Greenwood
!!/HrpOu6vZI3
(ID: hOmmgeDS)
10/28/2025, 10:33:32 AM
No.6324686
>>6324684
Vierna and her daughter shut themselves away in the room they'll be sharing, immersing themselves in prayer. Daereth attends to the riding lizards - he has a passion for the creatures - and Sszindra impatiently maintains her equipment. Xelthryn... best not ask what a follower of That Which Lurks does when not preoccupied.
That leaves you to your own devices.
Intuitively drawn to the peculiar taste of this place, you run your tongue along the walls, the tissue tracing the texture of the Dethek runes. It is a fiery taste, potent like a soup of spicy lichen. You wander, trying to trace the magic to its source, eliciting strange looks from your orcish hosts who patrol - they could never understand, none of them could. Only one particularly gifted in the Art could fully comprehend, one as brilliant and dangerously good-looking as yourself.
Your reward is a vault, the entrance flanked by twin statues of dwarven warriors. More specifically, they depict Clangeddin Silverbeard, the dwarven war god, described as a dauntless fellow that will never negotiate, never compromise, and above all, never surrender. A cursory examination of your surroundings informs that this is a burial chamber - what could be nearly a thousand stone caskets are slotted into columns along the walls, each engraved with the name and deeds of the dusty cadavers contained within. This is a vault for fallen soldiers, you deduce.
But the real prize is an obelisk, a masterfully cut monument in the room's center, its text engraved red to commemorate the fallen. Approaching gingerly, you read the text, translating as you go...
Vierna and her daughter shut themselves away in the room they'll be sharing, immersing themselves in prayer. Daereth attends to the riding lizards - he has a passion for the creatures - and Sszindra impatiently maintains her equipment. Xelthryn... best not ask what a follower of That Which Lurks does when not preoccupied.
That leaves you to your own devices.
Intuitively drawn to the peculiar taste of this place, you run your tongue along the walls, the tissue tracing the texture of the Dethek runes. It is a fiery taste, potent like a soup of spicy lichen. You wander, trying to trace the magic to its source, eliciting strange looks from your orcish hosts who patrol - they could never understand, none of them could. Only one particularly gifted in the Art could fully comprehend, one as brilliant and dangerously good-looking as yourself.
Your reward is a vault, the entrance flanked by twin statues of dwarven warriors. More specifically, they depict Clangeddin Silverbeard, the dwarven war god, described as a dauntless fellow that will never negotiate, never compromise, and above all, never surrender. A cursory examination of your surroundings informs that this is a burial chamber - what could be nearly a thousand stone caskets are slotted into columns along the walls, each engraved with the name and deeds of the dusty cadavers contained within. This is a vault for fallen soldiers, you deduce.
But the real prize is an obelisk, a masterfully cut monument in the room's center, its text engraved red to commemorate the fallen. Approaching gingerly, you read the text, translating as you go...