The half-orc pushed through the dripping foliage and stood waist deep amidst a see of lush, green bracken. The rain had begun early that morning and had grown steadily from a fine mist into a comfortable spray that seemed set to last the day. Water streamed from his traveling cloak and ran in rivulets from his hood, occasionally splashing into his face when the playful breeze took it upon itself to be mischievous. Wurzag didn't mind the rain, it brought out the best of nature, the clean, wet smell of the undergrowth and the mineral scent of damp earth. Vapour rose from the forest floor and formed a thin fog which hung in the late spring air like smoke and curled around the trees and bushes like the fingers of a lover. It made him feel glad to be alive. The green-skin pressed on through the undergrowth, resolutely heading west to whatever revelation awaited him there.

While he had traveled the plains extensively over the years he had never had cause to venture so far south and had certainly never encountered a body of water large enough to rival the sea. So it was that when he stumbled from the clinging underbrush into the relatively clear moorland that surrounded Lake Aelin it was with no small sense of wonder. For as long as his days endured he would never forget that first sight of the magnificent and mysterious waters.

The mist hung in a thin pall above the lake, a layer of cloud that matched the low, gray ceiling that scudded overhead and the rain whispered like a rasp across its surface. He stood stock still and listened, enthralled by the muted sounds of nature as they struggled to be heard over the rain but fascinated mostly by the hypnotic voice of water upon water as the clouds emptied their tears onto the land below. Wurzag was convinced that if one listened to the rain upon the lake long enough then many secrets of nature would be revealed. He ambled across the soggy ground toward the shore, stumbling over the thick clumps of goose grass and moor weed and sat himself upon a mossy boulder.

In the distance, almost obscured by the layer of mist he could just about make out the dark flanks of the mountains. At this distance they looked like little more than dark monoliths, great, black menhirs tossed carelessly from heaven by the hands of a petulant God. Their heads were lost in cloud but Wurzag knew that sooner or later he would have to scale those rugged heights to the warm lands beyond and hopefully confront the object of his quest. For now however he was content to sit and listen to the susurration of the water.

The surface of the lake was a glossy black, stippled by the rain so that it looked as though countless tiny figures danced upon its surface. It was an entirely beautiful scene that reminded Wurzag of all that he had missed, that he had wasted during his life. His only interest had been his next meal, his next drink, his next coin, when he was already surrounded on all sides by more wealth and glory than he could ever truly appreciate.

The experience was humbling.

He sat for a long time admiring the water, listening to the voice of the rain and enjoying the scent of life.

All the while a faint smile creased his gnarled features. A smile of serenity.

The smile of one at peace.