Due to the fact that Lord Hightower is a Paladin in service to the goddess of Wisdom and Knowledge you are pretty sure he is not trying to deceive you and in addition to this he seems very sincere. 

When you mention Ungaroth he gets a very serious expression on his face and grows agitated. "I really need to go to see about those prisoners then." He goes and pulls on a cord and Harold almost immediately appears to lead you all to your rooms. Lord Hightower then with quick yet distracted farewells rushes out the front door. After showing you all your accommodations Harold once again disappears with a disapproving look. 

(intermission: you know have the choice to either go to sleep or go exploring. This can be done individually or as a group, your call. I will deal with each as you decide.)

The gloom of night seems to have a physical weight on Solastor. Once shown his room he quickly retires for the night, awaiting the rising Sun.

As they are being escorted to their rooms, Arynn will attempt to discuss with Harold. "Harold, I hope Lord Hightower isn't displeased with this information. He seems somewhat distraught by the mention of Ungaroth. Have they had a previous encounter?"

If required, Persuasion: 7

Harold looks as Arynn and sniffs. "Lord Hightowers business is his own. I would never deign to intrude on his business. It is not my place. You would have to ask him if you feel it would be... fitting."

"Of course, thank you Harold." Arynn will stay in his room, patching himself up from the aftermath of the combats that evening. Is this really what was in store for me? Arynn contemplates as he prepares for the night. He places a chair in front of the door to prevent a disturbance in the night before checking the room for anything amiss.

Investigation: 24

Looking around the room you find a well furnished and maintained room with all the necessities. A large, comfortable bed, a changing table with a mirror, a basin with water and towels to wash with, and a large wooden desk with a table. None of the décor was extravagant but well crafted with quality materials.

Fargrim follows Harold to the room and doffs his chain mail, leaving everything in the room except some gold and his trusty battleaxe. He does a quick walk through of the building, with a special eye toward taking a late night peek at the forged.

If he finds no one there, he'll head to the nearest tavern for a drink before heading off to bed.

Alan took to his room and passed out on the big bed.

Doesn't really matter if he's not being straight with us. This place is fantastic...

Upon entering the Guild forge Fargrim sees a rather gnarled but strong Dwarven man pounding on a sword blade with a huge hammer. After a moment of hammering he pauses looks up and is a surprisingly high pitched squeeky voice the figure speaks. "Welcome young one. I see ye are a new member of the guild. I be Borric of the Ironfist clan. Who be ye?" an infectious smile covering his face as he speaks with a welcoming tone.

Taman retires to his room. He spends some time trying to write notes about the day's adventure for his book but as always he struggles with being able to get the words onto paper. He lets out a sigh, lays down and goes to sleep.

Fargrim is surprised at first to see a fellow dwarf, much less one of his own clan, but quickly recovers. "I'm Fargrim, also of the Ironfist clan. It's good to meet you, brother. Lord Hightower seems to keep company as good as his ale." A rare smile graces Farfrims face in response to his clanmates warm greeting.

"Fargrim ye say? It be a long time since I be leaving the clan lands. Would ye sit with me and have a drink and talk with me of the clan?" Borric then placed the blade in a barrel filled with liquid and grabbed a jug and a couple tankards from a table by the wall.

Fargrim took the preferred tankard and offers a toast to Clangeddin Silverbeard and clan Ironfist. He tells some stories of dwarven maidens, battles past, his work at the forges and teaching new recruits.

When he can no longer avoid it (and is sufficiently inebriated) he takes a deep swill of his ale, "Aye... I hate to *hic* be the bearer of bad news. I haven't returned home since the undead scourge *hic* passed through town. Killed all my men (or worse), and left me for dead with nothing but this damnedable scar to show for it!"

Fargrim slams down the tankers in disgust, paying no attention to the ale that spills out. "I'm sorry, Borric. I think I have said and drunk too much... and it's been a long day. Perhaps time has come for me to retire for the evening."

Borric sat laughing with you and drinking as you recounted the many stories but when you spoke of the fate of the clan he grew extremely quiet and when you mentioned the death of the clan his tankard let out a soft *crunch* as he crushed it in his balled fist. His jaw set he stared you in the eye and growled. "There were undead in the clan lands? This does not bode well for the world."

"Aye. In my years as a soldier *hic* I've never seen the like. My men fought bravely, but we could not stand against them. Some of those zombie" (here Fargrim calls the zombies a name in dwarven which, loosely translated, means clan-betrayer, but has all sorts of nasty implications about the receivers moral character and promiscuity of their mother)"...s even seemed capable of wielding weapons. Big one got me with a greatsword. Were his aim even a bit truer, he would have slice my head open and not just my face. They came suddenly. We fought them thinking them mere brigands, but we would slice them and they just wouldn't stay down."

Fargrims expression darkened and a fire lit in his eyes. "I will kill every last one of those monsters I lay eyes on, and if I ever find who or what brought them, they will sing songs of the havoc I shall wreak on the creature who so profaned our clan halls!"

As he speaks, Fargrim stands and slams his fist down on the table with a powerful thud. His earlier enthusiasm for battle nothing compared to the vengeful vigor that filled him as he spoke.

At those words Borric stood as well and let out a dwarven battle cry before walking back over to his forge. "Let me make ye a weapon to aid ye in your quest. Name the weapon and I be making one just for ye. It been many a year since I've had a warrior such as ye to craft for and I be inspired to create something worthy of one such as ye."

"Aye. And it would be an honor to carry the weapon of a fine dwarf such as yourself into battle against our clans enemies! This blade," Fargrim said, referring to the battleaxe he had brought with him, "has served me well, but it is a reminder of defeat. Perhaps its time for a new axe, one that Clangeddin Silverbeard himself would be proud to carry, emblazoned with the sign of our clan, such that our enemies will know the Ironfists are not to be trifled with!"

With a determined look in his eye Borric grabs a couple bars of metal and begins the forging process. The look in his eye so focused you can tell he is no longer even thinking of you there anymore as he begins his work.

Fargrim waddles back to his room, hiccuping and imagining swinging his this new ax into a legion of undead. His eyes are full of a glee you would never wish to be on the receiving end of, but which is a welcome change from his usual melancholy.

He flops into the over-sized bed with a sigh and passes out.

Redmond returns to his room. While it felt good to wield a sword again, his joints ache. He removes his armor, carefully leaning his sword and shield against the wall. He stretches mightily before collapsing on the bed.