Jot narrows his eyes as the glow of hundreds of torches washes the slope of Mount Gram in firelight, the flickering brilliance painting lines of goblins and men in grim silhouette. He doesn’t speak—doesn’t move—his breath drawn in and held tight as he studies the assembly with the calm precision of a Ranger in hostile lands.
There, the torchlines: goblins forming ranks—ranks!—under the direction of mounted figures. Some bark orders, others point with deliberate fury. Among them, towering trolls shift and lope, their huge bodies casting long, ragged shadows. He counts six—no, seven? A silent nod to himself. "Too many."
He lowers slightly behind the crest of the ridge, signaling with a slow gesture for the others to stay low. His eyes return to the mountain.
The horns blare—sharp, dreadful—and Jot’s heart stiffens. That sound… it draws something out of the stone, something ancient, coiled, and waiting. The drumbeats that follow are like the pulse of the mountain itself, each throb shaking something loose in his blood:
Douf. Douf-douf.
Douf. Douf-douf.
And then—the green lanterns.
Jot stiffens as the path from above begins to glow with that eerie, verdant light. The stillness of the horde is unnerving. Even the trolls wait like children told to stand in line.
He feels it before he knows it: the Dread crawling into the bones of the earth and up into his spine. Cold fingers brush against his will.
But this time—he does not yield.
He straightens a little, shoulders squaring against the press of fear. His eyes glint in the reflection of distant torchlight.
He whispers, but with iron in the tone:
"Hold fast."
Then louder, but still controlled—measured for his friends alone:
"This is not just an army. It is a ritual. They are preparing for someone… or something. But if they fear what is coming, then so must we understand it."
His grip on Calcamil tightens, the blade silent at his hip, but thrumming with shared purpose.
He glances to Ahmo, to Aeglief, to Oderic and Cora.
"Now we know what we’re up against. This is no longer a border skirmish. This is a war long sleeping, stirring again. And we’re standing at the edge of its first breath."
A beat passes. Then, softly, a smile flickers on his face—not amusement, but resolve.
"We stay alive. We get word to Rivendell. And then… we cleanse this place."
OOC:
This is Valour test #1 so Jot passes. It also is a Great success, so if Aeglief needs to re-roll any of her 1d6 Success dice in her own valour test she can. In fact any or ALL of them can be re-rolled as Cora, and Ahmo also rolled '6's and Aeglief has Valour 3.
Jot of course will gain 1XP for passing this first test.
Last edited June 28, 2025 2:28 pm