Kelter's stomach growled, gnawing at itself. His cluster of 'hunters' consisted of three other Granite Mob soldiers, all equally crippled by hunger and illness. Each of them had a long knife, a ratman bill, three had slings and Thinner had an ancient dwarven crossbow. They had believed, short of encountering a great beast like the Mage Eater they'd be able to bring down any creature they found. That big lizard was living up to its name rather poorly, he felt, what with it proving more than happy to eat anything. Whatever came out on top between it and the Chimaera was going to be truly terrifying. He fingered the little clockwork contraption on his belt, tapping the mechanism as much from hunger as from nerves.

They'd been hungry when they left, forcing themselves through the threshold and out into the ruins. Water from the river echoed in a tremendous roar from walls that rose so high that the ceiling could not be seen through the dark. In the distance glimmers of light came from distant flickering torches, strange steady blue shapes, twinkling reflections from unseen surfaces. The second party under Louder had headed right, Kelter had brought his troop left and made it such a very short way. Quickly they'd scuttled into the world, clambering over stones with deft steps but the life went out of them. Clipper had fallen first, picking herself up only to fall again and be supported by Uller. Focusing on them, Kelter had found himself leaning heavily on his bill, waiting for them to catch up when he noticed Thinner drifting listlessly toward a cliff edge. He'd hauled her back and now the four of them lay trembling scarcely thirty meters from the Dungeon. The rasp of hoarse breath grew in pitch and slowed in rhythm as the minutes drew on, interspersed with the scrabble of disturbed pebbles as they slowly crawled onwards. Retreat was impossible, there was no salvation forthcoming in the Dungeon unless it woke up, which didn't appear to be likely to occur anytime soon. Pulling himself another agonising few inches forward, Kelter hissed. With all these mechanisms turning in his mind, there had to be a way to make a noise. A really loud one, reaching a bleeding hand forward to grasp the next bit of rubble, a really really loud noise. A noise so loud it'd wake even a stone. A big, bright shiny stone; he grunted, pulling his legs up towards him and bracing them for the next effort; full of magic and light and crap but a bastard bloody stone that was somehow taking a nap. It throbbed in the back of his skull like a beacon, each aching pulse turning the gears in his mind another quarter turn. No ideas came to him, no grand designs, no acid throwers or snares or...whatever that metal giant was. Just the sensation of a fulcrum upon which a long enough lever could be placed to move the world, trembling at the force exerted upon a toothpick.

Kelter blinked at the greying world, focusing on a erratic reflection. It dropped into view like a spark from a forge, shrank and grew, moving slightly from side to side as it rose and fell in front of him. He blinked again, as he rose suddenly from the stone, the world blurring as he spun. He came to rest once more, lying awkwardly on his belly atop a broad sloping stone. His arms dangled in front of him, his feet behind and something held him in place by his back. The light moved again, jostling him atop his new perch. Oh. A boot. That's nice.

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Water splashed his face, bringing him back to consciousness. Voices growled around him, short sentences of strange words. Kelter's head rolled, wide eyes struggling to focus on the shapes around him. Words rolled over him again, lilting and musical, then again harsh and guttural. At last a figure banded and ringed with stone with a thick black crest spoke, "Stonetongue?"

Kelter turned his head to face the speaker, taking account of his blurry surroundings. The world was colourless, even his own green skin the same grey as granite. A fire burned nearby, casting a flickering pale light across the creatures around him. Far larger than any goblin, they crouched around him and his squad. They wore thick stone armour, great slates moulded to their form and cushioned by thick furs that peeked out from every edge. They bore little metal, even their axes and spears were seemingly shaped from a single great stone each. Their helms were open, with thick soaring cheekguards that curved up to protect long tusks. Each was a different form, with stone ridges opening to allow hair to form crests or mount decorations of bone, horn or more rock. Their faces were wrinkled and leathery, with squat glistening snouts, thick hairless brows and pale forward facing eyes with wide pupils. More stood arrayed around the camp, facing outwards with weapons in hand.

The speaker cocked their head slightly, "Understand me you?" it said. Kelter tried to reply but coughed painfully instead.

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"Water?" Said the speaker, reaching for a skin at its belt. At his nod, they pulled the stopper from the skin and held it out and letting him take it. They said something to the others around them in what he realised must be another language, turning back to him. "You, hunger? Not eat time long?"

Kelter nodded again, "No food, the tribes are starving. Who are you?"

The speaker rapped a stone ring against their chest. "Me Morrock heart rock, tamborine shield neat." They opened their palm and closed it again twice. "Stonetongue not good, know few word. What starving? No food?"

Kelter sat up, coughing loudly, squinting and trying to work out the introduction. He offered back the waterskin but received a palm held up straight, fingers wide in return. Twitching a quick smile of gratitude he replied, "Starving means no food, yes. Dying" He rubbed his belly with exaggerated movements, surreptitiously patting his sides and noting the lack of belongings. Glancing around the grey world he saw them piled to one side, he and each of his goblins were lying on pelts, in varying states of consciousness and delirium. The large figures tended to them, giving water and offering rations. Morrock gestured to one of the others that crouched by him, who handed Kelter some sort of nut or bulb wrapped in dried meat. He snatched at it greedily, pulling it into his mouth and wincing as his teeth scraped off it. Morrock held up a hand again.

"No, no bite! Bite bad teeth." He stopped for a moment, then his cheek bulged to one side and he began making sucking noises. The others barked and snorted, exposing long teeth and wide tongues. Morrock swatted the one who'd given Kelter food, cuffing them with a crack of stone on stone. Kelter took his meaning, sucking on the meat-nut. From behind him there was another rumble of the guttural language, then colour began to return to the world. His limbs grew strong again, his lungs filled with air and sensation returned to his flesh. His stomach cried out for nourishment, cuts, bruises and all manner of aches and pains making themselves known; his mind gaining speed like a lazy stream swelling with a sudden rain. He turned to see another figure, this one hunched and draped in heavy robes and gloves of flesh. The insides were a vibrant pink, their exterior the colour of the deepest cavern well that caught the light better than any rippling lake. Alone of the hulking creatures it carried metal, copper, gold and silver tracing its robes in regimented patterns and in its hands were two forked copper rods studded with gemstones and articulated lenses and glowing runes. On its right was a long staff of copper and gold equally as ornate, standing upright unsupported on the stone. A luminescent pattern of interlocked circles spun in the air between the two rods, each another shade of bold colours. The array was anchored in a rectangle of light, the corners forming from a gaseous flow from each fork of the rods and from a steadily brightening green circle a cone of mana streamed into the goblins. Kelter leapt to his feet, the giants around him stumbling to their own or falling on their behinds in surprise. He darted for his gear, snatching out his knife from its sheath and turning to find the mana stream had followed him. The array was calibrating, circles of other colours slowing to a stop and fading to grey - a real grey this time - before resuming their spin and turning the same shade of green. Crouching to present a smaller target he bounced on the balls of his feet, ready to jump into action. Morrock was gesturing wildly, the other stone clad warriors barking and shouting in their own language and attracting the attention of their pickets. The guards turned so they could glance at the commotion but keep one eye on the perimeter, a discipline Kelter could grudgingly respect - and appreciate as they would be that little bit slower to intervene. Around him his comrades were on their feet as well, though only Clipper joined him in snatching up her weapon, a ratman bill. He held position, the closest warriors had not drawn their weapons but just rested a hand on them, ready to draw...and the spell was helping.

The lethargy that had so debilitated them was not the only weakness to be purged, their injuries were healing too. Bruises faded and cuts mended, next to him he could see the scab on Clipper's cheek crack and flake away as the skin pulled together. After a moment he lowered his knife fractionally, letting the spell continue. The mage sustained the spell for several more seconds as Uller and Thinner came to stand by him, before pulling the rods apart and allowing the magic to fade. The silence that followed was broken by the mage, grunting and snorting something to Morrock. The others reacted in surprise, stamping their feet and barking in their tongue. Some made a gesture to Morrock, smacking their gauntlets together with fists curled towards themselves and throwing them wide. Morrock spoke to another that Kelter realised was the first speaker, what he'd thought was a black crest was actually a rich copper hue and their pale eyes were a faint yellow-orange with a thin brown ring around their wide pupils. Its armour was richly painted in evocative patterns, dark red vines on a black and green background. Morrock and the other warriors bore designs in the same colours, though not so many. The mage hadn't spoken to Morrock he realised, but this one. Morrock said something in return, turning back from his leader to face them.

"Korgak say you not free." Morrock growled, gesturing to the mage. "He say you children of maker jewel."