"Forgive me, respected Harrim, but I must speak to the baroness!" A young dwarf limps into the room. She doesn

"Forgive me, respected Harrim, but I must speak to the baroness!" A young dwarf limps into the room. She doesn't look well: her face is bruised, her armor crumpled, and her arm is dressed with rags, brown from dried blood. Nevertheless, she begins with a ceremonious bow. "Your Grace! My name is Rudrin, of the Skjegge clan, and I've come to beg your help. My kin are in grave..."