97
For an hour you sit staring at the river, mourning the loss of your brave companion. Your heart is heavy with the grief of his passing but you do not permit sorrow to become despair. You turn your eyes towards Torgar and defiantly you vow to avenge his death by retrieving the stolen Lorestones from the dungeons of that dread citadel.
Your journey along the bank of the River Torg is a long and tiring ordeal. For eight days you trudge through the black mud, cut off from all view of the lands to the north and south by an unbroken wall of stunted trees. The only inhabitants of this forsaken territory are the buzzing insects which hang seemingly motionless in the humid air. They are a constant source of irritation but at least their bite proves harmless.
On the morning of the ninth day, the muddy river bank gives way to firmer ground and the trees become less dense. Ahead you can see a barren expanse of yellow sulphurous soil that marks the beginning of the Nadulritzaga foothills. You can also see a road of broken stones disappearing into the distance.
