After a too brief rest, Brimble rises and gets back to work. He removes his sodden orange tunic and wrings the water out of it along with everything in his pack. He repacks his gear then picks through Carver’s gear, glancing at her modified helmet, and taking the light coil of silken rope. He eyes her thieves’ tools and swaps them only if they are better than the GMC-supplied set. As an afterthought, he grabs a pair of pitons as well.
”These were good men and women,” he gestures to the dead below. ”Let’s take a moment, huh?”
Brimble takes off his helmet and ducks his head, respecting Argatha’s wishes.
She gives one slice to each of the party, sparing the extra for Brimble with a wordless nod.
The kobold’s eyes move from Em, to the slices in his palm, back to Em, then back to the oranges. He carefully wraps them up in a bit of rag and tucks them carefully in his bandolier. ”’Preciate it. I’m gonna save them for later.”
Brimble watches the others, seeing what they’re doing and how they’re doing. He’d need to say a few words, but it’d be better after the initial shock wore off.
Brimble realizes that the helmet is... making noise? Yeah, it is. When he peers closely at the inside of it, there are thin gold lines of wire on the inside that terminate in two crystals, one where Carver's ear would have been and the other where her mouth would have been. The one near the ear is producing a soft, unintelligible noise-- no words that Brimble can detect (in any language), just a sort of faint, garbled hissing. KssskkkskkkkssssskskksssssKSSssshhhhkksssKHHHsssss......
The helmet itself is steel rather than leather. Very solid. Though that annoying sound in the wearer's ear might drive you nuts.
He seems to close his eyes… then suddenly points a claw at Xira, ”It’s just Brimble, not Sir Brimble. I work for a living.”
Chuckling, she kneels down to pat a scaley shoulder. "Heard and understood, my friend." You're more like a fierce little guardian dragon actually.
Xiramona also nods when Argatha requests a moment of silence, though Wazzer made too strong of an impression for her to remove her helmet even now. While she bursts her few bites of orange against the roof of her mouth, she thinks somberly about the other villager's probable reactions to Sulianna's death . She prays that they won't want details about what happened to her body.
She helps divest Carver of her gear, hiding her nausea behind the scarf she ties back over her face. With her spells Xira has no need for a sunrod, but she does take the other throwing axe and the silken rope. She also steels herself to examine Carver's armor more closely, using some water from her skin to clean it off. "Who's the best size for this then?"
She joins Colin over by the pipe to listen to any insights he might care to share about the strange mechanisms attached to it, and looks up to watch Argatha examining the hatch overhead. "If that hatch or anything else needs oiling, we can spare some from one of the lanterns." She nods at the three spares now lined up with the other scavenged gear. "We have enough light-generators of one sort or another already." Her lightspelled rock sits in the center of the platform, glowing in mute witness.
Fortunately, the leather cuirass does not appear to have been custom-made to Carver, and has a number of belts and buckles that could be adjusted to accommodate humanoids of various builds-- as long as they were in the same general size range as the humans present. Couldn't fit it onto Brimble, at least not without a lot of work, but anyone else could wear it and at least get basic protection from it.
Highcliff and Carver had been talking with the reconnaissance teams. So, the ear-thing and the likely mouth-thing made some sense. Carver’s helmet was oversized for Brimble’s head but he could make it work… and he only trusted himself to handle any communications. Right now, silence was best. There was no guarantee a melly wasn’t listening – that was attention they didn’t need. He wraps the helmet in his orange safety tunic to muffle it and stuffs it into his pack.
"We need to gear up. Everyone should grab a weapon they can use."
"We need to gear up. Everyone should grab a weapon they can use."
Xira purses her lips thoughtfully at Brimble's instruction. She'd been thinking of the small axe she picked up more as tool than weapon, but weapon it is, and others here might be more proficient than she at using it as such. She lays it back down and, after a brief hesitation, picks up the crowbar instead.
"So ... are we resting a bit or moving on?" She can't really say she has a preference. This cavern feels drenched in terror and loss, but unknown dangers await on the other side of that hatch. Xira's hand once again seeks the reassurance of touching the small package hiding under her shirt, but her face threatens to crumple when she remembers what she'll see when she finally unwraps it.
”Need brooks no delay, I’m afraid,” Em says, watching Argatha climb the pipe. ”Will we fit inside once it’s open?” she wonders, half to Argatha. ”If we venture to swim, I cannot hazard that we will all escape this place.”
"We don't even know if this leads anywhere. Could just be an access hatch to something. But if you're finished with the pipe... I'll open it."
When everyone is ready, and assured there are no traps by his prior perception, he'll open the hatch. He'll take none of the gear for himself at this time, but he will help carry stuff.
Raka eats her bit of orange quickly, not knowing, given the circumstances, when her next food will come and figuring she'll need the energy.
"If only more o' them had been wearin' armor." She looks glumly at the other bodies. "I'd feel better movin' on if more of us was better-protected. But Em's right, we can't stay here. No food, no clean water, no guarantee there isn't somethin' down there that can climb." She hadn't really considered it until the words left her mouth, but the thought makes her shudder.
Raka picks up the battleaxe, the weight of the weapon making her feel as though her odds of survival have just significantly improved. She notices, then, what Phantrel is still carrying. "Is that... Highcliff's sword?"
Spurred on by Argatha's question, Colin explains what he'd figured out about the machinery, "Up probably leads to the main dwarven settlement. Like everyone they needed a lot of water and I figure this is a pumping station. Oh and I think they probably ate the fish that got sucked up along with the water."
After few minutes he spoke up again, "One thing that's been bothering me is Lord Highcliff implored us to save his daughter, but he sent her out of the mine. Why would she need saving?"
Colin explains what he'd figured out about the machinery, "Up probably leads to the main dwarven settlement. Like everyone they needed a lot of water and I figure this is a pumping station. Oh and I think they probably ate the fish that got sucked up along with the water."
The kobold nods at Colin’s conclusions. The alchemist might be a pig on skis when it comes to swimming, but his brain was workin’ just grand.
”No food, no clean water, no guarantee there isn't somethin' down there that can climb." She hadn't really considered it until the words left her mouth, but the thought makes her shudder.
"One thing that's been bothering me is Lord Highcliff implored us to save his daughter, but he sent her out of the mine. Why would she need saving?"
Brimble ahems. ” I can answer that maybe. What might be in the water ain’t the problem.” He points a claw upward. ”Did you see that melly? It came through the walls and it wasn’t walkin’. If it can fly, it might come down here when it gets curious. Then we all die. That’s why we have to leave real soon. An’ Highcliff said running was a waste of time because it would hunt us in the dark. If it’s some sort of dwarf trap, then maybe it won’t leave the mines. But if it ain’t… once darkness falls, it could go hunting all around Salt Spire. So the girl, and everyone else, is in danger there. An’ the girl is soft-hearted. You know she is gonna come into the mines trying to rescue her Da at the very least.”
”I got more bad news - and maybe some good news - but this ain’t the place. Argatha, try to pop that hatch then come right back down.”
Argatha is careful to hang onto the ladder as he tries to open the hatch.
He struggles the first time, unable to get any leverage. He leans against the pipe and tries with both hands!
"No food, no clean water, no guarantee there isn't somethin' down there that can climb."
"Actually, water won't be an issue," Xira murmurs. "I can make as much as we need. I believe Phantrel can do so as well?" She offers the half-elf an enquiring smile that takes a little effort. "No one here will die of thirst, at least."
And because full disclosure can be important in an emergency, she continues. "So along with the water, light, and some healing; I can also sense magic and understand spoken and written languages, with some effort." A slight shrug. "The sum total of my powers, I'm afraid."
She nods at Brimble's explanation of why moving on is vital, then watches anxiously as Argatha ascends the ladder. Queen of the North Star, guide us truly, I beseech you.
The handle seems stuck at first, and it is hard for Argatha to bring his full strength to bear against it while needing to maintain a grip on the ladder as well. But on his second try there's a shrill screeching of metal as the handle is turned for the first time in.... who knows how long? Little flakes of mineral calcification flutter past Argatha's nose and drift down. But the handle turns.
After that, it is easy enough for Argatha to open it by pushing up. He is looking up into... another tunnel, about five feet wide, with the pipe running up as well and the rungs continuing to ascend. The light of his glowing rock shows another hatch about ten more feet overhead.
Relaying this to those below results in a bit of awkward puzzle logistics of 'Argatha climbs down, Brimble climbs up, Brimble looks at the second hatch, Brimble climbs down, Raka possibly gets sent up....'
The first person up can't help but hold their breath as they push the second hatch open and brace for whatever mysteries, threats, or horrors wait beyond. The chamber beyond is dark but feels spacious. The glowing rock casts a light on the bronze pipe which still continues next to the hatch's door, which is set into the floor of this room. The light also reveals ... counters? Cabinets? Some double doors set into ... little sheds of stone?
Climbing out from the hatch reveals that the room has a number of counters and tables, sized just a bit too low for the comfort of any human. The light shows you a number of smaller bronze pipes branching off from the big main one and snaking along the ceiling of this room, occasionally leading down to deep basins on the table/counters. On the far wall, for simplicity's sake designated as north, there are a number of regular holes in a brick wall, each about two feet across...
It may take a moment to really parse what you're seeing. A wizard's study? An alchemist's laboratory? A dissection chamber, a morgue, a crematorium?
But actually, you have found a mysterious dwarven... kitchen.
The scale is bigger than any kitchen most of you have likely stood in before, admittedly. This chamber was designed to prepare food en masse- not for a family, or even twenty-odd miners, but hundreds and hundreds of people. At least a dozen cooks could easily have worked in this space. The surfaces of the counters appear to be smooth-polished granite (with a ghosting of dust atop it), with cabinet doors built into each free-standing counter.
The chamber has the feel of long, long, long abandonment. The air is stale, cold, and heavy, but it doesn't seem to be foul to Raka's first testing breaths. Whoever once worked here, the chamber currently seems as empty and silent as the proverbial tomb. Except for yourself, of course. Raka can whisper back to the others to climb on up.
This chamber is immaculately clean and tidy, with everything distinctly in its place. The light gleams off various pipes and fittings of exceptional craftsmanship -- but compared to the glory of the entrance hall, with its star-studded ceiling, its marble-patterned map-floor, and the rich golden linework on the walls, this room is decidedly ... utilitarian, rather than decorative.
Try not to be disappointed. Even lost dwarven legends needed to eat.
There is a little bit of dwarfgold linework on the walls-- plain lines that connect to a few crystals which, judging by their even dispersal along the ceiling, might have been light sources. A set of double doors leads west; another east. Those appear to be the primary exits from this room-- other than the hatch you came in by, of course.
The 'sheds' with double doors built into them pose another question. The doors aren't locked, and open easily enough to reveal interiors lined with shelves, all empty and dry. Storage, probably? Each of the two small chambers has a half-circle, a few inches across, inset in its interior wall, that shows blue shading to red, and an arrow dial between the two extremes.
The alcoves on the northern wall appear to be ovens on closer inspection-- glancing in reveals flame-blackened interiors, and sliding trays, spit racks, and similar implements.
The numerous cabinet doors are not locked. The first one that anyone glances in reveals pots and pans-- almost anticlimactic. It seems that even dwarves could not improve too much on the basic design of a skillet.
Despite her protests, the rest of the group agrees that since Raka would be going first into the unknown chambers, she should be the best protected. She straps on Carver's leather-plate armor and slides the battleaxe into her belt. Then, she heads up the ladder into whatever lay beyond.
* * * * *
"Oh, it's a kitchen!" she says, several seconds after even the last to arrive had already drawn the same conclusion. She isn't sure what she expected to find beyond the ancient hatch, but it certainly wasn't this. It's just so...
Normal.
Even dwarves needed to eat, Raka supposes. "Somethin' seems... I dunno. Off. Like... it's different from what I'da thought it would be. But I can't say what a dwarf kitchen woulda looked like. Ya know? It's like... weird somehow."
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”I can,” Phantrel replies to Xira. ”I also know a little magic that will return spoiled food to an edible state, though I would have to rest and study to be able to use it. It would also rely on us finding something that may once have been food.” The trace of a smile plays on his lips. ”And I too can sense traces of magic and conjure light.”
”As for the sword…” he turns to Raka and sighs quietly, not entirely sure that he is able to vocalise much of what just happened, not least because he doesn’t really understand himself. ”Yes, it is - was -” he solemnly corrects himself, ”Lord Highcliff’s. I had the opportunity to grab it up after he fell. With it seemingly the only thing that could hurt the - what did you call it? A melly?” he asks Brimble, ”it seemed prudent to take it in case it does follow us. Or, and I apologise for putting such unpleasant thoughts into everybody’s minds, there are more of them.” He pauses for a moment to let his explanation sink in, along with his fears.
”What I was not expecting,” Phantrel continues, ”is that it is… sentient. Trust me when it say it was something of a shock discovering the sword could speak to me mentally just after I had jumped,” he says drily. ”With Lord Highcliff's passing it has seemingly chosen me as its new wielder, though I think through an accident of fate rather than for any skill with a blade that I possess. We now appear to be bonded - hence my ambiguity earlier, Em.” He turns his forearm outward and then back in again, flexing it.
”Exactly what magic it possesses I am not sure. My knowledge of spellwork is mostly limited to what helps things grow - water, light. I think it has some kind of electrical property based on what we could see earlier. And I believe it to be of Dwarven make, primarily because,” he casts around for an adequate description of what happened, ”it has gifted me the ability to speak the language as part of the process. It’s quite unnerving,” he admits, probably unnecessarily.
”I’m sure that you have many more questions - I do too - but I fear I may not be able to answer them because there is much I do not understand here. I could perhaps ask the sword but it has been taxing. The bonding process was extremely painful and I do not feel entirely myself still.” Although he is now at least able to release his grip from the sword, internally his arm is still subject to intermittent twinges.
Weapon Equipped = None
Sling Bullets = 10
Conditions = Light (shirt)
Melee: Attack: BAB +0, Str +2 Damage: +2
Ranged: Attack: BAB +0, Dex +3 Damage: +2
Called: Reroll a one on attack (1/1)
Healer’s Hands: (1/1)
Spells Memorized (Caster Level 1, Concentration +2)
. . 0 (11): Create Water, Light, Purify Food & Drink
. . 1st (12): Cure Light Wounds,
- - -
Argatha nods with the others, ”I too can create water - and purify the putrid, though I often forget I can.” he grins. ”So if we manage to find some old Dwarven food, I can maybe make it edible. I thought they chewed on rocks?”
”Wow, the sword is smart? Holy cow. That’s pretty cool.” Argatha doesn’t know what else to say about it, so he shrugs and looks around the kitchen for anything useful - knives someone might use as a dagger, food, etc.
Once they reach the kitchen and nothing but dust greets them, Brimble hustles back down the ladder to quietly shut and seal each of the hatches below them. When he returns, he noses through the kitchen goods, taps a claw on the thermo… strange gauges, and otherwise searches for anything useful. His conclusions are perfunctory. ”Looks like the dwarves left in no rush. The power is shut down. The kitchen is clean, pots are orderly, nothing left out, no food left to rot.”
He listens to Phantrel with interest but offers no opinion. Instead he quietly taps on the big water pipe, trying to determine if it is empty or full and then listens closely at each of the possible exits.
HP: 8 / 8 | AC:15 / T:13 / FF:13 | CMD:11/9
Bullets (20):
Frost Spitter (1):
Effects:
Colin hadn't enjoyed the climb up although the enormous kitchen was quite the eye opener. He nodded when Brimble made his observation, that was interesting, there was much speculation that the Dwarves had suddenly disappeared but perhaps here it was more orderly.
He mused, "I wonder if we could get the equipment below working again? I guess we'd need to know how the Dwarves powered all this. I assume there's some centralized source, but we shall have to explore and find it."
Colin also wondered what a smart sword could do, and if there where any downsides to such a thing.
Em watches Brimble listen at each door in turn. If she wasn't still so afraid, she'd probably have opened one before he ever had a chance to notice. She says something strange to Phantrel. If he listens very closely, it sounds something like "you have dwarf ears?" To the rest of the group, excepting Colin, perhaps, Em is unintelligible.
Xira listens intently to Phantrel's description of the link between himself and the sword he carries, her eyes widening at the word "sentient." An intelligent sword? One that can give new abilities to its bearer? She's heard tales of such things of course, but to be standing next to one ... though when she tries to picture the calm, quiet-spoken gardener as a swordsman, she can't quite manage it.
She wonders if he would take that as insult or compliment.
The climb itself is thankfully uneventful, free of both climbing waterbeasts and flying shadows. Xira finds herself oddly reluctant to call the creatures "mellys," having spoken to the very human owner of the name, however briefly.
Finding a kitchen past the second hatch reassures Xira in a strange way. After the towering grandeur of the entrance hall and the chilling horror of the trapped hallway, she'll take a little mundane right now. Not that she's letting her guard down; she joins Argatha's search for useful and hopefully sharp implements. Anything that will help her be something more than a liability down here in the depths...
She grits her teeth. Stop it. No, you don't have Raka's muscle or Colin's engineering know-how or Brimble's mining and emergency experience or Phantrel's talking sword for crying out, but you'll do what you need to with what you have. So leave off.
She doesn't stop looking though.
He mused, "I wonder if we could get the equipment below working again? I guess we'd need to know how the Dwarves powered all this. I assume there's some centralized source, but we shall have to explore and find it."
"To what end?" Xira asks. "No offense, Colin, but I'm most inclined to locate whatever will keep us alive and get us out of here. Mind you, if you think finding an ancient dwarven power source will help with either of those goals, I'm all for it."
Argatha's hunt through the drawers and cabinets turns up numerous implements! None of you are very likely to bear a spatula into battle, but there are some implements no doubt very welcome to you all just now: knives.
There is also a remarkably sturdy iron kettle with an elongated handle such that it could be hung over a campfire. It's empty now, but you have just discussed your ability to make water. Can you also warm it? If so, it might ruin a monster's day to get hit upside the head with heated iron... not what the kettle's original designers had in mind, no doubt, but needs must.
A 3-foot-long, blackened metal spit from the stoves has a tip that remains sharp enough to skewer the meat of a dead animal-- in a pinch it could work against a living one too, you imagine.
Another long metal tool next to the ovens looks like it might have been intended to push items further into the heat, or pull them back out from it, based on the hook on the end. You could likely handle it as though it were a quarterstaff.
Argatha gathers kitchen tools to use as weapons, while Xiramona checks other cupboards. A fine layer of dust is kicked off things with every move anyone makes. If the air weren't so oppressively still here, no doubt there'd be more dust. But everything has simply sat, no cross breezes, no pollen swirling in from an open window, for however long it's been.
Xira finds a number of bottles whose tops are sealed with contraptions of wire and stone stoppers. There are sigils on them-- but Phantrel is able to prove that he speaks the truth about his new fluency with Dwarven by reading them: Cooking oil.
Perhaps Brimble is a little reassured by having all these items to hand, now. Perhaps not, as he thinks of the shadow far above you. The kobold tinks his claws against the huge pipe and thinks, by the pitch of the ring, that it's empty of fluids now. He strains to hear at both doors, but the only sound is all of you: your movements, the rasp of metal as you gather tools, someone's light cough in the fusty air, your breathing. Against the oppressive silence of this place you all seem awfully loud, though you are doing your best to keep your motions and conversations quiet.
Phantrel is also able to read some script by one of the doors. A piece of smooth slate has been placed against the wall here, and there are chalk markings in the angular dwarven script-- the runes technically no different than those you've seen wrought in shining gold, but seeming somehow much more immediate, more-- well-- human, though that is not perhaps the right word. This was not the work of a vanished master craftsman, committing a message to eternity in precious metal. This was quick, handwritten, a dwarven kitchen laborer dashing the lines off in chalk not as a missive to their descendants but just a note to their colleagues:
Second shift - low on salt - restock -KH
Beneath that a grid of chalked lines, a litany of what must be names of the people who worked here, all of them long gone. A work schedule? Perhaps. Here and there, a name partially erased, someone else's scrawled in to fill a gap. It is a curiously poignant glimpse of the daily lives of the long-vanished people.
As for power sources: wherever the power originated from, it was not inside this room, if Colin is assessing such things. When the engineer peers into the ovens, one thing he notices is that there are hardly any ashes to speak of, and no sign of coal or even woodpiles; at the back of the ovens there are metal panels and nozzles. Perhaps they radiated heat and flames? Ah, it is both exciting and maddening to have all these wonders and be unable to see them in action.
After you divvy up your newfound items, murmuring to each other as to who should take what, the silence resumes, deep and absolute.
Colin gave Xira a surprised look before replying in a mild tone, "Look the circumstances of our arrival are ones none of us would have chosen, but we are here now. In what appears to be the find of the century!"
He makes a hand gesture encompassing everything, "I realise it's just a kitchen, but what a kitchen, this is beyond amazing! Besides if we're stuck down here for a long time, getting the kitchen working again would be useful no? One other thing, the dwarves clearly had technology beyond our ken. This no doubt extends to warfare, granted dwarven weapons might be on the small size, but there could be something we can use..."
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”Looks like the dwarves left in no rush. The power is shut down. The kitchen is clean, pots are orderly, nothing left out, no food left to rot.”
"Yea," Raka nods, the pieces clicking together once Brimble says them aloud. "That's why this place is weird. No sign of a struggle. No panicked ransackin'. Like they all left on purpose."
While Colin drones on about technology and who-knows-what, Raka peruses the items discovered that might be of use. She nods appreciatively. "This is good. I still dunno what we'd do against another shadow, but if anythin' else comes along, we're a lot better off than we were a minute ago."
She says something strange to Phantrel. If he listens very closely, it sounds something like "you have dwarf ears?"
"I do now," he replies quietly, the feel on his lips strange as he recites the words, fluently but without familiarity.
* * * * *
He makes a hand gesture encompassing everything, "I realise it's just a kitchen, but what a kitchen, this is beyond amazing! Besides if we're stuck down here for a long time, getting the kitchen working again would be useful no?"
"If. Let's deal with that if it comes to it. I agree with Xira, getting out of here ought to be our priority. As amazing a find as this is, it may as well have remained hidden if we don't make it out to share the knowledge." It's a touch grim, but Phantrel doesn't think it's an inaccurate statement.
Weapon Equipped = sling (loaded)
Sling Bullets = 9
Conditions = Light (shirt)
Melee: Attack: BAB +0, Str +2 Damage: +2
Ranged: Attack: BAB +0, Dex +3 Damage: +2
Called: Reroll a one on attack (1/1)
Healer’s Hands: (1/1)
Spells Memorized (Caster Level 1, Concentration +2)
. . 0 (11): Create Water, Light, Purify Food & Drink
. . 1st (12): Cure Light Wounds,
- - -
Argatha will share out the ‘daggers’ to any in need, though he’s already got one. He’ll collect the oil to carry, and the pot. They might find rats or the like higher up and can skin, clean, and boil them. The thought is somewhat repulsive to him, but it’s better than cannibalism.
Assuming we already checked the cupboards, Argatha will drift to the doors out. ”East or west?” he points to the two double doors across from each other - wondering which way folks want to go. Almost as an afterthought, he takes out his sling and loads a bullet.
Just in case…
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The kobold clicks his tongue at the pile of collected ‘weapons’, it seems a sign of approval. ”Good work,” he offers to Argatha. He pulls a set of sturdy paring knives from the assemblage, the only blades that will work in his small hands.
He listens to the excited chatter, the dread, and the valid concerns. Brimble hops up on one of the granite counters, takes a seat, and taps one of his brand new (very old) paring knifes against the table like he’s going to make a speech.
Without preamble, he speaks his mind. ”Time to organize, folks. I’m hearing good points on all sides. Let me sum up how I see things… We’re in trouble. Until now you were all GMC miners of one sort or another. That day is done. Now, your jobs are to get out of here alive – if you can. My job is to ensure as many of you succeed as possible. We are in a dwarf hold. That means traps – like the one that kill’t everybody else – and who knows what kinds of monsters are lurking around. So, here’s some hard-won kobold wisdom. Don’t be brave or noble. Be smart and be cautious. Assume everything can kill you. If you see a cute kitten playing with a ball of string… be ready to bash its skull in with a rock.”
”We got only three things going for us. We got water.” He inclines his head toward Xira, Phantrel, and Argatha. ”The air isn’t fetid, yet. And we aren’t alone. Working together makes it more likely we can escape this place. On the other side of the equation, we got four hurdles: food, traps, navigating, and monsters. If the collapsed mine and the melly are at the front door, our goal should be to find a backdoor out of this place. We’ll also need to pick up any useful gear we can find, which we’ve already started doing. So, we are going to have to explore a bit. But we need to do it real smart.”
He digs into his pack and pulls out two wax-paper sealed packages. He tosses one to Xira and the other to Colin. ”Rations… each one is enough for 1 person for one day. We’ve got three of them for six and half people. So, we need to ration them and make’em last. If we run outta food, we’ll need to look for alternative meals. And that means eating our kills, bugs, mosses… You know, ‘food’ that would make a billy goat puke.”
”I’m divvying the food up in case we get separated, to give everyone a fair shot at living. That’s gotta be our thinking about everything. No one holds all the oil, water, food, or weapons.”
”Anybody got a thought or can I go on?”
Argatha quietly fills everyone's waterskin with create water. If someone doesn't have a waterskin, he gives them his. If two people don't have waterskins, he gives away his backup too - for after all he can make water as needed.
He keeps listening to the little man however, and doesn't interrupt - waiting for him to continue.
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”Mr. Palescale, I’ll be the first to admit, to everyone here, that where I have disagreed with you I have erred. Still, there is one small point…” Em runs a finger down the blade of her new dagger. ”You said we shouldn’t be brave and noble. Smart and cautious are good, to be sure. But we must be brave too.” She slides her blade into her belt. It feels just right.
”Besides, I simply can’t help being noble.” Em tosses her hair over one shoulder, wishing there were a breeze that would make it flutter dramatically.
Brimble listens soberly, and notes Em’s hair-flip with a wry grin, before responding. ”Well, Miss Salt, I suppose this comes down to how ya mean ‘brave’ and how ya mean ‘noble’…” He thinks hard for a moment and then uses his most polished tone, the one he saves for GMC aristocrats or dinner parties (not that he’d ever been invited to one). ”Allow me to clarify. I meant ‘brave’ in the sense of facing dangerous adversaries directly - attacking dragons and the like. I expect we will need… uh... intrepidity here. As for ‘noble’, I wasn’t thinking about bloodlines. It was more about an attitude toward fighting. A noble person is inclined to give an enemy a fair chance. My opinion is we’re better off making fights as unfair as possible.”
”In the tunnels, you can be brave and noble and right, or you can be brave and noble and wrong. Either way, you can end up dead. Highcliff was brave and noble, and he made the right call. And he’s still broken and dried up like a dessicated twig now. No disrespect to the man. He bought us an escape… but he paid the price for being noble and brave. I’m saying don’t blindly follow his example.”
As she listens to Brimble summarize their situation, Xira thanks whichever god is responsible for the kobold's level head. She suspects this will not be the last time she does so. She also stows her new acquisitions, one knife on either hip, the rations and a bottle of oil in her pack, and the crowbar hanging off it. Her quarterstaff (she will not think of it as a pot-shover, thank you), she keeps in hand.
”I’m divvying the food up in case we get separated, to give everyone a fair shot at living. That’s gotta be our thinking about everything. No one holds all the oil, water, food, or weapons. Anybody got a thought or can I go on?”
”But we must be brave too... Besides, I simply can’t help being noble.”
Xira smiles at Em's assertion and listens soberly to Brimble's reply. Her earlier uncertainty eases in the face of both. Whatever else she has or lacks, she knows she can manage courage at need. Or intrepidity.
"One more thought," she offers after a moment. "If anyone sees parchment, pencils, or anything else resembling drawing supplies, grab 'em and let me know. I can draw an accurate map of where we go, if I have the means to do so."
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The little kobold presses on, sliding back into his customary voice. ”The trap problem. Maybe all the traps are on the mine level, but we don’t want to die making that bet. So, we gotta assume traps could be anywhere. That means, nobody gets to go running off, testing doors, and poking at shineys because they’re curious. Everybody gets a job and we need everyone to stick to their jobs until we think a spot is safe… then you can go study the shineys. We gotta be disciplined.”
He looks to the group, ”Here’s my thinkin’ on jobs from what I’ve seen and heard. You tell me if I’m wrong.”
He looks to Xira. ”As you said, you can draw and you got magic. You’re our mapper and healer. Until we can get you something to draw with, try to keep track of where we’ve been, note traps, and things like that.” He points the paring knife at the big water-pipe. “Try to remember where we see those, too.”
The large warrior is his next point of focus. ”Raka, you hoist that axe like you’ve had it your whole life. That makes you our main sword and shield – but don’t get noble.”
He points at the young man stuffing his pack with oil flasks. ”Argatha, you’ve also got a strong arm and spells. You’re our secondary fighter and healer.”
He addresses the alchemist warmly. ”Colin, you can’t swim for sh!t but you have good ideas and you seem to know a lot about a lot of things, so share it. You’re the advisor.”
Next to last, the kobold’s eyes fall on the half-elf. ”Phantrel, you are pretty sharp-eyed. You got the zap-cane along with magic… and now dwarf knowledge. You’re an advisor, a good set of eyes, and secondary fighter as well. Unless that zap-cane is OK with you lending it to someone else.”
”Miss Salt…” Brimble puzzles over what he knows of the girl’s skills, “you’re an advisor and another set of eyes.“
Brimble claps his claws together. ”Right! The last job to fill is lead scout. It is so stupid dangerous, I’ll ask for volunteers. Raise a hand if you’re sharp-eyed, sneaky, can see in the dark, and have any success at disabling a dwarf trap?” Brimble reluctantly raises his claw, fully expecting he’s the only one with that entire skillset. ”Guess I’m the scout and a secondary fighter.”
He adds, ”OK, if I’ve guessed wrong, tell me. If you have secret skills or something useful hidden in your kit, now is the time to mention it.”
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"...Unless that zap-cane is OK with you lending it to someone else.”
Phantrel feels something of a sense of indignance from his new companion. 'Zap-Cane'? 'Zap-Cane???' Inform your lizard that I have a name. If you do yield me to another, I will not be wielded by him. And I cannot infinitely improve all of you. What I did unto you, the alterations I made-- I cannot do that to another until I have recovered somewhat. A week, perhaps.
The cane falls silent, after that. It offers no opinion as to which door you ought use to exit the kitchen.
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"I forgot to mention it earlier, but in addition to my formidable advising skills, I'm also fast becoming unparalleled with needle and thread." Em produces a single sewing needle, which she shoved in her pocket early this morning. "If we encounter loose threads, fraying seems, or any of the other telling signs of poor handicraft..." Em looks at the assembled spellcasters, whose arcane prowess might be enough to mend with uncanny precision. "I'll be ready."
A burst of hissing, like steam escaping, comes from the kobold. It must be how he laughs, "Apologies. You are the Team Seamstress as well."
Xira grins at Em. "And Morale Booster. Mustn't forget that."
Once the chinwag is done Brimble slides off the table, sorts his gear (moving some key items to his bandolier), then heads for the western door. He looks to the group. ”Gimme some room before you follow. I don’t need light and whatever may be down here probably don’t either. I don’t want to alert anything by hitting it with light or noise. If I’m in trouble, I’ll scream.”
Brimble loosens his pick, then inspects the door carefully for traps before trying to open it quietly.
HP: 8 / 8 | AC:15 / T:13 / FF:13 | CMD:11/9
Bullets (20):
Frost Spitter (1):
Effects:
Senses primed by past disasters, the kobold studies the door carefully. They are swinging doors, made of a polished and lightly reflective metal, and don't appear to have a latch on them, or any handle. A bit of light investigative pressure with his clawtips reveals that despite long neglect, and their metal appearance, they swing easily and smoothly. A little more investigation realizes they can swing both ways, into the room or out of it. With all of this established, Brimble carefully pushes forward and finds himself staring into... a hallway.
Like the kitchen, this seems plain and utilitarian rather than decorated. The only immediate touches of artistic expression the kobold sees are some repeating geometric patterns in the laid stones of the wall and the floor, which breaks up the visual monotony a bit. The tunnel stretches to Brimble's right and terminates in a serious-looking door: definitely metal, heavily inset with solid hinges and frame, with a wheel in the middle of it that presumably must be turned to open said door. There are large dwarven sigils engraved around this wheel, and while Brimble doesn't speak the language, he has enough mining experience to recognize the somewhat-universal sort of markers of CAUTION!
Almost directly across from the kobold is another door, less imposing, with a knob and a reflective panel above it. There is some dwarven script on this door about four feet off the ground. A very similar-looking door exists fifteen feet to the right/north.
Another door to the south, similar the two just mentioned...
Another-another set of doors, these ones double doors, bigger, even FURTHER south.... The corridor continues to the south past Brimble's immediate ability to see, as even his eyes have limits in the dark.
The air is like the kitchen: still and stale but it doesn't seem to be harming you to breathe it. The door you just opened has dwarfscript on the hall side, not that Brimble can read that.
More to the immediate point: nothing jumps out to try and eat Brimble right away. The hallway seems empty.
Brimble makes a ‘wait a moment’ signal to the team then slips into the hallway. He debates scouring the floor for traps before every single step but the hallway is too long and even his caution has to give way to pragmatism at times. He clings to the wall and carefully slinks down the hallway toward the area beyond his vision. If there is a monster in the hall, it will likely be attracted by the team’s lights. Alone and moving quietly, he might see a monster before it spots him…
HP: 8 / 8 | AC:15 / T:13 / FF:13 | CMD:11/9
Bullets (20):
Frost Spitter (1):
Effects:
Brimble is quiet as a mouse, careful, straining his senses in the dark. It's just his imagination, sure, but this feels like such an old dark.
Creeping forward, he can make out more interruptions in the stones: near the double-doors of dwarfgold, there is a gap in the wall that... is it... YES, yes it is, that's stairs, going up, no less. Hallelujah?
Less fun are the two more gaps Brimble's eyes can see. One is on the wall he is hugging, further down; the other is where the hallway terminates, as it seems to open up into a larger room. He can just make out a table or counter or something in that room, at the edges of his vision.
More dwarfscript shows on the door he is huddled next to.
Also, he notices there's a lot of tally marks done in chalk on the wall he is hugging. Groups of five, the four marks crossed with a fifth as perhaps every culture has developed at some point; they go all along the wall about a foot above his head, back as far as the kitchen door and onward as far again as he can see. Occasionally there is some dwarfscript also in chalk written above this or that tally line.
Nothing continues to eat Brimble.
Brimble stops to consider what he’s seeing. For some reason, the chalk mark ‘count’ sends a small shiver down his back. Was someone trapped in here and counting out the days? If so, how #@$ed are we?
The dwarfgold door calls to him but he ignores the lure. Instead he keeps slinking down the wall, stopping just before the turning of the corridor. He looks into the southern room a bit more, before glancing up the staircase (just in case), and then craning his neck to peek around the corner into the east-west corridor.
HP: 8 / 8 | AC:15 / T:13 / FF:13 | CMD:11/9
Bullets (20):
Frost Spitter (1):
Effects:
As much as Xira itches to see what they'll be getting into next, she holds back as Brimble requested. While she waits for him to give the ok or scream, she paces along the walls to estimate their length and notes the placement of the various items in the room. She also mentally places the underground lake below and approximately where they fell into it. If they do find drawing materials, she wants to be ready.
Xira does look wistfully at the slate with the work schedule on it, but acknowledges to herself that it would be too bleeding awkward to tote along for mapping purposes. Then the thought occurs to her that she doesn't want to provide a convenient handle to anything they might run into, so she winds her thick braid into a bun on the back of her head, securing it with a pair of scavenged skewers.
Weapon in hand: Quarterstaff
Effects:
Brimble is gazing into a large room, filled with tables and chairs. One of the past GMC operations he worked had been an extant operation well before he got there, long established, and there'd been a worker caf that... kinda looked like this. Tables to the north wall that could have been for the food, buffet style, and then lots and lots of tables for workers. Both the tables and stools appear to be made of stone in his cursory glance. Like the kitchen, all seems rather immaculately tidy (though he notices the chalk tally count wraps into this large chamber and around it as well....)
The other thing that might bring him up is the fact that in the far corner of the room, something's... there? Vague, huh. So is the thing. Like a pale puffy cloud was settled over the tables and chairs, mostly obscuring them from vision. Puffy or furry? Wispy? It covers a decent area inside the room.
--that's mold of some sort. Brimble hurriedly tugs a scrap of fabric over his snout even if he's still a good distance from the nearest chunk of it all. Or the nearest visible chunk, right, because spores can be really small... and airborne....
He backs a number of feet back from it, back towards his colleagues, before a bit of reason reasserts itself. Yes, mold and fungal spores CAN be airborne, but as still as this air is, it seems very unlikely that anything could be lingering in it to be blown towards him, right now. At fifty feet away he was probably fine. Probably.
He doesn't know WHAT mold it is-- just that he's seen enough fuzzy, funky growths covering everything from a worker's dropped sandwich, fallen out of reach in a crevice, to a pile of bat guano, to know what soft, fuzzy, wispy things underground generally means.
The other thing Brimble recalls about most molds is they need to feed on something organic… And he wouldn’t be surprised if that wispy stuff covered the remains of whoever made the tick marks on the wall. A vision of mold-crusted skeletal zombies crawling from that corner of the cafeteria flashes through his mind.
Rather than let his imagination run wild, he decides to finish his sweep and return to the group. Moving slowly to avoid stirring up the air or any fanged horrors, he crosses the corridor diagonally to take a peek up the stairs before looking around the last corner to see what he anticipates is an extension of the cafeteria.
HP: 8 / 8 | AC:15 / T:13 / FF:13 | CMD:11/9
Bullets (20):
Frost Spitter (1):
Effects:
Nothing emerges from the fuzzy paleness, at any rate.
Brimble makes his way to the other room, expecting more tables and chairs. He does get tables! Or work counters, or something. Not so much with the chairs. The far corner has a huge bronze pipe, very similar if not identical to the one in the kitchen. Smaller pipes branch from it to large stone basins or tubs that also have dials on them--six of those, in the far edges of this room. Closer to Brimble there are six cylindrical drums that appear to be metal, a little smaller than the big basins but still large. Why, you could fit an entire kobold into each of these! They also have various controls on them. Their purpose is not immediately clear to the scout.
(The tally marks + occasional supplementary script continue in here.)
The stairwell spirals up, but that means he can't see much up them.
When Brimble describes the six cylindrical Drums, Colin had no idea what they might be for. He would have to see for himself.
Phantrel looks at the script in the kitchen but while he can read it, the words don't immediately mean anything to him and his scrambled mind can't piece them together.
* * * * *
The half-elf nods along as Brimble suggests a course of action. The kobold seems to have the measure of the group, though he suspects they all have talents and depths as yet unrevealed by their time in the mines. There’s only so much you can learn while tiredly hauling rocks.
”This is a far cry from my usual environment, but I’m used to foraging in the woods, locating water sources, finding my way and so on. Once I've found my bearings I hope that I might be able to manage something similar here. Nature shows itself in many forms. I know something of what grows down here – fungi and the like – though more from reading than first-hand experience." He looks over at Xira. "I don’t have your talent for drawing but I’m happy to be a second pair of eyes on the map to help ensure we’re heading in the right direction and not going round in circles. And .”
”And Thunder-follows-Lightning – my sword – would like to inform you that it has a name and would appreciate it if you could please use it.” A small smile plays on Phantrel’s lips. The sword-cane seems to have strong opinions and, as far as the half-elf can tell, would prefer to be wielded by him. Which is fine, to a point, but he doesn't consider himself a very suitable wielder and Phantrel is pretty confident that the sword's magic would need to be mighty indeed to make up for the shortfall in his own swordsmanship. "I think for now I'll keep hold of it, I don't want to irritate Thunder-follows-Lightning after it has generously shared its gifts with me." He hopes that will appease the sword and that the others understand that it's not possessiveness on his part that might be the barrier here. As he had said earlier, giving it to whoever would best be able to use it would seem the wisest course of action.
He notes, too, the disregard the blade seems to be showing towards Brimble. Because it's prejudiced against kobolds? he wonders to himself. Phantrel has had minimal contact with the creatures but he would always rather judge people for who they are and his default is to try and rub along with everybody. Life is just easier that way and to the half-elf so much conflict seems unnecessary and ultimately harmful to all parties. Brimble has shown his character and bravery and he is genuinely glad that the kobold survived. And certainly, in his opinion, they have a better chance of getting out of here with Brimble in their number. He would also probably have been Phantrel's first choice as wielder - the sword being lightweight and more manageable than a heavier weapon. Or because he's a natural leader?, which is an unsettling thought in a different way.
Brimble retraces his path back to kitchen. He starts speaking once the doors swing shut, still on edge in this strange place. ”OK, so far so good. No signs of life. We’re at the north end of about a hun’erd feet of north-south hallway, a bunch of doors, and a lot of dwarf writing. One bit looks like a warning about what’s behind the door. The south end… uh… ends at a room with trestle tables. I think this is where the folks ate. There’s also another room down there with like sinks and maybe baths? Big tubs at any rate. There’s also a winding stairway going up.”
”Now, the bad news and the maybe bad news. Along the wall, there’s a set of chalk marks. Might be like a prison diary - someone counting the days they were stuck here along with ‘events’ in dwarf script during their stay. I expect you dwarf-readers will figure that out quick enough. The definite bad news is there is a huge, pale, wispy, mold bloom in the dining room, like 40’ long. Mold is bad and we don’t want to stir up the air around it. So, I’m asking you to NOT go past the dwarfgold double doors for safety, just until we can suss out the danger. Please and thank you.”
When Colin offers his help, the kobold nods. ”I’ve got a couple filter masks. We can get you close enough to give it a look.” He looks to Argatha and the other spellcasters, ”We’ll need to borrow one of those glow stones so Colin can see.”
”Last bit… I didn’t check the entire floor. You are safe walking down the left-hand wall. Keep your eyes open otherwise for trouble. I didn’t inspect or listen at any of the doors. I’m glad to check’em for you, just let me know. Raka, Argatha, let’s be ready if our noise draws anything out.”
Brimble is ready to head back into the hallway when Phantrel speaks up, bringing the kobold up short.
”And Thunder-follows-Lightning – my sword – would like to inform you that it has a name and would appreciate it if you could please use it… …I think for now I'll keep hold of it, I don't want to irritate Thunder-follows-Lightning after it has generously shared its gifts with me."
Weapons can get their feelings hurt… who knew? Brimble is glad he called it a zap-cane instead of the other name he toyed with - ‘dwarf toothpick’. ”Thunder-follows-Lightning it is. When you got time to chat with it – maybe it knows what happened to the dwarves? Or… can a sword forget things like people can? Can it change shape?” He’s going down a tangent but Phantrel opened the door a crack and that was all the room a kobold needed. He rubs his muzzle, and explains. ”I only know dwarves by legend. I only heard tell of axes, mallets, picks, and the like. So, a sword cane seems odd. But it does fit Highcliff. It made me wonder if Thunder-follows-Lightning turned into a sword cane for Highcliff. Or maybe I’m just stupid about dwarf stuff. Anyhow, if you get a chance to ask, I'd appreciate it.”
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”Raka, you hoist that axe like you’ve had it your whole life. That makes you our main sword and shield – but don’t get noble.”
Raka nods without saying anything. To her mind, the kobold had summed up her assessment of the situation nicely. Yes, putting herself between the others and any problem they might face is a role she was suited for.
While Brimble is scouting the darkness beyond, Raka pulls out the battleaxe and takes a few test swings. What were those stances, again? Letting her mind drift back to that summer years ago, she grips the handle with both hands and places her strong foot forward. The axe in her hands is not a sword, but surely it's close enough to make the movements at least somewhat useful. When she slides into the first position, her muscles remember what to do and take her to the next one-- two years, it seems, is not so awfully long.
---===~~~===---
Eska, the proprieter of the Salt Cellar, spent a week excitedly telling anyone who'd listen that her oldest son Ciran was coming home. He had joined up with the standing army, and they had been granted permission to return to their homes for a time.
Raka was shocked to see him. Ciran, now a man grown, had come into himself well since leaving. He was taller, for a start, had lost all the boyishness he'd left with, his chest and arms had filled out from long hours of weapons training, and his hair was well-groomed. In short, he was handsome, and Raka couldn't stop staring.
Her grandmother had noticed the attention Raka was giving him, and insisted she spend time with him. "He could be called back any day, girl," the old woman had said, a knowing smile in her eyes. "Take your chance while you have it."
Raka was more than just attracted to Ciran, though. Whatever had given him those arm and shoulder muscles was surely something Raka, with her immense size, would excel at. She discovered that he was eager to share what he had learned-- whether he was happy someone had taken an interest in the more mundane parts of his new life, or he liked having a student, or he wanted an excuse to spend time with her too, Raka never found out. But for an entire summer, the two of them practiced together. Battle stances, sword techniques, when to attack, when to evade. By the first harvest, she was finally competent enough that she could-- occasionally-- beat him in a duel.
And then a courier had come to deliver Ciran's order to return. Two years had passed since, and though Eska insisted he wrote her occasionally, he hadn't been seen in Salt Spire. Raka tried not to think about how much she wished he would send her a letter too. Hopefully, when she saw him again he would have that much more to teach her.
---===~~~===---
In the half-lit kitchen, Raka focuses on the axe in her hand. The weight is distributed much differently than the practice sword she had used, much more top-heavy. It makes an angled stance more awkward. Her swings would be stronger, though, more impactful and deadly. She'll have to remember to use less of the deflection strikes she'd learned and more of the aggressive ones. "D'you think he can disable a dwarf trap?" she asks no one in particular.
Weapon Equipped = sling (loaded)
Sling Bullets = 9
Conditions = Light (Raka)
Melee: Attack: BAB +0, Str +2 Damage: +2
Ranged: Attack: BAB +0, Dex +3 Damage: +2
Called: Reroll a one on attack (1/1)
Healer’s Hands: (1/1)
Spells Memorized (Caster Level 1, Concentration +2)
. . 0 (11): Create Water, Light, Purify Food & Drink
. . 1st (12): Cure Light Wounds,
- - -
Argatha listens to the results of Brimble’s searches. Sounds like a lot was checked and that, lightly, concerns him. ”Don’t go so far ahead Brimble. As far away as that far room is, had you encountered something that could move, we’d have been unable to help you for some time…”
However, he shrugs, as no harm was done. Besides, he thinks they’re being over-cautious. This is clearly living quarters. Why would they have traps here? Also, more eyes are better for finding such things. Maybe.
He provides a light spell for Raka. On her ax maybe? Up to you Raka. Then he takes a position somewhere near the front, sling out and ready though he doubts it’ll be much help against mold.
He heads out in the hall with the others and looks around. The Dwarven is, of course, alien to him. He’s never had much of a head for languages. But he continues to be impressed by the clean lines and structures. Very solidly done.
Turning to Phantrel he asks, ”What does all this say?”