Sleeping giants Report

General Summary

Gathering all the information they think they might need, the fellowship spends its last few moments before their departure with purpose and determination. It has become clear that the answers they seek must lie deep into the massive network of caverns near the mountain that is serves as the stalwart sentinel for providence proper. They go with warnings of ill tides in the back of their head; many feral trolls are said to inhabit these caves, and for the strenious peace in troll rock it would be best if those were left unharmed. The Brusk general Skuld Ivarson provides the most direct knowledge, the heavy material weight of taboo and cultural condemnation is born with pride and resolution by the old campaigner. Unlike the other inhabitants of troll rock he shares openly, confirming the suspicions that had been forming in the visitors already; the druids are dead, as some sort of retribution of crude frontier justice for the crimes committed against troll kind. His tattered red coat as much a uniform as an admission of guilt, he now serves the community he once held under his mailed boot.   A stark contrast to the sweet honeyed words of Aesveig Asgautdottir, who speaks of trade and ill-begotten merchandise. Proposing smuggling now that she has realized the food in moshabar is running out. Gaining somewhat of her trust by playing the same game as she is, the fellowship gains her trust and she provides further information. Another group of druids was active in this area, the coven of mycelium. But they have laid low after the sudden disappearance of the other druids, leaving her stranded and without a local distributor for her smuggled wares. The fellowship considers her offer and agrees to come back to her with their requests for goods from the outside, besides the food Moshabar so desperately needs.   The voyage towards the cave mounts also move past history, past the camps where the trolls were held. They now are silent, echoing only the lamentation of suffering long gone. Even the boastful and talkative Bjarn is silent, if only for a short while. The cave itself is awe inspiring, its scale and sheer vastness remind of the spire in providence and its form suggests its no product of natural processes. The fellowship is swallowed whole by this maw into the earth itself. The analogy carries, with massive frozen spires reaching as a ribcage towards the invisible ceiling far up. Frozen water of a strange color, familiar and vague at the same time. Not unlike... the dragon then? With something sleeping inside of them, standing in patient vigil.