Morgid's face is a mask of barely contained panic. He kneels beside Sosen, his voice a hushed whisper. "This… this isn't good. Not at all." Sosen, ever the pragmatist, frowns. "What is it, Morgid? Speak plainly." He takes a deep breath, trying to control his racing heart. "Back home in Urzin, there are horizonback tortoises, yes. But they live alongside the goblins, a symbiotic relationship that's lasted generations. But… wild horizonback tortoises? Legends only. And whispers…" His voice drops even lower, sending a shiver down Sosen's spine. "Whispers of the Mossback Steward, the guardian of the Brokenveil Marsh. Remember when we first met, how I prefer to avoid… points of interest? Pure self-preservation." A cold dread fills Sosen's stomach. "I'm saying… we might have just camped on the back of a legendary creature we should have steered clear of." Morgid grimaces. "Seems that way. And who knows what the Mossback Steward might do if it wakes and finds us here." His eyes dart down towards the ground upon which they made their camp, now taking on an entirely different form in Sosen's mind's eye. It isn't a hillock anymore; it is a colossal living creature, and they are trespassers on its back. Morgid shakes his head, uncertainty etched on his face. "The tremor when I touched it… it could be a sign of life, or just the settling of the swamp beneath its weight. We don't know."
Silence hangs heavy in the air, broken only by the croaking of frogs in the distance. The weight of their predicament presses down on them. They are in uncharted territory, facing something out of legend. Fear wars with curiosity. Do they risk waking the creature to find a way down, or try to slip away unnoticed? And what secrets might the Mossback Steward hold? The answers whisper in the mist, waiting to be unraveled.
"Whispers of the Mossback Steward, the guardian of the Brokenveil Marsh.
Morgid's words and emotions pierce Sosen's resistance. "Fine," she sighs, "Let Lanu and Peregrine know we are moving camp. I will be there to help in moments. I still need to speak with Xalicas." Waving her hand to shoo Morgid off, she kneels and attempts to pray before having to go pack and move.
Would Lanu have heard of the Mossback Steward? As to me, a guardian of the Brokenveil Marsh could go one of two ways. 1, we are a threat to the marsh as we are not animals who live there. Or 2, we are good because we live within the marsh, and the empire are bad as invading, and therefore it might be willing for us to rest with it.
As Sosen prays to Xalicas, seeking guidance in their precarious situation, a strange sensation washes over her. It is as if the world around her, the swamp, the air, everything, hums with an ancient, almost otherworldly energy. And at the heart of it all is a sense of ancient wisdom, a vast consciousness observing them from the shadows.
A vision flickers in her mind, a tapestry of images woven together in an instant. She sees the swamp as it had been, teeming with life, a harmonious balance of flora and fauna. Then, she sees the arrival of the Dwendalian Empire, a dark stain spreading across the pristine canvas of the marsh. The once vibrant ecosystem withers under their influence, and the creatures of the swamp retreat, their spirits broken.
Finally, the vision focuses on a colossal figure, a guardian of the marsh, a being as old as the swamp itself. The Mossback Steward, a creature of legend, is not merely a passive observer; it is a protector. It has presided over this area for countless generations, its presence a silent guardian of the swamp's delicate balance. The Steward's knowledge of the missing warlock Bol'bara is vast. It understands the goblin's history with the marsh and her deep connection to the creatures that dwell within it. However, the true intentions of the Dwendalian Empire and its outpost at Fort Venture remain shrouded in mystery, even to the Mossback Steward. One thing is clear: the arrival of the Dwendalian garrison has disrupted the primordial harmony of the swamp.
Sosen gasps, her eyes wide with revelation. The creature they had unknowingly disturbed is not just a colossal tortoise; it is a guardian, an ancient protector of the swamp. It is more than willing to share its knowledge and power with those who seek to restore the balance.
Sosen gasps and her eyes fly open. "Thank you, Xalicas, for opening my eyes and heart."
Standing she will go and convey what she saw in her prayers to the others; assuring them they are safe as long as they treat the Mossback Steward with respect and dignity.
Once done explaing all to her companions, she will find a spot to clear down to the shell so she may place hands on the Mossback's shell and attempt to commune with the Steward -- to assure the ancient one that she and her companions are here to aid in the Balance... and to ask of any wisdom the Steward might have to aid them on their journey.
Lanu will stand behind Sosen, letting her feelings of hatred for the Dwendalian Empire be at the forefront of her mind. Who knows if this thing can read minds, but if it can, it should know Lanu is on its side.
"Do not be surprised if the Steward speaks to you in your dreams. Heed what advice the Steward may offer. Any scrap of knowledge may be the difference in succeeding or failing in our rescue."
Morgid, his hand instinctively reaching for his longbow, a habit born from a lifetime of caution, nods in agreement. "We must tread carefully," he warns. "The Mossback Steward is a guardian of this place. We must show respect and reverence."
A moment passes, a silence that stretches into eternity. Then, a voice, ancient and full of wisdom, echoes within their minds. "Friends. You seek the warlock, Bol'bara, to restore the balance of our home, the marsh. How can I help you in your quest? The balance must be restored!"
Sosen and the others exchange a glance, their hearts pounding in their chests. The Mossback Steward's voice, ancient and full of wisdom, holds a power that resonates deep within them.
Suddenly, the ancient being's tone shifts, its voice filled with a grave urgency. "The balance is tipping, my children. Darkness encroaches upon the marsh. A shadow grows, a threat to all that lives within its waters. A foul power seeks to corrupt this sacred place. You must act swiftly, for time is short."
Sosen takes a deep breath and begins mentally speaking to the Steward. "Great and Ancient Steward, we thank you for this time and your words of warning. Is there any wisdom you might share to aid us in the rescue of Bo'bara?" Sosen hesitates before continuing.
"While you are mighty and large, we are small and the marshlands deadly. We have skirted death a number of times already in our journey and have at least another day to go. Might you move closer toward our goal while we share the safety of your space and rest to regain our energies?"
"While we are most grateful for the sanctuary your presence provides, might we ask a boon? Perhaps some bit of wisdom or arcane source which might speed our mission and help to bring balance and peace back to the marshlands?
I know we are asking much. Ask and I shall swear to serve you however I might once our mission is completed."
As Sosen and her companions stand upon the colossal creature's back, a voice echoes within their minds, a rumble that seems to emanate from the very depths of the swamp. "While I am great and ancient," it says, its tone carrying a hint of weariness, "I am also massive and slow; it takes me a full day to travel one mile. Those that are small and nimble like yourselves would travel much faster than me."
The realization strikes the group like a bolt of lightning. The Mossback Steward, despite its immense size and power, is limited in its mobility. It is a guardian, a protector, but not an active participant in the world beyond its domain. "Rest as much as you like on the safety of my back,"the Steward continues, "but do not neglect the urgency of the situation. I have only modest magical abilities to aid you. You may ask a single question and I can use divination to find the answer. I must finish a short or long rest before I am able to do so again."
A pang of disappointment washes over them. The Mossback Steward's power, while significant, is not limitless.
Sosen turns and looks at her companions, "And there you have it.... help... but very limited. A single question. What do you think might help us most?"
(forgive the lack of formatting. I'm on mobile) "Maybe something about if we still have time to reach Fort Venture to save her? Or something about where in the fort she is?"
Morgid's eyes dart from Sosen to Lanu, then to Peregrine. The weight of the revelation hangs heavy in the air, a silent question mark etched on his face. His mouth hangs agape in disbelief, his mind racing with the implications of their encounter. He had heard tales of the Mossback Steward, whispered legends of a creature so ancient, so powerful, it was said to shape the very fabric of the Brokenveil Marsh. To be standing on its back, speaking to it, was beyond anything he could have imagined. His mind is awash with questions, a torrent of thoughts tumbling over each other. Would they survive this encounter? Would their efforts be rewarded, and if so, how? What could they do to best aid the Mossback Steward in restoring the balance of the marsh? "I don't know," he mumbles, his voice barely audible. "This is a lot for a humble hobgoblin like myself."
"We are all being asked to go far beyond our comfort zone. Slogging through this marsh and it's terrors. Infiltrating a fort of advesaries for a rescue... and we are doing this all practically blind," Sosen spoke softly to Morgid.
"The world is huge and events can be overwhelming. We must narrow our focus and 'just' concentrate on making it safely to the fort. That is step one. Step two... find Bo'bara. Step Three... escape and evade."
Sosen thinks of all that was said before addressing the Steward, "Oh Ancient One, we thank you for the time spent safely with you and for your words of wisdom. I fear we have a twofold task ahead of us. One, attempt to rescue Bo'bard and two, somehow force the Dwendalian military out of Brokenveil Marsh. I suspect those two goals are intertwined but, I hope your divination and guidance can aid us to see a clearer path forward."
Sosen grasped her necklace with the symbol of Xalicas while she bows her head and awaits the Steward's response.
Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Sosen comes to a decision. "Great Ancient One - Steward of the Marshes. I ask that we may gain Guidance from you concerning how we may save Bol'bara. We ask this with your blessing and hopes what we do will be a step toward removing the darkness and the Dwendalian military out of Brokenveil Marsh."
Now she could only wait to see what the Steward might bestow on them before they forged ahead to Fort Venture.
The Mossback Steward, its ancient mind connecting with the eldritch powers of the Brokenveil Marsh, ponders their request. A moment passes, a silence that stretches into eternity. Then, the Steward's reply rumbles within their minds, a voice that echoes through their very souls. "The Dwendalian Empire knows nothing of the powers they are courting," the Steward reveals. "Bol'bara is a warlock, bound to a shadow fiend named Trush. The one-armed man, a disciple of Vesh the Bloody Siren, torments Bol'bara to seize her powers for his own designs. But Trush cannot be contained by such as him!" A chill runs down their spines. The situation is far more dire than they had imagined. Trush, a shadow fiend, is a creature of darkness capable of unspeakable horrors, a force of chaos that threatens to consume all. Bol'bara, trapped and tormented by the Dwendalian Empire, is barely able to maintain her control over this malevolent entity.
The Steward continues, "You've seen the red moon approaching as Bol'bara loses control. If you do not reach her in time, tonight the red moon will cast the swamp in shadow and Trush will be unleashed upon us all! You must hurry," the Steward implores, its voice filled with urgency. "You must find the Altar of Blood and stop the one-armed man before it's too late." The Mossback Steward's voice echoes in their minds one final time. "The path to the Altar of Blood lies through the heart of the fort. It is guarded by soldiers of the empire. Be vigilant, friends. The time is short."
The Mossback Steward's prophecy is a stark warning, a countdown to a catastrophe of unimaginable proportions. Time is running out. They have to reach Fort Venture, find the Altar of Blood, and stop the one-armed man to rescue Bol'bara before the shadow fiend's power is unleashed upon the swamp. The fate of the marsh, and perhaps even more, hangs in the balance.
"Well that is.... not good. We need to reach her tonight it sounds like. Morgid does that seem possible by your calculations? We have no choice but to try. We are too far from home to warn them all to flee, so the only hope for our friends and family is to prevent Trush from being unleashed. I have no idea how we do that, but we can figure that out when we reach Fort Venture."
Sosen frowns upon hearing Lanu's words. "I agree. We may arrive too late to save Bal'bara. I do not relish facing the entire fort compliment AND a demon. But, we must do what we can."
Morgid's face is etched with a mixture of fear and determination. The Mossback Steward's revelation had hit him like a bolt of lightning. A shadow fiend? The very thought sends shivers down his spine. He had faced countless dangers in his life, but this was something entirely different, something truly terrifying. The weight of this revelation presses down on him, a heavy burden that threatens to crush his spirit. "A shadow fiend..." he mutters, his voice barely audible. "This whole journey keeps going from bad to worse!" He tries to collect himself, his eyes dart between Sosen and Lanu. Their faces are grim, but their determination is unwavering. They are in this together, and they will see it through to the end.
With unsteady hands, Morgid unrolls his map, a long, dirty fingernail tapping the spot that marks their current location. "It'll be close, Lanu," he says, his voice filled with a mix of hope and dread. "We're about six miles march from the fort." He shades his eyes with his hand, glancing up at the sun. The red moon, uncharacteristically prominent in the daytime sky, seems to mock them, a constant reminder of the impending doom. "Just about midday now," he mutters. "If we leave immediately, we'll probably reach the fort by early evening. Just might give us enough time to find the Altar of Blood before..." He pauses, swallowing hard. "Before Trush is unleashed. What do you think we should do?" Sosen and Lanu exchange a grim glance. They understand the gravity of the situation. This is no longer just a rescue mission; it is a battle against a cosmic force of evil.
Morgid's face is a mask of barely contained panic. He kneels beside Sosen, his voice a hushed whisper. "This… this isn't good. Not at all." Sosen, ever the pragmatist, frowns. "What is it, Morgid? Speak plainly." He takes a deep breath, trying to control his racing heart. "Back home in Urzin, there are horizonback tortoises, yes. But they live alongside the goblins, a symbiotic relationship that's lasted generations. But… wild horizonback tortoises? Legends only. And whispers…" His voice drops even lower, sending a shiver down Sosen's spine. "Whispers of the Mossback Steward, the guardian of the Brokenveil Marsh. Remember when we first met, how I prefer to avoid… points of interest? Pure self-preservation." A cold dread fills Sosen's stomach. "I'm saying… we might have just camped on the back of a legendary creature we should have steered clear of." Morgid grimaces. "Seems that way. And who knows what the Mossback Steward might do if it wakes and finds us here." His eyes dart down towards the ground upon which they made their camp, now taking on an entirely different form in Sosen's mind's eye. It isn't a hillock anymore; it is a colossal living creature, and they are trespassers on its back. Morgid shakes his head, uncertainty etched on his face. "The tremor when I touched it… it could be a sign of life, or just the settling of the swamp beneath its weight. We don't know."
Silence hangs heavy in the air, broken only by the croaking of frogs in the distance. The weight of their predicament presses down on them. They are in uncharted territory, facing something out of legend. Fear wars with curiosity. Do they risk waking the creature to find a way down, or try to slip away unnoticed? And what secrets might the Mossback Steward hold? The answers whisper in the mist, waiting to be unraveled.
Morgid's words and emotions pierce Sosen's resistance. "Fine," she sighs, "Let Lanu and Peregrine know we are moving camp. I will be there to help in moments. I still need to speak with Xalicas." Waving her hand to shoo Morgid off, she kneels and attempts to pray before having to go pack and move.
Would Lanu have heard of the Mossback Steward? As to me, a guardian of the Brokenveil Marsh could go one of two ways. 1, we are a threat to the marsh as we are not animals who live there. Or 2, we are good because we live within the marsh, and the empire are bad as invading, and therefore it might be willing for us to rest with it.
After joining more my signature got out of hand so I am now a proud member of the extended signature club!! :)
As Sosen prays to Xalicas, seeking guidance in their precarious situation, a strange sensation washes over her. It is as if the world around her, the swamp, the air, everything, hums with an ancient, almost otherworldly energy. And at the heart of it all is a sense of ancient wisdom, a vast consciousness observing them from the shadows.
A vision flickers in her mind, a tapestry of images woven together in an instant. She sees the swamp as it had been, teeming with life, a harmonious balance of flora and fauna. Then, she sees the arrival of the Dwendalian Empire, a dark stain spreading across the pristine canvas of the marsh. The once vibrant ecosystem withers under their influence, and the creatures of the swamp retreat, their spirits broken.
Finally, the vision focuses on a colossal figure, a guardian of the marsh, a being as old as the swamp itself. The Mossback Steward, a creature of legend, is not merely a passive observer; it is a protector. It has presided over this area for countless generations, its presence a silent guardian of the swamp's delicate balance. The Steward's knowledge of the missing warlock Bol'bara is vast. It understands the goblin's history with the marsh and her deep connection to the creatures that dwell within it. However, the true intentions of the Dwendalian Empire and its outpost at Fort Venture remain shrouded in mystery, even to the Mossback Steward. One thing is clear: the arrival of the Dwendalian garrison has disrupted the primordial harmony of the swamp.
Sosen gasps, her eyes wide with revelation. The creature they had unknowingly disturbed is not just a colossal tortoise; it is a guardian, an ancient protector of the swamp. It is more than willing to share its knowledge and power with those who seek to restore the balance.
Sosen gasps and her eyes fly open. "Thank you, Xalicas, for opening my eyes and heart."
Standing she will go and convey what she saw in her prayers to the others; assuring them they are safe as long as they treat the Mossback Steward with respect and dignity.
Once done explaing all to her companions, she will find a spot to clear down to the shell so she may place hands on the Mossback's shell and attempt to commune with the Steward -- to assure the ancient one that she and her companions are here to aid in the Balance... and to ask of any wisdom the Steward might have to aid them on their journey.
Lanu will stand behind Sosen, letting her feelings of hatred for the Dwendalian Empire be at the forefront of her mind. Who knows if this thing can read minds, but if it can, it should know Lanu is on its side.
After joining more my signature got out of hand so I am now a proud member of the extended signature club!! :)
Sosen gives one last 'warning' to her companions.
"Do not be surprised if the Steward speaks to you in your dreams. Heed what advice the Steward may offer. Any scrap of knowledge may be the difference in succeeding or failing in our rescue."
Morgid, his hand instinctively reaching for his longbow, a habit born from a lifetime of caution, nods in agreement. "We must tread carefully," he warns. "The Mossback Steward is a guardian of this place. We must show respect and reverence."
A moment passes, a silence that stretches into eternity. Then, a voice, ancient and full of wisdom, echoes within their minds. "Friends. You seek the warlock, Bol'bara, to restore the balance of our home, the marsh. How can I help you in your quest? The balance must be restored!"
Sosen and the others exchange a glance, their hearts pounding in their chests. The Mossback Steward's voice, ancient and full of wisdom, holds a power that resonates deep within them.
Suddenly, the ancient being's tone shifts, its voice filled with a grave urgency. "The balance is tipping, my children. Darkness encroaches upon the marsh. A shadow grows, a threat to all that lives within its waters. A foul power seeks to corrupt this sacred place. You must act swiftly, for time is short."
Sosen takes a deep breath and begins mentally speaking to the Steward. "Great and Ancient Steward, we thank you for this time and your words of warning. Is there any wisdom you might share to aid us in the rescue of Bo'bara?" Sosen hesitates before continuing.
"While you are mighty and large, we are small and the marshlands deadly. We have skirted death a number of times already in our journey and have at least another day to go. Might you move closer toward our goal while we share the safety of your space and rest to regain our energies?"
"While we are most grateful for the sanctuary your presence provides, might we ask a boon? Perhaps some bit of wisdom or arcane source which might speed our mission and help to bring balance and peace back to the marshlands?
I know we are asking much. Ask and I shall swear to serve you however I might once our mission is completed."
As Sosen and her companions stand upon the colossal creature's back, a voice echoes within their minds, a rumble that seems to emanate from the very depths of the swamp. "While I am great and ancient," it says, its tone carrying a hint of weariness, "I am also massive and slow; it takes me a full day to travel one mile. Those that are small and nimble like yourselves would travel much faster than me."
The realization strikes the group like a bolt of lightning. The Mossback Steward, despite its immense size and power, is limited in its mobility. It is a guardian, a protector, but not an active participant in the world beyond its domain. "Rest as much as you like on the safety of my back," the Steward continues, "but do not neglect the urgency of the situation. I have only modest magical abilities to aid you. You may ask a single question and I can use divination to find the answer. I must finish a short or long rest before I am able to do so again."
A pang of disappointment washes over them. The Mossback Steward's power, while significant, is not limitless.
Sosen turns and looks at her companions, "And there you have it.... help... but very limited. A single question. What do you think might help us most?"
(forgive the lack of formatting. I'm on mobile) "Maybe something about if we still have time to reach Fort Venture to save her? Or something about where in the fort she is?"
After joining more my signature got out of hand so I am now a proud member of the extended signature club!! :)
Morgid's eyes dart from Sosen to Lanu, then to Peregrine. The weight of the revelation hangs heavy in the air, a silent question mark etched on his face. His mouth hangs agape in disbelief, his mind racing with the implications of their encounter. He had heard tales of the Mossback Steward, whispered legends of a creature so ancient, so powerful, it was said to shape the very fabric of the Brokenveil Marsh. To be standing on its back, speaking to it, was beyond anything he could have imagined. His mind is awash with questions, a torrent of thoughts tumbling over each other. Would they survive this encounter? Would their efforts be rewarded, and if so, how? What could they do to best aid the Mossback Steward in restoring the balance of the marsh? "I don't know," he mumbles, his voice barely audible. "This is a lot for a humble hobgoblin like myself."
"We are all being asked to go far beyond our comfort zone. Slogging through this marsh and it's terrors. Infiltrating a fort of advesaries for a rescue... and we are doing this all practically blind, " Sosen spoke softly to Morgid.
"The world is huge and events can be overwhelming. We must narrow our focus and 'just' concentrate on making it safely to the fort. That is step one. Step two... find Bo'bara. Step Three... escape and evade."
Sosen thinks of all that was said before addressing the Steward, "Oh Ancient One, we thank you for the time spent safely with you and for your words of wisdom. I fear we have a twofold task ahead of us. One, attempt to rescue Bo'bard and two, somehow force the Dwendalian military out of Brokenveil Marsh. I suspect those two goals are intertwined but, I hope your divination and guidance can aid us to see a clearer path forward."
Sosen grasped her necklace with the symbol of Xalicas while she bows her head and awaits the Steward's response.
Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Sosen comes to a decision. "Great Ancient One - Steward of the Marshes. I ask that we may gain Guidance from you concerning how we may save Bol'bara. We ask this with your blessing and hopes what we do will be a step toward removing the darkness and the Dwendalian military out of Brokenveil Marsh."
Now she could only wait to see what the Steward might bestow on them before they forged ahead to Fort Venture.
The Mossback Steward, its ancient mind connecting with the eldritch powers of the Brokenveil Marsh, ponders their request. A moment passes, a silence that stretches into eternity. Then, the Steward's reply rumbles within their minds, a voice that echoes through their very souls. "The Dwendalian Empire knows nothing of the powers they are courting," the Steward reveals. "Bol'bara is a warlock, bound to a shadow fiend named Trush. The one-armed man, a disciple of Vesh the Bloody Siren, torments Bol'bara to seize her powers for his own designs. But Trush cannot be contained by such as him!" A chill runs down their spines. The situation is far more dire than they had imagined. Trush, a shadow fiend, is a creature of darkness capable of unspeakable horrors, a force of chaos that threatens to consume all. Bol'bara, trapped and tormented by the Dwendalian Empire, is barely able to maintain her control over this malevolent entity.
The Steward continues, "You've seen the red moon approaching as Bol'bara loses control. If you do not reach her in time, tonight the red moon will cast the swamp in shadow and Trush will be unleashed upon us all! You must hurry," the Steward implores, its voice filled with urgency. "You must find the Altar of Blood and stop the one-armed man before it's too late." The Mossback Steward's voice echoes in their minds one final time. "The path to the Altar of Blood lies through the heart of the fort. It is guarded by soldiers of the empire. Be vigilant, friends. The time is short."
The Mossback Steward's prophecy is a stark warning, a countdown to a catastrophe of unimaginable proportions. Time is running out. They have to reach Fort Venture, find the Altar of Blood, and stop the one-armed man to rescue Bol'bara before the shadow fiend's power is unleashed upon the swamp. The fate of the marsh, and perhaps even more, hangs in the balance.
"Well that is.... not good. We need to reach her tonight it sounds like. Morgid does that seem possible by your calculations? We have no choice but to try. We are too far from home to warn them all to flee, so the only hope for our friends and family is to prevent Trush from being unleashed. I have no idea how we do that, but we can figure that out when we reach Fort Venture."
After joining more my signature got out of hand so I am now a proud member of the extended signature club!! :)
(I take it, this will blow our 'long rest'...)
Sosen frowns upon hearing Lanu's words. "I agree. We may arrive too late to save Bal'bara. I do not relish facing the entire fort compliment AND a demon. But, we must do what we can."
Morgid's face is etched with a mixture of fear and determination. The Mossback Steward's revelation had hit him like a bolt of lightning. A shadow fiend? The very thought sends shivers down his spine. He had faced countless dangers in his life, but this was something entirely different, something truly terrifying. The weight of this revelation presses down on him, a heavy burden that threatens to crush his spirit. "A shadow fiend..." he mutters, his voice barely audible. "This whole journey keeps going from bad to worse!" He tries to collect himself, his eyes dart between Sosen and Lanu. Their faces are grim, but their determination is unwavering. They are in this together, and they will see it through to the end.
With unsteady hands, Morgid unrolls his map, a long, dirty fingernail tapping the spot that marks their current location. "It'll be close, Lanu," he says, his voice filled with a mix of hope and dread. "We're about six miles march from the fort." He shades his eyes with his hand, glancing up at the sun. The red moon, uncharacteristically prominent in the daytime sky, seems to mock them, a constant reminder of the impending doom. "Just about midday now," he mutters. "If we leave immediately, we'll probably reach the fort by early evening. Just might give us enough time to find the Altar of Blood before..." He pauses, swallowing hard. "Before Trush is unleashed. What do you think we should do?" Sosen and Lanu exchange a grim glance. They understand the gravity of the situation. This is no longer just a rescue mission; it is a battle against a cosmic force of evil.