With a silent nod of assent, Koltûn retrieved the Fyrestone and made ready to depart. It was clear it would only be the two of them to head forth - the rest of the column was to stay behind.
He started to walk, heading towards the dark peaks in the far distance, as his men rushed to and fro behind him, carrying out his unspoken order.
For the longest time, the half-giant marched silently, only finally breaking the sepulchral quiet when the newly-raised encampment had already disappeared from view.
- “When Menalus was still installing himself as King of the Blightlands,” - He said.
- “he sent his first legions into these mountains, to subdue the tribes of orcs that dwelt here.” - The black cliffs rose abruptly before them, now little more than a stone’s throw away from the pair of them.
- “It was then that the orcs first became aware of an abandoned fortress out from the main road.” - Old
ruins in the Blightlands were not that uncommon. Indeed, the broken remnants of ancient constructions dotted the landscape of the country, harkening back to a time before the fire giant, the orcs and - in some cases - even before the old Conjurer himself.
- “Given its strategic value, Menalus sent a few dozen legionnaires to claim the castle for Molthal.” - He paused momentarily, taking in the scenery with the same sharp eye of an old general surveying a battlefield.
- “Not one of them returned.” -
Back then, it had been attributed to wild beasts setting upon an unprepared group of orcs. Not all too common, given the discipline the fire giant instilled in his troops, but not unheard of either. Regardless, a handful of unruly animals would not have been enough to dissuade the tyrant of Molthal from whichever course of action he had set his heart upon.
- “So the King sent another detachment; and when that vanished without a trace as well, he sent a third into the mountains.” - He breathed deeply, as though he could guess that
Afanas was probably judging the futility of the operations, and meant to let his companion know that he full-heartedly agreed.
- “The last time an attempt was made to conquer the fortress, it was led by a mercenary. A fae from the Ixchel.” - This time, a shrug rolled over his shoulders.
- "Interestingly, this time, though the men were lost, their leader returned.” -
He glanced at the path they were to take. Carved into the cliffside, a sequence of unevenly placed deformities fell one after another to form what could be described as a coarse staircase that ascended over the nigh-on vertical side of the mountain.
- “Not that it availed him much,” - He spat, circling back to their conversation.
- “Whatever happened to him within those halls, it broke his mind.” - For all the conspicuousness weaved into his words, the Prince of Molthal remained nonchallant, his own tale seemingly imparting no impact on him whatsoever.
- “He traipsed back to Molthal months after he’d first set off, his body intact, but half-mad, and his arcane connection permanently severed.” -
They had reached the passage now. Koltûn made ready to begin the climb, strapping the Fyrestone to his back.
- “Menalus forbade any more forays into the fortress after that.” - He concluded as he grabbed onto the first outcroppings of rock, hoisting himself up onto the path.
- “So, you see, I don’t know exactly what it is that we’ll find up there. But whatever it is, it's capable of great feats of both physical, and arcane might.” - In other words, it would make a fine prize - for both of them.
