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"The mining company that thou all labourest for... Dost thou imagine they shall gain access to this strata, to this temple? Thinkest thou that they wouldst try to claim the remainder of the Courageous?"

"Oh they'll definitely try. It does seem like the, um, Courageous can sorta pick who they bond with even before bein' picked out-- I think he sorta chose me same time as I chose him." Raka indicates her shield companion. "But there'll be people in the Company who don't so much care about that, an' I'm sure the ones in charge won't care a lick even if the miners do. They'll just see fancy dwarf stuff.

"We got down here, which means they'll wanna know how we did it. Then more'll come down here too. An' some of 'em are good people, o'course... but not all."

Oh yea, that reminds me.

"Hey Em," Raka clanks noisily over to her friend wearing her new armor. "I think the machine over there said somethin' about signin' the stuff out that we borrow. D'ya think you can put my name down for this stuff? One sword," she indicates the new sword at her belt, "one little axe," she indicates the handaxe, "one curvy bow an' a quiver of arrows," she indicates the composite (+4) longbow she grabbed as an afterthought, "an' one shiny new set o' plate armor." She grins and twirls girlishly, as though showing off a new dress.

Ha HA! We have worked well together, defending your friend! it says to Raka. No matter that the defenses hadn't actually been tested. And a goodly cut! Whack! Like that! The wicked struck down! A blow for righteousness-- I only grieve to see that one of the stoneborn had become lost, like that.

"Yeah!" Raka says out loud in response to seemingly no one, raising her axe and whooping in triumph. She finds Bastion's enthusiasm infectious, and the fear of facing down such an unknowable and uncanny foe gives way to giddiness. "We did it! That was so cool, with those other shields, how'd ya do that?" The reality that, in fact, the protection magic had come from herself and not Bastion is lost on her.

If she doesn't get an answer right away she'll repeat the question via thought-speak.

* * * * *

In the Steel Vault, Raka leaves Xira-- or whomever, really-- to converse with the construct while she looks up and down the shelves. Wonder if there's anything useful in here. While material riches are certainly enticing, even if she manages to smuggle some out and even if there isn't some horrible curse on them, they're only of use to her on the surface. And nobody knows how to get back there yet.

So, Bastion, she says while perusing the shelves. Ya got interrupted earlier, you were gonna tell me about Trudd's second lesson or somethin'?

"Argatha no!" With the man now front-and-center and taking the full brunt of the definitely-not-living dwarf's attacks, Raka can't possibly stand back and watch.

She charges into the room and pulls the axe from her belt, her shield held in front of her. On a silent suggestion from her companion-- not even spoken into her mind like before, but felt like an instinct-- she calls out a single word. "Challenge!"

Six translucent shields, like small versions of Bastion itself, surround the undead creature. One interposes itself unerringly between Argatha and the enemy, the other five surrounding it on all sides-- except in front of Raka, occupying the only gap between them.

Whoa.

Understanding immediately the implications of this new effect, she braces for impact.

Bastion of Good! Attacks by the creature against anyone but me (as long as they're within 10 feet of me) deal half damage. AC is now 19/12/18.

Move action: move
Move action: draw weapon
Swift action: Bastion of Good

By the stars...

Instinctively, Raka holds the golden shield in front of her at the first sign of movement inside the room. When its source is revealed, the part of her that feels foolish for brandishing her fine shield at its own maker (or one of them, at any rate) is pushed down by the weight of the years that brought her up.

Every legend (particularly those about what lay behind The Door), bedtime story (like Kishrak the Giant Dwarf and his sack of misbehaving children), and turn of phrase ("That merchant dwarfed me on every item") Raka had ever heard concerning the ancient people had always led her to the same conclusion:

Dwarves were not to be trusted.

Her new companion certainly gives her reason to think perhaps not every dwarf was what everyone said they were. But that's hardly comforting in the face of the first living dwarf anyone had seen in generations. Who knows what he's capable of.

"V... Verrik?"

We seem to have gotten stalled, so I will move us along.

With Rhiann out of the bear trap and patched up enough to walk, your caravan continues heading roughly east, keeping a much more careful eye on the ground all the while.

I will assume you spend enough time to both map this Hex thoroughly and locate all the traps, but I won't mark it as safe until someone makes the check. (Any number of you are welcome to attempt this retroactively, but if you Percept wrongly enough you could step on a trap!)

* * * * *
Desnus 20th

You leave the other side of the forest and find yourselves back out in open plains. A full day and night of travel passes without incident.

On the following day, with the forest now barely visible on the horizon behind you, you come to an outcropping of rocks.

"Help!" you hear a gravelly voice call out as you get closer. "Someone help me!"

Raka lifts the golden shield away from the others and slides her arm through the straps. It feels oddly lighter and more comfortable than she would have expected, as though she were in some measure already used to it being there.

Raka grunts audibly and briefly squeezes the golden shield, not for its own sake, but bracing against an invisible sensation. She now understands why Phantrel didn't exactly laud the benefits of having his sword.

Such secretive conversations!

Raka moves into the room, as eager as any of the others. She'd never seen so much as a single weapon so finely-crafted, except perhaps Thunder-follows-Lightning, and here is a whole collection of them. "This place is incredible."

She can't help but notice that, contrary to her expectations, not all of the items in the room are weapons. She even watches Xira choose one such item, what looks to Raka like a ball of glass. I guess you could, like, throw it or somethin'. Maybe it's more dangerous than it looks.

For herself, Raka turns back to the deadlier implements. She debates whether to choose an axe or a hammer, wondering how Xira had selected her item so quickly. She reaches her hand out first to one and then to another, unable to decide. An axe is probably closer to her sword training, but then again a hammer might be more versatile...

Trying to decide, her gaze slides away from them and falls onto a couple of shields. She probably shouldn't choose one of those, she needs something that can--

Wait.

An eight-sided shield depicts a mountain rising over the sea, a mountain she recognizes immediately. It's stylized a bit: there's some kind of tower at the top, and the buildings which should surround it at the base aren't there, but she would know that mountain anywhere.

Salt Spire.

Home.

She abandons the axes and hammers, not giving them another glance, and moves closer to the shields. The one that had caught her eye is beautiful, seemingly made entirely of gold. Part of her hardly dares to touch such an exquisite and priceless item, but another part of her yearns to do just that. Tentatively, she reaches out and picks it up.

Raka thinks over each of the charges carefully as Forgewise says them. They seem to matter a great deal to him, so in exchange for his help the least Raka can do is pay attention.

"First, that thou swear not to sell these weapons, either for coin or other material profit.

Easy, she thinks. Although the minin' people might have somethin' else to say about it. I guess havin' it taken away by the rich an' powerful isn't the same as--

"Second, that thou wilt not give or yield them to any evil being, or to one whom thou thinkest intends evil with them. Better to throw them into the depths of the sea than that.

...Oh. Raka wouldn't consider the Golden Mining Company evil per se, but she certainly wouldn't vouch for them. She wonders how easy it would be to hide her new weapon, if they ever manage to return home.

"Third and last, that you treat these items with the same respect thou wouldst a peer, for they are entities with their own wills, not mere crafted objects.

Raka has to stop herself from stealing a mischievous glance at Em and Xira. Which peers, exactly, will Forgewise expect her to treat it like?

"If these charges be not too onerous, then I shall bequeath them to thy care, as temporary guardians."

"I accept," she says finally.

Raka returns to the room, somewhat awkwardly. She doesn't know exactly what was said between Colin, Phantrel, and Forgewise, but it's clear her two companions successfully talked him down from the ledge, as it were. The grief Forgewise still feels is palpable, however, even across the language barrier that separates her from him.

She waits for the translation of his words (maybe Xira does the Dwarven-to-Taldane and Phantrel does Taldane-to-Dwarven?), but she balks somewhat at the mention of 'charges' associated with finding the other sentient weapons. It sounds like these things have some kinda ritual importance ta them, at least for the dwarves. Are we gonna be, like, committed to 'em? Is somebody gonna hold us ta this?

On the other hand... do we have a choice?

Raka steps forward. "I'll take your charges and carry one." If it gives her the best odds of protecting her friends and allies, promising to use a particular sword or whatever seems like a small price to pay.

"Oh, I really don't like this..."

While Phantrel and Colin attempt to talk Forgewise down, Raka sidles around the room toward the door without getting any closer to him. "Xira-I-think-somethin'-bad's-about-ta-happen-ta-the-celery-we-need-ta-move !" Putting her body between the rapidly-heating Forgewise and her friend, who is already close to the door, she pushes Xira further away from the threat.

Not gonna force anyone into anything, Xira is free to refuse to move if she wants.

That's awesome, congratulations! I hope it makes you happier and/or more financially stable. (My wife and I both got new jobs within the past year-- mine has made me much happier, hers has really turned our finances around.)

Clearly it isn't a new city, but are you relocating for it?

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.

Sense Motive (DC 18): 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (18) - 1 = 17
Awww, so close!

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.

Yep! Harvesting stuff from corpses is a DC 15+CR Survival check, so your take-10 just makes it.

Erik successfully removes three pelts from three dead wolves, which will be both warm and sellable once they've been tanned.

Apparently this process takes a few days (I'm not a hunter so I have no idea), meaning the pelts aren't usable right away but will be plenty done by the time you return to the Trading Post. Each pelt is worth 3 gp (shelf price).

While a few of the others converse with Forgewise-- some directly, others via translation-- Raka takes the opportunity to look around the room with Brimble. The dwarf-creature had confirmed that this place, or at least this specific room, is indeed a temple. Therefore, these statues along the far wall must be depictions of various dwarven deities. So many!

As amazing as dwarven crafting skills were, the statues are surprisingly... humble. Not plain, and certainly not crude, but Raka would have expected them to be larger. The world map and night sky somewhere above her had been much more aw-inspiring than these shrines to the gods. Maybe it's so they could reach the tops, she thinks with a chuckle.

She glances at each in turn: an elderly gauntleted dwarf, a dirty veil concealing one probably too impolite to be displayed, a dwarf wielding a two-handed axe, a female dwarf bedecked in and surrounded by wealth and scintillating colors, an unarmed and unarmored dwarf surrounded by offerings (presumably from the faithful)...

Raka stops at the sixth alcove. An armored dwarf fashioned from grey granite and lapiz lazuli with a much shorter beard than the others stands in this alcove, smiling up at her. Actually smiling, warmly and reassuringly, in a way Raka had assumed the dwarves incapable. But that wasn't what had caught her attention. On the kindly dwarf's arm was--

I've seen that shield. Her thoughts immediately jump back to a time not so long ago-- a few days and a lifetime-- when a rune nestled in the lines of gold had jumped out at her. Surrounding this dwarf are other tiny shields, some with the same shape, others quite different. She doesn't know the significance of these, although she assumes they were left here by his followers.

"This god," Raka says aloud to Forgewise, having lost track of the rest of the conversation. "What's his name?"

She doesn't need a translator to understand the answer: Trudd. It was the one Lady Saltspire had told her about. Seeing him depicted here, it's even more clear he's a god that, had she been a dwarf, Raka would have followed.

Don't be afraid, he seemed to say, by his posture and sturdy shield and that reassuring smile. I'll handle it.

"If that thing is a god-servant... does that mean this whole place is some kinda temple?"

Raka nods. "Colin's right. It's not nearly as empty in here as we figured-- I figured, anyway-- an' we can't keep trustin' our luck. Soon or late, we're gonna get noticed. So I vote we get noticed on purpose, rather than gettin' surprised. Might go better for us that way.

"An' if we do this, we all do it. Somethin' tells me a god-servant would appreciate us bein' forthright."

”Raka,” he says quietly. ”I appreciate this isn’t the ideal time but I meant to say this last night. Those stories about dwarves and their lust for gold? They aren’t true. Thunder-follows-Lightning feels strongly that I mention this and I can only apologise for my oversight at the time.”

Raka can't help rolling her eyes. "Well of course the sw--" She stops herself mid-sentence. That the sword would speak highly of its makers isn't exactly a surprise to her. If I was made by dwarves, I'd prob'ly say the same thing. However, saying as much out loud would just be rude, and at all events they certainly haven't stopped needing Thunder-Follows-Lightning's help.

"I-- believe that it believes that," she says as tactfully as she can.

All right, let's do this. LEEEEEEROOOOOOYYY--

Raka waits in as much complete silence as she can manage, hardly daring to breathe in the hopes the creature-- automaton?-- will pass them by without noticing their presence.

By the way, I just have to give a big thank you to GM dien for picking Raka (and really the whole group). I'm enjoying this game immensely, due in no small part to the party we have. I was thinking last night about how Brimble's and Raka's first conversation started with a sex joke, and it struck me how much this game feels like a real group of people who were forced together and are slowly getting to know each other. (I mean in-universe some of us know each other already, but you know what I mean.)

Given that at selection time Raka's backstory was like two bullet points, clearly you saw something in her that even I didn't at the time. So I am so glad I got picked for this. :)

Ouch. Fortunately I had an odd Con score, so the effect is minimal.

Reaching a dry spot, Raka wastes no time in stripping off Carver's armor so she and Brimble can inspect her all over. She also removes her miner's clothing-- she'd rather spend a few moments being immodest than risk letting another leech go unnoticed. Besides, her figure has never exactly been an object of desire, and Brimble is an entirely different species, so in this moment his wandering gaze doesn't concern her nearly as much as the slimy blood-suckers. Standing in just her undergarments, she pats herself down carefully. "Look good? Good." She crouches and inspects Brimble too, as best she can, but doesn't see a single leech on his lizardy skin. "Lucky bastard," she says with a grin.

She shakes out her miner's clothing and, after assurances that the second leech on her forearm was the last, dons it again and wriggles back into the armor. Only now, with the moment behind them, does she allow herself to really process what had just happened between Brimble and herself. "Thanks, Brimble" she says, color rising to her cheeks despite herself. "Can't be too careful."

"Yeeeeuugh!" Raka calls out in shock and disgust. She rubs the spot where the leech had been a moment before, as though to make sure it's truly gone. Strange that not only had it not hurt, she didn't even notice it at first. She instinctively lifts her arms and legs out of the water one by one, though she quickly realizes the futility of the gesture-- she can't hope to avoid the leeches that way, if there are any more.

"Nope, couldn't agree more. Let's keep going." All thoughts of the structural integrity of her surroundings have quite suddenly left her, and she's quite eager to escape the fetid water. Give her a giant monster or hurtling boulder to face down any day-- leeches are just gross.

"We'll be right behind ya, Brimble. In fact, maybe I oughtta go next after you. If anybody can get through, you can-- then if I can make it, we know it's safe for all of us."

She doesn't articulate the fact that she's the heaviest (in all likelihood, although she doesn't exactly have a scale handy) and the most likely to fall if any part of this ancient passage is unable to bear the weight of a living person. Knowing Em and Xira would likely object to her plan if she brought up this fact, Raka mentally congratulates herself on coming up with such a clever ploy.

The wolves prowl in the undergrowth just beyond the reach of your campfire's flickering light, but make no move to attack just yet.

See Book 1 slide 13. Not on initiative just yet, feel free to move yourselves if you'd like. What do you want to do?

Raka hadn't realized just how quickly she had grown accustomed to the soft, steady glow of her friends' light spells until it disappeared, and she and Em were forced to rely on the flickering of more conventional light sources. The moving shadows cast in the unfamiliar room were not comforting, even surrounded by familiar faces.

"I know what you mean," Raka says after a pause, not entirely knowing what Em meant but catching the words "weapon," "not," and "be separated from it." "Not every day you come across a weapon that talks to ya. But then again... Those are dwarf weapons. Gotta be careful not to let 'em-- I dunno-- turn us into somethin' we aren't.

"I mean, we dunno how long Highpart had his. Years, maybe. An' maybe it did nothin' at all." She recalls how, in his last moments, Lord Highcliff's thoughts were on his daughter, placing her life above his own. Surely that counted in the sword's favor, didn't it?

Her thoughts are interrupted by Em's words and gesture toward the eyes' direction. Instantly on alert, Raka peers into the darkness as best she can.

Perception: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (15) - 1 = 14

At bedtime...

"I bet that's why, though, right? I mean, way I heard it from my gran, it was... how'd she say it? 'In the end it was greed what did the dwarves in, every one.' That's how she always ended the stories, anyway. All that gold all over the place, y'know? I mean, if we've learned anythin' down here, it's that they put the stuff in everythin'. Not just decorations, but like all over the walls an' stuff too.

"My gran always said it's the gold itself that's greed-cursed. Ol' Sturm-- the harbormaster here in Salt Spire-- he once told me dwarves were always greedy, an' like... made it that way by workin' it so much." Raka shrugs in the darkness. "Either way-- take it from me, that gold is funny. Does somethin' to your mind, if you're not careful."

Raka doesn't comment on what Lady Highcliff had told her about the dwarven god Trudd, lord of protecting the innocent and using strength responsibly. So far, none of Raka's experiences with dwarvencraft-- the gold that gave her strange visions, the traps that killed so many miners, the dead dwarf that made her doubt her own friends-- would indicate any such deity.

"Anyway, so what if, like, having the sword is what made Highcliff not wanna share what he knew? I mean, no offense, sword, but y'know. If that's how it is it's just how it is."

I do not envy Phantrel when this conversation happens!

Earlier...

Tears well in Raka's eyes at the unexpected show of emotion from Xira. She drops her own armload to return the embrace.

"You're my big little sister." She pulls back enough to look up at Raka, fixing a mock-stern expression on her face. "So don't you forget it."

Raka exhales sharply, somewhere between a sob and a chuckle. "I'll try not to." She wipes her eyes. "Sorry, I'm prob'ly bein' ridiculous. It was... somethin' that spirit, or vision, or whatever it was said to me back there. It just got me thinkin' about... Em was always the smart one, an' you were always the clever one, an' you can be that forever. An' then there's me, an'..."

She trails off. For the first time, Raka is grateful for the dismal lighting conditions. She doesn't want Xira to fully see her embarrassment. "I know. Ridiculous."

She looks down at the now much-less-organized bundle of fabrics and at the shadowy room around them. "I'll say this though," she says a bit sheepishly, looking back to Xira and meeting her gaze. "If you had to get stuck down here... I'm glad I did too."

"I'll come with you, Xira," Raka says, almost instinctively. She joins her friend as they head into the other room.

Yes, the haunting presence seems to say. Something to do. That's what they keep you around for.

She stays quiet as they return to the dormitory room, away from the others. Xira hands her one of the dusty blankets, which she wraps around herself like a towel, then piles more blankets and clothing into her arms to take with them back to the others. "Xira, d'you... D'you think you an' Em would still..." She takes a breath and wipes her face with the blanket. "I dunno. I mean... we're friends. Right?"

Raka expected the reverberation off the floor to hurt her hands. But she didn't intend to swing with so much force that the impact would crack the handle. Oh f***. She stared at the axe, its head now wobbling loosely against the wooden shaft. It could still be deadly if she swung it hard enough, but another impact like that is likely to break the axe-head off completely and render the weapon useless.

She shifts her grip closer to the head of the weapon; it's still a fine light source, after all. "Well, we have some pickl--" Raka notices then that Argatha had in fact turned up what looks like a can opener. She mentally sighs. "Whyyyyy don't you handle openin' the food from now on."

Doing her best to keep her axe pointed at various allies in turn, to keep the light useful in as many directions as possible, Raka looks at the beds. "Well, if we don't find a way out anytime soon, at least we know where we can sleep tonight. These beds are better'n we've been using."

When he is finished, or if the party doesn't want beer(!), he says, "If this is food," tapping the crate with his foot, "we have plenty of it. Anyone want to try a taste?"

"I'll do it. Worst case, I don't poison easy-- there's more o' me it's gotta get through." She smiles self-deprecatingly.

Joining Argatha and Xira at the crate, Raka picks up one of the small metal containers and looks it over for an obvious opening mechanism. Seeing none, she shrugs and places it on the floor in front of her. Then she swings her axe over her head and brings it down in the center of the small container, hoping to cut the thing in half. It might not be the most efficient method of accessing the contents, but at least it's quick.

”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.

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.

”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."

If there's a knife to spare, Raka will take one of those as well. Just in case.

And Carver’s axe would be far better than anyone brandishing a shovel.

Hey!

Raka's face turns pale. "What is that... a ghost?" She casts about for something, anything, to use against the apparition. She grabs the nearest two-handed implement, which happens to be a shovel (I assume some were brought along), and instinctively steps in front of those around her despite Highcliff's warning.

Belatedly, Raka realizes that her choice of armament has a certain amount of irony. Its wide head, narrowing to a point at one end, can certainly be a dangerous weapon with enough strength behind it. But it can also work as, and even has the shape of...

A shield.

The lunch bell rings, and Raka tries to put the events of the past few hours from her mind. A dwarf god of... goodness? Helping people? Or is that just the curse? She liked it better when all she had to do was move rocks around.

Such events are successfully pushed from her mind when she sees what lunch has in store for them. Her face lights up at the small fruit. "An orange? I always wanted to try one o' these!" ...But could never afford one, she doesn't say out loud. There had been a few shipments into Salt Spire over the years that featured oranges, but they were always much too expensive. One could get by for several days on the cost of a single fruit, and she never had that much to spare. That she still didn't have the coin to spare even now made the orange that much more of a surprise. "Just how much money do these Highbars have, anyway?" she asks rhetorically of a nearby worker-- one she recognizes as a local-- in a low voice, indicating their respective oranges.

She sits down with Xira, takes a bite of the precious orange, and... decides this might be her last. The skin is tough as leather and bitter to the taste; the inside is better, juicy and soft, but somewhere between sweet and tangy. She looks around and notices that others are peeling off the tough skin. She does the same and realizes it's a surprisingly easy task, not at all like an apple or a pear. With the rind gone she takes another bite; it's certainly better, but she must admit she doesn't see the appeal. Maybe you have to get used to them. She finishes her orange, not daring to waste such an expensive fruit, but isn't longing for a second.

"You started to tell me something before all the hubbub with the map-floor started. Can you talk about it now, or should it wait until later?"

Raka's eyes dart around, suddenly nervous. She isn't overly concerned if the other workers overhear, but she doesn't want Lady Highcliff asking Raka to take her to the place-- or an overseer deciding she's too susceptible to greed and not to be trusted with this job. "It, um... well..." She swallows. "I swear somethin' happened. With the gold in the walls. There was, like, a shield an' it wanted me to--"

She's interrupted at that moment by the tremor underfoot, then the order to get down. Raka grabs the worker sitting next to her and pulls them to the floor with her, covering her neck as instructed.

She emerges a few moments later at Lord Highcliff's order. "I volunteer for rescue, m'lord," she says loudly, letting her size-- and therefore usefulness-- speak for itself.

("rhubarb rhubarb rhubarb")

In a panic, Raka quickly denies any involvement. "Oh, uh, nowhere, I just... well, I saw somethin' that kind of looked like a shield, but I forget where." She glances at the exact spot she had the vision earlier, then quickly looks away. The big woman isn't a very convincing liar, but she doesn't want to call Lady Highcliff's attention-- and therefore her own-- back to the gold lines just yet.

Still, the Lady's words make Raka feel at least a little better about the experience. This god Trudd was a protector of the innocent. If it was his symbol that had called out to her, is that still a bad thing?

She ponders this as she helps clear off the floor-map to find Salt Spire's depiction, somewhat less enthusiastic about it than many of the others but somewhat more enthusiastic than she would've been before that conversation.

Perception + circumstance: 1d20 - 1 + 2 ⇒ (16) - 1 + 2 = 17
I got one!

Raka heads to the staging area to grab one of the not-particularly-grandiose chairs. After hauling rocks and lifting support beams, the chair seems almost feather-light as she hoists it with one hand.

She gets quite a good look at Lord Highcliff's cane when she approaches him (whether she wanted one or not). She notices up close that, instead of the wood she expected, the entire thing seems to be made of metal. The gold head is in fact a coiled dragon, and the whole thing is unmistakably dwarven-made. He sure didn't find that here in the mine. How many of these places are there?

(I'm guessing the shaft is adamantine, though Raka probably wouldn't recognize it. I doubt Salt Spire has a lot of adamantine to compare it to.)

Returning to work, Raka sidles up to Alithea. "So, about those runes you talked about. The ones that're arranged into mattresses an' such. Are there any that look like... shields?"

That was too close. Raka rubs her eyes with the hands that had almost touched the alluring dwarfgold. We shouldn't be here. I really shouldn't be here.

One thing is certain, though-- there is definitely more to that gold than just shiny metal. I coulda sworn that was a shield. It looked like a shield. Brimble and Xira could sure've used a shield the other day. If Raka herself had had one, perhaps she could've prevented them from getting hurt. But so what, she tells herself. Evil folks use shields too, right? Dwarves prob'ly made shields. And anyway, it's just lines on the wall-- not even the real thing.

And yet...

Raka had never considered herself a greedy person. Stubborn, perhaps. Short-sighted, certainly. But not greedy. And yet, she had very nearly been enticed into touching the gold. Somehow, the gold itself had worked its way into her very mind. Almost like it wanted to be taken. Or like it wanted her to be the one to do it.

Convinced more than ever that the sinister metal is indeed cursed, Raka keeps her eyes to the floor and waits for Zrmlix to return.

Minty shrugs. "I hear you could get twenty times what she's offering for it if you sell it in Riddleport or the like..."

"Oh." Raka returns to her work, pondering that new piece of information for several long minutes.

First of all, there's the curse to consider. If someone did steal it, in all likelihood they'd be bringing the full as-yet-unknown might of dwarven hexmagic down on their heads. After all, wasn't their own greed the reason they're no longer here to discuss it themselves?

Second, there's the more immediate issue of being caught stealing. The overseers had never said exactly what would happen to thieves, but Raka certainly doesn't envy anyone who gets caught with stolen gold.

Lastly, there's the fact that this particular bit of gold seems especially important. All the high-ups seem quite keen to complete the pattern, or mural, or mosaic, or whatever it is the lines of gold create. Raka can't help but wonder if there's something more to it. Will something happen when it's completed? Do the overseers know, or at least suspect, more than they've said? And does it have anything to do with the traps further in the mine?

It takes her some time to sort through all her thoughts on the matter. She's probably all wrong, anyway. Easier to let others do the thinking, and leave Raka to push up beams.

"I hope the piece turns up," she says finally.

Perception: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (1) - 1 = 0
Man I didn't expect to win them all, but these Perception rolls have not liked poor Raka.

Another miner shakes her head. "The rest of it's all intact, though. Wouldn't make sense. It can't just be missing. Unless..."

A silence descends... and stretches a few more beats. The laborers dart surreptitious glances around at their fellows....

Raka puts the pieces together (heh) several moments after the other miners do-- when Carver breaks the silence and they return to the work. "You really think someone mighta stole it?" she asks Zrmlix (who I assume is still working with her), making the unspoken spoken. "Why not just turn it in and get the reward?" Especially if it's dwarf gold, the less time spent with it the better.

Just waiting on Erik. Last post was 6/17, saying he'd be out until 6/25 which was two weeks ago. I hope everything is ok. (I'll bot him tomorrow if he hasn't checked in by then.)

(For this fight, I pictured the scene as we were much closer to the spider, FWIW. I honestly thought we were like 20 feet away at most.)

I decided to give you all the benefit of not being that close, because the spider would've jumped you long before you got there.

Hey, there's a big difference between outdoorsy and outsidey. I have a friend who loves being outside, gardening and going for walks and such. She also has never been camping or backpacking and doesn't have the slightest desire to do either. So maybe Yuki is more like that.

Fortitude + Miner of Salt Spire: 1d20 + 4 + 1 ⇒ (9) + 4 + 1 = 14
Perception: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (17) - 1 = 16

"Well, Miss Em, I don't know what gifts or possessions you might have other than your penchant for the poetic. Have you found any interesting dwarven items, or secrets, over the years that you might put up as your stake?"

"Em has the highest squeal you ever heard," Raka pitches in, most unhelpfully. "This one time, Xira found a snake lookin' for fish in the shallows. It was jus' a dice snake, all harmless y'know. We thought it'd be funny to take it back with us an' put it in old lady Lentia's house. Well what we forgot was, Em was workin' at Lentia's that day-- she used ta go over there to, like, clean up an' stuff. So Em finds the thing under a pillow, and... I swear you coulda heard her across town." She gives Em a good-natured grin.

* * * * *

The day is hard, and the work is wearisome. But size and experience do have their advantages. Raka's muscles ache by the end of the day, but she can see she isn't nearly in so much pain as some of the others, particularly those for whom mining is a new experience.

When she gets a chance, she approaches Xira and Em. "Hey," she says in a low voice. "I overheard some parts of the conversation between those soldiers over there. Somethin's down there in the mine; somethin' nasty. One of those guys took a bite to the leg, an' they got armor an' everything." She looks to Xira, as she so often has, waiting for the sorceress to tell Raka what they should do about it.

Raka wipes her brow with relief when she hears the morning break bell. She does a double-take a few minutes into their break when she sees the armed and armored warriors pass by. What in the deepest hells do they need stuff like that down here for?

She's even more flabbergasted when Carver explains what they'll be doing the rest of the day. "Real dwarf gold?" she blurts out before she can stop herself. Though it might sound like greed in Raka's voice, actually stealing some of the stuff is the furthest thing from her mind in this moment. She grew up on fables about the dwarves and the gold they killed each other over-- it's supposed to be very cursed.

Raka takes out her gloves and inspects them for holes.

"The gods made you tall enough to crack your head on every ceiling but they also made you tall enough to help the engineers put up support trusses, so you're doin' that, stick with the little goblin s+#%head who's runnin' around here."

"Don't I know it!" Raka says brightly, happy to be assigned to support truss duty rather than risk handling the dwarven gold.

(I figured it makes sense that the more conspiracy-minded of the locals would be convinced that there are powerful curses involved with dwarf stuff.)

”Yeah…” he grins good-naturedly, ”We get the tons of waste while our betters get the ounces.” He chuckles, and seems to accept his place in the matter.

"Well I don't know about you, but I didn't see an ounce of anything worth keeping today... an' I got silver out of it. Seems like we're the ones that came out ahead!"

Raka wakes and stretches. She had tried her best the previous day to hide her anxiousness after being asked to do so many difficult tasks-- reading, writing-- but the day ahead of her promises a lot of simple hard labor. The thought puts her in a much better mood.

Once dressed for the day, Raka practically bounces out of the makeshift dormitory. She is, undeniably, a morning person. She reaches down and pokes Brimble good-naturedly as they stand in line for breakfast. The height difference between the two workers couldn't be more stark, making for quite an odd pair. "Stay out of trouble last night?" she asks with a grin.

* * * * *

Raka receives her gloves, helmet, rock hammer (Does it come with a Rita Hayworth poster?) chisel and other gear and follows the hobgoblin as instructed.

"Hey, he just said no &*@$!ing!" Raka calls out to no one in particular as soon as Ubek leaves, making sure the big hobgoblin can hear her.

Raka will be staying in the dorm, preferring the camaraderie of her fellow workers.

Nice!

What would normally be a 10-minute job takes your scrabbling fingers several hours only 10 minutes because Dare has the right tool for the job, and pretty soon you uncover a bundle wrapped in (etc etc).