nikolokolus
Arcane
- Joined
- May 8, 2013
- Messages
- 4,090
Marcán spends 30 minutes or so looking around the base of the hill and its dense thicket of brambles, when he stumbles on to a section of thorns and vines that seem a little bit withered and browner than their surroundings. You tug on the a stout tendril of vegetation free of thorns and pull it back a little and discover that it isn't rooted it all; it's a 2' deep cover for a narrow tunnel that goes through the brambles about 1m high and 30m long. You crawl on your hands and knees and crawl up the hill, coming out on the other side where a faint trail leads farther up the hill. The group files into the tunnel one-by-one, crawls on their hands and knees, and reconvenes on the other side of the wall of thickets. Before you all begin trudging up the hill, Urash lets his raven fly ahead to scout the way up the slope. After fifteen minutes of tense waiting Urash snaps his eyes open and says the way is clear -- a badly disused trail, overgrown with moss and lichen and much eroded from untold centuries of runoff and choked with fallen logs leads to the summit.
After about 2 hours of hard climbing Urash hols up his hand and indicates that you are perhaps with a 1/4 mile of the ruins where Abazion and his cronies are holding Marcan's people captive. Solon nods and says that he needs everyone to join hands, and that no matter what, do not let go until he says otherwise. As Solon speaks the strange syllables and calls forth "Grome!" you all feel some of your vitality seep out of your bodies (everyone loses 8 MP, if that reduces you to 0 then you are unconscious). A long minute passes before the ground begins to vibrate and shake. To your astonishment, boulders from multiple directions start to dislodge themselves from the ground and roll up-hill as if they were being pulled to some invisible point. The boulders (some as large a cart) seem to assemble themselves like puzzle pieces, adhering to one another in the crude approximation of a human-like shape about 20' tall and half again as wide. When the thing finishes assembling itself, Solon abases himself in front of the thing and lays prostrate until a low rumbling voice booms from the mass of earth, stone and roots, "Speak sorcerer! Who dares to summon Graoll, son of Grome, Prince of the lower firmament?!" Solon is visibly shaking when he starts to lift his head and stammers out a feeble reply, "A thousand pardons noble Graoll. I Solon of Odessos, humbly beg an audience with your majesty, that we might come to a mutually beneficial accord. We oppose men who disturb the ground nearby who loot the treasures of the earth and I believe they work to raise an abomination, which I know is an affront to your eternal father." The giant elemental grumbles and speaks dismissively, "What care do I have of manlings and their scurrying about on the face of the firmament? What can you offer mighty Graoll in return for my service and what do you seek?" Solon raises himself to his knees and inclines his head toward Marcán, Rhenmyr, Amon and Borric and shrugs, as if to indicate that one of you should speak your request.
After about 2 hours of hard climbing Urash hols up his hand and indicates that you are perhaps with a 1/4 mile of the ruins where Abazion and his cronies are holding Marcan's people captive. Solon nods and says that he needs everyone to join hands, and that no matter what, do not let go until he says otherwise. As Solon speaks the strange syllables and calls forth "Grome!" you all feel some of your vitality seep out of your bodies (everyone loses 8 MP, if that reduces you to 0 then you are unconscious). A long minute passes before the ground begins to vibrate and shake. To your astonishment, boulders from multiple directions start to dislodge themselves from the ground and roll up-hill as if they were being pulled to some invisible point. The boulders (some as large a cart) seem to assemble themselves like puzzle pieces, adhering to one another in the crude approximation of a human-like shape about 20' tall and half again as wide. When the thing finishes assembling itself, Solon abases himself in front of the thing and lays prostrate until a low rumbling voice booms from the mass of earth, stone and roots, "Speak sorcerer! Who dares to summon Graoll, son of Grome, Prince of the lower firmament?!" Solon is visibly shaking when he starts to lift his head and stammers out a feeble reply, "A thousand pardons noble Graoll. I Solon of Odessos, humbly beg an audience with your majesty, that we might come to a mutually beneficial accord. We oppose men who disturb the ground nearby who loot the treasures of the earth and I believe they work to raise an abomination, which I know is an affront to your eternal father." The giant elemental grumbles and speaks dismissively, "What care do I have of manlings and their scurrying about on the face of the firmament? What can you offer mighty Graoll in return for my service and what do you seek?" Solon raises himself to his knees and inclines his head toward Marcán, Rhenmyr, Amon and Borric and shrugs, as if to indicate that one of you should speak your request.
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