain when he made eye contact with her.