Chapter II - Into the Mountains

Adrasta sighs and rubs her temples. "We came here looking for a miners' camp, Otto. It took us a day. 'All this way' isn't very far at all."

She drops her arms and turns around to face him. "The smart thing would have been to get on our horses, leave, and seek our fortunes elsewhere. The Wilderness is huge. We had a look around, got some information about what's around here, we could have just moved on. We would have had a few annoyed dwarves at our backs instead of hostile ones."

"I don't know what things are like where you're from, but most people don't give up a superior tactical position just because someone insults them."

She takes a deep breath. "And I admit I should have kept my cool and not shot at that statue."

She pauses for a moment and looks back up at the mountain. "What's done is done. You're right about those dwarves, they're a problem. Our choices now are to leave and hope we don't run into them again," her face hardens, "or make sure it won't happen."

"Mayhaps we were spoiled by the good will of Emma and Ignacio. We expected better in the wilderness, to find friends wherever we went. Maybe it's called the wilderness, not because of the wild animals, but because of the people we meet. My preference is to look for friends, but if friendliness is not offered, perhaps we must respond in kind." He holds his hands out in supplication, "Are we prepared to do that?" Otto pauses, folding his hands in his lap.

"Naesala? Ardan? Have the dwarves swayed your opinion, one way or the other?"

He may be chagrined by the answer he thinks he might hear, he may even be afraid of it. The wilderness was daunting enough for him, but the idea of setting himself at odds with the denizens gave him pause. It seems like just moments since they discussed creating roads, but the thought of creating a road for the benefit of these dwarves really curdles his milk...

Wolf carries Ardan safely to the trees, where he quickly finds a sheltered spot for the next camp. He starts gathering firewood while the others arrive.
"I think you're both right. Sure, Otto could have backed down a bit earlier, but I agree, their reaction was completely over the top.
I always say 'every conflict can be solved with words, but as soon as someone draws a weapon that person has lost.' It just makes me so angry", on the last word Ardan waves his hand through the air, as if slicing at something, and half way through the motion his sword appears in his hand, making a sharp swooshing sound and disappearing as his hand finishes the gesture. "And now I definitely want to get inside, just as a matter of principle. Go for it Naesala, we are behind you,if you need us." . He trails of in thoughts, obviously angry ones, as his expression readily reveals and tends to the fire.

The elf listens as Adrasta admonishes Otto, her words mostly stating her own thoughts on the matter; the time for retreat was several minutes before the assault began, but that was of no concern now. It was better to voice these aggravations and get things out in the open early, rather than stew on them. The fact that the medic was tending the man's wounds with her usual due care told Naesala all she needed to know about the pairs mutual respect for each other. In response to Arden, she merely nods. "Maintain a vigil upon the drawbridge. If it lowers, join me. If I am spotted..." The elf frowns for a moment, then flashes a rare smile. "...I am unsure what happens then; such an occurrence has never before come to pass. I depart." And with that, she disappears in the direction of the fortress.

Anyone watching Naesala's infiltration would see her scale the mighty walls as effortlessly as walking, perching behind two dwarven guards that now keep watch alongside the motionless statues and seeming to meld into the ancient stonework. There is little movement for a long while, until one of the dwarves holds up a waterskin and seems to have a heated exchange with the other one before disappearing from sight. A short moment later, the lone remaining dwarf tumbles from the fortress walls to the ground below... just as the statues along the palisades come to life once again. The stone creatures pepper the fleeing elf with rocks as she climbs up onto the overhang, one catching her viscously in the side before she is up and away over the steep and treacherous mountain above.

There is no sign from Naesala for minutes, then hours, until she drops from a tall tree besides the party with a hand holding her side. She seems strangely content, vigorous, her eyes shining as she reports the results of her incursion. "The stunted ones are watched over by their guardians of stone, but they hold no control over them. The means to even activate the fortresses defences is entirely unknown to them, though assault upon the fortress' occupants was enough to awaken them." She winces at the memory of the rock's impact, but her voice remains elated, even tantalising. "Of great import; in my retreat, I discovered what may prove a simpler method of ingress. A cavern or pipe-way of some kind faces outwards some ways up the mountain, its iron bars rusted to a state beyond security. The climb would be no mean feat for those without the Art, though it seemed by my eyes unknown to the short folk within."

Otto has never gotten used to Naesala's sudden appearances. He rises with a start as she drops from the tree, but when he sees who it is, his face breaks from a look of concern to one of amused relief.

"I'll never get used to that, but you are a welcome sight to be sure."

He listens to her tale with rapt attention, one detail troubling him. "What started the statues in motion?" he wonders aloud, with a look to Naesala. "Did they move as you got within thirty yards? Had you touched one of them? Or are you saying that you engaged with the stump-like residents?" He smiles broadly with the suggestion.

"How remote is this inlet pipe you mention? Should we see if I can break the rusted bars before we commit the entire camp to the mountains?" A tinge of excitement colors Otto's voice, clearly pleased by the prospect.

Given Naesalas state, Ardan feels deep admiration for her cheerful and satisfied demeanor. I would be grumpy as hell after the beating she must have taken... When word comes to the second entry his face lights up with excitement. "That's it! I knew there would be other entrances. Let's go, tomorrow. We can hobble up the horses so they don't get far away. Maybe build a makeshift fence to protect them against wildlife."
He heads over to the horses saddle bags and picks up rations and water for everyone and hands it out. "Tell us more about the entrance, did you get a peek inside?"

Between Naesala's hand on her side and her wince as she mentions the animated statues, it is clear to Adrasta that the other woman is injured. "Let me have a look at that," she says as she moves to the elf's side. While the others question the scout, Adrasta examines her flank, then lays a hand on the developing bruise. When she removes it, the skin has returned to its natural color and the elf's pain is gone.

Otto shakes his head in wonder at the power in Adrasta's hands. "No matter how many times I witness this, I can scarcely believe my eyes."

He turns to Naesala, looking where Adrasta's hands had just been. "I apologize, in the excitement, I did not see your hurts. Thank you for the risks you've taken today."

Rubbing at his face, he quietly wonders if his anger with the dwarves clouds his humanity. He prefers to build rather than hurt, but these dwarves are so....deserving(?)....of hurt.... "Ah, well, perhaps we can skirt them entirely once we've gotten inside." The thoughts race through his head, but he's seen what the dwarves are willing to do without any real affront, and he can only imagine what they will try to do if they find Otto and his friends inside.

Healed and regrouped, the companions make their way to the mountainside, excited to make their entrance. Naesala points to a spot up in the rocks. Otto nods with the others, but he really has no idea what she's pointing at, and suspects the others don't, either. "By gods, her eyes are other-worldly" he thinks silently, almost afraid to mumble the words in case she could hear them.

He pulls the spikes, ropes and hammer from his backpack, and rummages for the other length of rope from the supplies on the draft horse. The others grab what they need, and the band of four heads up the hillside, Naesala leading the way, hammering spikes into the rock, and feeding rope to the others.

The group discusses whether to leave the spikes and rope in place for retreat, but ultimately decides that they may need them inside. Going last, Otto pulls the lowest spikes as he goes with his crowbar, and eventually finds himself with his companions, standing at the large pipe that presumably leads inside the mountain.

<<Late Afternoon - Day 4 - Early Spring - Dwarven Fortress - Wilderness>>

It takes Naesala a while to find her way back to the group at the tree line. Long enough that you start wondering about her fate. Perhaps a griffon snatched her off the mountaintop? But no, she eventually returns around midday. She shares her story over lunch and a plan is formed.

The plan is easier to say than do. It requires circling the mountain to be on the side opposite the face of the fortress. The back side of the mountain is very craggy: all cliffs and sharp boulders. The horses are left at the last bit of the trees in order to provide some shelter and visual cover. Otto constructs a makeshift fence that probably won't stop anybody or anything, but at least serves as a signal to the horses that you don't want them to leave. Wolf seems to understand.

Then it's time for some rock climbing. This is preposterously easy for Naesala and death-defying for everyone else. Naesala races up the rocks to secure the spikes so that the rope might catch you if you slip. She's also able to do some literal hand-holding, providing support when good hand- and foot-holds are few. The downside is that it's an exhausting process taking most of the afternoon.

Finally, in the late afternoon when thoughts might usually turn to dinner, you're all at the pipe. It's about five feet in diameter, so walking through it will be a single-file affair. And the "walking" will actually be hunched-over shambling.

It appears that the pipe might have been a sewer pipe or a water outlet but, if so, that would have been centuries ago. It doesn't appear to have been used recently and so there's no indication of recent water flow (or sewage flow, thankfully). There is an metal grate covering it. It's a small nod to security, just in case an ambitious invader tried to sneak in the back door. Any concerted effort would be curtailed by the pipe's small diameter and the fact that either 1) a steady flow of water and sewage would push you back, or 2) angry dwarves would be on the other side of the grate, shooting crossbows through the grate toward anyone on the other side. The confined space would presumably make it easier for them to hit something.

Time has not been kind to the bars cross-hatching the pipe, the iron rusted, pitted, and forgotten with age. Otto is certain that at one time, any attempt to pass this way would have been useless. Well-made as it was, no one has checked on the bars in quite some time. No one with the knowledge or the desire to do anything about it, anyway.

Otto brushes away flakes of rust here and there, looking for weaker places in the iron. Finding where two bars had started to separate, he inserts the crowbar, and prepares a might heave. The sudden breaking of the bars catches him off guard, nearly costing him his balance. Tucking the crowbar in his belt for the moment, he grabs the bars with his hands, and applies slow, steady pressure. Flecks of rust pop off the iron as the cross-hatched joints break one by one.

Before long, all the bars are bent, or broken, or otherwise peeled away. Otto steps into the open end of the pipe, and takes a knee. "Would someone behind me be willing to carry the lantern? I prefer to have two hands on the big axe, whenever possible."

He holds the lantern out, hoping someone will take it from him. With his other hand, he pulls the large axe off his back, turning his head to look up the pipe.

What Otto thinks he's going to do with an axe while hunched over in a confined space is anyone's guess. Maybe poke someone with it?

Bent over, you slowly make your way up the pipe. All of you manage to be quieter than the process of Otto breaking the bars like toothpicks. Nobody drops anything or does anything that would cause an echo to boom out of the pipe like a giant bullhorn.

After making your way through the pipe, you emerge in the bowels of the fortress. Naesala didn't make it this far earlier and so everything is new to her. This is the underworld of the underworld, the guts that make the place above inhabitable. Or, at least, that's the theory. It's now as deserted down here as it is up there.

In the lamp light, Otto can piece out some clever machinery and dwarven ingenuity that would presumably allow melted snow and rain water to be collected and piped through the complex, and also to serve to flush away sewage and other garbage. It would take weeks if not months to study it all.

You don't see or hear anyone immediately. The dwarves must be somewhere else. You clear this level and find some stairs leading upward. Naesala tiptoes her way up these, as she can see in the dark. When she gets to the top of the stairs she can hear dwarves voices. They're not nearby; they're more of an echo from elsewhere. It wouldn't be too hard to track them to their source but for now you can't hear what they're saying.

Ardan hears the faint voices, but he can't make sense of the said, too far are the dwarves from them. "Let's just continue this way." he whispers, pointing away from the source of the voices.

Thelonius wrote:

"Let's just continue this way."

With a faint shrug and an agreeable nod, Otto heads in the direction Ardan indicated. He's glad for the steadier light from the lantern, so much better than the constant flickering of torches. Footing seems secure, and he expects his feet to find smooth, well-prepared surfaces cut by master stone-workers.

He heads away from the sound of voices in the distance, quietly and slowly.

You move away from the voices.

Sneaking around, the environment appears to be an underground city. The height of the ceiling is modest by human standards but must have felt tall for dwarves.

You find what looks like a storehouse or a warehouse. It's empty. It's a big cavernous room, prone to echoing, so you don't spend much time there.

You see living quarters and places that look like they might have been business, or kitchens/restaurants. Everything still seems deserted. Things are generally tidy. There's no litter or refuse that would suggest that the place was raided. The conditions of things seem to suggest an orderly withdrawal.

You find a large section that looks like it might be for growing food that doesn't need sunlight, perhaps mushrooms or other fungi. Otto notices a complex system of pipes and channels, likely to water whatever the crops were. The system seems to depend on gravity to help push water through the pipes. No water is flowing now.

You find something that looks like a guardhouse. It's so deep inside the fortress that you figure it must have been for the watch or constabulary. A couple stone statues are inside, similar to the ones lining the parapet walls up top. They have stone shields and stone swords and stone armor and stare off in the distance with stony expressions. They don't seem to object to your presence.

Naesala recognizes a lot of this layout but not this exact portion of the fortress. It's likely that this floor and the floor above are similar, and that Naesala found the floor above.

At last you find what looks like a chapel. There's almost a hush as you step inside. This room does not look as abandoned as the others. Your lantern light reflects off of golden surfaces. There are golden objects on what looks like an alter, golden decorations lining the walls, including what appear to be golden candlesticks with ancient candles still inside them. This is somewhat curious, as dwarves don't need light to see. Perhaps the candle play some role in their worship. All of the golden objects feature detailed geometric shapes, signs of artistry and craft. Looking up, the ceiling is painted sky blue. Along the walls, between the golden candlesticks, are richly-colored tapestries. They are bright primary and secondary colors, notably at a contrast from all the surrounding stone.

The presence of the tapestries seems odd: if they were ancient, wouldn't they have decayed by now? So either they are unnaturally preserved or they are something that the new occupants of the fortress hung there themselves.

From the entrance, Adrasta looks wearily around the chapel. After the debacle with the statues, she wasn't enthusiastic about poking around a strange place like this. Unconsciously, she has raised her shield and put her hand on her xiphos.

"This looks like bait," she mutters.

Ardan carefully walks around the chapel and gazes at everything. So far he had never been in touch with high magic, to the point that he doubts its existence. Sure, the odd charlatan in the town square, obviously his sword, he'd experienced first hand Adrastas healing hands, but an enchanted building... He is not sure what to make of this. Should this really be magic? Or is there, as always, a mundane explanation for this well kept place of worship. Then he remembers the statues and a shiver runs down his back. Quickly he pulls back his hand, which he had subconsciously reached out towards one of the golden decorations, to feel its cold touch. "If we want to take of these golden things, we better be quick and ready to leave. Maybe we should focus on things we can handle and understand. Naesala, can you scout out how many of those dwarves there really are?"

Naesala nods and departs without a word, which is her customary behavior.

She returns before long.

"I followed the voices," she says in a low tone. "I found six not far away in an infirmary of sorts, but only five upright. The sixth is the one I tipped over the edge of the wall. Evidently he survived the fall."

Her lips are pursed. It's unclear whether she is annoyed or impressed.

"The other five are caring for him and discussing options for his care. The lad hit his head and it is unclear if he will recover on his own. But nor do they wish to leave the safety of the fortress, especially if we are lying in wait."

A small, devilish smile this time.

"There may be others about. There was reference to a skeleton crew elsewhere in the complex. Would the magic of the statues reinforce their limited numbers if others carried the lad down the mountain? This is what they debate."

"If we could get Adrasta close enough to the dwarf, she could heal him. That ought to get us some points on the popularity scale. Any ideas how we can achieve this?"

Tecumseh wrote:

"There may be others about. There was reference to a skeleton crew elsewhere in the complex. Would the magic of the statues reinforce their limited numbers if others carried the lad down the mountain? This is what they debate."

"If we were in their circumstance, what would we do? Send one to alert the skeleton crew, and the rest take the lad down the mountain? There is opportunity here, as one, perhaps two would be sent to fetch the skeleton crew."

Otto looks confused, and a line of questions begins to form. "Why would they even take him down the mountain? Where would they go, what help would they get? There must be some kind of aid nearby, some reason to take him away from the mountain..."

Naesala looks a little piqued at the notion of healing the young lad.

"I broke him. Why would we put him back together?" she asks. It's clear the notion confuses her.

"Lines have been drawn. They drew first blood and, had they been better marksmen, would have drawn more. We should expect no welcome nor quarter. Unless we wish to retire the way we came, our course is clear."

Adrasta smiles at the elf. "You don't make peace with your friends. You do it with your enemies. Lines shift, and sometimes fade. Also, keep in mind most of us stay dead when we die, so forgive us for not being eager to fight a desperate battle to the death."

She nods at Ardan. She had had the time to cool off since their encounter and her vengeful anger had somewhat faded. "I'm willing to try one last time, but we have to be prepared in case it fails. We could find a good place for an ambush. Some cover or terrain that would negate their numbers. Then call out to them and offer terms. There's also a chance those poutana dwarves turn on us once they got what they want. They haven't shown themselves to be very trustworthy. We'd have to be ready for that too."

"That sounds like a good idea. What are our terms then? We should have that straight. And we need to find that place for the ambush. Naesala, have you seen a fitting place? Otherwise I'd volunteer to scout for one."

"Lines shift, and sometimes fade?" Naesala responds, her voice rising with incredulity. Usually soft-spoken, this is the loudest you've heard her speak.

"They tried to murder us this morning. I tried to murder them back this morning. All that's happened since then is we walked halfway around the mountain and the sun marched halfway across the sky."

She shakes her head with wonder. Perhaps she mutters something under her breath about the fickleness of short-lived races, but if so it's too quiet to hear.

"These are dwarves. They have their Plan. Whatever that Plan is, we represent threat and disruption. You may change their course as easily as you could divert a river or arrest an avalanche."

She shakes her head again.

"This will end in blood. Prepare your speech, but they will rush you regardless of your words. Do it now while they are in the infirmary. The door offers a chokepoint. In their rage they will charge and we will cut them down as they exit one-by-one."

"Naesala is right! Let's do this and get it over with. Lead the way." A grim look of determination spreads on Ardans face, his voice has a cold touch like never before so far.

Otto listens to the back-and-forth, somewhat baffled by the moral and ethical twists and turns. It seems the group has come to the inescapable conclusion that, between the group's 'trespass' and the dwarves' injured companion, there was no way to salvage any kind of friendly relations. The dwarves made their bed with their earlier aggression, now it seems they're going to sleep in it. Perhaps permanently.

"So be it", Otto says rather grimly. The grip on his axe tightens, his knuckles going white as if he intended to twist the handle in half. His hands creak like wet leather on the axe handle, and his jaw clenches. The sound of grinding teeth and the creak of his hands are, for a moment, the only sounds the group hears in the dwarven caverns.

"Where is this infirmary?"

Naesala leads the way. In truth, it wouldn't be hard to find it on your own as all you need to do is follow the sound of the voices. The biggest challenge is not making any noises that would echo. The entire complex is an enclosed space with hard walls made of stone. What sort of cacophony did the dwarves endure when this space was fully occupied?

The dwarves don't seem to be big on windows. For the most part you can pretend you're in an underground city with little houses and spaces carved from the stone walls, but they generally only include doors instead of windows. There's only one door leading into the infirmary, which makes it easy to trap the dwarves inside. However it's dark in there - the dwarves are seemingly content without light - and only Naesala, using her Inner Eye, can tell what's inside.

The dwarves are whispering, although why they're being so quiet you cannot say. To not disrupt the injured lad? It's difficult to piece together what they're saying but the occasional word you can pick out is in Trade Cant. There are multiple voices, a discussion of some sort, presumably a continuation of what Naesala heard earlier.

With light levels almost non-existent, Otto accidentally bangs his head on a low post. He suppresses an oath but his axe clatters, the metal making a sharp noise that's clearly audible. The voices in the Infirmary instantly halt.

Positioned close to the infirmary door, but out of any line of fire, Adrasta clears her throat. "Hello," she says in Trade Cant, "as you can tell, we've gotten inside. There are two ways this can go."

"One: I can come in there and heal your friend, then we can stay out of each other's way until we get bored and move on. We're not looking to put down roots here, just sate our curiosity."

"Two: we can finish what you started when you shot at us as we left."

"Take you pick."

There's a rapid shuffling inside - grasping for weapons - and then a moment of silence.

And then there's an EARTH SHATTERING HORN! OH GOD IT'S SO LOUD! YOUR HEAD IS SPLITTING!

It's probably the same - or a similar - horn that they used up on the wall. Only now, because you're underground in a cavern with rock-solid walls, the impact is literally deafening. The sound waves have nowhere to go except straight into your head. You slap your hands to your ears but the ringing continues even after the blast of the horn stops.

"Gamo ti poutana mou!" Adrasta curses through clenched teeth as the cacophony assaults her senses. They'd tried. Everything they could think of to keep this from ending in blood and every time, these poutana dwarves had spat in their face. So be it.

She takes the fire bomb Naesala had made from one of her oil pints and a rag, and lights it. Then, using the doorframe and her shield as cover, she chucks it inside the infirmary.

Naesala sees Adrasta's intent and pitches her a pint of oil. She retains one for herself, the removes two sheets of paper (it is unclear why the elf has paper, but yet she does) and rolls two sheets into a couple wicks. The wicks are put into the pints, then lit. Adrasta and Naesala each take one side of the door leading into the infirmary. Naesala indicates that Adrasta should throw straight, more or less. On the count of three, they whip their arms into the room to launch their Molotovs into the room.

There's a flash, a burst of light as they ignite. Even Otto and Ardan can clearly see the results:

The dwarves had formed a shield wall in front of and over their fallen companion, who is stretched out in a coma on the floor. The pints connect with the wall, splash it liberally with oil, and then ignite. For the most part the wall serves its purpose and protects those behind it from the flames, but from the shouts of alarm it is obvious that some burning oil finds its way through the cracks.

The dwarves discard their shields. While metal and not flammable, it's clear they don't want to hold red-hot pieces of metal. They throw the shields forward, toward the door, where they burn and smoke. They form a small flammable moat, of sorts, making it difficult to either enter or leave. The dwarves then slaps the splotches of burning oil on their armor, with mixed success.

The oil does produce a good amount of smoke but also enough light to see clearly within. It's uncertain whether the smoke will accumulate in sufficient quantities to affect the dwarves. They are low to the ground, after all, and it's not difficult for them to bend even lower.

Ardan and Naesala stand a bit towards the back, as Otto and Adrasta prepare the oil bottles. A cold calmness fills Ardan. The relatively harmless times in the city were clearly over. Sure, he got into fights before, given his "profession" and loose tongue. But so far it had always been enough to fend of the attacker, withdraw and disappear into the crowd, or the night. Never did he have to fight to death, scarcely even to blood. But ever since he left the city behind it was all different. No more running away. No weaseling out of precarious situations. Five times it was life or death already. Not counting the dwarves shooting. Well, but counting this now.
In that moment Otto yanks open the door and him and Adrasta hurl their bottles into the room. He can see the dwarves throwing their shields forward then stepping a bit closer together and holding up their weapons. They are ready for us Ardan thinks, then he jumps forward, past Otto and Adrasta who are still rubbing tears from the smoke out of their eyes. Half way to the leader of the group, his sword appears in his hand. He hardly notices. With deadly concentration Ardan focuses on the dwarfs armor and seeks for that one hole. Then his rapier bites into the dwarfs neck, right over his armor. The dwarf is lucky, a bit to the right and it would have cut his main artery.
In that moment, Naesala appears out of nowhere next to Ardan and then one of the dwarfs drops like a bag of stones. But he cannot pay attention to that. Immediately two dwarves turn towards Ardan. The first slices at him with a sword, while the other stabs with a spear towards Ardans seemingly unprotected belly. Ardan manages to deflect the sword with his own, but it still bites a nasty gash into his thigh. Half as a reaction to the pain, half intuitively, he turns his torso just enough for the spear to go past him leaving the dwarf to struggle to keep his balance.
Then Ardan hears a growling sound behind him...

Otto watches his friends charge through the smoke, immediately rushing in behind them. He has a clear view, as Ardan's ghostly sword appears, and deftly cuts into the loud-mouthed dwarf, the murderous one with such ill manners. Naesala's chosen opponent goes down in a heap.

Otto can scarcely believe his own ferocity, nor the pent-up rage he felt for these particular dwarves. He recognizes the one that Ardan confronts, and veers his rapid-moving bulk towards the smug bastard. His own two-handed axe reflects the low light of the still-burning oil as it crashes against the side of the dwarf's skull. The light in the dwarf's eyes instantly dims, his jaw going slack, his arms unmoving, and he seems to topple, slowly, like a tree felled by the woodsman's axe.

The might of the blow carries beyond the leader, clattering heavily against three of the others. Nearly in unison, they fall to the floor to join their leader.

Adrasta charges in after the others, her shield held out in front of her and her xiphos clutched tightly. She gets to the dwarven line and... it's already over. Otto's wide swing had brought down most of their foes. "Ta exeis paraxesi, Otto... What kind of craftsman did you say you are? In the Phalanx, you would have held a place of honor in the Wallbreakers," Adrasta says. The Wallbreakers had been the mad warriors who threw themselves against the enemy formations, seeking to break them with unrestrained aggression.

She shakes her head in wonder, then heads over to Naesala and Ardan to see to their wounds.

moarhair wrote:

"Ta exeis paraxesiOtto... What kind of craftsman did you say you are? In the Phalanx, you would have held a place of honor in the Wallbreakers,"

Otto hangs his head, looks at the ground. He feels his fingers loosening on the axe handle, he can almost hear the rush of blood subsiding in his ears. He'd heard of berserk rages, and he knows this wasn't it. He knew exactly what he was doing, and whatever look was on his face, he knew it wasn't pride. The only thought going through his head was one of self-recrimination, "I've made nothing of value today, only committed an act of destruction."

"Ships. I build ships." He vaguely wonders if he shouldn't return to his profession, but knows he must press on.

"The horn may have summoned more, and who knows how many..."

He stoops to check the leader's body for valuables, his residual anger reflected in the way he handles the rapidly cooling corpse -- gruff, like shaking down a drunken man who had insulted his wife.

Adrasta has no killing to do but there is some healing to be done. It's a simple matter to mend Ardan and Naesala, who have relatively minor wounds for the threat that they faced. The burning shields offer light to work by. There's some smoke accumulating but it's not a threat at the moment.

Otto bends over to examine what's left of the senior dwarf. In the firelight he sees a glint. Is it just the reflection of the cuirass, well-polished? No, there's something underneath. He reaches down - a bloody mess - and from behind the cuirass pulls a thick selection of chains and necklaces. Pulling them over the hash that remains of the dwarf's head, he's able to see them clearly: necklaces of precious metals. Pendants of fine artistry, tastefully adorned with semi-precious stones. Is there more? Yes, rings on the dwarf's hand. Tricky to remove... Otto wishes he had some oil left. Fine bracelets adorn the dwarf's wrists. Coins? No. But collectively the jewelry must be worth dozens and dozens of gold pieces, maybe hundreds.

What about the others? The junior dwarves are not similarly adorned. They have their weapons and armor and some simple property - leather jewelry, perhaps some simple wooden carvings - but little of monetary value.

Two dwarves yet live: the one Naesala hit is sprawled out on his back. Perpendicularly, the one that Naesala tipped over the outer wall is also on the floor, laying in a coma with some modest comforts, like a pillow under his head and a blanket over his body.

There's a deep CRACK in the distance that sounds like stone breaking. Then another? Is something collapsing?? No, it's more like someone hitting stone with a sledgehammer three times, then four. Naesala skips out of the infirmary, over the burning shields, to see what's the matter. She returns quickly.

"We have company," she announces.

Company?

"Dwarves. And statues."

Statues?

"The ones from the guardhouse. Two of them, to the left, with two dwarves. Four dwarves approaching from the right."

How soon?

"Presently."

The left would take you deeper in the complex, near the pipe you used to enter. The right would take you higher in the complex, toward the upper fortifications and entrance.

"Dwarves, definitely dwarves!" Ardan grabs the mace of the dwarf "Who knows whether we'll bump into another stone fella." he adds and turns towards the the right. He looks back at his friends and says "Are you coming?"

"Look at this", says Otto, pointing at the downed leader. "No one who belongs here wears 20 necklaces and fistfuls of rings."

He grabs the body of the leader, and heaves it out the door to lie in the hallway -- rings still on his fingers, necklaces still draped around his neck.

"We can judge by their reactions whether they are thieves or the proper residents of this place."

Otto seems resigned, wondering whether he and his companions will survive one last fight with the dwarves and their automatons.

Otto needs to kick aside the burning shields to clear a path to the door. It's not hard, but it's hotter and smokier near the door than it is near the bodies: the living, the dead, and the halfway in-between.

"What of it?" Naesala asks, perplexed as the senior dwarf's body flops into the street. It's still hard to hear her but your hearing is slowly returning. The enclosed space helps.

"They probably are tomb raiders. Ignacio told us they were trading treasure. That's why we're here!

"It doesn't matter who they are; the statues take their side!"

With a shrug, "Let us break stone."

Otto steps into the hallway, sets down his lantern, and hefts the hammer.

You leap out of the infirmary onto the street - or hallway, or corridor, or whatever it is called when you're in a mountain fortress - and assess the situation.

There's enough light coming from the burning oil to see what's in your immediate vicinity. Beyond a hundred feet or so it's pitch black. Naesala generally knows where she's going, but everyone else will need a light source to avoid running into walls. Or maybe you can all hold hands as you run for your lives through the dark.

The dwarves have stopped about 90 feet away in each direction. As Naesala reported, there are two the left (along with two statues) and four to the right. The dwarves seem to be operating in pairs: one will have a large shield (well, large for a dwarf anyway) and a hand weapon. The other has a crossbow. There's one pair to the left (with the statues) and two pair to the right. They're all huffing and puffing, evidence that they've run here as fast as their little legs can carry them. Those with crossbows finish loading them just as you step out.

The dwarves' intention is clear: to riddle you with crossbow bolts in a crossfire. You can't turn to charge one set of dwarves without exposing your back to the other set. The statues, however, don't seem content to stand still. They march on you at a steady, rhythmic pace. Their steps are synchronized, perhaps because that's how their magic works or perhaps because the combined sound effect of the STOMP-STOMP-STOMP is terribly intimidating as it echoes through the enclosed space.

"They killed him!" they shout, apparently referring to the body that Otto heaved into the street. "OPEN FIRE!"

The four heroes (?) quickly retreat back into the infirmary. Crossbow bolts ping off the doorway.

They kick away the flaming shields. Ironically, the burning oil they meant to use to smoke out the dwarves may end up smoking themselves out. It's not an immediate concern, but they might not want to spend an extended amount of time here.

Outside, you can hear the dwarves furiously reloading while the statues march closer and closer.

Otto's day had deteriorated substantially, but the idea of smashing the stone midgets to powder does hold a certain appeal. That is, if it's even possible. The reality of their situation hits him, images of the family shipyard flash in his head. If he dies here, no one will know...

It seems likely to him that the dwarves will close in, as they try to get the right angle to fire through the doorway. "If we can smash the statues, we might have a chance. Might..."

He listens to the stone footsteps, and prepares to time his strike with the hammer. Between the sound of his own breathing and the echoes of stony footsteps, and the smell of faint smoke, his senses are occupied except for "Hey now, this hammer is interesting." He'd caught a glimpse of it out of the corner of his eye. Pretty. Possibly vintage.  He silently pleads with whatever gods may be listening, "Please please please, do not be purely ornamental..."

Ardan holds the mace, his back pressed to the wall. His heart is thumping as he waits for the statues to come through the door.

The stone steps get closer and closer. STOMP-STOMP-STOMP. The footsteps echo throughout the enclosed space and rattle your brain.

They're not subtle in the least so you know when the statues are close. Otto heaves his hammer in the air - miraculously, the ceilings are tall enough that he can extend his arms fully - and swings it down like a goddamn guillotine on the first thing that walks through the door.

It's a blunt guillotine but the effect is much the same. Otto brings the hammer down directly on the statue's head, which shatters into gravel. The follow-through obliterates its left arm, which was holding a stone shield.

The war hammer hums happily in Otto's hands. Otto might have expected a violent vibration to echo back through the hammer, but instead it's a pleasant reverberation, as if he had unlocked its inner harmonics. The hammer looks forward to ringing again.

The statue, to its credit, does not fall. It staggers forward but its steps are wobbly and uncertain. The statue is about the height of Otto - a proper man, not a stumpy halfer - which makes you realize they must appear very large to the dwarves. Or, it was that tall before it had its head knocked off and its arm dashed to pieces. It raises its stone sword with its remaining hand as it prepares to strike, so perhaps it can still put up a fight without its head.

The violent reverberations never came, much to Otto's surprise. Chunks of what had been the statue's head ricochet harmlessly off of Otto and Adrasta, but Otto's delight at the crushing blow quickly gives way to dismay. Somehow, the headless stone automaton continued to lurch forward.

He wonders again if it's even possible to down the stone monstrosity, and even if they are successful, will they have any strength left to deal with a half dozen swarthy dwarves.

Adrasta watches in dismay as the statue keeps coming after losing half its bulk. She glances down at her xiphos, quickly coming to the conclusion that the short sword wouldn't do much against the stone monster.

Hold the line and keep the others alive. Only they can take this thing down. She lifts her shield and stands in the statue's way, keeping it from getting at Otto or Ardan.

As the statues enters the room and Otto smashes with the two handed hammer, Ardan gets blinded with the debris and dust. He swings the mace blindly into the cloud of dust, but the mace only straves the statue chipping off a piece of the stone sword it wields.

Given Otto's obliterating strike, Ardan might have harbored a momentary fantasy that the statues would be soft and supple, like talc or gypsum, in order to make them mobile. That's not the case; they are hard as granite. Ardan's mace knocks off pieces of the hobbled statue but still it staggers forward, raising its fractured sword against Adrasta.

The wounded statue catches Adrasta on her arm, but Ardan's blow blunted the tip of the statue's sword. The wound is mild and nowhere as deep as it would have been with a proper piecing point. A flesh wound at best.

Looking over the statue's shoulders - through its non-existent head - Adrasta sees the second statue push its way into the room. It raises its sword against Otto, preparing to smite him with a mighty blow. Adrasta shoves the wounded statue aside, leaping forward with her shield raised to intercept the blow. She succeeds in doing so, although the heavy force of the attack blasts through her defenses and shakes her to the bone.

Adrasta focuses, coaxing her body into knitting itself back together. She keeps her shield up, ready to get in the way again and protect her harder hitting teammates.