Mathew_Freeman
Adventurer
Tomb of the Fomorian Queen
The tomb was embedded in the wall, hidden away in a large alcove. Fully twenty feet long and made entirely of stone, the carvings on the near side clearly stated that this was the final resting place of Kindrbode’s mother, the former Queen of the Fomorians.
The Fomorian Giants came from Svartlheim, or the Feydark to the Auslanders, but a few had come to the surface lands and taken a piece of them for their own. Kindrbode was the son of the Queen of those that made their home here, but his rampant ambition meant that he never was content to remain a Prince only. It was rumoured, said Yanni, that Sigmund had aided Kindrbode in poisoning his mother in order to take the realm for himself, although no-one could work out what sort of fearsome poison could affect the inhuman constitution of a giant.
Sigurd wondered out loud about the possiblity of getting the tomb open and having a look inside. “Maybe we could work out what killed her,” she said. “Then we could use the same sort of poison against Kindrbode. After all, I’m sure none of us want to go up against him physically.” Thunder saw the wisdom of her words, thinking that although a physical battle was always a joy in Kord’s eyes, to die with your purpose unfulfilled would not honour him.
Thunder and Aldis hatched a plan to give Sigurd time to open up the tomb and have a look inside. At the far end of the Hall, the looming throne of Prince Kindrbode stood thirty feet up on a massive raised platform. A long slope led up to it, flanked with torch-mountings. Karl and Aengus between them had established that the fearsome mechanism that controlled the grilled floor was housed somewhere under that block. In the short-term, however, at the bottom of the slope were the brawling Ogres.
“Aldis,” said Thunder calmly. “How would you like to brawl against me?”
Aldis calmly eyed the mechanical form of the Warforged, noting his strength and balance, and the utter certainty of his demeanour. She knew that he would be a formidable foe in a serious battle, but the thought of testing herself against him in a mock-fight stirred her blood. “I would be delighted,” she replied, mouth pulled wide in a grin. “Let’s make a distraction they’ll be talking about for years to come!”
Moving across the Hall to the far side of the Ogres, past the old human still gnawing on his bone (who gave another cheery wave and ambled over to see what they were doing), they found a small group of Orcs talking in their guttural language. Without Sigurd present, translation was impossible, but taking advantage of what he saw Thunder gave the nearest Orc a resounding shove, sending him into the next. The Orc turned, teeth bared, and glared at the Warforged who stood and gestured him forwards. The Orc seized the moment to grab Thunder’s shoulders and plant a firm headbutt on his forehead. The resounding clang echoed through the chamber and the Orc went momentarily cross-eyed before roaring in pain. Aldis took this as her cue to launch an uppercut on the other Orc, and soon all four were brawling on the ground, with even the Ogres ceasing their fight to come over and see what was going on.
Fantastic! Thought Thunder to himself. We’ve certainly drawn attention to ourselves!
Back near the Tomb, Sigurd and Iben had managed to lever the top off the tomb. Inside, a dessicated giantess lay dead.
“In Melora’s name,” gasped Sigurd. “Her stomach has been ripped open – from the inside!”
Next time: Enter the Prince!
The tomb was embedded in the wall, hidden away in a large alcove. Fully twenty feet long and made entirely of stone, the carvings on the near side clearly stated that this was the final resting place of Kindrbode’s mother, the former Queen of the Fomorians.
The Fomorian Giants came from Svartlheim, or the Feydark to the Auslanders, but a few had come to the surface lands and taken a piece of them for their own. Kindrbode was the son of the Queen of those that made their home here, but his rampant ambition meant that he never was content to remain a Prince only. It was rumoured, said Yanni, that Sigmund had aided Kindrbode in poisoning his mother in order to take the realm for himself, although no-one could work out what sort of fearsome poison could affect the inhuman constitution of a giant.
Sigurd wondered out loud about the possiblity of getting the tomb open and having a look inside. “Maybe we could work out what killed her,” she said. “Then we could use the same sort of poison against Kindrbode. After all, I’m sure none of us want to go up against him physically.” Thunder saw the wisdom of her words, thinking that although a physical battle was always a joy in Kord’s eyes, to die with your purpose unfulfilled would not honour him.
Thunder and Aldis hatched a plan to give Sigurd time to open up the tomb and have a look inside. At the far end of the Hall, the looming throne of Prince Kindrbode stood thirty feet up on a massive raised platform. A long slope led up to it, flanked with torch-mountings. Karl and Aengus between them had established that the fearsome mechanism that controlled the grilled floor was housed somewhere under that block. In the short-term, however, at the bottom of the slope were the brawling Ogres.
“Aldis,” said Thunder calmly. “How would you like to brawl against me?”
Aldis calmly eyed the mechanical form of the Warforged, noting his strength and balance, and the utter certainty of his demeanour. She knew that he would be a formidable foe in a serious battle, but the thought of testing herself against him in a mock-fight stirred her blood. “I would be delighted,” she replied, mouth pulled wide in a grin. “Let’s make a distraction they’ll be talking about for years to come!”
Moving across the Hall to the far side of the Ogres, past the old human still gnawing on his bone (who gave another cheery wave and ambled over to see what they were doing), they found a small group of Orcs talking in their guttural language. Without Sigurd present, translation was impossible, but taking advantage of what he saw Thunder gave the nearest Orc a resounding shove, sending him into the next. The Orc turned, teeth bared, and glared at the Warforged who stood and gestured him forwards. The Orc seized the moment to grab Thunder’s shoulders and plant a firm headbutt on his forehead. The resounding clang echoed through the chamber and the Orc went momentarily cross-eyed before roaring in pain. Aldis took this as her cue to launch an uppercut on the other Orc, and soon all four were brawling on the ground, with even the Ogres ceasing their fight to come over and see what was going on.
Fantastic! Thought Thunder to himself. We’ve certainly drawn attention to ourselves!
Back near the Tomb, Sigurd and Iben had managed to lever the top off the tomb. Inside, a dessicated giantess lay dead.
“In Melora’s name,” gasped Sigurd. “Her stomach has been ripped open – from the inside!”
Next time: Enter the Prince!