At Culwic, the party is told of legendary healing springs at Eriumar to the South and East. They are determined to bring their friends to succour, and set out down the river, until the reach the picturesque valley home to the hot springs.

Having left their friends in capable hands, they meet the halfling Déorwine “Day” Niptook, who asks their help in solving a grim mystery involving death-traps in the woods.

Investigating leads them to one of the traps, one that almost killed Day himself. On the primitive trap they find a message in large, crude letters: “GOTCHA”…

The party recovers from the phantasm encountered in the previous chapter, and carry on to the Ice Caves. They are now convinced that there is some sort of sorcerer at work.

They fight their way into the heart of the caves, where they confront the wicked illusionist Carradar, and learn much of the bandits’ ploys. Dejyk, a Harad-man, asks to join the party, having long since grown sick of the evil ways of his companions. Having defeated Carradar, they agree to take the wounded Dejyk with them.

They bring the fettered Carradar to Culwic and justice, but as they reach Báir’s cottage, they find the old dwarf worse for wear. It is immediately decided to bring him to town for help.

On the way back to Culwic, Carradar cunningly escapes, much to the dismay of the party. Brann is furious, and immediately leaves on a solo manhunt. Anxious to bring aid to Báir, and also Dejyk, the rest decide to carry on.

Brann was staring into the cave. The smell of troll was still there although faint. Seems safe he thought and crawled inn. Winter is coming he mumbled to himself.
The cave was dark, as most troll caves are. Trolls has a tendency to turn to stone when the sun hits them. Firewood he thought and went back into the sleet.
Not long after the fire lit up the cave, and Brann could explore the cave.
Being a troll cave the floor was littered with all kinds of bones, half rotten pelts and what was that? A skeleton of some sorts, still dressed in a leather armor, and a sword. Must be an elven sword, stil sharp.
Brann spent the rest of the evening cleaning the armor and polishing the sword.

As the morning fog liftet from the forrest, Brann was sitting outside the troll cave. What was that? Looks like people. You must me pretty stupid to be out in these parts of the woods. I must head over to them and find out what they are up to.

Hullo there Mr Man, the dwarf said to him.
Hullo there Mr Dwarf Brann replyed. Are you looking for something?
The dwarf was nose down in a shrubbery, picking some clove looking herbs.
Yes, these, the dwarf said holding up the herbs.
My friend is hurt and he needs some healing herbs.
I think I saw some more potent ones a few minutes back. Brann pointed towards the cave from whence he came.
We are staing over here, the dwarf said pointing towards a dell by the river.
Brann ran back, and found the herbs, not exactly where he thought he saw them nor quite the exact colour, but near enough.
As Brann came into the dell he was greeted by the dwarf a dog and two men. One of them having a rather grim bit from a wolf. Having helped himself to some of the dwarfs herbs, the wounded man seemed a bit better already, but wanting to be on the safe side, Brann brewed some tea of his own herbs.
How strange, Brann though. The herbs don’t seem to have the effect I had hoped for. The wounded man, introduced to Brann as Varian, was sleeping like a log, being rather funny, Varian being a lumberjack, and the wound didn’t seem better. Might I be in the wrong? Did I give him the wrong herbs? I must go back and find the right ones. Brann excused himself and went back to the cave. Of course he said to himself, these are the right ones. I must have given the lumberjack some anunina, the sleeping drug. Must be careful with those, they are highly addictive.
Back in the camp Brann got the stories of why these people were out in the wild like this.
It seems Old Báir, the dwarf, Brólins uncle had been out here prospecting by the ice caves where he came upon a ghost that had scared the willies out of the old dwarf, and now they were going to find out what happened. The other man, Pike, a deputy out of Bree, were also chasing some brigands.
Being eager to help old Báir, a good teller of tall tales, known to all that frequent Two Waters, the best bar in Culwic (all knew it was the best bar, as it was the only bar), Brann decided to venture with them.
Not many hours after, the heavy sleeper awoke, and got a dose of Branns healing herb, the real one this time, and soon they were ready to press onwards.

After some rather heavy trecking over the hills, the party came upon a man on a cliff, just by a ravine. Hullo! They shouted. Ahoi there Mr. Man! The dwarf has an peculiar way of greeting people, Brann though. The man, apparently alarmed, jumped up, and ran for the ravine.
Wait! We are not dangerous! We are friends! They shouted, but the man kept running.
The party ran after, well not ran, but rather hurried along at a cautious pace, and Brann all but caught the man before he fell head over heals down the ravine.
They found him at the bottom, his leg broken and the man passed out cold.
We need to get the leg splintered they agreed. Lets find a shelter.
They found shelter under the roots of a fallen pine, covering what was open with branches from fir and juniper bushes.
The man soon came to himself, warning them to let him free, or else ill would befall them. Apparently the ice caves were just nearby, and whatevere were found inside the caves would come after them.
Being armed with elven swords and a dwarven warhammer, the newfound friends thought nothing of it, and started to plan the night watch.
Varian, still wide awake from the effect of the sleeping herbs Brann had given him, would take the first turn.
They had not slept for long before Varian heard something outside. Something not natural. He awoke the others just to hear the most frightening crescendo of a scream, making their blood like ice and their courage break like twigs. They ran. As fast as they could, not caring where. They just had to get away. Fast.
When Brann came to himself he was not sure where he was. All he knew was it was dark, and the snow was falling. He could not orient himself while it was dark, so he climbed up into a tree.
Soon he heard a noise down by the trunk. Twas the dog.
Brann climbed down. Here dog, lets find your master.
With those words they set of into the dark.
As the sun came up, the dog and Brann stod by the troll cave.
Hullo? Brann shouted!
Woof! said the dog.
Hullo came the reply from the cave.
The rest of the party had found themselves to the cave, and there they lit a fire and had a good sleep.
We must return to the camp. Having left their arms and rucksacks under the fallen pine they had to return, and so they did.
At mid day they found back to their camp, but it was empty. No prisoner, no weapons and no supplies.

The party fend off a pack of wolves at the ford further into the valley. Barely defeating the starved and crazed beasts, they meet Brann, a young woodsman. Together, they find the cave where the big troll made its lair, and rest and recuperate here before carrying on towards the ice caves.

Safe and sound inside the old dwarf’s home, Bair tells them all his tale. Shocked to hear of such an evil casting a curse on his uncle, Brólin swears to find the undead spirit, destroy it and break the curse and set his uncle free. The old dwarf is moved to tears, but is afraid for his nephew, insisting that he cannot possible go alone.

Varian is quick to offer his assistance, and pike soon follows. The old dwarf is even more moved and thanks them endlessly. He draws them a map and explains where the evil thing has its lair.

Early the following morning the three adventures set out. With food packed from the inn, their backpacks are packed. Varian has returned with an old, but well polished armour and a sword at his side. He looks like a proper adventurer. As they leave, the old dwarf hands Brólin a beautiful warhammer, fashioned with dwarven runes. Now it is Brolíns turn to be moved to tears. With a great feeling of reverence he accepts the princely gift and thanks his uncle.

They are on the way. They follow the trakcs of the old dwarf, and the map.

Several hours later they come to an obsticale in their path. A large rock is blocking a narrow passage, leaving them with no choice but to climb over it.

Well on top the rock suddenly moves. Well this is strange Brolín thinks. Then it becomes clear to them. It is not a rock, but a large cave troll!

Fortunately the troll is stuck in the narrow passage, but still it is a tough fight. Varian hacks away at the troll, escaping its graspings hands as he delievers one blow after another. Just as the troll is about to succumb to Varians onslaught, a strike from the dwarven warhammer gives an unsuspected result. It crackles with blue light and frost emits from it and freezes the troll. It falls over, dead.

Around the troll the three find a fortune in coins of all size, shapes and type.

For days now the Blue mountains have come closer and closer, an impressive mountain range even for one who has crossed the Misty Mountains. Culwic must be close, the dwarf thinks as he checks his map again. Culwic was the town mentioned in his uncle’s writings. It will be his best bet for finding his uncle. Sure pessimist would say that his uncle might no longer be alive, having succumbed to age or misfortune years ago, but he knows this not to be true. Even though no word of his passing would likely have found its way all the way to the Iron Hills, he is certain that his uncle is alive and well. For if he can survive such a long and perilous journey, then an expert outdoorsdwarf like him will have thrived.

Whistling and singing to himself, in a tune sure to frighten away all forms of wildlife (even a hungry bear would be driven away by this tone deaf dwarf) he pushes on.

After awhile he comes across and old path, and decides to follow it. An hour later he spots a man walking on another path, one that is newer and running parallel to his own. A few meters later the two join up, and Brólin finds himself walking alongside a man and large dog. No that is not right, the dwarf things, that is no dog. That is a HOUND, thats what that is.

“Hello Mr. Human” the dwarf finds himself saying. Its been a long time since he last talked to anyone else than himself, the trees or birds. “Hello Mr. Dwarf” the man replies in a quite tone. The two walk on for a little while, before the dwarf once again breaks the silence. “I’m on my way to the village of Culwic, you wouldn’t by any chance know if I am on the right path?” “I hope so, I’m heading there myself.” The man’s words masks the fact that he does not know where he is, it has been days since he realised he was hopelessly lost. His quest having forced into such foreign terrain that he has no knowledge, nor map of it. “Well I’m sure we’ll find it soon, according to my map it should be around here, somewhere close” the dwarf replies.

A few hours later they come upon an outpost, a man busy closing the shutters, grunting a hello when they they greet him. “I’m sorry to bother you mr. Human, could you possible tell me wether this is the road to Culwic?” The man looks at them, rubs his chin and utters: “Hmm Culwic…could be, could be…maybe if I had something to help me remember…” Catching on the dwarf hands him some tin pieces, and soon the two are on their way again, with the knowledge that they are heading the right way.

Some time later they come to a ferry crossing, the man now known to Brólin as Pike, pay their way across and two hours later, as the day is done, the two of them enter the village of Culwic.

Tired, hungry and convinced that it is the best place to search for information, the two head towards the inn. They arrive at the same time as some lumberjacks, who politely let them enter first.

The dwarf orders food for them and two pints of ale, asking Pike if he wants something to drink as well…

After finishing his first ale, Brólin asks the innkeeper if she perhaps have heard of his uncle, Báin. Her smile disappears and she looks worried, but before she can answer, one of the lumberjacks speaks up. He’s a young man, but with a worried look. “My name is Varian and I know Báin.” Brólin is delighted and immediately heads over to him: “You do? What luck! What can you tell me of my uncle?”

Varian tells his tell, how Báin came into the inn the other day, comepletely distraught, shaking and speaking incoherently about restless dead and a curse. He seemed old to Varian, so very old, whereas before he alwasy seemed to teem with life. He drank many a dram, but none seemed to calm him and the end he walked away, looking scared and tired, muttering that the curse would surely drestroy him.

Concerned Brólin jumps to his feet and implore Varian to take him to his uncle at once. With their food packed away, they set off. Pike joins them, apperantly concered for his new found travelling companions kin.

Sometime later they arrive at the old dwarfs home, a small stone structure by the river. The hold dwarf is slumped along the riverbed, washing for gold, but without any enthusiasm.

Brólin rushes to the uncle he never before has met, and as soon as he explains who he is the two embrace and a tear runs down the old dwarfs cheek. For a moment Varian sees his friend the way he was before he came frightened into town and it pleases him.

The old dwarf invites them in, to eat and rest and too talk. As the night is upon them the four enters the home of the dwarf, unknowing of what lies ahead for them.

The Iron Hills. The young Dwarf Brólin, recently five and fifty years of age and therefore of an age to go Adventuring, leaves his home and his family to seek out his legendary uncle Báin. His search takes him across the the Wilderland, over the Misty Mountains, and all the way to the edge of Eriador, to the Blue Mountains.

Bree. Sheriff Eliard Blackwater of Bree dispatches his deputies to find, capture or destroy a vicious band of villains that have carved their way through Bree-land. But it soon becomes clear that the bandits are long gone, far out of the sheriff’s jurisdiction, probably never to return. One by one the deputies leave and return to Bree. But one man, bandit-turned-lawful citizen Pike, refuses to give up. He’s been given a second chance, a chance to do away with evil and wickedness, and he is determined to make the bandits pay.

Culwic, the Blue Mountains. At the Two Waters tavern, young lumberjack Varian and his companions are ending their long and hard workday with a deservedly frothy beer when the tavern’s staple regular for fifty years, the old Dwarf Báin, quite disturbed, barrels in with horrible tales of ghosts and wicked spirits, and the legendary Ice Caves. The entire community is shook up by his narrative, but not young Varian. He sees in this the opportunity to throw off the yoke of the mundane, don his father’s old armour and boots, and step into the weird and wonderful world out there as an bona fide adventurer.