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For Therlion:
As gruesome as the sight of the severed head of the guard captain is, the elf finds the silence and the total destruction of the town even worse. No sign of his friends. No sign of his companions. No sign of no one. And especially no sign of Harmeth, the one who had managed to charm him, the elf. A ray of sunlight penetrated through the broken shards of the window and the fractured light gave an unearthly air to the room. A voice, distant reached Therlion's keen elven hearing. The voice of Kalam, no doubt speaking to Turin.
"Everyone's dead here. If there are survivors they shall have gone to Easthelm, the family keep twenty miles north of here. Your friends might also be there."
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