Torolf gathers a war party.
Torolf looked about the village. People were afraid. Some said fell creatures stirred in the earth. The result of the dwarves' digging.
The villagers tried to go about their daily tasks, to pretend nothing was wrong. But everyone felt it. Nothing was what it had been.
The chieftain called the crone. She cast the bones. In them she saw the villagers' only hope. Torolf.
Torolf never wanted this charge. But one did not argue with the spirits. The spirits were unforgiving. A man did what they asked. Did what they demanded.
He looked over the people of the village. Mentally he picked those he would take with him into the wilderness. Into the lands now held by the dwarves.
Torolf tightened his belt and lifted his axe and shield. He strode toward the village center and tapped the blacksmith's eldest son on the shoulder with the haft of his axe. "Come," he said. "You are with me."
So began Torolf's war band.