After enduring the frosted evening, the warriors were awakened by the dawn as the snow broke the sunlight into sharp needles of yellow and orange. As their camp turned to slush, the six opted to continue upwards to avoid the crawling ice in the valley. The trail was quickly resumed and carried them to daunting heights of fierce peaks and abysmal cliffs. As they paused to examine again the snow-covered trail, a faint crunching noise whipped them around. Weapons drawn and hackles raised, they half-snorted at the sight of a young Goblin fumbling his way up the mountain.
“Aha!” He wheezed. “I knew I was getting closer. Two days without rest should yield some result!” He huffed from fatigue. From his knees, the Goblin told the group that his name was “Jeet Fiske,” the son of Sargle Fiske, their familiar benefactor. Jeet had acquired a wanderlust from his encounters with warriors and petitioned his father to allow him to aid the six on their crusade.
Uncertain of whether or not to let Jeet know of their status as traitors, the orb in their midst, or of their recent ministrations at the bridge and in the village, they resolved that the Goblin himself was earnest enough to have in their company, and they owed it to his father to see to it that he had allies in his wandering. Jeet explained that he was a sorceror of some ability, and he would be certain to make himself useful.
After ascending a thousand more feet into the mountain range, Minas motioned for them to halt. From the snow-dusted mountain wall ahead of them, he could make out the sound of a mild brook echoing its passage in what sounded like a tunnel. Approaching the wall in front of them, Ashpaw began to dig through the snow until he uncovered an opening which proved to be one of many that comprised a huge grate. Meltwater from the mountainside ran down its face and into the grate, which covered a massive tube of unknown dimensions.
Undaunted, the warriors slipped between the openings in the grate. Once inside, they sparked a torch and immediately lost their footing, causing the gentle slope to pull them, careening, into the nightmare heart of the strange mountain. For ten full minutes, they slid against the smooth stone walls of the cyclopean drain until the floor of the tube simply vanished beneath them. Their torch flew end-over-end into the mountain mere moments before they plunged into a deep pool in total, echoing darkness.
Following the walls, they found a small beach, where they dragged themselves from the water and took inventory of one another. Aside from the torch, they were whole. The land funneled into yet another simple tube, this one much much smaller. The exit terminated in a right angle, through which faint blue and orange lights swam.
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