\"The human noble had long gone. Like many he had come in search for help from the dwarven lords. Urin Midstream stared at the door. The Men of the North were a mere shadow of their fathers. They were warlike nearly as the beasts of the wilderness were. Yet their ancestors had won the north with more virtues than that. Nowadays they were as far-sighted as Old Durgin One-Eye and flexible as the the oaken chair Urin sat on. Their fathers and grandfathers had earned the trust and trade of the dwarfven hosts by conquering the wild lands below the mountains - and by guarding them after. Few watches and guards remained. The petty nobility gave them up without a strong hand to guide them. They battled with creatures in the wild and in the forests, grew weary or died there, grew to fear the shade of these lands and moved north. And as they crept away, their fears followed.
The dwarven host would not march against a band of orcish bandits. Yet, was it not better to stem the wind than to wait for a storm? Who but him, the Master of the Watch would care about some human lumberjacks and their lords? Those who had coin in the matter! A vague gesture of Urin\'s hand made his Scribe jump up and open the door. At the marketplace they turned left and straight towards the western gate - straight for the woodmongers\' quarter....\"
