She makes an eager noise. "That sounds fun."

"And good practice at combining our efforts. Where is the nearest nest?"

"There's warrens throughout the mountains, most of them really small. Nearest big one is Mount Gundabad, about... three hundred miles away, I think."

"How fast can you make that journey?"

She hums. "Two hours or so, if I'm not tiring myself out. Three if I'm soaring more idly."

"Good. We can easily make that in a day."

She grins. "A good introductory campaign, then."

"Yes. Unless you need rest, we should leave at once."

She flutters her wings. "I'm good."

"Then lead the way."

She takes off, wings flaring and wind gusting, soaring high and then circling to the west and slightly south.

Ellisaria flaps along.

It's two hours, as promised, at the speed Brisingr settles into. The mountain range they'd been along merges with another. The feeling of cold desolation continues over the land.

Their target is a large mountain at the crux of three ranges. The one rolling to the south is huge, mountains wide and tall and shrouded in thick clouds. The ones further west have been worn down, likely by glaciers. Gundabad is the tallest peak around, lesser mountains cascading off of it. There's just bare rock and lichen, no trees, and several caves and gashes that could easily admit a dragon their size gape open in the stone.

Brisingr calls out - "They don't like the sun, but they've probably spotted us anyways. They should think we're just flying over, though."

"We will have to disabuse them of the notion. Have you any experience with the layout of their warren?"

Cheerfully: "Nope!"

"I shall see for myself, then." She makes for Gundabad's peak.

That seems to alarm the tiny handful of orcish scouts - they scurry inside, shouting. Most of them have grey skin and clothing, meaning they blend in well to the mountainside when still, and most are fairly short, bodies stunted and malnourished.

Cockroaches in truth.

She settles on the mountaintop, and reaches down to feel the flow of the earth.

The earth sings, a slower, deeper, thrumming version of the song Brisingr uses. The earth itself is a low rumble like a great drum reverberating; the magma beneath the crust is like a ringing gong. There's something almost like a voice, or an echo of a great many voices, singing in harmony. There's disruptions, tangles in the harmony, counter-tunes that make the whole at least more engaging, if not more beautiful.

Very good. Now, she wants to understand the structure of the mountain beneath her. The core, tunnels, entrances and exits.

It's a bit hard to interpret given the information is via song, but she's able to get a map of the mountain, including the varied composition. This mountain probably didn't form naturally, is one notable part.

Also: there's a lot of carefully, meticulously carved grand tunnels, decorated in geometric designs and only somewhat defaced by the orcs, which Brisingr should be able to fit through. The grand tunnels have stood for millennia, the song sings, through war and dragon fire and earthquake, and they were carved by those who love the stone, and they will stand for millennia yet, until the last dwarf dies. There's also a ton of smaller, newer, and more poorly thought out tunnels weaving through the mountain, which are far less stubborn about having an aesthetically continued existence. Many of them are already blocked off by assorted cave-ins over the millennia.

Hm.

She approves of the grand tunnels; those builders had a proper attitude to the stone they worked. As for the others... They are an offense. Destroying them would be satisfying, and serve to drive the cockroaches out into the open.

The cockroaches find this highly alarming! A lot die in the cave ins. Some of the survivors cluster into the grand halls - but even more come boiling up out of numerous exits in the mountainside.

Excellent. That makes it much easier to strafe over them and deliver fiery death.

Brisingr joins her, laughing and filling the air with flame, using her wind control to fan the fires higher, creating whirlwind of fire that rip up the mountainside.

The orcs are having a rather bad day.