You set out early the next morning, Grimma leading as before. Perhaps
an omen, but overnight a stiff wind brought dark clouds and rain. You
cross the river to your south at the ford once again, careful not to
lose your footing in the now rough current, then head north and due
east towards Grimmsgate. Away from the river, the land becomes hilly
and rocky again. Here and there a copse of trees dots the
landscape. More than once, you pas by strange signs - bones arranged
in a circle around a human skull; a small, red-stained wicker basket
by the side of a tree, an unmarked grave.
You are wet, hungry and finally glad about mid-day when you see ahead
of you the distinctive hill upon which the village of Grimmsgate is
built. At the top, there is a small cluster of buildings. Even at
this distance, the place looks run down. You can just barely see the
half-collapsed roof of what might have been a temple. Although the
village is not fortified, the hill is very steep and one path leads up
to the top.
"Well, there she is," Grimma says. "Doesn't look like much, now does
she? Let's hope they have some bit of civilization left and can get us
out of this rain for a bit."