Thunk! The axe bit deeply into the tree and slowly, as if falling through liquid, it began to fall. The hulking figure stepped back, his huge muscles relaxing, the job done. The tree crashed down, coming to rest swiftly amongst the boulders scattered across the mountainside. Quietness came to the mountain once more. Despite his retirement to the mountains, Herodotus remained a powerul figure. The hunting, woodwork and blacksmithing replacing the sword drills and fighting he once thrived on. No longer young though, he settled down, exhausted, against the tree trunk.
As he drifted off to sleep, vivid images flashed into his mind. His old friend, Varuul was there, a worried look on his usually calm face. Forsaken and Orcs in robes of red and purple chanting demonic incantations. Portals with imps, succubi and even more powerful demons spewing forth from their dark depths. Within moments Herodotus was on his feet, running towards his hut. He emerged from the hut even bigger than before, wearing full plate armour and a dazzling array of weaponry strapped to his back. Moving at a steady trot he set off down the mountain towards the nearest town, where the windrider waited to take him back to the life he thought he had left behind for good. These warlocks whoever they were and whatever threat they posed would feel the bite of his axe before long.
[OOC: I might add to/edit this before deadline but I wanted to get something in before I forget]