[Gwathagor]

Gwathagor strode in from who knows where, sat down with his back to a tree and began to clean the blood and gore off of his bright ancestral blade. That finished, he sheathed the sword and almost immediately slipped into an Elvish trance where he sat. He was rather tired; orc-hunting all night long, while rewarding, is also rather taxing and has a tendency to wear you out.

As he drifted off, he muttered, under his breath: "Happy...birthday...Barrow-Downs. Don't eat...all...the pizza."