“ Da. Cetatea lui este la capătul de nord-est a munților. Prietenul tau va muri daca va merge acolo,” Stabi gestures as he speaks, and then shamelessly scratches his crotch with the same hand.
“Yes. His stronghold on northeast end of mountains. Your friend will die if he goes there.”
Dung-brain. Amusement.
Simon addresses everyone else, “It sounds like we will be heading in the same direction as Balion for now. Let’s hope he comes to his senses soon, and finds us. If anyone could pick up our trail in the wild, it would be him. Let’s maintain our first objective.”
The noble casts another worried look northward, and his last sentence sounded forced. Without another word, he starts to walk toward the distant smoky peak.
You are able to make good use of the hilly terrain, and the goblins lose sight of you. They continue to jog for a good hour before slowing to a more normal speed for long travel. Without your armored coat, the going is much easier for you, in fact, you are able to keep pace with the goblins, with enough distance and cunning to avoid detection as you track them. You are just over three miles ahead of the party, and last of the goblins ahead are about 175 to 200 feet ahead of you.
After about an hour of travel, you notice a massive humanoid clumsily drop behind a hill when he sees you looking in his direction. He looked to be about 300 feet to the west (your left), and currently out of sight, presumably laying prone.
"Very well then."
Rolg turns to Stabi.
"Vaše první úkol Stabi: vedou nás k hoře, takže se můžeme vyhnout Garotk přisluhovači. Máš to?"
"Your first assignment Stabi: lead us toward the mountain so that we can avoid Garotk's minions. Ok?"
Butts. lol.
Balion notices the giant and begins to creep towards it slowly. The ranger seems set on speaking to the giant.
Stabi angles his large head curiously, gesturing. “Gartok este pe partea cealaltă a muntelui. Eu nu sunt adeptul deținător, dar voi avea multe priviri la fața locului dușmani. Rapidă.”
“Gartok is on other side of mountain. I am not minion keeper, but I will have many looksies to spot meanies. Quick.”
I obey.
The forerunning ranger quickly jogs out of sight as the group travels for another hour, with Stabi at the front, serving as a twitchy lookout.
The ranger knows that most giantkin only speak the thick, guttural language of their kind, Giant. He also remembers hearing a story from a dwarf at the inn in Stonebit –this might be one of the hill giants mentioned in the tale. The storyteller didn’t go into detail about the creature’s abilities, but it is well-known that hill giants are dim-witted, sadistic, and very strong. From the brief moment Balion spotted him, the brawny giant looked to stand about ten feet tall and covered in patchy armor from the hides of several animals. The hilltop kept Balion from seeing if anything was in the giant’s hands.
Balion is able to find a hiding place about forty feet away from the tree, and just in time too. A bald, gigantic head peers with beady black eyes over the hilltop, and the thick brow creases in puzzlement as the giant searches for ranger.
For a second he starts to duck again when he spots the gleaming helmet. After a pause, a husky chuckle is heard. He rises to his full height, and drags a large club behind him to the top of the hill. His wide, awkward gait could only be a comical attempt to sneak up on the helmet-bearing tree.
His large footfalls shake some of the tree branches, and the giant’s eyes open wide with anticipation. He tightens the grip on his dragging club, and arcs an overhead swing with alarming speed. The brutish weapon, studded with rock and bone, snaps all the branches off of one side of the tree trunk with a mighty crash. The giant opens a happy, brick-toothed grin and a deep chuckle is heard again as he kicks his dirty, hairy toes through the wreckage of tree limbs, searching for a mashed human.
Bolgrith trundles along behind their new companion, shield still firmly affixed to his arm. From time to time he scans the horizon, half worrying about the Ranger, half not trusting the little goblin before him.
Balion once again creeps further away from the hill giant in order to have a good head start. The ranger slowly makes his way in the direction he tracked the goblins earlier but heads his course more towards Mt. Fireblood. Once he is a good two hundred feet away the ranger draws back his bow and fires in the general direction of the hill giant to enrage it and then runs towards the Mountain.
The dwarf cannot see or hear the ranger that ran ahead, nor the whooping band of riders he was chasing. All his hairy ears detect is the birdsong of the hills, and Stabi’s fidgets and sniffles.
The giant does not notice the repositioning tactics of the woodsman. The arrow sticks into the thick layer of hides worn by the giant. He starts and looks up slack-jawed and befuddled, until his small eyes find the distant ranger. With a loud bellow, he plods heavy, earth-shaking steps after Balion. He angrily waves the massive club at the trickery. Although Balion has trouble relocating the goblin tracks, he can see the dark Mt. Fireblood on the northern horizon.
The goblin, the pit-fighter, the blind sellsword, the stalwart priest, the young noble, the stormborn and his beast from beyond continue on their northern path. After two hours of travel, the party crests a hill and notices a singular tree a bit off their path, with all the branches on one side shorn off and piled where the roots spread.
Noticing the tree, Bolgrith begins doing what he does best. Thinking.
Bolgrith spots two sets of footprints, one belonging to a human, another belonging to a giant. Both tracks go to the tree. The giant’s prints turn and appear to run straight to the volcano, while the human’s circle around from the tree to one hiding spot, and then continue circling to intercept the giant tracks before turning north as well. Inspecting the pile of smashed branches, the dwarf spots a glimmer of gold and steel, and discovers the flattened helmet Balion took from the skeletal paladin. The helm is crushed beyond use.
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Running his fingertips through the tracks by the tree Bolgrith suddenly looks up, a concerned look on his face. "Someone has bested a giant, there will be great suffering on Fire Blood if the Ranger dies."
"Was it our companion?" Aladdin asks with some concern. "And did you say giant? We have giants and goblins out here? We're in for some harsh times ahead."
Stabi nervously fidgets as he looks over the giant footprints, but says nothing.
Sh*t sh*t sh*t. A bigfooted-squasher.
He leads the group northward, over and between hills for the next few hours. At one point, he sprints back from his forward position, waving his arms excitedly, and whispering in his native tongue. He diverts the path to the east through the lows of the hills, toward the mountains. As he does so, the group can hear a distant thumping of many small footfalls, and the whoops and howls of more goblin outriders crossing unseen behind the hills to the west, perhaps where they tred minutes ago. The hollering ruckus grows and fades, evidently bearing northward. Stabi appears more relaxed after the danger passes.
The diminuitive, green-skinned guide continues to lead them north along the foot of the Frostooth Mountain range. The footprints of the human-giant chase were lost in the evasion of the riders. On the right, the stone jutts out from the hilly thickets, rocky outcroppings eventually forms steep cliffsides. Fewer trees grow on these hills, a faint breeze can be felt, and it is relatively quiet save for the wildlife of the open ground welcoming the early spring. The sun breaks through the clouds that cover the white mountaintops, and gives decent visibility, although the patches of grey stone could provide plenty of places to hide. Stabi anxiously peers around every rock edge and nook ahead of the group, chattering to himself as his tiny feet carry him over the underbrush. Jamie continues to guide Rolg, and grumbles indiscernibly about “this bullsh*t” and “goblins”. She spits.
It is early evening when Stabi is seen standing atop a certain outcropping of rocks, fidgeting impatiently, but showing all his little sharp teeth in a naturally mischeivious grin. When the group approaches, he holds up a blur of squeaking brown fur with two hands. He hops giddily with satisfaction.
“Ei sunt tineri!” he twists his grip, and the vermin slacken with a crunch. “Ele sunt moi! Ele sunt frumoase! Consuma-le, să le mănânce!”
“They are young!”
“They are tender! They are nice! Eat them, eat them!”
He throws two jackrabbits at the feet of the party, and makes a cackling scamper down the rock. One of the crunched creatures twitches in pain. Stabi makes a rolling tumble to them and stomps with both feet on the survivor.
“Am găsit la fața locului dormind! Bine ascunde!”
"I found sleeping spot! Good hidings!"
He cackles all the more before biting into the fur, pulling away strings of red flesh.
"Should we start a fire to cook the rabbits? I can start one up fairly easily if need be" the tired sorcerer said as he followed the jumpy toothless creature.
The Priest grimaces with half a sneer at the uncouth behavior as he unstraps his shield. Dropping it to the ground with a soft thud he thinks back on the tracks they had to abandon.
By Bolgrith’s reckoning, the tracks were headed straight for the volcano, Mt. Fireblood. Jamie leads Rolg’s hand to the boulder, and unlimbers her pack.
“Yeah,” the pit-fighter answers Aladdin, “start a fire. I don’t want worms.”
Stabi points out that the western side of the large stone could provide decent shelter, and there the group finds five more disfigured rabbits.
Stabi angles his head, curious.
“De ce sunt atât de bărbați și pitici de nord? Ochii secrete pentru dușmanii amuzante rele?”
Why are mans and dwarfies so north? Secret eyes for goblin foes?
The small goblin shifts a sideways glance to the blind hobgoblin.
Non-aggression.
"Co nám přináší na sever je naše věc, pokud si dokázat, že můžete mít na vaše podnikání a dostat nás do hory neviditelné, můžeme přesto vás součástí našeho podnikání. Do té doby, je to nejlepší, co se neptají."
"What brings us north is our business, if you prove that you can keep to your business and get us to the mountain unseen, we may yet make you part of our business. Until then, it's best you don't ask questions."
Feeling his hand on the rock, Rolg quickly thanks Jamie and slides his back down the stone until he is sitting.
"Jamie is right. Cook those rabbits well."
“Autoritară autoritară autoritară!” Stabi taunts between bloody bites.
“Bossy bossy bossy!”
With the half-eaten jackrabbit hanging from his mouth, the little green goblin clambers up the rock and sits, idly watching the open hills as the sun begins to set. Jamie looks around for firewood, and starts on a cookfire.
Well, she tries to, anyway...
Meanwhile, our intrepid woodsman keeps a safe distance from the chasing giant. On two occasions, the northbound pair passed sizeable stones, and the giant stopped and hurl them with surprising accuracy at Balion, but he was able to dodge their far-reaching trajectory. Later in the day, another band of goblins riding dogs gallop toward Mt. Fireblood, but appear to give a wide berth to the loud, angry, and smelly giant.
The ranger presses on as the sun begins to set, and base of the volcano is near, and even nearer, its continuation into the Frostooth Range. Cresting a hill, he comes upon a cold black firepit, and several small holes in the ground leading to hovels, and an empty, crudely-built corral. He found himself a goblin camp, but it seems deserted. The giant bellows a threat two hundred feet behind him.
At the firepit, Balion can feel the coals clinging to the very last of their warmth. Beside the ashes, he finds various scattered wooden skewering tools fire-hardened for cooking, and small helping of bite-marked meat that smells expired. One of the cooking tools is long enough to be used as a crude throwing spear . A few small discarded arrows are found, but they look to be made for smaller bows; these arrows would not be useful on Balion’s composite longbow. In the corral, the ranger spots torn fur and bones of vermin, as well as caninine droppings. The tracker notices an unlit torch leaning against shoddy fence.
The goblin tracks gather at the corral and the dog prints rise up a northeastern hill, and couldn’t be any older than a few hours. From what he remembers on Bolgrith’s map, and by the direction of the tracks, the woodsman estimates that they are riding around the base of the volcano, and will pass the shore of the bay on the north end of the island. By this time, sun is touching the distant tree-lined horizon, and it will be completely dark within the hour.
By a furious shout from behind, Balion suspects that he has evaded the giant, for now. Looking up at the ominous Mt. Fireblood, its dark, towering stone face is reddened by the setting sun. Dark, smoky clouds billow from the peak, and orange bursts of magma high above contribute to the faint but constant deep rumbling from the inferno within. A wind seems to push the ash and cinders over the Frothtooth Mountains and the plains on their eastern side.
"I'll take second watch if there are no objections." Bolgrith states as he strips out of his armor. Setting up his bedroll he helps Jamie set up the cookfire and prepare the meager meat.
“I’ll take third,” Jamie grumbles, “and tomorrow, someone else is guiding Rolg. I’d volunteer his little green friend, but he helped us avoid another tangle with his kind. Let’s keep the bugger busy with that.”
“I can help with Rolg tomorrow,” Simon yawns from his bedroll.
The sun casts an orange tint on the rocks and hillsides near the party, although the adventurers hunker in the shadow of their stone shelter. The hills are quiet, and a faint wind can be heard overhead. Mount Fireblood, looming on the northern horizon, darkens as the sun sinks below the western Barrowood treeline. From the camp, one can see the thick smoke faintly glowing orange from the top of the active volcano. Save for the ash cloud that floats over the Frostooth Mountains, the rest of the night sky is clear. When darkness is settled on the island in earnest, anyone still awake can spot familiar chains of lights bobbing about the hills in the far distance. None stray remotely close to the travelers, and the chirps and chatters of small night creatures soften the stark silence of the night.
After a few hours of sleep, Bolgrith wakes to a jab in his side. He opens his eyes to be inches away from the rows of tiny smiling teeth of Stabi.
“Yous turn,” he whispers into the dwarf’s face with foul breath. He quickly scurries to a small corner near the cookfire embers, curls up into amid a mess of furs, some of which were from yesterday’s catch.
It is not long before small, high-pitched Stabi-snores are heard, and the dwarf alone is awake. The night is mostly quiet; after an hour of watching, Bolgrith thinks he hears distant, wide and evenly-spaced thudding, perhaps a far away giant uninterested in stealth. The repetition remains yonder, and eventually subsides. More lights dance over the faraway hills, and the adventurers’ camp is too concealed to attract any interest. The rest of his watch passes without event.
Rolg sighs to be such a burden. He straightens, an idea forming in his mind.
"Bolgrith, Aladdin, you both know a good deal about magic. Is there not some spell that would simply transport me back to civilization where I can get my eyes healed? I could then easily rejoin you."
Moving with all deliberate speed he then gathers as much flammable material from around the camp site including the torn fur scraps and a blanket from his pack in order to start a large beacon fire.
If they are still heading towards the Mountain they should be able to see this fire, unless they can't read a map. Then all will be for naught. To ensure the fire is large enough to be seen by the party, the ranger kicks the shoddy fence over and uses the wood to make the fire larger.
Knowing the giant will be upon him at any moment the ranger grabs his lit torch and ducks away into the night.
Aladdin furrows his brow to think.
Likewise Bolgrith considers the situation.
"In my studies I've heard of a few spells like of which you speak. Though the only one that seems like it would work, given our circumstances, would be a spell of teleportation. And I admit, that is beyond my current abilities." Bolgrith bows his head slightly. "I am sorry my friend for my failings."
Rolg sighs heavily.
"I am sorry to be such a burden. I will not blame you if you decide to leave me."
"Well maybe we should all just kill ourselves!" Jamie cries out in sarcastic tone, throwing her arms in the air. Her mocking grin moves from Bolgrith to Rolg.
"Get a grip, Rolg. I'm surprised you haven't died already, but without you I'd be stuck with Wonderboy and the goodie-goodies," she inclines her head to Simon at the jape.
"You are right, Jamie. I have plenty to contribute. I could still horse whip any one of you."
Rolg smiles a playful, confident grin.
Simon begins to snore softly as Stabi keeps watch atop the rock shelter. The crackling cookfire dims as the night deepens, and soon the rest of the adventurers drift into slumber with bellies full of cooked rabbit and trail rations.
After a few hours of sleep, Bolgrith wakes to a jab in his side. He opens his eyes to be inches away from the rows of tiny smiling teeth of Stabi.
“Hei barba, e rândul tău. Văd focul înalt. Nord,” he whispers into the dwarf’s face with rancid breath. He tugs incessantly at the dwarf’s beard until Bolgrith follows him around the rock. He points to a blazing bonfire, made small by the far distance north. The yellow glow is contrasted by the great blackness of Mount Fireblood, where the peak continues to eminate orange light onto the grey cinder clouds. The light spotted by Stabi looks to be a few hours away on foot. Some stars twinkle on a deep blue sky, and some of the hills in the expanse between the Frostooth Mountains and the Barrowood are briefly illuminated by the trailing chains of floating lights. The goblin gestures to the fire.
“Răul nu fac nici o distracție foc înalt. Numai pentru partid. Niciun partid de ori, nu încă. Poate giganți. Poate barba prieten.”
"Hey beardie, yous turn. I see tall fire. North."
"Goblins make no tall fire. Only for big party. No big party times, not yet. Maybe giants. Maybe beardie friend."
He gestures briefly and seems to wait for Bolgrith to say something. The rest of the party sleeps soundly. Jamie’s loud snores could compete with the mating bellows of the Crumple-Horned Snorkack.
"Наистина е така." Bolgrith says as he rises from his bed roll. Scanning the horizon he spots the light and thinks on it for a time, deciding to inform the others come the morning. Finding a spot to meditate, he begins his watch with breathing exercises.
Stabi curls up into a pile of furs. Bolgrith’s watch passes without event.
The ranger hears the thudding steps of the giant coming up on the great bonfire. A confused grunt and some crashing of the burning wood is heard next, but looking back, Balion can see that the signal fire still burns, if only a little less brighter. The giant can be heard plodding to and fro, in random directions, fuming loudly. It seems the ranger lost the giant.
Continuing on into the night, the ranger hears many chirps, croaks, and skitterings of night creatures beyond his torchlight, and he is able to maintain a northern course by keeping the glow of Fireblood’s peak ahead of him. After perhaps half an hour of travel, he notices another light made visible as he moved –perhaps it was first concealed by trees or stone. From three hundred feet away, the faint amber light flickers on a solid stone surface, but the ranger cannot directly see source, but the color, brightness, and inconsistency suggests a campfire. The obscured campfire is to Balion’s right, perhaps amonst the stone slopes forming the bases of Mount Fireblood and the southern mountain range. The ranger cannot hear anything beyond the usual nightlife of the wilderness. If there is a fire, presumably, someone is tending it…
The ranger quietly approaches the firelight, and finds that the reflection he saw is the inner wall of a cave. The opening goes straight into the mountain face about twenty feet and then arcs to the right. Dark, unlit stone continues for about twenty-five feet before the flickering light bathes the grey rock in a shimmering yellow. The faint popping of burning wood suggests the fire is just around the bend. Even through his torch is extinguished, if Balion is careful, he could place his free hand against the wall and follow it inside without falling over. Once inside, the air feels closer, and amid the sounds of the fire, the woodsman can hear …humming? Yes, light humming from a single high voice. Balion also catches a whiff of cooking meat. He stops just short of the light’s edge, and as far as he can tell, he is undetected.