Grindi Ingeitum

Looking over the scorched landscape Grindi spits on the ground before him before pulling the waterskin from his belt taking a swig of the foul tasting substance, he had fine Dwarven vodka in his flask but he would have to save that for later he didn't know how much drink was left in Boatmurdered if any.

Slinging his prized axe trollcrusher over his shoulder he makes his way across the charred landscape towards the entrance. If the ground below his feet was hot he didn't feel it. His boots were enchanted with powerful elements to protect him from all but the most violent and extreme tempertures. He remembered fondly how he pulled them from the cold dead feet of the Elf he had slain on the road to Boatmurdered. Not even the magic of the boots could save him from the icy bite of trollcrusher. Grindi hates elves.

Whistling a song to himself about gold he continues his march towards the entrance.