"Saxswyn has truly blessed us," Strix says.  "I could still feel the chill from that wolf's breath in my bones."

"Yes it left us a fine hide."

The evening in the hot springs turned quickly into night, and the group decided to set up camp on a little plateau indent in a treeline on the west face of the slope they'd just come down. Tucked as they were in a small depression in the land, the group thought a fire worth the risk, and were able to have a hot meal of freshly roasted venison as Kelsin was able to get the drop on a deer that had gone down to drink some of the cool water that resided on the edges of the hot pools. Overnight those on watch kept the fire going, and watched as the heavy wet snow turned into lighter smaller flakes, but still kept coming down.

Breaking camp the next day felt like old habits at this point, as did the trudging weary slog through all the new snow the next day. Just after twilight, though, as the hot pools were nothing but a distant dream, the group rounded the bottom of a large slope and saw their destination in the distance, Hemsedal Keep. As soon as the small stone castle came into view  Strix pulled up short, and raised a fist to halt the others. When everyone halted to look more closely, they all saw it. Smoke was drifting up lazily out of the chimney, and the flicker of fire light could be seen pouring out of several of the small keep's windows.

Harbeck said the obvious, "that fort hasn't been occupied by dwarves in probably fifty years. Whoever's in there, they're trespassers."

"Well, we may need to evict them - unless they plan on fixing the old place up for us."

"Looks like we have uninvited guests. Lets go greet them" says Kelsin. She will approach the keep until she can tell who is occupying it.

"I wonder if they have anything worth of value we can take?"

Lucky for Kelsin, she's naturally stealthy, because as she begins to approach the squat stone castle, movement on the crenelated roof catches her eye. Sentries! Sentries with long war-bows no less. Looking carefully she can tell that the guards on the rooftop are humanoid, most likely human, elven, or a mix of the two. She quickly ducks behind a snow drift out of sight, and then slinks back to tell her friends.

"Whoever it is, they've taken up defensive positions. Looks like your old fort is being used after all. Just not by the dwarves. We might need to employ some stealth or subterfuge here. I don't think a frontal assault is going to do the trick."

"Perhaps there's no need for violence,"  Strix says.  "Given what we've seen of the dragonborn, this lot may just be playing it safe - literally - and who can blame em'.  Maybe we should try diplomacy before we resort to bloodshed."

“I could try to have a talk with them.” *Harbeck steps up to take a look at the fort.* “Anything can be solved by sitting down with a good drink and talking it out with the other person.”

"Let's hope your drink wins them over my friend. If things go sideways. I get first pickings of the loot."

"I am fine trying the more diplomatic route, but I am not much of a speaker." says Kelsin. Once ready she will approach the keep hanging back a bit in case the situation turns violent

Stealth

21

"Let's all go in case there's a problem, but Harbeck, ye'll be our designated speaker.  Yer brew might just win them over."  

Approaching Hemsedal Keep via the trail of packed down snow that currently makes up the only serviceable road, the group knows the longbow wielding guards atop the roof of the squat stone keep  have seen them, because of the flurry of commotion behind the crenelated stones. As soon as the group is within easy earshot of the keep's main door, they see only one bowman where before there were two at least. From his position on the roof, the guard shouts out a greeting that seems to be more warning than greeting. "Hold right there!" The bowman says with an arrow drawn, nocked, and aimed at Morbrukk. "What's yer name and business?"

*Morbrukk Holds raises his hands* "I'm Morbrukk and these three with me are my companions. We just want to talk."

"Talk about what, exactly?" The bowman guard quickly retorts his arrow still trained on Morbrukk's chest.

"To see why you guys are here. We thought this place was supposed to be abandoned. Right guys."

"It was abandoned... until we showed up. Our boss figured there was no sense such a good keep just going to waste. What's it to you?" Strix can see the guard nervously eyeing her, Harbeck, and Kelsin, which could possibly indicate that he knows the fort actually belongs to the dwarven kingdom... It could also indicate a certain measure of guilt the man has in association with his group's takeover of the building.

Kelsin stays silent as she is not much of a speaker. She look to the others to respond

Strix looks calmly and thoughtfully at the guard - trying to determine his intentions (insight: 8) - and pauses before speaking.

"As I'm sure ye're aware, abandoned or not, this keep belongs to the dwarven kingdom.  As I'm also sure ye're aware, the Dragon army threatens us all.  We've been tasked assessing the status of these idle dwarven-owned keeps to determine what, if any, repairs may be required should a defense against this threat need to be mounted.  As ye've said, it was unoccupied when ye arrived and we're not looking to evict ye.  We only wish to assess its condition, spend the night, and then we'll be on our way to the next dwarven-owned fortress on our list."

The guard's hand relaxes slightly releasing the tension on the drawn bowstring. Strix can see at least a small bit of fear in the archer's brown eyes. The group then watches as the man ducks behind the crenelation in the roof wall, and, for the moment, disappears. For the moment the group holds position within about fifty feet of the keep's main double doors. After a minute or two the guard reappears on the rooftop, and says, "boss says you can come in, make your assessments, and spend the night." Only seconds after making his statement, one of the doors of Hemsedal keep creaks outward, bathing the snow in firelight from within. A tall half-elven man in brigandine armor with a poleaxe nods at the group and waves them in.

"Come on it out of that cold and snow!" He says jovially. "This weather isn't fit for man nor beast."

Following the half-elf's invitation the group move into the foyer of Hemsedal, shaking the snow off of their cloaks and boots onto a black bearskin rug that dominates the small entryway. The entryway has doors on every wall. The half-elf guard takes the group, torch in hand, through the door straight ahead. He walks ahead of them, sticking his torch in a sconce on the wall, and the party surveys the scene. The dominant feature of the room isn't furniture, but a person, or, well, a humanoid. Standing back near the far wall is what most refer to as an ogrillon, a creature that is half-ogre, the other half usually being orc, as orcs are the only creatures who grow big enough to breed with ogres. The creature is bound by a chain that leads to an iron ring in the wall. The other end of the chain connects to an iron collar around its neck. That collar has iron spikes that point inwards, and it is clear from the raw flesh and trickles of blood on the flesh there, that the collar gets yanked about fairly often. Besides the door the group just came in there are two other doorways. One on the same wall as that the entered, but further along to their left. The other door is in the middle of the wall to their right. Near the ogrillon is a massive stone hearth with a roaring fire inside. On the floor by the half-ogre's feet is a large pile of wood.

All the men and women in the room, five in total, ignore the creature as if it isn't there at all. They all sit in rustic but no less well crafted armchairs at a long, sanded and polished, oak table. In the center of the table is a platter with a roasted haunch of deer and potatoes. The table has room enough for ten more to sit, though the haunch has been well picked at, and there are only a handful of potatoes left on the platter.

At the head of the table, sits a man with a bushy black beard, curly black hair tucked behind his ears, and piercing blue eyes. His armor is brown studded leather, well-crafted, and at his hip a scimitar rests, sheathed in an expensive scabbard lined with rabbits fur. He gives the group a glance, and then speaks in a deep bass voice that commands attention. "Come and join us, my friends. Make yourselves at home, since it is, after all, a dwarven home!" He chuckles to himself. "I assure you, if your kingdom has need of this fortress, my band and I will be all to happy to vacate, but for now, we thought it better to be used for something, rather than collecting dust, and falling into disrepair, eh?"