The morning sun bleeds over the jagged peaks of the High Crags. Goat stands amidst the tall, dew-kissed grass, rhythmically tearing at a patch of clover.
Bryn
Great Horned One, we have brought the offering of mountain sage as the prophecy demands.
Goat
That human is making noise again. The taste of the clover is slightly bitter, but sufficient.
Bryn
Please, divine beast, accept our tribute so the village may be spared the shaking of the earth.
Goat
There is a deep, agonizing itch in my throat. The need to unleash a sound that shatters the silence of these hills is becoming overwhelming.
A goblin scout scrambles over the ridge, chest heaving and eyes wide with terror, pointing frantically toward the valley below.
Bryn
What is it, Snag? Why do you interrupt the holy feeding?
Snag
The iron-clad men are here, master. They burn the shrines. They seek the God of the Crags.
Bryn drops his bundle of sage, drawing a rusted iron knife as his knuckles turn white.
+ Scene Quest Added
Defend the High Crags from the iron-clad men
“*Is just a goat* (No, it's literally just... A normal goat)”
SUCCESS (Legendary Health, rolled +1)
Goat
The interruption is intolerable. My throat pulses with the sheer, primal pressure of the sound waiting to be birthed. I lower my head, the weight of my horns grounding me as I inhale deep, filling my lungs until my ribs stretch against my hide.
Goat lets out a tectonic, earth-shaking bleat that resonates through the limestone cliffs, vibrating in the very marrow of the goblins' bones. The scream is so profound that a small landslide of loose gravel triggers near the ridge path, forcing Snag to stumble back.
Snag
The God speaks! His wrath is upon the invaders!
Bryn
He sounds the war cry! We stand with the Horned One!
Goat
That was glorious. The itch is gone, replaced by a sudden, intense craving for the discarded bundle of sage now trampled into the dirt.
“*Eat sage cause... Am goat*”
Goat lowers his heavy head to the dirt. With a simple, rhythmic chew, he consumes the pulverized stems and leaves of the mountain sage. The texture is gritty and earthy, exactly as it should be, and he swallows the bundle without ceremony.
“...”
Goat leans his weight forward, his neck muscles rippling as he grazes the ground. He cleans the remaining grit from the dirt with his tongue, ensuring not a single scrap of the trampled sage remains. The meal is finished, providing a brief moment of culinary satisfaction amidst the cold mountain air.
“...”
Goat turns his head to the side, shifting his weight to groom a stray patch of fur on his foreleg with his teeth. The trivial task is completed with ease, leaving him well groomed and ready for the tension of the coming climb.
“*Sometime later*”
Goat shifts his heavy weight, leaning his chin against a jagged stone outcrop to scratch an itch. He rubs his jaw firmly against the rock, his eyes half closing in rhythmic satisfaction as he eases the tension in his neck. The itch vanishes instantly, leaving him composed and ready for what lies ahead.
“...”
Goat lifts his head and lets out a long, resonant bleat that echoes against the crags. The sound is effortless and loud, rolling across the mountain peaks like thunder. He finishes his call, standing firmly on the ridge with his chest puffed out, waiting for the iron-clad men to appear.