They head south, as they are about an hour from showing up at the tree, they are assaulted by a stone goliath, standing 12 feet tall, he uses a tree as a club, As he prepares his “club” to hit Gikrax, who has just barely seen him, a rainbow jolt appears unexpectedly, striking the mammoth in the heart, killing him in a flash. Before long they hear the strumming of a lute, they go to see an elven man, wearing completely pink, his lute pink with rainbow strings, its extremely top resembling the leader of a unicorn, and his tune, totally happy. The man strolls off the way, heading his own specific manner, leaving the gathering feeling quite confounded. As they think back to the goliath’s body they see he as well, has gotten pink. Everything they can do is proceed onward, seriously confounded. For a minute Mezlin was in any event, considering shooting the elven man, his flawlessness a lot to exposed. Immaculate skin, faultless execution, and perfect expertise. Gikrax made an effort not to recognize the man, or the Giant, putting even his own ability to disgrace. Azeena fell head over heel for him, he didn’t state a solitary word, however she had experienced passionate feelings for the minute he she saw him. They proceed onward, the shining tree that is the Embassy, only a mile away. “Theres… a vitality about this spot… ” says Gikrax, the immaculateness of the tree surrounding him, the others, being less touchy to enchantment, don’t feel a thing. As they arrive at the base of the tree, two elven ladies drop from the tree’s appendages, each employing brilliant halberds, when the trio notice the name Zeldaan, the two elven ladies heave, they stand aside, and before them seems an elven man, donning an exceptionally majestic clothing, a blend of red and orange, his hair blonde, his eyes blue, and his skin faultless (Though, not as impeccable as the man dressed in pink.) “Welcome!” said the elven man, unmistakably definitely knowing the gathering. “Champion, it is an incredible respect to have you here, I’m Zeldaan, ruler of the Elves.” he says soaking up the adoration, just as a wry grin.

The elvish master ascends from his bow, chuckling in merriment. “Try not to look so troubling! Detestable inside the Embassy is unfathomable!” says Zeldaan, Gixrax grunts in counter, realizing without a doubt this mythical being is unreasonably presumptuous to his benefit. “You are silly to have such hubris, all urban areas are in peril consistently, particularly one, for example, Than’val or the Embassy.” The Champion snarls. Zeldaan just answers with a grin, before pivoting and waving his hand for the gathering to follow. They follow the elvish man into a room loaded in gold, in the inside an enormous, sparkling pink sphere, gliding tenderly over a brilliant brazier, with pink blazes. “This is the thing that gives us an edge, not at all like you lesser species” says Zeldaan, “This, is The Catalyst, and in its present state, avoids all abhorrent, and should any detestable puncture the hindrance, it very well may be utilized as a weapon.” Gikrax appears to be neutral, truth be told, he appears to be more reluctant than previously. “This tackles nothing, your Catalyst will fall, your realm. Malicious develops as it hasn’t previously.” says the Champion. As though on sign a huge blast is heard, a dark, choking out fog occupying the room. Three, enormous, blundering considers stroll along with the room. Trolls; two of them stood 9 feet tall, and held huge mind boggling clubs, the held end enclosed by velvet, and the end tipped in an obscured steel, as dull as night.the third troll was very odd, he stood almost twice as tall as his brethren, remaining at 17 feet, his face was scarred, a portion of his teeth were broken, and he smelled a lot of more awful than his brethren; an image of authority. He used a darksteel greatsword, double the size of an ordinary man. The grip was loaded in gold, and the handle shrouded in stripes of dark and red. The troll himself was canvassed in an undermined chitinous defensive layer, extending along these lines and that, more grounded than steel, however as adaptable as silk. His cap had huge horns, and a face plate with a shrewd grin. “Get wreckin’ young men!” the tall troll trumpets, his voice baritone, resonating through the room. The littler trolls step forward.

One swings for Zeldaan, the elvish pioneer evaporates like a phantom, and the troll winds up striking the circle, breaking it in a flash. “Not very good at securing against underhanded now, it appears” Gikrax fits, pulling his greatsword away from him, and cutting the troll with his edge, his left arm destroyed. The troll screams; his companion becomes possibly the most important factor, finding the Champion napping and swatting him away, the troll at that point assaults Mezlin, propelling him over the room, his automated arm, left wrecked, in kind the troll pulls out a little circle, very little greater than his palm, and pummels it on the ground, an enormous vault encompassing his being. The main troll has dropped from exsanguination, the vast majority of his blood on the floor, a thick purple blood. The tall troll strolls to the littler living troll, which he tears down the middle, tossing his body aside,