"Get temple shaman to help. Make evil leave here, then bury it forever."/ offers the simplistic Khalbar
Pick is silent a few moments, thinking. He knows what he would have done back when among the People, but...
"Snares. Needles. Poison. Comes back, dies. No... no tools. No supplies. Cannot make. We go?"
"Okay, we're being hesitant and not getting accomplished, so I say we return to Sandpoint now while we formulate a well thought-out plan."
The forces of evil were coming into action and now was not the time to sit back and contemplate - a trait that seemed to come easy to the students of the arcane and the race of elves. Perhaps, A'letta thought to herself, the Shoanti can learn from this approach..
Pick nods once at A'letta's words. Again, many words to say simple things, he thinks. Top-siders are very strange. But these top-siders have been kind to him... spent precious magic healing him...
He starts leading the way back to where they originally trailed off from the smuggler's tunnel to chase down the other path-- then jerks his head towards the goblin tracks that continue.
"Go a bit? See?"
"Yes - we must fully explore the smuggler's passage and see if this is how the goblins got in..." Rhanloi answers.
Kyra nods to the priest, thanking him before departing from the Church.
Feeling how tense her back is, she decides to take a long walk through the town, heading first to the beach. She steps out among the sand, feeling it between her toes, and breathes deeply of the ocean air. She stretches before doing a few backflips, nearly falling on her face, but recovering quickly.
Unable to even feel grateful that no one saw her almost wipe out, Kyra stretches again, before hanging her shoulders in defeat. 'Long day.' She thinks, and wonders if all that much was gained from it. Certainly they had a plan now, she had a plan, but would that be enough?
Kyra realised that her problem more than anything was the uncertainty. Though she'd faked it through most of the day, she really had no idea what was coming, or if it was something she could defeat. It was with a bitterness that she admitted to herself that she couldn't punch an entire army.
Even though it still hadn't been that long, she found herself, not for the first time, missing the other goblin slayers. She doubted that they'd have been much help throughout the day's events, but suspected all the same that they'd have made her feel more comfortable. She pushed the thought of her head and her expression darkened. 'No time for comfort.' She glowered. 'I have to protect what's mine.'
Making her way back to the Sheriff's office to plan, she stopped by to see how the troops were getting on. They'd been practising rather well since her departure some hours earlier, and aside from a few small corrections, there was little more she could instruct them, given the time constraints. The important thing now was that they kept up with the pracising, and were prepared. Pleased with their progress, but still anxious of what the next day might bring, Kyra dismissed them for the night with mixed emotions.
She sank down into the chair, staring absently at the map, wondering about all the things she may have missed.
Pick, A'letta, Khalbar, and Rhanloi beat a strategic retreat from the Cathedral and leave the cavern altogether, opting instead to explore the smuggler's tunnel for a time before heading back to Sandpoint.
What they find is fairly conclusive. It takes around twenty-five minutes to find the end of the tunnel, but when they do, it emerges on the banks of the Turandarok river a few miles out of town, in the thick of the forestland.
All around the cave's mouth are obvious signs of goblin activity. What with the burned-out firepits, goblin-made toy-distractions and the half-eaten, rotten food and refuse, this obviously served as a group of goblins' campsite.
It's evening time when the spelunkers return to the surface in the Sandpoint Glassworks, and a pair of anxious guardsmen await them at the cavern's entrance. They're informed by the guardsmen of any recent developments (such as Kyra's recent responsibility over the guards and the fact that the town is fairly peaceful for now) and asked what transpired.
Pick pokes around in the camp at the end of the tunnel, nose wrinkled, teeth bared at the goblin detritus. Noisy little wretches. None here to fight right now. Hnh. Once he's seen enough, he shrugs at the others and scuttles back to the comforting peace of underground, away from the terrible fire eye that makes his eyes itch so.
In the half-hour's walk back under the surface to town, Pick runs his stubby fingers along the tunnel, taking comfort from their solidity and relatively confined quarters. This, he knows. This, he likes. Above is too open, too many options, dizzying like the big blue blank sky. He likes simple choices. Or no choices: no choices is best, maybe, a single path to walk, single orders to carry out, only one voice to please.
His world doesn't have these things anymore. Instead it has the noisy top-siders he owes his life to. Very strange.
In the deep-below, he knows how to fight in narrow places, in little crooked chambers and twisted caverns. How does he fight up here? How does he pay off his debt? He will have to discover a way.
He hesitates when they get back to the glassworks, reluctant to return once more to the bustle and noise and the bright light. But where the ones who hold his life go, he must follow. So he puts on the smoked goggles again, slinks behind them back into the town.
Just don't ask him to be the one to explain to the guardsmen.
But as the commotion in the city builds, and the Sheriff took off on business, and the newest goblin-slayers started hanging out with Ameiko, and saved Ameiko's life, and slew some goblins, and now were causing even more commotion in town, it became harder and harder to ignore the fact that something momentous was happening.
You asked Ameiko to introduce you to the goblinslayers, and she took you to the Sheriff's deputy-house. Looking at her questioningly, she told you to just trust her and led you inside. Opening the door to the Sheriff's office, you see a short but muscular woman reclining in the Sheriff's chair, facing away from the door. She turns, an irritable look on her face melting to one of resigned recognition as she sees Ameiko. "How can I help you?"
Ameiko explains that this is her friend Flibidnick, and that he'd asked to have her acquaintance.
On the way back through the tunnels, Rhanloi tries to discreetly catch Pick's attention, then rubs his chin while looking at Pick's failing 'beard' disguise. Rhanloi doesn't want to embarrass his new companion, but he can't just let Pick get into town with it hanging like that...
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Flibble looks at the woman, and sucks on his pipe, gathering his thoughts.
"Och, lass, it's like this. I'm thinking these troubles are not gaeing tae gae away, and I feel the need tae be helping, d'ye ken? I'm nae mean Sorceror, and mae pet makes a handy mount that'll be a boon. I asked yon wee Lassie if she'd introduce me, and she brought me here."
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After several attempts by Rhanloi, Pick finally notices the gesturing and chin rubbing.
....what? Does the drow-cousin's chin itch? Does drow-cousin wish for an excellent, luxurious disguise beard like Pick's? Pah. You cannot have it, drow-cousin, it is Pick's! Get your own wolf fur!
Pick bares his teeth briefly at Ran-loy and switches over to the other side of the tunnel. Hrnfff.
As the gnome talks, Kyra scowls at Ameiko but says nothing. 'I ask for help from these people for defending this garbage town and I get puny looking midgets and their pet birds.'
"Yes," she says evenly, still staring at Ameiko with a 'why would you do this? what made you think this was a good idea?' expression. "I'm sure with you at our side the goblins will run screaming back into the Thistle-whatever."
She rubbed her eyes, feeling more tired than she had in years, and turned to really look at the gnome for the first time. He looked old, but then, all gnomes did. It crossed her mind that with his size she could probably have picked him up and thrown him through the window. That was no use to her. Even Pick, despite his size, would have bit and kicked if she tried to do that. There seemed to be nothing of value in this small creature.
Still, there was something about him that gave her pause. It wasn't something she could put her finger on, but a kind of energy, perhaps? Besides, she did need the help. 'If nothing else,' she figured, 'he could be canon fodder. Better him than one of mine.'
With a smile, she looked at the gnome. "Alright. What's your name?"
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"Och, Lass, Mae names Flibidnick Grindlebling, but yon big folk call me 'Flibble', d'ye ken? As for Goblins, they're nae worse 'n giants - now, tha's a foe tae be fightin'!"
He pauses a sec, and puffs a moment in thought, "If tha's nae guid, how about a troop 'o the finest Magnimar Guardsmen? I could conjure that up for ye, nae problem. I can fly over tae the enemy, tell ye where they're massing, I can drop bombs on them, slow them up wi' alchemical weapons, d'ye ken? I hae a few thunderstones that'll make 'em deaf an' disorientated. An then I can start wi' the spells, d'ye ken?."
"Now, I've given ye me name, it's only fair ye give me yuirs."
The gnome's talk gives Kyra pause. The town's defenses had thus far proven to be lackluster at best, and she could not guarantee any kind of survival, let alone victory. The thought of winning the battle by way of bombs and spying felt like cheating, but then, the Goblins were planning to infiltrate the town by way of underground tunnels, and that was far more underhanded. This way was clever, tactical.
Besides, for all she knew Khalbar and Rhanloi and the others were dead. And if that was the case, Sandpoint really was in trouble. She took a deep breath and got up from the chair. "I am Kyra of House Arkona, currently acting Sheriff of Sandpoint."
"I like the way you think, Flibble, you may turn out to be a powerful asset. I should inform you that the road ahead will be difficult."
She held out a hand to the small man. "But if you follow my orders, we may just survive it."
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Flibble puffs out a cloud of smoke."Och, Lass, I'm sure we can co-ordinate, d'ye ken. How much experience do ye have o' the big battles? I hae some, though goblins are a bit different from giants. Generally, my experience is that orders are jes' fine until the enemy shows up, then they're not worth the paper they're written on, d'ye ken? I prefer to work with objectives, d'ye ken? Then theres the option of achieving the same goal a better way."
"There's also the matter of supplies. I hae me own kit o' bombs, but it's nae much and more'd be welcome, d'ye ken? Do ye have the authority to put the apothecary on to making them? I'd gladly gie him a hand wi' that. I'll even dae it fo' free, but I'd need the materials, d'ye ken?"
"And there's one more trick I can pull off for ye; tricky to do but could be worth a lot at the right moment. I can do a fair copy o' the voice o' the enemy commander, d'ye ken? What if those gobbos were to hear him ordering a retreat at the right moment? I speak goblin, so it'd be nae problem there. Wi' half o' them ignoring the command and t'other half retreating, could save a lot o' pressure on yuir poor wee troops."
Looking somewhat annoyed of the mention of objectives and orders, Kyra replied curtly. "I would think those are clear. Prevent the town from being destroyed."
"It's my intention that the goblins never so much as breach the city walls. But that will take a large degree of coordination. The likes of which the town guard have never even dreamed of... As for bombs, I have Podiker making a couple of large ones in case we have to blow the bridges. If you drop by and see him, you two may well be able to help each other."
She smiled at the mention of his voice work. "How good are your impressions? Their leader," she explained, "Is not actually a goblin, but rather, a human woman."
Watching Rhanloi try to get Pick's attention about the beard, and watching the not-dwarf shut him down. Khalbar says out loud so everyone can hear:"It is your beard, "dwarf" it is falling out. What are you?"
Pick nearly gives himself whiplash wheeling around to staaaare at the big man and fumble at his 'beard'. He tries to press it back into place. Panic! Alert! panicpanicpanic (at the dungeon)!
"Dwarf! Dwarf, Pick is dwarf!" he rasps, trying to put Spear-Woman between himself and Khalbar. Hiding behind a woman! (Although, she's a very formidable woman, so hey.)
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Flibidnick clamps down on his pipe, pulls out a bit of wool, mutters and motions. A disembodied voice that is a passable imitation of Kyra's calls out,
"Ameiko! Get in here!"
(Flibble takes 10 on his Bluff, for 16)
When Ameiko opens the door, Flibble says,
"Is that good enough for ye?"
He turns to Ameiko and says,
"it's all right, Lass, just demonstrating the Hemlock trick. Sorry to bother ye."
he turns back to Kyra,
"When she were a wee Lass, I'd work that trick on Sheriff Hemlock, having him 'order' his guards to gae on waild goose chases, d'ye ken? Used to drive him nuts, and amused Ameiko and me nae end."
"You can be whoever you want to be, Pick dear. But to me you're a friend first, someone who I know I can trust when lives are on the line. Now, take off that beard because even my blind father can see that it ain't real."
The tall woman tries not to burst into laughter while all of this goes on. To laugh would be to mock and Pick truly is above mockery after all they had gone through together.
Twitch-twitch-spazz-blink.
Pick takes his eyes off the threat of the big man to stare blankly up at A'letta.
You can be whoever you want to be.
Is Spear-Woman, perhaps, insane? It would explain much, like why she is so generous with her magic. Maybe all the top-siders are a little bit insane.
Insane or not, she still owns his life. His face works in soundless grimaces for a few moments, because she said, take off that beard and he cannot disobey an order from someone who owns his life. (Well, what he perceives as an order, anyway.)
Very sullenly, Pick rips off the bedraggled, pathetic bit of wolf fur.
"Pick is so dwarf," he mutters (very quietly) with a glare at Big Man. "Pick more dwarf than you."
Kyra nods at the gnome, impressed, and amused that he'd taunt Sheriff Hemlock with that gag. Her smile quickly fades as she realises that he impersonated her, though. "Don't do that again." She orders.
As she realises that Flibble has been living in Sandpoint for years, she turns to him. "There's something else you should know, that we're trying to keep quiet, at least for the moment."
"I'm sure you've guessed that the recent attack by the goblins wasn't the last one, and we have reason to believe that more will be coming, hence all the preparations." She gestures to the map that she's been drawing all over. "The leader of goblins that I mentioned. You may know her. It's Nualia. Father Tobyn's supposedly deceased daughter."
Khalbar slaps the little fellow on the back. "Does not matter what you are, you are friend! We spilled blood together. Our bond is strong. Keep fur-face or drop, it matters not to me."
Khalbar still thinks of Pick as a brother in arms, even if he is a strange little creature.
Pick thinks you are all totally insane, ayup.
He looks warily at Khalbar, warily at A'letta.
"Hnh. Yes. Fight together," he says slowly. "Blood... bond. Hnh."
All this emotion and acceptance is seriously creeping him out. "Back.. surface. Need..." Pick rubs his fingers together, trying to indicate by the gesture a fine substance, but he doesn't know the Common word.
"Little tiny... dust? Grind dust? Throw.. on no-see, then see?"
He resumes trotting along back to the surface with the others, goggles once more in place.
Sappy friendship self-empowerment talk aside, the spelunking team is directed by the guardsmen on watch at the goblin/smuggler's tunnel that their friend, Kyra Arkona, has taken control of the guard and that they should go talk to her.
A few minutes later, the group arrives at the garrison to find thirty-five exhausted guards, a setting sun, Ameiko Kaijitsu, and a flamboyant gnome in the building, all revolving around Kyra's attention and orders.
Kyra's face starts to light up when she sees the others, looking quite dirty, wounded, and tired, enter the room. Though she'd never admit it, she had been growing worried of what may have happened to them. Her face quickly turns to envy as she realises that they were probably having exciting adventures and beating things up, all while she was dealing with the townspeople and trying to plan city defenses. She approached the group with a determined walk and a dark look in her eyes. "About time. I've been waiting around all day for you." She snapped, her eyes going between each one, pausing for quite a few seconds at Pick in confusion. "And obviously you didn't hurry back since you took the time to shave the Dwarf. Tell me you at least learned something useful."
Pick blinks at Hammer's imperious gaze settling on him. Aaaannnd sidles behind Spear-woman once more, to try and be... not visible to Kyra.
It wasn't his idea to lose his beard! Don't punish him!
"Ah, yes - useful things indeed...but things that should be discussed over a meal, with wine!" Rhanloi's words are light, but his look is dark and ominous. He gives a slight shake of his head to Kyra and glances at the guardsmen and any other townsfolk who may be within listening range to indicate the accounting of their day is best kept within the group and not discussed here in the open...
"Yes, we talk about demon things living under city in private. Not here in front of troops." says Khalbar, perhaps spilling the beans.
He motions the others to follow him to the Dragon where they can eat and talk in peace.
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Flibble blinks at the approaching group, lighting up into a grin when he spies A'letta and Khalbar. Stepping forward, he greetas them Shoanti fashion with folded arms, and says,
Despite his small size, his execution is impeccable; obviously not someone pretending to the role, so there may be some truth to his claim.
When he spies Pick, he exclaims.
"Och, do my eyes decieve me? is this a nekkid dwarf? I nivver thought I'd see the day! What's yuir name, dwarf?"
Pick's eyes can't be seen behind the smoked lenses he's currently wearing, but they widen at the... volume and colorfulness of the small one addressing him.
What is it? It is like svirnefblin, but loud and bright and glaring and totally incomprehensible. (He has trouble with Common as it is, let alone Common spoken with a strong brogue.)
He stares blankly back at the... creature. Spear-Woman and Hammer are not attacking it, so it doesn't seem to be an enemy.
That's unfortunate.
Wordlessly, Pick grabs at his scarf and winds it around his face several times to cover up the lack of beard. Stop looking at meeee.
"Pick," he grunts, shortly and unhappily, from behind the muffling layers of fabric. He understood that much question, at least. And then he turns on his heel to trail after the others like a particularly skulky lap dog.
Kyra ignores Flibble and Pick completely, narrowing her eyes at Rhanloi and Khalbar, trying to decide if Khalbar is being facetious. She can't tell, deciding that it's because 'He's cute, but so very, very dumb.' Still, she does get the impression that there's more to the story than that. And whether the part about demons is true or not, she agrees with their meaning, that it should be discussed somewhere more private, and gives a slight nod. "Just need a second." She mutters, walking over to the assembled guards.
"There are other matters that I must tend to, more preparation to be made, but before we go our separate ways, there's something that I want to say to all of you. Your first day of training has been even more successful than I could possibly have hoped." Her voice comes out loud, authoritative, and surprisingly, completely genuine. The guards had all performed quite well, especially under the circumstances. "Go to your homes and rest, for tomorrow we shall train even more. And by the time the threat arrives, we shall be a powerful force that they will cower before. They will run screaming back to the holes that they crawled out of, never to look upon Sandpoint again!"
The suggestion alone that Flibidnick and A'letta are of the same blood boggles the mind when taking into account the size differences of the two. Decorated wood kept her facial expression hidden, but the mask couldn't conceal the big smile that exploded over her face when the gnome greeted her in Shoanti AND introduced himself as a fellow member of her tribe. How he ever got to be just that, now that's something she'd ask him later.
"Greetings, little brother and welcome to a town in need. Whatever sent you here, be aware that trouble lies ahead."
As grumpy as the soldiers in the garrison are, they're proud of themselves and their accomplishments and they know that Kyra's responsible...so they salute her, as one, and slowly shuffle out of the building and back to their homes. You do, however, catch a few mutterings amongst themselves about "demons?"
Ameiko extends her offer to free lodging (you know, for saving her life) to the goblinslayers' new friend, in part because he's her friend and in part because it's convenient. She leads them back to the Rusty Dragon, and when she gets there, it's just as busy as it is on any other night (Which is to say, quite busy. It's a popular tavern.)
With a flourish, she shows off the goblinslayers as they enter the tavern again, proclaiming their return with a shout and being answered with a roar of approval in return. Men and women alike try to show the goblinslayers to seats with their friends, try to buy them drinks, try to buy them food, try to cajole tales out of them.
Nope, our heroes have got business to discuss. They retire to their rooms to talk, alone.
Once the adventurers are alone, Kyra turns to Flibble. "Let me clue you in first, and then we'll learn what the others have discovered."
"Starting at the beginning, as it were. Some twenty years ago, Nualia is believed to have died in a fire. No body is recovered, which makes sense, since she didn't actually die. At some point in the next years she met Ameiko's brother Tsuto, who seems to have fallen in love with her."
Kyra began to pace as she spoke, trying to keep it all straight in her head, and fill in what pieces she could.
"The attack on the town that we thwarted was, amusingly enough given the popularity its given us, only a distraction, so that Nualia could steal her adopted father's corpse. From what Tsuto's journal said, it seems as though she burned in some kind of ritual, to get rid of what he referred to as her 'celestial taint'."
"Tsuto himself told me very little - oh," she turned to Flibble. "We've captured him, though to be honest, I do not plan on keeping him alive much longer. But he did confirm that Nualia is still in Thistletop, and that she's coming to attack in another raid."
"This second attack is to be the large one, some kind of sacrifice. Tsuto's journal called for a few different entrypoints, including a secret tunnel in the Glassworks, which is what everyone else was exploring. It seems that Tsuto murdered his own father to secure that location. Which hopefully we've removed as an option."
"I am not sure what she promised them, but Nualia has united five different goblin tribes, and that's not all. Per a conversation I had with Shalelu, the have a Bugbear with them, name of Bruthazmus, who, to quote her, is an elf-slayer. Clever, too." Kyra smiled a bit at this point, obviously looking forward to the idea of fighting the Bugbear. "We still don't know what Ripnugget or Malfeshnekor are."
She cleared her throat, projecting a sense of pride. "I've told the Mayor some degree of information, and Hemlock went to Magnimar to request aid, in light of the impending attack, leaving me in charge of the guard. I've begun training the men here in town, as well as meeting with several officials about setting up some better defenses within the town. Whatever they bring, I want to be ready for it."
"Between having Clerics in strategic places, Podiker making bombs to destroy the bridges, hired mercenaries, a few spellcasters, a boat or two. It won't be much, but it will hopefully be enough."
She pauses. "... I think that's everything, at least for the moment. So, what news from within the tunnels?"
Pick stares in incomprehension at the gnome. Pick what?
"...PICK," he says emphatically, and touches the weapon at his belt. Clearly you are a very stupid loud creature. Ugh.
Shaking his head fractionally, he remains silent the rest of the way to the inn, hiding in the back to avoid the attentions of the townspeople.
Pick listens, silent as usual, as Kyra outlines the situation. It is, he thinks, a very wordy, very long summary. But then, that is how these top-siders do everything. All the words. All the talking. Talk talk talk. Still, it is useful words. He files it away into the dusty gray tunnels of his mind.
When she comes to ask for their report, Pick nods. He was a scout for the People. He knows how to give reports.
"Two twisted-- things. Trapped dead. Small unseen flyer, escaped."
Pick pauses, running things over to himself, thinking if there is anything else to report. Ah, yes.
"Bad water."
There, he's done. See? You see how it's done, surface-dwellers?
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"Sorry Pick-yuir-nose, I dinna catch tha' What sort o' twisted things? and trapped dead? do ye mean undead? unseen flyer? d'ye mean invisible? and what's bad water? Ye need to explain yuirself, d'ye ken?"
This strange dwarf needs to lighten up. What self-respecting dwarf shaves his beard?
Flibble knocks out the ash from his pipe, then tamps some more pipeweed and lights it from a tindertwig.
Again Pick delivers a long, inscrutable stare (especially inscrutable with the smoked glasses over his eyes) in the talking... thing's direction. Is it addressing him? Why is it so many colors? Why is it so noisy? Can he kill it?
Behind the goggles, his eyes track to Hammer and Spear again. No, not drawing weapons. No killing. Sigh.
In order, then:
He shrugs, because he does not know what the twisted things were. Simple lift of shoulders, flick of fingers: I do not know, in the noiseless tongue.
He nods, because while the word is not very familiar to him, undead he thinks is what the others had called the shamblers in the pits, so 'undead' they must be.
He nods once more, and commits this new word to memory too: Invisible. In- vis- ib- bel. Why do they say with four sounds what can be said with two?
As for bad water... Pick makes a circular gesture with one hand, to suggest the shape of the altar's bowl, then cups a hand, lifts it as if to drink, and then clutches at his stomach and bends over, pretending to gag.
Pick straightens back up, crosses his arms, and leaves it at that.
There, Noisy One, you have been suitably chastised for your noise, in the fashion of the People: given a corrective example of how it is proper to express things. Pick is generous, though. Out of regard for Spear and Hammer (who he sees now is a Leader), he will not punctuate the lesson with pain, the other teacher, because you are ignorant as a child and some allowances must be made.
"Pick has the long and short of it. The bad water was found in an evil altar - we had no ready means of dispersing the water nor destroying the altar. Additionally, we discovered a powerful magical artifact that was a large spherical room with swirling runes of power on the wall. It seemed to have the ability let people and things float in the center of the room, although I would not recommend trying it, due tot he incredible amounts of evil and angry power emanating from it. This room should be studied further, but the entire complex must be sealed off to prevent any accidental, or purposeful, discoveries."
Turning, to Pick, Rhanloi speaks just to him. "Pick, I would like to learn this silent sign language you seem to employ. I have noticed you making several gestures that indicate some meaning or significance. Would you teach me?" Rhanloi is sincere in his asking, with no sign of mocking or jest.
Kyra's face turns more and more into a glare as Pick uses what for him is a lot of words, yet says next to nothing, and then make strange gestures when Flibble asks for more information. She's about to open her mouth to say something rude and offensive when Rhanloi speaks up to clarify a few things. Her eyes widen incredulously when he changes the subject and asks Pick to teach him sign language. "Yes, because attempting to decipher the meaningless gestures of a lunatic won't be a complete waste of time."
Writing Rhanloi off as having bumped his head in the tunnel, she now turns to A'letta. "Perhaps the area you found is for another ritual? Do you know what part of the town you were located under at that point?"
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"Wisht lass, no language is a waste, d'ye ken, and I can see a lo' o' guid in a silent language. What if yuir trying to be quiet? or if yuir a distance away that ye won't be heerd easy? or there's a lo' o' noise aboot? I too, would like to learn this language, d'ye ken? Even if it's from a beardless dwairf." The glow from his pipe lights the corner of the room as he draws on it, and now a smoky haze permeates the room.
Pick's head tilts at Ran-loy's words (again, Ran-loy takes many words to communicate what he already had said. Truly, the surface-dwellers do not know useful speech, since they must so many noises)... and then Hammer displays ignorance also, of the noiseless tongue, and... she thinks him mad? Hnhhh. The world is upside down, when the crazed think one of the People to be mad.
This is problematic. It means a Leader is ignorant. Is he supposed to follow an ignorant leader? But of course, she does not hear the Voice, so she is not really his leader, but... argh. This makes his head hurt.
He takes shelter from this moral dilemma in the question of Ran-loy, and the Loud One.
They wish to learn the noiseless tongue? Hnh! Well. Perhaps they learn something of wisdom. He does not, he thinks, want to spend any time around them, with their questions and noise, but... what he wants does not matter. To preserve the world a little longer, he must teach silence, and it is useful for them to know it. So he must be responsible and teach them.
He gives the drow-cousin and the not-svirnefblin a single, measured nod of yes. He'll teach you.
(He cannot help your ignorance, Hammer.)
Khalbar's eyebrows raise as the little gnomish fellow introduces himself as one of the People. He speaks in the perfect accent and knows the manners and customs of the Shoanti.
He puzzles on this riddle as the others de-brief in their own way. He listens intently to Kyra's story of her discover and interrogation of the prisoner, not fully understanding all of it, but getting that another attack is planned using the underground complex as a pathway.
"Underground tunnels how goblins got to town first time. If another attack is planned, need to guard or close that way in. Perhaps town soldiers can guard? Where does this attack come from?" He looks at Kyra to make sure she understands the importance of this. "We make unexpected strike on their camp before they attack us. This is the way of the Warriors of the People, and this is good plan!"
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"Och, If we can get explosives, we can blow yon tunnel, d'ye ken? and I like the idea of striking first. Kyra, lass, are ye're guards up tae a wee expedition? If we can find thae goblin camp, we can strike it nae problem. Me and mae pet should be able tae scout it out, with help from some o' the locals."
Kyra rolls her eyes at the exchange between Pick and the others. 'I don't need help from a Dwarf. There's only one type of communication that I need my hands for.' She thinks, stubbornly.
"How big is the camp?" she asks Khalbar. "The problem is that if they have multiple forces, we'd be leaving the city unprotected while we dealt with them. It wouldn't be the first time that Nualia used a small force of goblins as a distraction against us. It may be what she's waiting for."
"The other thing to note is that," Kyra bit her lip. "Well, if we charge through the tunnel and kill Goblins, she may find out and redirect the army. If we quietly block off the tunnel on this side, she may still send forces down there. Wonder if we could rig up some kind of trap." She cocks her head. "Still, this idea of a magical pool underneath the city troubles me. Perhaps Father Zantus or Sir Ilsoari could assist us in determining its purpose."