Norwick's envoys and the goblins of the West Rawlins
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_After some work and some carefully maneuvering the adventurers get Spitter out of the water. Spitter makes a fine statue of a goblin in a battle stance. Somewhat larger then a normal goblin warrior he seems to have been frozen in a battle cry with his battle axe held out in front of him. The details of his mail armor and clothing can still be made out beneath a thin layer of algae that has grown on him.
Mark seems to back off and watch wordlessly as the adventurers drag the statue up._
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Ragnhild stands at the back of said line, putting her powerful back and legs to work on the attempt at hauling the stone goblin up from the depths.
//cheers for Dwin's impressive 4444th post
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Belin grunts heaving to the line working to pull "squirter" out of the water
((wow dwin post number 4444))
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Dwin nods, understanding the idea.
Aye, makes about as much sense as anything else here…
Dwin takes off his armor and takes a fine, silken looking rope from his pack. He motions for Rag and Belin to hold his legs as he lines prone and dunks his head underwater for a few seconds, wrapping the rope around the "statue's" shoulders and chest and tying it very securely.
Ok, folks, let's pull our new friend up and see if we can get some more crazy answers!
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Ragnhild stares into the water for a moment, a warm, strong hand resting reassuringly on Mark's skinny shoulder. She seems to consider, tilting her head in thought before turning back to the party.
"Dwin? If we kan get our fish to dri land, maybe using magic egg on him vill worrk to make him gobbalin again, and not statue? Vorth tri, no?"
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Belin mumbles in dwarven
<d>fark me. This shite is strange kin. Remind me not to follow you out the gates.</d>
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The feline Tindra rumbles a purring chuckle at Dwin.
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dwin mutters under his breath
This little gob is a loon, aint he?
louder now, he speaks to Mark
Ask him how he holds his breath so long, lad!
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dwin mutters under his breath
This little gob is a loon, aint he?
louder now, he speaks to Mark
Ask him how he holds his breath so long, lad!
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Mark makes his way to the bridge over the water and starts peering into the depths looking for something.
'Him around here somewhere…..ah there Spitter!'
Mark points into the water where the goblin statue was found.
'What want ask him?'
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Wouldn't surprise me in the least…
Dwin heads out after the diminuative gob and Rag and the rest of the group.
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Ragnhild unfolds her long legs to rise and follows Mark, looking back at the others with a slight wince and murmuring:
"Uh-oh.. think Spitter is our fish, Dwin?"
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Mark stands up with a sense of urgency.
Can take you to Spitter right now, Spitter glad have company. Him all alone sitting in water.
Mark starts walking towards the exit of the cavern. then pauses looking at the dwarves wrinkling his nose.
Them going to stink place up.
He then sighs and walks towards the exit of the cavern.
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((El Bumpo))
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Dwin nudges one of the clay covered corpses with his boot and sighs.
I still don't unnerstand why these uns are covered in this clay shiite.
This 'Spitter' sounds like he's some kinda backstabber to me…
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Ragnhild sits crosslegged next to Mark, squeezing his shoulder gently as he speaks. Her face is grave, though pride still shines in her eyes at Grahk's actions. As the goblin's story comes to an end, she smiles and hugs him to her side, lightly.
"Is happi day to see you also, Marrk. I vish had been abel be here sooner, but onli found this place after talk to Sqee at gathering of gobbalin tribes. He read worrds Grahk leave for me, leading to map which bring us here.
I bury tribe's dead, all those years ago, but then had littel know of vho vhas behind such deed. Then the strange gobbalin start turn up, tribe that no tribe, or Kal'Vargen as Sqee call them, and I suspect truth as they attack not onli Norvikk, but all other gobbalin tribes to take all of Rawlins as theirs.
A group of us set out to meet vith remaining gobbalin leaders, to tri make allience for fight the Kal'Vargen together. There I lern vhat likely happen to my tribe, and swore vengeance. We tri make the tribes see that together is onli vay kan win this, but they be afraid, not villing take risk. Need a leader, Sqee say.. but Grahk not there, onli I. And so I khum here, to find father himself, or a vay to prove myself vorthy of take his place. I had not expected annione still alive, so a happi day indeed to see you."
Ragnhild pauses to take a gulp of ale, offering Mark the bottle with a warm smile afterwards.
"Now, this Spitter also live and is here, Marrk? I no think I remember that one vell, maybe he one of the quiet ones."
She scratches her head in thought, as usual tangling her curls up in the process.
"Also, vhen you sai Grahk and rest of Axes gone, that mean you are not sure they be dead? Vhat did Spitter say happen in big fajt?"
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Mark collapses onto the ground into a sitting position looking quietly down at the ground for a few minutes.
'Tribe that no tribe came during Bear Feast. No warning, no know how them get so close. Lots partying then screams, see youngins running away and when look up from drums and then from woods come them. But them no right, eyes wrong and Big cows on two feet follow them. Grahk called for Axes (Grahk's elite guard) and jumped from log grabbing spit and throwing at cow impaling it. Battle go bad, many more cows come out of woods with lot of tribe that no tribe. Gaken (head shaman) get other shamans and start throwing lots of magicks at woods.
Many die and Grahk order Axes hold rear while others run for home place. Grahk and Axes try slow them down, try make them lose trail. No work, them chase all way to home. Fight running battle for weeks, some get lost, some fell dead but Grahk keeping urging them get to safety. Here Grahk try slow them down, even slew cow that say is champion. Them have too much magicks.
:: sighs::
Final fight come and try help Grahk, Grahk said go help mothers and youngins. So me go. mothers say go play with children so play hide and seek. Guess fell asleep in hiding space. When awake, all dead except Spitter (member of the Axes). Grahk gone, all Axes gone, everyone else dead.
Afraid Tribe that no Tribe come back so make believe am Grahk ghost, make lots nosies scare them away. Then, make Grahk tribe like Spitter.
Spitter all left so tribe of Spitter now.But now you come back. So happy day.'
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Ragnhild simply grins widely at Belin, a touch of pride in her voice as she remarks:
"Bloody Tooth tribe be not like most tribes in morr vays than one."
Once introductions are completed, she turns a more serious face to the goblin:
"Now, you have much telling to do of vhat happen here, Marrk. Some things I kan guess at, but others leave us all puzzled. Vhy the vhite clay, the clank and clonk of armor, for scare ennemi off? Vhat about gobbalins here, they all dead? And.. vhat of Grahk himself, he live or die? Vhere is he?"
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Tindra watches the exchange of words between Ragnhild and Mark a bit supsiciously, but relaxes when it becomes apparent that the woman does indeed recognize the goblin. With a quick glance at Belin, Tindra ponders the thought of shifting back to her half-elven form. An ale does seem like a good idea right now.
The feline shakes her head and sits with a quiet huff. Best to avoid drinking too much right now; she doesn't function with a constant flow of alcohol in her blood like most dwarves seem to. Tindra focuses much of her attention back on Ragnhild and the goblin, but keeps glancing around to make sure nobody or no thing is trying to sneak up.
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Oy fark un battle singun gobber? That nay natural Ragger.
Belin slips her axe into a loop on her hip. Opening a different pouch she pulls out one of her dwindling number of ales, pulling the cork from the bottle with her teeth she tosses it back keeping her shield out.
Da father have mercy on meh wit all da strangeness.
her dark eyes regard the goblin suspiciously
