'Then your recollections are entirely accurate,' Gwylith says. 'But as in all things Winter, the enemy of mine enemy is simply my enemy's enemy. We forget at out own peril. And the Seven are enemies to all that live.'

He raises the starlight lantern higher to peer about the beshadowed room. 'I have only heard of Lurk through winding words from dwarf-tales... I thought them legend. Your world has such things?' he asks as he picks up a weapon from the floor. It is jagged and crude with a saw-like edge. 'Poisoned. It would have to be strong to work on cold and heartless things such as these,' he says gesturing at the dead clad in shimmering mail.