Blue Eyes Crying In The Rain

The morning of the 5th of Springwane began with a torrential downpour. To wait out the storm, the party huddled around a fire beneath a rocky outcropping. Day turned to night and still the storm raged. Taking his place in the watch order, Rake Silvertongue settled down before the camp fire.   As you sit, the low flames barely enough to warm your fingers and toes, a flash of lightning behind the hill casts silver white brillance over the forest facing you. For an instant the light tore away the shroud of black hiding the trees. Someone or something was out there. Just beyond the edge of the forest, half hidden behind a wide trunk. A figure in white standing impossibly against the roar of rain and lightning and thunder. Watching you. Eyes, blue and cold and...angry?, watching you.     The next instant and the blackness returned, the vision gone.   Sometime during the early morning of the 6th, the storm had moved on. The party moved out through the soaked forest, making for the coast. There, they found the remnants of the orc camp. Rain had washed away much of the violence that had befallen the orcs. However sharp eyes found a broken iron arrow head embedded in a tree and a deep gash that marred a half buried boulder most likely made by the shod hoof of an enormous horse. The party camped at the site of the orcs' disappearance, rising on the morning of the 7th Springwane to follow the coast further north in search of more clues to the orcs demise.   The companions came upon the small Village of Green Rowe and learned the village center was the Ruste Onion tavern. The party looked forward to some time beneath a roof, the two minstrels already planning a performance to entertain the village and perhaps earn some coin.   They spied the stable alongside the tavern which housed three mounts including the most massive warhorse any of them had ever seen. Grahm noticed the warhorse bore at least one fresh scar.   As the party approached the rough wooden tavern, a huge warrior wearing the armor and sigil of a Rust Brother strode out onto narrow porch. The man, a large battle axe strapped to his back, stopped and stared at the party.