-Posted with Wayfinder
Entirely uncomfortable entrusting their strategy upon information from a bird and a bumblebee, Kraygan nonetheless knows when he is out-ruled.
"Fine. Dumb plan. But whatever! Let's get to it. I'm sure we'll all be dead by morning anyway."
Scrambling back from their overlook, Kraygan mounts up on Haggis and waits for someone to circumnavigate the giant encampment.
|
Wren wraps himself in his new cloak, hopeful that his magics will protect him against the cold and altituded environment.
Fort vs. Suck
"I'm sure we'll be done by morning anyway."
Wren smiles and looks at Kraygan. Now that's the spirit! I hope he's right.
Wren listens to the latest buzz from the bees and nods, no longer thinking the caverns are a good way to go.
"We should head for the altar. Start there, strike there and see what happens."
|
Deciding on an objective the groups spends the next few hours circumventing the entire giant encampment through the thick snow. After a bit Jorgan is able to find a trail leading up to the cliff above as it precariously descends near the ice giant altar.
A set of ancient stone stairs carved from the mountain climbs to a hexagonal stone dais covered in rime, with chiseled runes barely visible underneath. An ice sculpture depicting a giant, bearded figure stands atop the dais. The sculpture’s features are angular and chiseled, with an inhuman, almost elemental, quality about them. Jagged shards of ice form the figure’s beard and hair. The air in the immediate vicinity is even colder than elsewhere on the mountain plateau.
The statue is 20 feet tall and weighs over 1,000 pounds. Sculpted from magically hardened ice, it does not melt under normal circumstances, even in a summertime thaw. The runes chiseled on the dais are written in Giant, and describe Thremyr’s birth during the Age of Creation, his subsequent stumble into the Steaming Sea, and the genesis of the frost giants and other frozen folk.
Jorgan stays quiet throughout the exchange, waiting for a plan to be decided and orders to be given. He is far more interested in the appearance of another ram. It's a sign, it must be! Gozreh is watching us, just like he was when he sent me Spirit. What else could it mean?
Jorgan shakes his head and follows the others along with renewed vigor. At the statue he asks, "So who's this fella? I like the beard but not the giant-ness of him. Is this the Fiery Beard you guys have been going on about? Looks too cold for that."
|
|
Wren watches Jorgan stare intently at the Ram, not understanding any of it.
"Squats? You understand this? So...when dwarves bond with a yak, it isn't for life? Looks like Jorgan is considering yak-gamy," Wren notes to Rogzul. "Can he marry more than one?"
"Like, can you get another bird as well? Or are you limited to Kashag?"
As they move toward their destination, Rog is shocked by Wren's question. It's one even he had never asked his spirit beast. He turns to the hawk on his shoulder and speaks in the strange clicking, chirping language that only he and Kashag understand before turning back to Wren with an answer.
"Kashag is mine. I will have no other guide. If he is slain, he will come back to me." The hawk screeches, either in defiance of his death or agreeing with the orc, it's hard to say. "It may not be the same body, or even the same bird, but it will be Kashag."
"As for the Ram, I am less sure."
When they reach their destination he realizes that he must have picked up a wandering giant spirit, mostly from the devout ravings that he translates and offers up to his companions.
"Thremyr, the First Jarl—the god of frost giants, ice trolls, winter wolves, and other creatures born of supernatural cold, mostly evIL ones. The spirit is recent, it seems thus First Jarl is still worshipped here. "
Torgan feels the nip in the air as they approach the stairs leading to the altar, choosing to ignore Wren's attempts at humor. "Aye, brother. This is not the Great and Glorious Beard of Fire..." he starts as Rogzul chimes in about the true meaning of the ice giant.
"Ah, he is to ice what Minderhal is to flame. If only the giant gods weren't giants, then we dwarves might actually like them." Torgan remarks with a chuckle, finding his own words funny.
"Either way, look out for any lumbering idiots taller than the elf. I imagine we will have company soon." he warns as he looks for other creatures in the area.
Let's wait for dark to move past the watchtower on this side." Torgan reasons. "The slave pens are likely to be relatively unguarded, I would think."
Scratching his chin, he realizes that he collected his mug from the snow earlier but hasn't taken the time to get another drink. He pours some frothy ale from one of the pony kegs attached to the howdah and takes a stiff pull from the mug. "Or we can raid that ramshackle house to see why the red-eyed beast was glaring at us earlier."
|
|
Wren floats down beside the altar after the dwarves and their yakkenhorde have touched ground. With his magical ability to fly at his leisure, Wren sees no need to put himself in danger.
Know (Religion)
Wren confirms Rogzul's observations with a nod.
"This was a good plan, to come in from the backside. I'm glad it was so cleverly thought of," Wren comments with a smirk and pulling out his rod...of metamagic.
He casts a spell on , Rogzul.
He waits for the 'horde to decide where to go next, thinking that {M} would be his next guess. He follows behind, bow in hand and silently floating along.
"Oy! Do you understand Common? Dwarvish? Giant? What do you want?"
|
|
As Jorgan begins to scream and holler at the ram it turns around and quickly bounds off down the mountain and into the woods. where it vanishes from sight.
From what Torgan can tell the place seems to be absolutely clear. Well as clear as a flat ice covered plain could be that is. Taking a few minutes to watch the area it seems that not only are the watchtowers manned but several if not dozens of patrols scour the grounds of the encampment. Not only within but in the hills surrounding the area as well.
Torgan rolls his eyes as the possibly intelligent ram bounds off into the wintery backdrop of the giant's hillside.
He pulls forth his medium size tent and begins to construct the contraption on the back of the howdah, slotting the poles into the various notches and cutouts. As he begins to deal with the tarpaulin, the dwarf looks pleased that the wooden crossbeams lined up nicely.
"I'm setting up for a bit of a nap before the night time raid. I suggest the rest of you do the same." he advises as finishes erecting the large-for-a-dwarf, small-in-comparison-to-the-yak tent. "My bet is the ram's head building knows we are here. If we have company in the mean time, it will be because of them. If not, then we might find allies against the Fiery Beard there." he says with a shrug before disappearing into the tent.
The sound of the pony keg tap and rushing liquid can be heard for a few seconds before a large burp emanates from behind the closed door.
After an hour, Torgan peeks his head out and checks to see if the group has secured the area from trouble. If not, he thinks himself mighty clever for his communion with nature just now and spends the next ten minutes weaving natural magicks to Hide Campsite.
|
|
Torgan is in for a rude awakening as he begins to slot his poles in notches and chip into the ice. A strong breeze of chilled air slams into him from multiple sides as ice and rime quickly build around his feet and beard.
Looking into the wind Torgan is able to make out faint creatures as blustering winds and snow swirl around these white, almost transparent feylike phantoms.
manner of frozen spirits when spotted in the wild.
Although they are not incorporeal, these icy elemental
beings are pale and wispy, and are easily overlooked in the
wintery outdoors where there is little to contrast with their
translucent white bodies. If viewed against a dark backdrop,
a thremindyr looks like a long-limbed humanoid. Close
up, their features have an inhuman, angular, and almost
crystalline quality to them. They sport high cheekbones,
upward-slanted eyes, and pointed ears. What might
represent hair is a swirling mass of ever-roiling tendrils
of mist and snow. Thremindyrs are usually androgynous,
but very rarely some thremindyrs sport what appears to
be a beard composed of icicles. When agitated, these arctic
elementals radiate a f lurry of snow in the direction of
their attention, especially when they howl and roar. They
possess a considerable strength but are ephemeral, like an
air elemental. Thremindyrs stand roughly 7 feet tall and
weigh no more than 15 pounds.
Ecology
The name “thremindyr” roughly translates from the Giant
language as “breath of Thremyr,” and a connection between
the giant god and these creatures appears certain. Students
of ancient lore and experts on the planes point to legends
that describe how parts of the god Thremyr fell away from
the deity and sprang to life, creating the frost giant, ice
troll, and winter wolf races, and suggest that thremindyrs
may have been created in the same way. These legends say
that, instead of sloughing off of Thremyr as he staggered
into the Steaming Sea, the first thremindyr escaped from
Thremyr’s lungs as the ancient being sighed, passing
through his lips and onto Golarion. Although this in some ways parallels how thremindyrs
reproduce on the Material Plane, the theory that
thremindyrs spawn directly from the deity isn’t
supported by the evidence. For one thing, thremindyrs
hail from the Plane of Air, and Thremyr does not reside
there. Scholars propose that the thremindyrs’ existence
actually informs one of the nature of Thremyr—and
other gods worshiped by giants (such as Gozreh)—far
more than the other way around.
Thremindyrs are consistently humanoid in shape,
unlike many other elemental beings, whose shapes are
often chaotic or take on animalistic forms. Thremindyrs
spontaneously generate on the Plane of Air, but procreate
through asexual reproduction on the Material Plane. They
seem to thrive on the Material Plane, and by some accounts
are slowly evolving to a less elemental state of existence.
Habitat & Society
Thremindyrs are thought to have originally sprung into
existence in the misty zone where the Elemental Plane
of Air juts up against the Plane of Water. Whatever their
origin, thremindyrs have proliferated and are encountered
as indigenous forms of life in many places on the Material
Plane, especially on Golarion. When encountered outside
of the Material Plane, thremindyrs possess the extraplanar
subtype. Thremindyrs who dwell on the Material Plane
require air, food, and moisture and have daily periods
of inactivity. The creatures wither and die quickly in hot
environments, and are found only in environments where
water can freeze. Though thremindyrs need to eat, the
period of time between each feeding can stretch for months.
Thremindyrs are curious creatures, but they
are contemptuous of beings that can’t adapt to the
environments in which these outsiders thrive. When they
coexist with creatures immune to their bitter cold presence,
it is with a reserved indifference or muted curiosity. They
are fickle and rarely maintain long-term alliances with
other creatures.
Among their own kind, thremindyrs are peaceable and
demonstrate a willingness to share ideas and cooperate—
though they lack any ideas that do not lend themselves
to mischief and mayhem. Thremindyrs are disastrously
curious, and tend to treat any new stimulus as an excuse
for playful destruction. A gathering of thremindyrs is
dangerous indeed; more than one mountaineering
expedition has been lost by being frozen to the side of a
mountain by these strange elemental beings.
Thremindyrs chafe at being summoned—they have
little patience for communication with creatures that have
no natural inclination to cold or abilities to overcome it.
Yet if directed toward an objective or opponent that it can
freeze solid, a summoned thremindyr quickly forgets the
indignity and sets about its work with malicious glee. In combat, thremindyrs attempt to keep their distance
from their enemies. They prefer to f ly just out of the
reach of their foes and attack with their breath weapons,
hoping to entrap those struck. Once an opponent is
immobilized, the thremindyr focuses on other foes
until they are all coated in rime. Thremindyrs can tell
whether creatures are magically protected against the
cold, and they f ind these sorts of protections affronts
to their icy nature. Thremindyrs focus their attacks
on protected creatures first, and use their shatter
protection ability to break down these defenses. If their
enemies fight using ranged weapons, thremindyrs
soar down and attack using Flyby Attack, sometimes
remaining in melee combat long enough for their auras
to damage their opponents.
The creatures breath gusts of frigid air all across Torgan.
+ Entrap
+ Entrap
The creatures float 25 feet off of the ground as that gloat and chatter at the frozen dwarf.
-----------------------------------------
Monster (Red Breath 3 rnds; fly 25 feet) (Green Breath 4 rnds; fly 25 feet)
-----------------------------------------
Kraygan
Jorgan
Wren
Rogzul
Torgan (52/90)
|
|
Round 1, Init 9
Wren's eyes follow the wispy foes with a new eye toward planar understandings that were enhanced by his newly buffed headband. He put pieces together in his mind and relates what he can to his companions.
Know (Planes)
"Uh. We can try burning them with fire! And mind their breaths, likely they are worse than Kraygan's in the morning."
Wren unlimbers his new bow, deciding which of his many magics to bring to bear in this fight. He decides to see how firestorm does, firing at green.
to hit; (PBS,rapid)
fire damage.
to hit; (PBS,rapid)
fire damage.
HP: 61/61
AC: 18+1 (+4 w/mage armor)
Effects: mage armor, overland flight
Right: bow
Left:
Acid 0/8 used
Blip: 0 of 480
[ dice]1d20+11-2+1[/dice] to hit; (PBS,rapid)
[ dice]1d8+1[/dice] damage.
Rog hears Wren mention fire, but he has nothing prepared that fits the description. He can at least fly and close in on the creatures attacking them. Taking a moment to command his spirits, his floats into the air and moves as close to red as he needs to, drawing his longspear and getting ready to strike, trying to keep distance between him and the dwarves so the breath attacks are less useful.
|
|
Though Torgan isn't able to get out of the way of the wind he is able to kick himself free from the ice building up before it is too late.
Wren is able to land a single flaming arrow on the green Thremindyr. The flames trickle and nearly die out near the Thremindyr but visibly wound the creature as it melts the side of it's arm. Rogzul flies into the air and readies his spear against the red Thremindyr.
-----------------------------------------
Thremindyr (Red Breath 3 rnds; fly 25 feet) (Green -8; Breath 4 rnds; fly 25 feet)
-----------------------------------------
Kraygan
Jorgan
Wren
Rogzul
Torgan (52/90)
As the Thremindyr's breath freezes the air around him, the crossbeam held by the dwarf snaps in half as the wood turns brittle in Torgan's hands.
The slightly injured Thremindyr becomes the ideal target as Torgan bellows in pain. "Oi! You have made the most dire of mistakes, air creatures! Taste my steel!" he shouts as he lobs Agrimmosh up at the creature.
As soon as the warhammer leaves his right hand, his left has already grabbed Brinya's Love and chucks it at the same creature.
As soon as both weapon begin their downward trajectory, the weapons blink out of existence and appear back in the dwarf's hands, letting him throw them once more at the offending creature. "Bet you weren't expecting that!"
"Fire? Don't have much there, but if they got closer I'd use my morning breath on 'em!"
Kraygan drops his lance and unslings his new bow, grabbing an arrow and loosing it...
"Fire? Sure, if they get close enough." Jorgan thinks to the flaming scimitar which he has been neglecting recently. "In the meantime, we could use some aerial support...."
|
|
Though Torgan is barely able to to connect with the Thremindyr. Brinya's Love finds its mark twice as the Thremindyr looks surprised that the dagger vanishes from sight right next to it and reappears back in Torgan's grasp.
Jorgan begins to summon a bit more support as Kraygan draws his new bow and fires an arrow into the air. The gust of wind blows the arrow off just enough to protect them as the arrow narrowly misses.
The red Thremindyr swoops down at Rogzul and slams small gusts of compressed cold air at the shaman.
Rogzul smiles as his mass of furs and hides protect him from the frigid air and attacks.
Meanwhile the slightly injured Thremindyr swoops across and flies past Wren, slamming into the elf as it rushes past.
+ Entrap
-----------------------------------------
Thremindyr (Red Breath 2 rnds; fly 10 feet) (Green -22; Breath 3 rnds; fly 10 feet)
-----------------------------------------
Kraygan
Jorgan
Wren (48/61)
Rogzul
Torgan (52/90)
|
|
Round 2, Init 9
Fort vs. DC 18
Wren continues to fire at green, stepping back a bit to gain cover behind an ass...yak ass.
to hit; (PBS,rapid)
fire damage.
to hit; (PBS,rapid)
fire damage.
HP: 48/61
AC: 18 (+4 w/mage armor)
Effects: mage armor, overland flight
Right: bow
Left:
Acid 0/8 used
Blip: 0 of 480
[ dice]1d20+11-2+1[/dice] to hit; (PBS,rapid)
[ dice]1d8+1[/dice] damage.
Haggis thrashes his horns at the creature, trying to protect Wren.
Kraygan turns about in the saddle, tracking the same creature.
"Haggis, take him if he comes down!" He commands, giving Haggis the reigns.
His last shot wasn't so great, but he's just out of practice. Taking a moment, he draws in a deep breath and holds it, focuses on his aim and drawing back hard on his new bow. As he does he recalls the power of his new gloves, created from the remains of the corrosive longsword he once carried. Willing them to activate, an aura of corrosive energy surrounds his hands and extends to his weapon.
As the air-like creature rushes across the wintry plain, Torgan and Malt lash out at the creature.
Seeing their quarry has escaped, the fiery dwarf sees that Rogzul is still under attack. "Take it down, Malt!" he bellows as they rush up and the pair strikes out, despite their fatigued state.
Rogzul growls as the creature move in too and buffets him with a few harmless attack. His spirits commend him for improving his armor and urge him to retaliate. Taking a step back to give himself room, Rog strikes quickly with his spear, aiming for anything that looks vulnerable.
|
|
Haggis thrashes about, barely managing to snag the outsider with its horns. Though the horns don't seem to do nearly as much damage as it looked like as the horns batter the Thremindyr.
Kraygan's arrow is far batter aimed as it strikes the frozen elemental in the leg.
Wren kicks the weakened ice away and is able to land another single arrow against the green Thremindyr. It looks to be quite susceptible to the fire arrow.
Rogzul's spirits communicate with him on every opening in the Thremindyr's stance which allows the orc to get three clean blows in.
As the creature rushes across the frigid plain Torgan is able to to give it a good smack with Aggrimosh. Seeing his quarry vanish as it continues through the trees Torgan instead turns his attention into assaulting the red Thremindyr.
Jorgan's summons complete as he calls an air elemental of his own near the green Thremindyr. The elemental slams the force of the wind back at the green Thremindyr.
the elemental doesn't seem quite powerful enough as it hovers in the air. Jorgan swings around to try and box the Thremindyr in.
Rogzul, Torgan, Malt and the air elemental feel an unnatural chill take over their bodies.
The red Thremindyr floats up near Torgan and slams into the young dwarf twice.
+ Entrap
Torgan begins to shake quite profusely from the extreme cold. His stubby teeth chatter beneath his golden beard while the green Thremindyr tears apart the air elemental.
+ Entrap
The air elemental completely dissipates as it is returned to its realm and the green Thremindyr flies high into the air out of reach.
-----------------------------------------
Thremindyr (Red -103 Breath 1 rnds; fly 10 feet) (Green -93; Breath 2 rnds; fly 40 feet)
-----------------------------------------
Kraygan
Jorgan
Wren (48/61)
Rogzul (76/81)
Torgan (27/90)(Malt 62/67)
|
|
Round 3, Init 9
Wren fire at green (or red, whichever is up).
to hit; (PBS,rapid)
fire damage.
to hit; (PBS,rapid)
fire damage.
HP: 48/61
AC: 18 (+4 w/mage armor)
Effects: mage armor, overland flight
Right: bow
Left:
Acid 0/8 used
Blip: 0 of 480
[ dice]1d20+11-2+1[/dice] to hit; (PBS,rapid)
[ dice]1d8+1[/dice] damage.
Seeing the elemental nearly cripple Torgan with one blow, Rog floats forward and tries to kill it before it can do anymore damage. Unfortunately he's not used to maneuvering around Malt and his accuracy suffers because of it.
Kraygan swings the back of his fist as one is the creatures flies by.
Grabbing for more arrows, he fires off two more shots at the closest enemy.
|
|
Wren and Kraygan split their arrows and each knock the Thremindyr from the sky. They shatter into dozens of pieces of ice as they strike the ground. Seems they weren't happy about Torgan's desecration of the shrine.
Hundreds of feet above, from the route you came down stands the red eyed ram, watching and staring silently. It's blood red eyes pierce the stark white and black landscape.
Kraygan
Jorgan
Wren (48/61)
Rogzul (76/81)
Torgan (27/90)(Malt 62/67)
Now that he is both tired and severely wounded, Torgan deposits his shapely behind onto the howdah's wooden floor, letting Agrimmosh and Brinya's Love clatter down from his hands. "Ah... Fighting up here sucks." he adds while staring into the sky.
"Anyone got a wand? If not, we should rest." he says as he remembers the broken crossbeam. "Stupid ice giant spirits."
Rogzul moves over to Torgan and throws a few healing spells on the dwarf while he eyes the ram suspiciously. "It's still watching us. Should we kill it?"
|
|
Wren looks at his bow, then at the cindered ruins of his foes.
"This bow. I like it. It is good," Wren offers a rare smile despite the hoarfrost on his skin. "Now, which of you has those wands we bought recently?"
CLW
CLW
CLW
Wren surveys the religious statue again, looking at the damage that Torgan did to it.
"Let us be more careful in the future. Even these false gods have power and meaning to some," Wren says, glancing sideways at Torgan. "Even though we do not respect it, let us at least recognize that they hold power."
Wren takes note of the ram and the blood-eyed stare. He concentrates on the matter, wondering if that ram means something.
Know (Arcana)
Know (Nature)
Know (Planes)
"Nice shootin Wren." Kraygan grins and holds up his own bow like he's toasting at the tavern. "One fer you 'n one fer me."
Stowing the weapon away he looks to Torgan and is about to say something when Rogzul draws his attention to the peeping-ram. "Izat the same one that was grazin over on the other side o' the encampment earlier?"
"I don't know why you are looking at me, Prophet? What have I done to not respect the ice giant statue?" he asks, looking perplexed as Rogzul tends to his wounds.
As the orc cinches a piece of cloth around a rather large gash in his leg, Torgan winces. "Oi! Not a great bedside demeanor, Squats?" he asks, a bit agitated.
"Either way, we should rest until night so we can get by the watchtowers." he says as he looks for the pieces of the crossbeam.
After scooping them out of a nearby snowbank, Torgan goes back to trying to set up his howdah-tent. When he finishes draping the cloth on the structure, the tilt of the roof is quite comical as it severely slants to the side.
|
|
Moving away from the shrine just enough to set up camp and not be noticed by the several groups of giants that come to pay their respects. Many of the frost giants that come to visit the shrine seem a bit demoralized as they depart. They quickly look about for footprints in the area as to who would desecrate such an area.
A pair of frost giants quickly find multiple sets of smaller footprints leading from the shrine and all around it where they suddenly disappear at the edge of the camp. Torgan stands face to face with the pair as they look on confused.
One of the giants merely suggests that whoever it was must have flown away or got picked off and they move along back to the camp.
Seems Torgan and Jorgan hid the cmap just in time as 3 patrols consisting of many frost giants, ice trolls and large winter wolves pass by within the hour. Torgan's spell helps hide them from sight and smell of the wolves.
Meanwhile Wren and the others watch the odd ram as it returns their gaze from above. Wren studies it intently but is able to discern little as it looks and acts just as a Mindspin Ram should.
After a couple of hours the ram saunters away out of sight. Several hours later the sun begins to set and the group hears a chilling, guttural voice from within the camp!
"What is it you wish to accomplish here? In a cramped hidden camp, among your enemy. Do you delight in the thrill or merely suicidal?"
Kraygan
Jorgan
Wren (61/61)
Rogzul (76/81)
Torgan (69/90)(Malt 62/67)
|
|
"What is it you wish to accomplish here? In a cramped hidden camp, among your enemy. Do you delight in the thrill or merely suicidal?"
Wren, at hearing the question, shrugs.
I'm suicidal. Might as well admit that. I think we all are. But I can't speak for others.
Wren, who is still grumpy from having to sleep so close to the yakkenhorde, says nothing and lets the dwarves speak for themselves.
Kraygan spits out some trail rations (dark ale) and grabs his axe.
"Do we hafta choose one?!" He growls at nobody.
Torgan glances around wildly as he hears the strange voice. "Specifically here? I was hoping for a nap!" calls Torgan out to the mysterious voice, confident in no one hearing him from the patrols due to the magicks.
"As for why we are here in general, we are going to cut down any giant leaders here to gut the Fiery Beard's army!" he yells proudly.
Torgan laughs to himself. "Oh yeah, we should probably wonder who that is." he says with a chuckle. "Though you are probably that ram creature from earlier, aren't you?"
Rogzul is less interested in having a discussion with an unseen person in the middle of an enemy camp. When Torgan provides the mystery voice with their objective and snorts angrily and draws his spear.
"If it is the ram, I'm not asking about killing it this time, I'm just doing it."
|
|
You know, I never even looked at the area of the spell. That is awfully tiny, even for a 3rd level spell. That's not even six medium creatures on a combat map. :(
Torgan glances around wildly as he hears the strange voice. "Specifically here? I was hoping for a nap!" calls Torgan out to the mysterious voice, confident in no one hearing him from the patrols due to the magicks.
"As for why we are here in general, we are going to cut down any giant leaders here to gut the Fiery Beard's army!" he yells proudly.
The voice chuckles. That is a bold assumption. Considering you are squating in the middle of the camp. Hidden from view and drinking away your lives.
"Yeah, and failing that, dying gloriously trying to kill them. That'll work too," Wren adds to Torgan's remarks. "But who are you and what are you doing here?"
If you wish to find out meet me back up on the bluff. There is a large clearing that the giants don't patrol near.
Rogzul is less interested in having a discussion with an unseen person in the middle of an enemy camp. When Torgan provides the mystery voice with their objective and snorts angrily and draws his spear.
"If it is the ram, I'm not asking about killing it this time, I'm just doing it."
The voice seems stern but otherwise quite amused. Put your spear away orc. It will do you no good here.
|
|
Wren looks around for the voice.
"Can it wait until morning? Not sure these magics will last forever and I need my sleep if I'm going to be climbing back up that piddlespotting bluff," Wren grouses, but really knows that *he* won't be climbing back up, but flying, but he'll have to listen to the ass-ends of the yaks as they climb back up.
Jorgan is taking the goat-spirit much more seriously than the others. "I'm telling you guys, Gozreh has already sent us one ram to help in our quest; this could be another of the god's gifts to us! That ram might have some useful information about these giants. I think we should go back like he says and talk to him and keep our spears away like he said." Jorgan starts tramping down the tunnel with Spirit in tow, leading the way back towards the clearing the voice mentioned.
"Jorgan's got a point." Kraygan leans against Haggis and takes a sip from his horn. "Not sure how he ram is connected here, but whatever that voice is, it coulda revealed us more 'n a few times to the giants already." Under his breath he adds. "Dumb luck we've gone unnoticed as it is."
Mounting up in one swift motion that doesn't spill a drop of ale, he gestures up the mountain. "Let's withdraw and hear it out."
|
|
"Can it wait until morning? Not sure these magics will last forever and I need my sleep if I'm going to be climbing back up that piddlespotting bluff," Wren grouses, but really knows that *he* won't be climbing back up, but flying, but he'll have to listen to the ass-ends of the yaks as they climb back up.
You can do as you wish. That is if you survive to see the sun again. The voice growls low. As if in annoyance at the many questions.