Argon casually flicked his tongue out, blinking at Alice. "Why, friend Alice. I can try, yes yessss." He then stood up to his full height, and his serpent-like neck stretched to its highest elevation. He was now about three quarters as tall as the giant. The giant who had taken An-Hasst's words to hear, but also realized that his fellow brethren would not be perturbed by such sentiments. For all intents and purposes, he had gone back into becoming merely a rock formation. 

An-Hasst clambered up the mound to stand atop the rocky outcropping, and over the vast plateau he could see the winding ways in which one could travel through. It looked much like the veins along skin, or rivers atop a map. Behind him, he could hear Argon hisses erratically. "I can perhapsss follow the trail, yesssss." the Lizardfolk said. 

Fortunately, that would likely not be necessary. About 400 paces in, An-Hasst could see other giants within one of the crevasses. The giants did not seem happy in the least, and were attacking, and potentially crushing something An-Hasst could not quite make out. 
[hr] 

A few villagers here or there scattered as the rogs, for they were rogs, waded into the village entrance. Ursaren would stumble out of the structure he had been in to see there was a few dozen of the monsters, and they looked even less pleased to be alive than usual. Battle scarred but filled with hatred in their eyes, their gazes darted about, looking for something. One of the larger ones saw Ursaren, looking at him. It would occur to the old man, and the others when they joined him... 

These were the same rogs from before. 

To Elora, the rogs would be crude humanoids, primitive and ugly, yet their armor was scavenged and their weapons wickedly tipped. Their skin ranged from green to charred black, with leathery ears as if they had been burned and stretched. Most of the rogs hair, if they had it, was tied into ponytails or brutal mowhawks. One of the villagers, too slow to get out of the way, was dragged down by one of the larger rogs and butchered before their eyes. 

Beren growled. A low, bestial noise. His fists clenched in rage at the sight of the blatant murder, and in his dark eyes there was a promise of vengeance. Geradin looked much the same, grim faced and glowing hammer held aloft. Dwarves were known for their hatred of the rogs, and their underground kin, the gundarogs. 

"Settione..." Beren said. "You go check the otherside of the village for any flanking attacks. You might be right. But there are too many of them for us to split up. We'll hold them here as you check. Run like your life depends on it."
[@The Fated Fallen][@Fetzen][@BCTheEntity][@Gardevoiran]