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Argatha shakes his head. "It seems clear to me there are no dwarves here. Are there any dwarves anywhere? I don't know. But I think we can safely say there are none here. Let's start with that. Anything else is spreading falsehoods, since he clearly thinks there's someone just around the corner to help us."
"Someone should also ask him why he can't leave this chamber. Maybe we can bring him something from elsewhere in the complex or do something so he can go home." Argatha imagines he's a resident of some higher plane - trapped here and going insane.
”My questions would be what do we stand to gain – or lose – from either course?”Brimble gets up. His tone is cool, ”I’m gonna take a look at that slagborn and walk around a bit.”
Em is glad someone will give the goblin body another look. If there are more above, it is better to know what to expect. "I assent, Argatha. Let us tell him of where we have been, and what we have seen, and none of us speculate about what may be." Em hopes the tea will be ready soon, the fragrance is enticing. "Though I don't suppose it will change his view of the world much. And whether or not he will help us seems a different question."
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"Though I don't suppose it will change his view of the world much. And whether or not he will help us seems a different question."
"Whether or not he will help us," Xira sighs, "should probably be beside the point." She directs a scowl at the toes of her boots. "And Brimble's right, I should certainly amend my assumption of the dwarves are gone to the dwarves appear to be gone from Thurznchakh. An honest point to start from, anyway."
She looks toward the door. "I know he's the scout, and I know he can see in the dark where we can't, but I don't like any of us walking around here alone."
Weapon in hand: Quarterstaff
Effects:
Via Phantrel, Raka is able to learn a bit more about Trudd-- nothing that contradicts what she heard from Lady Highcliff. "That is Trudd, Trudd the Mighty, the Shining Shield," Forgewise booms, clearly finding Trudd a much less fraught deity to talk about than Dranngvit. "He guards his father's halls, and the innocent and defenseless wheresoever they may be! But even I could not answer for you the greatest of mysteries: how Trudd lost his beard." The celadon chuckles a bit.
****
Forgewise looks nonplussed at Brimble's statement that he ought to sit down, or that there are 'truths' in wait. "Oh, just give me a moment with the tea," he says absently, and fusses with the teacups and a tin produced from the same shelf as the cups. The firebeard opens the tin and shakes some of the contents into each cup of now-steaming water.... though you cannot help but notice there is apparently nothing in said tin, and that Forgewise is shaking empty air over the cups. If he is aware of this he makes no sign of it, distracted by Brimble's question. So much for an enchanting tea smell!
"How long......? Oh, oh, not so long, I shouldn't think! Perhaps a..." the firedwarf trails off, uncertainly. "A ten-day? A... was it yesterday? I... no, it has been a bit more than that..."
The firebeard's countenance is fairly open and easy to read, which is impressive given half of it is on fire; you can see uncertainty and then agitation on his face. He turns to the automaton in his now-familiar custom:
"Altynbekh? Altynbekh, my friend, how... how long since we last held a service?" he asks hesitantly. He gazes at the construct waiting for an answer, then lets out a little exclamation and smacks himself once in the forehead (with a soft metallic clang). Forgewise hurries over to the bronze-man. "Well, and no wonder thou art so quiet, I never finished refilling your reservoir! Where IS my head, I wonder! I should belike leave it on a shelf if not that the Creator in his wisdom hath affixed it firmly to mine shoulders! Here, my darling, thou must be parched--"
Forgewise picks up the same decanter that he had filled the teacups with and resumes his position behind the bronze figure that he had been in when you first entered, opening a panel in Altynebkh's 'back' and pouring water into the machine-man. He seems as absorbed doing this as he did when fixing Thunder-follows-Lightning-- or very eager to have a different task to think about than answering the question, perhaps.
Em's soft but sure recitation of Toragdan scripture pierces his focus, however. The celedon looks up, once more smiling, the agitation wiped smooth from his features. "Ah! Thou ART familiar! Yes, hath it not a pleasing rhythm? Like the music of hammers! O listen, all thou children of Torag-
"For in the heart of flame dwells thy salvation
"For thy clan, and kin, and brethren-sistren sworn
"In craft eternal and sacred creation
"Is the destiny and dream of all stoneborn."
Even those of you who can't understand the language no doubt can't help but be impressed by the ringing bass rumble of Forgewise's voice chanting the ancient Dwarven, which echoes around the room beautifully. The celedon beams right back at Em, his earlier distress seemingly forgotten. For now. He shows no immediate desire to resume the prior conversation topic. The holy text of Torag is a much more comfortable one, after all! It seems he has also forgotten to complete his task of 'refilling' Altynbekh-- the bronze figure stands with its back panel still open, exposing complicated internal machinery and thousands of little gears. The task of making 'tea' (or cups of hot water) has also been abandoned, though the little mugs are pleasantly steaming atop the altar.
The question of whether or not Forgewise can leave the chamber is a sound one, and Phantrel raises it as gently as he can with the celedon. Again Forgewise looks somewhat nonplussed conceptually.
"...I am a caretaker for this temple," he says after a pause. Forgewise sounds proud when he adds on: "From Heaven's forges was I called, to serve Torag through his children's needs! As long as the temple needs caring for and acts of holy creation needs be performed here, this then is my sacred duty. Whither else would I go, but to the post where Torag's wise priests stationed me? Can a soldier leave their watchpost?"
From this, you gather that the distinction been cannot and will not is one that is difficult for Forgewise here. Xira's words have helped grant further insight: he is a construct, even if an intelligent one-- his 'programming' does not include the possibility of leaving the temple to freely wander.
When Brimble indicates that he wishes to go take a peek about via two walky-fingers, Forgewise only smiles blithely at the kobold. "Enjoy stretching thy legs! Oh-- if thou hapst upon any goodly materials, couldst thou bring them back with thee?" Phantrel is able to relay the request before the kobold leaves the room.
Brimble slips out with his own thoughts for company and pads quietly up the hallway to the crunched bones of what he is now fairly certain is a goblin.
The body, or what's left of it, really does look as if it had been trampled by a couple of legions of cavalry. Or maybe just Altynbekh.... many times.
Poking around in the mess that has been left, Brimble finds a 'dogslicer' dagger-- a blade typically used by goblins, made of any scrap of steel the notorious scavengers could find. It is the spiritual opposite of the costly and masterfully made clan daggers you have been finding: a rusted, cheap shiv with holes through the blade, likely to break if its wielder sliced the wrong way.
Using the dogslicer to poke through the bone fragments turns up nothing else of any real value-- at least to Brimble. It is possible the original goblin found great value in four mismatched clothes buttons, a single glass catseye marble that has somehow avoided being crushed, two copper coins, and a cheap tin fork of the kind commonly issued with mess kits.
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Brimble stops. "Uh, what is 'goodly material'? Happy to fetch some, but I gotta know what it is."
Via translation, Forgewise answers with blithe confidence: "Oh, nearly anything, really, if it be of decent quality! Ingots, leather, fabric bolts, cut stones. The storevaults will be well-stocked; thou canst inform the stoneborn on duty that it is for Forgewise and they canst offer thee a selection!"
"Sure. What about these?" He pulls out the dwarven paring knives he 'borrowed' from the kitchen. "It's not stoneborn make but could you repair Raka's axe in case we run into some slagborn?" He leaves the details to the others.
Brimble takes the dogslicer, marble, and buttons. He's not sure any of it will please Forgewise but the least he can do is find a few items to distract the poor bastard. Having gleaned what he can from the corpse, the kobold makes a quick run up to the bath to pick up a few clan daggers. He grabs the ones in the worst shape possible and then runs their edges against the floor, trying to dull and chip them.
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"Sure. What about these?" He pulls out the dwarven paring knives he 'borrowed' from the kitchen. "It's not stoneborn make but could you repair Raka's axe in case we run into some slagborn?" He leaves the details to the others.
Forgewise takes the knives willingly, humming to himself from deep in his chest and seeming pleased enough. As soon as Raka's axe is brought up in Dwarven, though, he all but leaps into action.
"AYE! Aye I wouldst be happy to mend thy weapon--"
Fortunately, Raka realized earlier that Forgewise was fixated on her axe, and therefore (probably) doesn't freak out at the sight of a fiery imitation dwarf barrelling towards her with blazing hands outstretched before the words can possibly be translated.
With the axe in hand, Forgewise returns to the anvil (setting the teacups aside) to start to work on the axe, again with seeming hyperfocus.
"Whether or not he will help us," Xira sighs, "should probably be beside the point." She directs a scowl at the toes of her boots. "And Brimble's right, I should certainly amend my assumption of the dwarves are gone to the dwarves appear to be gone from Thurznchakh. An honest point to start from, anyway."
"It should be irrelevant," Phantrel replies, "but whether it is probably depends on whether not helping means hindering us. I think he'll let us go on our way fine, but will he let us do that should we find the weapons we are looking for, for instance? I'm sure you've noticed that he changes the subject or doesn't answer when certain topics are raised. I can't honestly tell but to some extent I don't suppose it matters whether he does or does not truly knows whether the dwarves have gone."
He looks in the direction of the departed Brimble. "He may also be right, we don't know what happened to the dwarves in general. It's also not something that I think really matters either, that's a question for historians or philosophers or officials. We - at least as far as I'm concerned - are interested in what happened to them here and how this knowledge may help us to get out of here and prepare for what may lie ahead."
It's a practical viewpoint but to the half-elf the focus should be on staying alive and their escape from Thurznchakh. He is also, when it comes down to it, just a lot less interested in what became of the dwarves, here and elsewhere, than the rest of the group appear to be. To Phantrel, if they went back to the stone they were hewn from one way or another, well that is just the way of all things in the great cycle. All things are born, all things die, and nature remains the constant. It is what you do with your life, how you spend the time allotted that is what truly matters.
He feels likewise about their works. While they are undeniably impressive, they are not really to his simpler tastes. The dwarven city may be a feat of incredible engineering but is it really more beautiful, more complex, more worthy of awe than a single leaf? Phantrel thinks not, though he keeps his opinions on the matter to himself as he recognises that might be a view that he alone shares.
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Raka lingers on the statue of Trudd for a while, then moves on. Whatever the smiling god might have wanted to give to his followers, and wanted from them in return, is long gone.
Raka feels as though she can almost get a better sense of the-- what did Xira call it? A celery?-- creature's true intentions, but being unable to speak his language, the finer points still elude her. His chanted words are oddly soothing, however.
She readily relinquishes the axe upon hearing the translated conversation. It seems like the celery genuinely wants only to fix it, and in its ruined state it isn't nearly the lifeline that it was when she first picked it up.
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vs DC 11
Argatha thinks back (link) to an earlier statement, but can't quite make sense of it.
vs DC 18
He nods along with Phantrel. "I agree he's uncomfortable about certain facts. It'd be nice to tell him what's going on, but I think maybe he already knows on some level, and doesn't want to admit it."
Either way, Argatha shakes his head sadly, unsure what to do. He shrugs, and gets back to basics, where he's comfortable. "Ask him if we can help him in some way. What does he need?"
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Asking questions means waiting until Forgewise has fixed the axe. If anyone is observing the celery celedon at work, you note that after inspecting the axe, he takes one of the paring knives Brimble had offered over and works it in his hands for a short period, muttering to himself. Those watching closely indeed can see that after a bit of this, the steel of the kitchen knife starts to flow in his hands like clay. He then uses this steel as he works on the axe.
By the end of his efforts, the axe is indeed looking much better. Forgewise beams as he passes it back to Raka. The handle has been reinforced so that no hint of the earlier damage remains; the weapon's head looks practically new-- polished and gleaming, the edge bright as if freshly ground. Though it still retains some heat from the working when Raka takes it, the metal cools much quicker than it should without a quenching, and is soon safe to handle.
"The knife wert of a low-grade steel suitable for soft tools, yet still purer than the..." Forgewise hunts for a polite word to describe the original metal of Carver's axe, "....stuff of which your weapon was wrought! I was able to improve it, a bit. Ah, for the forges of Heaven! The purest of ingots then didst I have for my labors!"
Forgewise seems momentarily quite happy to have gotten to work on a weapon, though with a certain sigh at the end of his words.
Returning him to Heaven is.... uh... probably outside your abilities.
Argatha's question of what can be done for Forgewise can now be asked.
"Oh-- well, materials would be appreciated, as I said to thy companion! Or-- if thou hapst to find the priest of Torag for this strata, might thou suggest he come to see me? Certes, he will come soon enough, but.... but it doth seem he is perhaps overdue. No doubt other matters hath occupied him! His name is Verrik Brightbrass."
With the repeated request for materials and the recycling of one of Brimble's knives, it seems clear that, despite the many handsome items on display, Forgewise has insufficient raw supplies here and this limits his ability to do the act that brings him the most joy.
Brimble returns with an armload of clan daggers and assorted goblin treasures… just in time to see his paring knife (well he knows it isn’t his but it feels that way) melted down. Easy come, sorry to see you go… He wonders if Forgewise could make his improvised death-pick a bit more deadly.
He puts the pile of refined and baser metals and goods down. Then he retrieves the crowbar from Argatha and heads out the other door of the temple, giving it a practice swing.
Bullets (20):
Frost Spitter (1):
Effects:
none – xxx.
Even though she's only getting his words via translation, Raka notices this is the second time Forgewise has mentioned being in Heaven.
"Y'know," she says softly to the others in Common, "he seems pretty fond of bein' in Heaven. I mean he sure seems ta like makin' stuff, but d'you think he'd be happier just goin' back up there?"
After a time spent with her own thoughts (and with her expression transmuting from a scowl to something much more thoughtful), Xira offers a question of her own to relay to their host.
"Good Master Forgewise, could you tell us where we might find a sturdier sheath for Thunder Follows Lightning?" She offers a bright smile. "Or ... might you be able to craft one yourself?"
"No offense, Em," she murmurs to her friend. Her question is simple and sincere, but might it also gain them at least some weapon-adjacent information?
Small as he is, Xira doesn't mark Brimble's return until he retrieves the crowbar. By the time she gets out "Brim--" he's already bustling out the other exit. She rises, and after yet another bow to Forgewise, she follows Brimble out, though she'll go no farther than she can see.
Weapon in hand: Quarterstaff
Effects:
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vs DC 15
Argatha nods along with Raka, though he didn't notice it himself. He'll share what little he may know of such a process - short of killing (which doesn't seem likely).
vs DC ??
vs DC 20
"He said, 'Can a soldier leave his watchpost?' - so he views himself as a solider on watch. Perhaps we can convince him to perform some other duty? Like go home? Maybe that's within his own power?"
Argatha shrugs, unsure what commands would be helpful here. It's not a question of just getting him out of the room so they can access the weapons. Argatha feels they should have permission as well to take them. If they're smart, they shouldn't be just stolen goods...
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Colin found all this... Well frankly it was all a bit overwhelming! The dwarven pantheon, the artistry of the pews, and Forgewise in particular. It seemed Forgewise didn't was in denial about what happened to the stoneborn, if the lore was correct he'd been here alone for a long time.
When Argatha asked if there was something they could do, Colin found himself nodding and when Argatha pointed out that other duties might superseded Colin again nodded saying, "An astute point!"
So Colin addressed the shrine's guardian in his most respectful dwarven, "Master Forgewise sir, it is clear that you have diligently guarded this shrine for a very long time. Yet my friend here points out, correctly I believe, that a soldier has more than one duty. It sounds like it's been a long time since your last report to the stoneborn which surely is against the rules? What if something happened to Verrik Brightbrass? He could be lost or hurt somewhere, surely it's your duty to organize a search party?"
"Good Master Forgewise, could you tell us where we might find a sturdier sheath for Thunder Follows Lightning?" She offers a bright smile. "Or ... might you be able to craft one yourself?"
Forgewise straightens his shoulders, stands staller, and his metallic chest swells with a deep inhale. "Oh, my guests, how kind thou art! To offer such as myself the chance to craft a home for one of the Courageous! Such a task wouldst be an honor to me, I assure you! --if we can find suitable materials for it. It is not as though just any substance will do, for this!"
(Speaking of Thunder-follows-Lightning, it hasn't said a word to Phantrel since being returned to his possession. Though he hasn't said a word to it, either.)
***
Colin's quick mind seizes on possible loopholes that might exist to convince the firebeard to re-envision the scope of his duty. He puts forth a few arguments that cause Forgewise's fiery eyebrows to arch up towards the ceiling.
"....I... well.... it does seem overlong since Verrik was last here. And he seemed troubled at the time. Hrmn. Perhaps...." He seems to be considering this, at least. The mention of Star Spire needing defenders, however, makes him laugh his booming, hearty laugh.
"Oh, nay, my guest! The Tower has many security measures! From your story, thou encountered some of them on thy way in! And of course the stoneborn will repel any invaders easily! Besides, I am no officer, only a humble footsoldier and smith of Torag..."
There are several logical holes with his statement here, of course-- if a goblin thief got in, the place is not being too well defended, and even the 'security measures' you already encountered did not actually stop you from getting inside. Obviously! You can point out these flaws to Forgewise if you wish.
Argatha is pondering what he knows about the outsiders from other planes, and how they are summoned to Golarion, and the like. The gods alone know where he picked up this information, but he does in fact know some things about the topic! Maybe he overheard a drunken wizard in a pub once, or something.
The simplest way that a celedon such as Forgewise might be 'dismissed' from his current duty (and therefore presumably able to return to his native plane) is if a priest of Torag were to tell him he is free to go. Of course, you have a shortage of such priests at the moment. Otherwise, convincing him in some way that his duty here is no longer necessary and is finished might do it.
'As long as the temple needs caring for and acts of holy creation needs be performed here' were his words... but does a temple with no worshippers still need caring for? Possibly this could help sway him.
***
Brimble returns with an armload of clan daggers and assorted goblin treasures… just in time to see his paring knife (well he knows it isn’t his but it feels that way) melted down.
Hey, you gave it to him when he asked for 'materials'....
But never mind that. The instant that Forgewise lays his fireball eyes on the daggers that Brimble is carrying, he lets out a little gasp and beelines towards the kobold, reaching for the blades. The rest of the stuff that Brimble has brought back is not even worth his notice right now.
"--oh! Hath so many perished? And their blades not yet been returned to the Father? Disgraceful! And their condition....."
Forgewise quickly lays the whole assembly on the anvil-altar, though he very gently sets the one dagger of the bunch that has a glow in the pommel to the side, patting it lightly. "Well, I am glad to see you, at least. I shall set you to rights."
As he sets to work fixing the blades, Forgewise looks a bit thunderous. "Verrik really ought to be seeing to the funerary ceremony for these blades," he grouses. "He cannot be so busy as to be neglecting this. Where didst thou find them all? And why, I prithee, is this one--" he indicates the glowing one with a nod of his head, "not with its owner, who clearly yet lives?"
As he sets to work fixing the blades, Forgewise looks a bit thunderous. "Verrik really ought to be seeing to the funerary ceremony for these blades," he grouses. "He cannot be so busy as to be neglecting this. Where didst thou find them all? And why, I prithee, is this one--" he indicates the glowing one with a nod of his head, "not with its owner, who clearly yet lives?"
Wait, WHAT??!!!
Not even out the door when Forgewise imparts this information in his booming bell-voice, Xira immediately whips around and strides back to the anvil, or as close to it as she can comfortably get. "So, so that's what the glowing gems mean? That the owner of the blade, the one soul-linked to it, is still alive?" she asks, her voice hushed and stunned at the same time. "Resplendent preserve us. Brimble was right.
"Phantrel, my friends..." She turns to her companions, eyes as wide as they've ever been. "I think ... I think Forgewise needs all the details. Certainly all the details about these." She gestures at the array of clan daggers.
Weapon in hand: Quarterstaff
Effects:
Raka blinks. "A dwarf... is alive?"
She quickly takes off her backpack, where she had stashed the remaining glowing daggers, and produces them for Forgewise to see. "I had assumed these were magicky or somethin'. You mean these other dwarves are alive too?
"But... where did they go?"
Argatha isn’t sure what to make of that. ”There are still dwarves alive? Why did they leave their clan daggers behind?” he asks obviously. He also shares what he knows, ”I think our new friend could be dismissed by a priest of Torag. It’s possible he could self-dismiss himself if we could convince him he is finished here and is needed elsewhere. After all a temple with no worshipers isn’t much of a task.”
”Someone should speak of the emptiness we have found so far. There are dwarves still alive, but not here - not that we’ve found yet anyway. He should return home and prepare for his next assignment.”
”--oh! Hath so many perished? And their blades not yet been returned to the Father? Disgraceful! And their condition... Verrik really ought to be seeing to the funerary ceremony for these blades… He cannot be so busy as to be neglecting this. Where didst thou find them all? And why, I prithee, is this one-- not with its owner, who clearly yet lives?"
Brimble was tempted to carry on with his exploration. Honesty had a single vote – his – and it had been dismissed; Expediency was ascendant. He found he had no stomach for it and was more than a little tempted to let the crew twist in the wind as more facts shone light on the shadings of truth being discussed. But Forgewise had earnest questions that deserved answers. So he stayed, and spoke.
”Master Forgewise, I said before there are hard truths to share… I know very little for certain. But, as someone said, we came up through the Iron level. But we saw no stoneborn there. We found many of these knives. We aren’t thieves. We took them for self-defense. Our ‘weapons’ are like Raka’s axe before you repaired it. And on the highest level of Thur-znchakh,” he fumbles on the name, ”… there is a smart and evil shadow that killed several warriors. We are just miners and laborers. My fear is that IF the only exit we find is close to that monster we will die without a fight because our weapons are barely weapons.” He shows his modified pick with the sharpened point to emphasize this truth. ”We did not mean to dishonor the stoneborn by taking these blades. I am sorry for that. I can bring you the other blades, if you wish to see how many lives have been lost.”
”Resplendent preserve us. Brimble was right.”
Brimble shoots a glare and adjusts the crowbar on his shoulder. ”Every time one of you says “Brimble was right” you sound so surprised.”
Bullets (20):
Frost Spitter (1):
Effects:
none – xxx.
Em is happy to let Phantrel advocate for her to peruse the Hammer and Tongs. She closes her eyes and listens deeply to Forgewise's resonant tones. There is splendor in the rich decoration that surrounds them, and much beauty, but in words there is power. If she is offered the book, there is no telling whether she will say another word to anyone until she has sat in a corner and read for hours. Em stands up slowly and inches towards the cups of hot water, offering to serve them for their host. She would offer to help with Altynbekh too, but she's afraid to get burned if she stands too close to Forgewise.
"Good Master Forgewise, could you tell us where we might find a sturdier sheath for Thunder Follows Lightning?...No offense, Em."
"It is right," Em says in agreement with Xira, though she doubts the blade will dull easily. "Methinks a little brass would look good in the scabbard. Let's keep our eyes open."
----
Em recognizes the words for dwarven funerary ceremony, which make her shiver in spite of the heat. It is not a comforting revelation, that there are still living dwarves. She approves of Brimble's truths. "There may be dwarves here, Argatha. We must be careful only to say what we know to be real, if we mean to set right a mind that has lost touch with reality." Em is thoughtful. "One might describe the dwarves as being lost to us, who have never found them."