"We don't have any monster meat," Jacky reminds Thrud. He turns back to the giant. "No fishing it is," -not within Gog's sight, at least- "but you haven't told us yet what any of this has to do with Plumthorn!"
"Where are the dog men, pig men? We were expecting spiders with magic sticks," said the elf from the rear. Her bow was not completely lowered, the arrow on the string out of negligence. Got seemed not determined to eat Jacky or any of the others.
OOC:
Wondering if any of the many languages Ella speaks might help communicate more effectively, but I suppose Gog is more of an ogre, than a goblinoid or gnoll…
"Gog knows things. Useful things. Like where black gates are."
"Black gates? Gates go where? Black castle?"
OOC:
Sounds like the Obsidian Gates we know from our rumors:
"The Obsidian Gates only open to those who cast the correct sequence of spells on them. That sequence is knock, rock to mud, passwall."
"Gog know things, know what's in scary hole back there?" Thrud points back the way they came, referencing the passage up on the ledge that they felt the sense of dread emanating from.
"I think we've maybe been bothering Gog for long enough now," Jacky says. He racks his brains for something that the giant might like to know instead. "Um." The halfling can't think of anything useful. "If we run into Plumthorn, we'll tell him you said hello."
Grim nods his brown-bearded head. Aye. Bes’ we move ahead n’ keep our eyes peeled.
Our dwarven fellow eyes the giant fellow warily. His people long averse to giantkin. Ol’ Grim hopes in heart of hearts, not to cross this one again anytime soon!