After about a week, the goliath tribe arrived in Ironheim. The party joined the welcoming committee and Yakum introduced them to Kashtir, his blood brother and leader of the goliaths. They spent most of the day setting up a sort of competitive fun-fair. They threw spears and rocks through a straw, donut-shaped target in Vagash’s new game and gawked as Yakum and Kashtir got some serious spear-fighting in in that circle—and cheering when Yakum won with the phasing spear-throw they’d told him about.
They went back to the Iron Stein to talk. Kashtir told them of a cave in the south that could lead to the Western Wilds—they used to winter there, but then they were attacked by a great evil and no longer go back. It’s the only way they might possibly be able to traverse in these winter months, though. Then they give him some wine, since goliaths normally never drink. He likes it but thinks he’ll stick to goats’ milk.
The party leaves early the next day and the trek down to the cave is harrowing—they descend into a steep valley and are buffeted by freezing, howling winds. Some cockatrices fly overhead and try to send a rock outcropping tumbling down on top of them but the party all dodges—whew. The cockatrices fly away and they trek onward, finally arriving at the cave—to find it caked over in ice and a large tower off which an icy mist rolls in waves stationed above. They wind around the back of the tall, circular tower, and assemble a basic camp, throwing blankets as windbreaks. They wake up still a bit stiff from the cold, but the tower before them stands between them and the cave, so there’s only one thing to do. . .