—My salute to you, gentle travellers. What is it that brings you to this sad place?— Says Lord Duncan’s spirit.
—We were sent by your wife— you reply softly, showing the signet ring. —She’s looking for you...—
—Alas, you won’t bring any good news to my spouse— the spectre replies with sad humour. —I was ambushed: my escort destroyed, myself slain from behind, my precious sword stolen while still in its sheath.—
—We promised your wife to recover the sword— you suggest slowly.
—Then go to the Black Tower. It was an orc, the chieftain of Lord Cornelius’s own, who killed me. He took the sword away, as a gift to him.— 
—We shall march, enter the Black fortress, and fetch the sword— you promise.
The spirit answers with a last, whispered breath: —You have my blessing. May the gods look at you with favor…—