The mud is deep this time of year, cold from the ice melt and thick as paste it tugs us back at every footstep. The king had wanted a omen, and apparently for once the mountain was happy to provide.

Whatever cheer the party had started with was long gone by the time they reached the sun rest. Only the king’s driving desire to see his questions answered by something more than mere mortals keep them climbing. Not that they hadn’t briefly debated the merits of letting him climb his own damn mountains without them, but the honor guard was the honor guard, little things like mud and weather weren’t supposed to slow them down.

There was the traditional petition of the mountain, followed by the traditional offering, followed by the traditional long ass wait as forces beyond their ken pondered the question. Or were just lazy. Right now the soggy, cold, and thoroughly bored honor guard was betting on lazy. It wasn’t completely unexpected for the mountain to take days deciding on a response, so they had already begun setting up camp at the base of the monument when the king came barreling down from the sun rest.

Apparently the mountain wasn’t too keen on the idea of railroad tunnels.