The Winds were calm as Grymhorn stood in front of his domed wooden hut on the crest of the mountain. He looked out in the Dim light of Daybreak towards the Clan home, Desolation Hold, the Grot fires still burned and the guards could be seen on duty. All was well. But indeed it was not, everything was in fact far from well, but grots and guards never took heed to these things, he lowered his head in thought.

He stood Motionless with head lowered until the Sun rose enough to shine upon him, he then raised his head into the light and spoke “An’she guide me”. He then turned his back and stepped towards the hut. As he lifted the flap smoke bellowed forth, he entered the steam room and shut the flap.

The hours passed as Grymhorm sat in contemplation of events, taking in the vapors from the hot rocks as he poured liquid onto them. Slowly he slipped into meditation.

Visions abounded …trees, Mulgore, Vines, death, the Swamp, Desolation Hold, the Dream, the Nightmare, his Ha’Gosh Xibalbah floating weightless, war, Ships, Elf’s and a figure of a great Tauren fighting stood prominent throughout the Visions, all a haze. What did it mean? What does any of it mean?.

After many hours Grymhorn awoke, he gave thanks to An’she and then left towards the hold to seek the Ha’Gosh for council.