Jovalyn managed to stumble her way to the circle of stones, only to have her need to strangle Shankee interrupted by the divine glory of the Gods. She was much more enamored with Naduir, who she had always imagined would be more...clothed, would be the word. It was odd the things one would focus on when tottering about on Dwarven ale. Naduir went on about a treacherous champion, which was worrying. Anyone who would willingly take on a group of this magnitude would be dangerous indeed.

When all divinity's left to whatever respective mayfly dimensions Gods dawdle upon in the twilight of eternity, an Eldritch horror of necromantic energies came in to taunt the group. Tyranical and terrible, Bawzel shattered the stones and sent the already dizzy Jovalyn through the air, far off and rolling upon the ground on impact, only to be pettled with several hard stones. She covered her face and brought her legs to her chest. Once the pillar shards stopped trying to kill her, Jovalyn proceeded to roll push her bruised body onto her knees and vomit everything she'd eaten or drank in the past few hours, which was mostly alcohol and some form of native bird. She rubbed all over her face, smearing blood over a gash on her forehead. 

 The ground warbled and groaned. She looked at her hands, which seemed to be functioning even though there were about six of them at the moment. With more blood on them than was usual. Curiouser and curiouser. Stumbling onto her legs, all three of them, she held onto her stomach and was pleased to find all of her belongings were still strapped along. Besides for her eight spears, which seemed to have landed next to her point first. Luck was at least on her side, for the moment. The concussion certainly wasn't, which she finally realized she had.

 Bloodied, bruised, and delirious, she walked over to Shankee and asked a question not dissimilar to the Orcs. “Crypt.” After a brief moment of consideration, she was pretty sure the Goblin would make a good meal if they ever ran out of food.