The stone giant, Laerthar, fell with a loud thump to the hardwood floor of Nosnra’s quarters. Scroopel hopped up, immediately, onto the two heaps of dead giant flesh. The little goblin rifled through the stinking furs, looking for anything of value-there was none. He gave a little shrug and slid down Nosnra’s bloody form.
Duggin leaned back, reclining on a giant-sized chair leg, while trying to regain his breath. He gazed at the dead dire bear, towards the rear of the chamber.
“Nasty varmint!” the dwarf spat.
“Mm..yes, a terrible…uhh..specimen." Nimozaran muttered.
Shield stood motionless in the midst of burnt giant remains. He was coming down from what the others might call an adrenaline rush, but the construct didn’t have a name to put on it. Sure, he was battered, dented and his metal skin was nearly cracked below his breastplate, but he felt no physical pain. He just new he’d need someone to repair him.
Nimozaran the Green held a pair of spectacles to his eyes while he read the communications of the giants. Who was Obmi? Who was King Snurre? The latter appeared to be the overall commander of the operation. The former, the old wizard had no clue.
“We need to return to the Gintshield clan, friends. This news is of urgent import to the king. We’ve learned a great deal about what’s going on here, but, there’s much that remains to be discovered.”
Duggin stood back up and spoke.
“Agreed, Nimo. There’s still giants about, but they’ll be no further threat to the Vale. Still, we face the rest of the army…giants all! We need to speak to the King. He’ll have an idea of what to do and where to go, from here.”