Languor broiled up from Bróin as the company soldiered on through the forest. It was not a languor of the body however - even if Dwarves were ill-disposed to cross-country travel such as this - but rather of the soul. It was as though the very core of his being had been enervated by the darkened atmosphere of Mirkood's black heart. His step livened once Tyrant's Hill entered his field of vision, but only so much. Perhaps a part of him was still hesitant to enter the House of Mogdred...
Well founded concern it would seem, as a cadre of warriors from the Hill arrayed themselves before the company. Looking up and seeing Vara circling about Bróin stepped forward and bowed to Dagmar. "Hail and well met, Dagmar of the House of Mogdred! We are but humble travellers in need of a warm hearth where we might rest for a time. We would not dare to impose however, and so allow me to proffer these gifts upon you, your lord and your kin."
Opening up his bag Bróin displayed the gifts he had received from Black Tarn. Goods and fine crafts he wagered were rather rare upon the Hill; perhaps rare enough to earn them company a place to bed down for the night...