The Pushmi-Pullyu of Helmscraig Part 2

>Helmscraig
>Be Rogue
>Be teamed up with a fighter and a wizard.
>Fighter is a good guy, just a little too righteous for his own good.
>Wizard is just as his job title describes.
>He's a gods damned wizard; magic spells and all the crap that comes attached.
>Came for what was supposed to be a simple protection job.
>Dwarven Lord worried that someone had it in for him.
>Look into it.
>Protect his calloused little ass for a week or so.
>Walk home with enough money to buy myself my own inn and enough wenches to fill it from basement to chimney.
>Didn't quite go as planned.
>He was perfectly fine when we arrived.
>Not so much the next day.
>It doesn't reflect very well on your team when you accept a down payment on protection services, only to have the guy who hired you killed within 12 hours of your first meeting.
>To say the least, his family, charges, vassals, and political allies suddenly determine that we are the most likely suspects.
>Wake up to guards at the door.
>Go on the run.
>Manage to find shelter with one of the dead lord's political allies.
>Lord Emgar.
>Not a bad guy.
>Maybe a touch too friendly in my eyes.
>But he's willing to keep us safe.
>And beggars can't be choosers.
>Now we're trapped in a massive underground city, where very few people speak a language that isn't old Dwarven, and we're afraid to wander too far into the city out of fear of being lost forever or simply being caught by one of the possibly thousands of dwarves who would like nothing better than to turn our hides into leather armour padding.
>All in all, not the worst situation that we've been in.
>Unless you consider the fact that we're actively being hunted by a two headed beast that has a taste for strong alcohol, sings quite loudly, knows every corner of the city, is faster than any of the dwarves we've encountered, and was apparently really good friends with the dead lord.
>That's kinda put a damper on our comfort.
>We're all doing our best in our own little ways to ensure our survival.
>Fighter leaves the home of our benefactor with a group of armed guards every so often to try and appeal to the other lords to show us clemency and give us a chance to prove our innocence.
>Wizard spends his days between the in-house library, and the sitting room with various guests and friends of Lord Emgar; attempting to earn us some freedoms through political manoeuvring.
>I'm doing what I do best.
>I started with skulking around in the shadows, trying to pick up on clues as to who would want to bump off a dwarven lord, and why they would try to pin it on us.
>Didn't learn a whole lot.
>Really doesn't help that I only have a rudimentary understanding of Dwarven.
>Decided to start working on a Plan B
>Been spending my days drawing out a map of the streets surrounding our benefactor's house.
>Hope I'll be able to eventually locate either a way out of this place or locate a new hiding spot in the event things go a little to far south.
>Progress is slow, but steady.
>At least I don't feel useless doing this.
>Be scoping out a small tavern located just outside a refinery.
>Be the fourth major metal processing facility that I've found.
>Be the thirty-fourth tavern I've scoped out.
>Have actually watched dwarves leave their work sober, walk twenty minutes back to their houses (stopping at ever tavern they pass), and arrive home drunker than Mad King Lewin.
>Make the final marks on the parchment to mark out the location of the alleyway between the tavern and its neighbouring building.
>Enough for today.
>start making my way back to Lord Emgar's home.
>Not overly fond of dwarves.
>But love how underground cities are almost 75% darkened alleyways and shadowy corners.
>Taking the safe route.
>Leads to a partially-hidden rear passage into the third larder of the second kitchen.
>Only people who know about this route are Lord Emgar's servants and the odd delivery crew that comes in from a local market.
>Two more turns.
>Hear something.
>By the God Dragon's scales.
>Last thing I need right now.
>Hoof beats.
>Turn quick.
>Pull two daggers from belt.
>They're in the shadows, but I can still make out enough of their shape.
>Throw.
>Both strike the target.
>Then fall to the the stone floor.
>They step into the light.
>Damn it.
>One of Barren-Bairn's ends stand facing me.
>I can't tell which one.
>Never bothered to learn their names.
>Full plate.
>Large war axe in his hands.
>I don't like the way he's looking at me.
“Death to the deceivers!”
“Blood for the fallen!”
>They charge.
>They've got sixty feet to cover before they reach me.
>Assume a fighting stance.
>...
>Okay.
>They're moving a lot faster than I was expecting.
>Abandon fighting stance!
>Go into roll to get out of the way.
>Dodge his swing.
>Okay, now he has to turn around.
>I've got some time.
>Get on my feet.
>Turn to face the beast.
>They didn't turn around.
>They just stopped and started running back.
>See the other end.
>Full plate.
>A small axe in either hand.
>I think I like this end even less.
>He's already on me.
>Go into another roll.
>Another narrow miss.
>Find my feet.
>They stop a good distance from me.
>The end facing me glares.
“Stop rolling around and fight!”
“What are you, an elf?”
“Half-elf actually, thanks for noticing.”
>The end facing me rears back.
>Have to end this fast.
>Draw dagger.
>Make a plan.
>They charge.
>Prepare to shift left.
>When they pass: slice their legs, slow them down, and escape.
>Good plan.
>Always worked before.
>They get closer.
>Tighten grip on blade.
>Almost there.
“Now!”
“GRAAA!”
>What?
>back half leaps around to the left, getting into the front.
>Before landing, throws both of his hand axes at me.
>Dodge right.
>They do that leaping turn again.
>Facing the side with the war axe once more.
>They hardly lost momentum.
>I on the other hand have been put off balance from my dodge.
>Get rammed into a wall.
>Axe braced across my chest.
>I could probably reach an arm around to stab it, but the other end will probably notice.
“Fancy moves.”
“For a half-breeded cuthroat!”
“How do you want to do this?”
“We'll give you a choice.”
“You can come along peacefully.”
“So we can cut off your head in the atrium of Dulsfur Hall.”
“Or we can take it right here.”
“And leave your head as a gift to your fellow traitors.”
>I'm not exactly sure I like either of those options.
>Time to think of a third one.
“Hold on!  I don't know what you've been thinking, but we didn't kill Dulsfur-”
“Lord Dulsfur!”
“Respect the dead!”
“Say it right!”
“Say it again!”
>Bad start.
“Lord Dulsfur.  We didn't kill him.”
“Then explain all the running and hiding?”
“You slithering about.”
“We've been watching you.”
“We've been keeping our eye on Lord Emgar's place for a while now.”
“We've seen you sneaking out and around.”
“We know about your fighter.”
“Putting on displays for sympathy”
“Pleading for 'mercy'.”
“Bah!”
“Feh!”
“And your wizard.”
“The beardless fool!”
“Throwing parties with tea and cakes.”
“Trying to worm his way into the graces of the other lords.”
“But we ain't a lord.”
“We won't be swayed.”
“Our lord is dead.”
“Our friend is dead.”
“And blood calls for blood.”
“And then some more.”
>I gotta stop them.
>They're working themselves up.
“But we didn't kill him!”
>They stop and stare at me.
>Now I've got an audience.
“Look, we just arrived at Du-”
>Hold up!
>Fix that.
“-Lord Dulsfur's hall.  We spoke of the arrangment, agreed on a price, took the first portion, then retired for the evening.  That was all that happened.  Next thing we knew, we had the guards banging on our door, accusing us of treachery.”
“If you were innocent, why did you run?”
“Why not stay and clear your name.”
“In all honesty, we were under a fair amount of pressure, considering how there was an army of angry dwarves outside our door, calling for our blood.  Running away and hiding out until tempers cooled seemed like the sensible thing to do at the time.”
>They apply more pressure to the axe against my chest.
>I'm guessing this isn't the time for humour.
>Think I can feel my ribs about to crack.
“You killed our lord!”
“Do what's honourable.”
“Admit to your crimes!”
“Confess!”
>Okay, so we weren't all that convincing.
>At least they're not focused on taking our head.
“How do you know that we were the ones who killed him?”
“We were told.”
“We were awoken by a servant.”
“He told us the news.”
“He spoke of Lord Dulsfur's demise.”
>I think we've found an angle.
“So a servant told you?”
“Yes”
“Of course.”
“Weren't your elf ears listening?”
“What do you even have those ears for?”
>I'd be insulted if I wasn't so desperate to get out of this situation alive.
“Then who told the servant?”
>There's a pause.
>Maybe I made them think?
“Why does that matter?”
“Why would the servant lie?”
“I'm not saying that the servant lied, but maybe he was given false information?”
>They aren't responding.
“Look, all I'm saying is that you may have a traitor in your ranks.  Go back to Lord Dulsfur's hall and ask the servants who told them who killed your Lord.  Then ask those people who told them.  Then ask those people.  Just keep going until you hit a dead end.  When that happens come to me, you'll either have your answer or you'll have some information that I might be able to use to help find the real killer.”
“How can we trust a skulking little knife juggler like you?”
“How do we know you won't just continue roaming the streets?”
“Looking for an escape?”
“Planning further crimes?”
“Expected of an elf.”
“Long eared thieves.”
>Okay, maybe they've spent a little too much time underground.
“By every single sliver of gold in the God Dragon's hoard, you will not see me outside again.  You've seen me going in and out, you know that paths I've been taking.  Set guards if you wish, they will not see me.  I will establish myself firmly inside Lord Emgar's home and never leave.  I shall make his guards aware that I have given you permission to call on me.  Simply tell them that you wish to speak with me, and I shall meet with you immediately.  I simply ask that you ask questions of Lord Dulsfur's servants and come to me with your findings.”
>They look to each other.
>They nod.
>The axe is pulled away from my chest.
>Sweet air!  To breathe again!
>The air tastes like dust, soot, centuries of unwashed sweat, and burning.
>Remember that I'm in an underground city where the chief businesses are the mining, refining and processing of metals.
>Barren-Bairn looks at me.
“We better not see you on these streets again.”
“Keep to your hidey hole.”
“We will ask the servants.”
“We will find the liar.”
>They turn and slowly make their way to the mouth of the alley.
“Just don't kill them when you find out!”
“We don't make promises.”
“But we can try.”
“If we remember.”
“We can be forgetful.”
...
>Be a fair few days later.
>No word for Barren-Bairn
>Good, because it means they haven't come to collect my head.
>Good, because it means they probably took my advice.
>Bad, because it means I've left a murder investigation in the hands of a two headed beast that has been spending a little bit too much time hanging around dwarves and drinking with them.
>It's out of my hands now.
>Haven't told the fighter or the wizard.
>Don't want them thinking that I've been trying to undermine their efforts.
>Been happily spending my days inside.
>Stealing wine and ale from the pantries.
>Raiding Lord Emgar's personal library.
>Lounging by a roaring fire in my private quarters, mug of wine in hand, reading 'dwarven erotica'.
>It's all stories about forging armour, bringing honour to one's clan, killing goblins, and humiliating elves.
>But written in a really suggestive fashion.
>Pages have little sweat stains on them.
>Gross, but I'm having a good laugh.
>Knock on the door.
>Throw the book under my bed, empty mug into the fire.
“Yes?”
>Hear a voice.
>Dwarven.
>Can't understand a damn word.
>Manage to catch him saying 'Buldain'a'.
>Open the door.
>March out.
“Best not keep our guests waiting.”
>Guess I'll have to find out how Borin Hammerheld showed how great his “pride” was by bringing an elven maiden to tears.
...
>Be in local tavern.
>Barren-Bairn insisted.
>Seated in a darkened corner.
>I insisted.
>One of Barren-Bairn's heads is already five deep, polishing of his sixth, getting ready to order the seventh.
>I'm still on my first.
>I'd say I was impressed, but at this point I'm beginning to get worried.
>The other one hasn't stopped talking.
“So then I asked Entbrok, and he said-
“That he was told by Sulwurn Brunskol.  So you asked every servant you could and, it all pointed back to Sulwurn.  Who is this Sulwurn guy anyway?
“Chief valet of our Lord Dulsfur-”
>He sputters for a moment.
>By the God Dragon's sleeping breath, he's going to start crying.
>The other end hasn't stopped drinking.  Now working on the eighth.
>This could be bad.
“Okay!  So you did you manage to ask this Sulwurn guy anything?”
>He perks back up.
“That's the thing, I couldn't find him!  He had disappeared.  He was last seen on the morn of my Lord's death.”
>He starts tearing up again.
“Hey there!  So did you ask if anyone knew where he had gone off to?”
“I did.  I was told that he had retired to his quarters and had not left them since.  Everyone believes that he's in mourning for our Lord...”
>I can't stop him now.
>He breaks down.
>He's got his head stuffed into the crook of his arm.  Sobbing so hard he's having trouble breathing.
>Banging a fist against the table.
>Wailing like a Kobold caught in its own trap.
>The other head has just received his ninth ale and is now pounding it back.
“All right then.  Tell you what.  I'm going to go speak with my friends.  How about you take care of yourself here, get yourself cleaned up, and have a good night's rest.  We'll meet back up tomorrow outside of Lord Emgar's hall, and you can take us to see this Sulwurn fellow.  Does that sound like a good idea?”
>Crying head does not reply.
>Other head keeps drinking but raises his free hand.
>Gives a thumbs-up.
>I guess we've got a plan now.
>Leave tavern.
>Hope they get home safe.
...
>Be the next day.
>Fighter and Wizard did not take the news very well.
>Fighter insists that this is likely a trap.
>Wizard just called me an idiot and started writing out something.
>I'd guess it was either a message to Lord Emgar, apologizing for me undercutting all of their political manoeuvring, or his last will and testament.
>Told them that I trust Barren-Bairn and I think he trusts us.
>The kind of trust that allows you to get drunk and cry in front of someone.
>They're hesitant but decide to go along with me.
>Barren-Bairn comes to collect us.
>Bit of a tense reunion, but we remain civil.
>Takes us back to Lord Dulsfur's Hall.
>Guides us through the corridors.
>Followed by a dozen guards.
>Every other dwarf we pass glares at us.
>By the God Dragon's infinite greed, if my hunch is wrong we will not be getting out of here alive.
>Barren-Bairn stops us outside of a wooden door.
>They knock.
“Sulwurn Brunskol?”
“Are you in?”
“We need to talk?”
“Sulwurn?”
>We wait.
>No response.
>Barren-Bairn looks to the guards.
“Has anyone seen Sulwurn leave his quarters?”
“Has anyone seen him in the hall?”
>The guards shake their heads.
>Barren-Bairn pull at the door's handle.
>Door doesn't budge.
>Locked.
>They look at each other.
>Nod.
>Rear back.
>Kick the door.
>Door flies open.
>Charges into the room.
>Followed by eight guards.
>They mull around angrily.
“He's not here!”
“He's gone!”
“The Jackal!”
“Spawn of a Tanar'ri!”
“We'll have his hide!”
“We'll flay him to the bone!”
>There they go again.
>This time he seems to be influencing the other dwarves.
>They're beginning to look a touch rabid.
>Wizard shouts into the room.
“Did he leave anything?”
>Barren-Bairn and the other dwarves look at him blankly.
“What?”
“Huh?”
“Did he leave anything that would let us know where he's gone to?”
“How would we know?”
“We just got here.”
>By the God Dragon's grumbling.
>Speak up.
“Would all of you please leave the room and let an expert take a look?”
>The dwarves file out of the room.
>Barren-Bairn steps out, squeezing at his axe handles.
>Step into the room.
>Pretty basic set up.
>Bed is pretty bare.
>Personal chest is empty.
>Nothing behind the mirror.
>Creaky wooden floor.
>Waste chamber isn't plumbed, just has a pot.
>Wardrobe is empty.
>No window.
>Lantern hanging from a stand.
>Hold on there.
>Wooden floors?
>That's not very Dwarven.
>Why would a Dwarf send away for wood (or even bother paying if it was being sold by an elf), when they have all the stone they could ever want at their disposal?
>We're in an underground city.
>Where would he even find enough wood for an entire floor?
>Wave at a guard.
>He steps forward.
“Can I borrow your axe?”
>Looks at me confused.
>Wizard translates.
>Dwarf looks at me and clutches his axe to his chest.
>Guess that's a 'no'.
>Plan B.
>Point to the floor.
>Point to his axe.
>Make a swinging motion.
>Dwarf smiles.
>Begins hacking away at the floor.
>Tear up the boards.
>False floor.
>More importantly, find a hidden stash.
>Most likely neglected to collect it while making his escape.
>Find a stack of loose papers.
>Flowing script.
>Looks nice.
>Can't read it.
>Extend my hand towards the wizard, maybe he can make sense of it.
>Barren-Bairn rips them out of my hands.
>Looks them over.
>He really doesn't look happy.
>Throws the papers onto the ground and stomps away.
“Elves.”
“Elves!”
“Our Lord Dulsfer was murdered by Elves!”
“Filthy, knife-eared twig-eaters killed our Lord Dulsfer!”
>Barren-Bairn begins shouting in Dwarven.
>I can guess what he's saying.
>He's not exactly being quiet about the news.
>Wizard grabs the papers and begins looking them over.
>Fighter grabs me by the arm and drags me out of the room and down the hall.
>Wizard follows.
>Fighter glares at me.
“We're getting out of here now.”
“What?”
“We are going to the front door, and we're going to wait for things to settle down a little.”
“Why?”
“Barren-Bairn is angry.”
“That's fairly obvious.”
“And very loud.”
“Also apparent.”
“We're in the middle of a mansion that is filled with angry dwarves.”
“And?”
“I don't want to be around when they get angrier.”
>Contemplate that thought for a moment.
>Pull my hood a little tighter over my head.
“Lead the way.”
...
>Four hours later.
>Sitting on the front steps.
>Things inside Lord Dulsfur's hall have calmed down a bit.
>Wizard has managed to garner some information from the papers we found.
>Turns out that Sulwurn was in contact with a small cell of Drow who had managed to find their way into the city.
>He's been taking orders from them for years.
>Taking their money.
>Doing their bidding.
>Trying to undermine the government of Helmscraig.
>They offered Sulwurn a hefty sum of gold to kill his lord.
>Enough to even make me consider doing the same.
>The God Dragon would understand.
>They promised him a safe means of escape.
>They've managed to establishthemselves in the basement of an abandoned counting house.
>Wouldn't be my first choice of places to hide, but then again...dwarves.
>Hear the front doors open.
>Look.
>Oh.
>May the God Dragon never awaken.
>If there was such a thing as 'fuller plate', Barren-Bairn is wearing it.
>They're each carrying an axe that's almost as large as their torso.
>The axes are embellished and etched with countless runes and designs.
>He's being followed by what has to be every dwarf in the Hall, armed and armoured to the teeth.
>They're marching in ranks behind Barren-Bairn.
>They stop before us.
“Nice armour.”
“Thanks.”
“Its new.”
>Fighter speaks up.
“New?”
“Freshly forged.”
“What do you think we've been doing for the past four hours?”
>Dwarves.
>I would also say that they've been probably drinking excessively and screaming nonsense about elves and honour, but that would probably be a little too on the nose.
“And the axes?”
“Ceremonial.”
“We've been chosen as their bearers.”
>That's nice.
>Fighter points at the other dwarves.
“And the rest of them?”
“Lord Dulsfur's followers.”
“The clan.”
“The clan has been wounded.”
“The clan is hurt.”
“We're marching as a clan.”
“We're fighting as a clan.”
“This is a problem for the clan.”
“The clan will bring the solution.”
>Seems a bit excessive.
>I would hate to start an argument with a small army of pissed off (and likely drunk) dwarves.
>But this many could cause problems.
>Wave at Barren-Bairn.
“Could I speak with you for a moment?”
>They approach us.
“You don't think that bringing everyone is going to cause a problem?”
“They are the clan.”
“They will fight.”
“Yes, that great, but we're dealing with elves here.”
>I can't believe this.
>I have to talk like a dwarf to get through to him.
“They're pretty sneaky.  We know this.  You know this.”
“This is true.”
“We know this.”
“What do you think is going to happen when they hear a small army of dwarves, fully clad in armour, marching down the street, banging their shields, crying out for the blood of traitors, and singing a war chant?”
>A moment of thought.
>I wish I could see their faces through the visors of their helms.
“They will run.”
“They will hide.”
“They might escape.”
“We will not have our vengeance.”
“Exactly!  So, maybe we could find a compromise with your clansmen?”
>They look at each other.
>Nod.
>They approach the dwarves.
>Starts shouting in Dwarven.
>The dwarves shout back.
“Buldairn'a!  Buldairn'a!  Buldairn'a!  Buldairn'a!  Buldairn'a!”
>Barren-Bairn point at five dwarves.
>The five step forward.
>Barren-Bairn and the five dwarves march towards us.
“These five will join us.”
“It's only right.”
>Seems reasonable.
>Fighter nods.
“That will be fine.  Let's go.”
>Wizard speaks.
“We know where they're supposed to be hiding, but we'll need you to guide us there.”
“Tell us where we need to go.”
“We will lead.”
>Start down the steps.
>Follow Barren-Bairn down the street.
>The crowd at the front doors has not stopped shouting.
“Buldairn'a!  Buldairn'a!  Buldairn'a!  Buldairn'a!...”
...
>Be following Barren-Bairn.
>Don't even know where we are anymore, but apparently he knows where we're going.
>Don't like this tense silence.
“So, Barren-Bairn.”
“Yes?”
“What?”
“Not to cause offence, but can I ask you something.”
“Of course.”
“You may ask.”
“We have time to talk.”
“We still have a ways to go until we reach our destination.”
“Great.  So, there's something that's been bothering me for a while now, and by the God Dragon's gilded dreams I cannot figure out an answer.”
“And that would be?”
“What troubles you?”
“Why you?  You weren't born into the clan, you're the farthest thing from a dwarf to live in this mountain, you need to duck your head to fit through a standard doorway down here.  Despite this, Lord Dulsfur's followers forged you that armour, gave you those axes, and let you lead the march.  Why?”
>They're silent for a moment.
>The rear head speaks.
“When Lord Dulsfur's vassal brought us from that tavern to his home in Helmscraig, before I was called 'Buldairn'a', we were seen as a novelty.  We didn't mind.  We entertained the Lord and he was greatly amused by us.  He held a gathering of his friends and followers, and placed me as the evening's entertainment.  It was a grand party.  We were invited to join Lord Dulsfur at his table.  We spoke at length of our journeys and adventures.  Many stories were told.  We shared many drinks.  Sang many songs.  He would laugh and roar so loudly that the table shook, and we laughed with him.  One of his guests had a touch too much ale.  He decided to try and mount us, as a joke.  The drunk had one of his friends call us over then ask us to kneel down so he could whisper a joke in our ear.  As we knelt, the drunken fool jumped upon our back.  We spun and shook trying to get him off.  All the while he shouted, 'Look at my pony!  It's two mouths are a fortune to feed, but it leaves no mess to clean!  It's two heads make such a racket, but it always knows where it's going!  Look at my pony!  Look at my pretty pony!”.  We bucked him off.  He landed on the floor, still laughing.  I'll admit that we probably had a bit to much to drink at the time.  We were enraged.  We ran to him and stomped his skull flat into the stones.  The crowd went silent.”
“And you weren't lynched?”
“The crowd quickly became angry, we would have more than likely been butchered on the spot were it not for our lord.  Lord Dulsfur stood up, and began clapping.  He told the crowd that the drunk had brought shame to his house for disgracing a guest.  He then reminded them of the old dwarven tale of 'the miner and the pit pony'.”
“Can't say I'm familiar with that one.”
“A deep vein miner became tired of hauling the ore out of his shaft by himself, so he saved up his money and purchased a small but stout pony to pull his cart.  The pony was slow, but it was strong.  No matter how much ore the miner put into the cart, the pony would always pull.  The miner saw this and was happy.  With the passing days, he loaded the cart with greater amounts of ore.  The pony would always pull, but as the cart became heavier and heavier the pony would become slower and slower.  Eventually, the cart became so heavy and the pony so slow, that the miner's happiness soon turned to displeasure.  Rather than seeing the error in his ways, the miner instead began whipping the pony.  The whipping didn't seem to make the pony any faster, which made the miner angrier, so he whipped the pony harder.  Then one day, after dropping off his ore, the miner unhitched his pony from the cart to put it in a stable.  The pony refused to move.  The Miner pulled at the pony's reins but it wouldn't budge.  The Miner spread food out before the pony, but it still wouldn't move.  The miner, frustrated by the stubborn creature, walked around to the pony's rear and gave it a smack.  The pony responded by kicking the miner in the head, killing him instantly.”
“Not the most pleasant tale I've ever heard.”
“The lesson the tale tells is that if something brings you happiness try not to take more than it can give, for the thing that brings you happiness can quickly turn to your greatest pain.”
>Not exactly the moral I'd derive.
>Then again I'm not a dwarf.
“Our Lord Dulsfur called me to his side at the head table and sat me next to him.  He then declared that I was not to be blamed for the death of the drunk, for the drunk had tried to take too much from what I could give.”
>The other head piped in.
“He also told us that he wasn't very fond of the drunk we killed.”
“He finished by telling everyone in the hall that I had brought him great happiness, and that if he were a miner I would be his pit pony.  His 'Buldairn'a'.  That he would ask no more of me than what I could give.  At that moment I swore my alliance to his clan.  Within the year, I was inducted as a clansman.  That is why my clansmen follow me; I am Buldairn'a of our Lord Dulsfur.”
>Quite the story.
>We walk a good ways further before I build the nerve to speak again.
“Hey.”
“Another question?”
“Yes?”
“Back when we first met.  I asked you what you were and you told us that you were a guide.”
“I remember.”
“That's correct.”
“It wasn't a lie.”
“We still are.”
“Yeah, but that wasn't the answer I was looking for.
>Barren-Bairn are silent.
“I think you know what I meant.”
>The silence continues.
>Guess I touched a nerve.
>Begin to step back into line.
“Pushmi.”
“Pullyu.”
“What was that?”
“Pushmi.”
“Pullyu.”
“Never heard of it.”
>They go quiet again.
>The rear head raises an arm above his head.
>The dwarves stop.
>We stop.
>They stop.
>Barren-Bairn turn so that both of their heads can face us.
>They remove their helms.
>They look different.
>They're still angry, but not with the rage that was consuming them back at the hall.
“One head looks for the ending.”
“One remembers to begin.”
“Two mouths to sing the song.”
“Or to confess the sin.”
“An Angel beckons forward.”
“With a Devil close behind.”
“Two hands that kindness offer.”
“Two more that take in kind.”
“Four arms with sword and shield.”
“All raised to face the foe.”
“Four legs to bear the weight.”
“And know the way to go.”
“Two minds to know the world.”
“Two hearts to face the task.”
“Leaving just one question.”
“You never wished to ask.”
“Be it in light or darkness.”
“The ever or the never.”
“If you push me far enough.”
“We'll pull you down together.”
>Barren-Bairn put their helms back on.
>They turn.
>They resume the march.
>The five dwarves follow.
>The wizard, the fighter, and I stand shocked.
>I speak.
“I remember that rhyme.  It's a song that my grandmother would sing to me whenever I had a nightmare.”
>Fighter and wizard look at me.
“When I was a child, I frequently had these terrible nightmares that would have me screaming in my sleep.  My grandmother would wake me, calm me down, then stroke my hair while singing that song to put me back to sleep.”
“Really?  I remember it differently.”
>Wizard and I look at the fighter.
“I heard it years ago.  A Bard in an inn told a tale of two brave warriors who journeyed across the planes to slay demons and earn the favour of the gods.  He ended the story with that song.”
“It's not a song.”
>Fighter and I turn to face the wizard.
“It's not a song.  It's a riddle.  An old one.  You could almost call it 'ancient'.”
“Yeah?  If it's a riddle, then what's the answer?”
“If I were to venture a guess...”
>Wizard points at Barren-Bairn.
“I'd say: Him.”
>May the God Dragon never waken.
...
>Be standing in an alleyway across the street from the counting house.
>Barren-Bairn is sure this is the one that was mentioned in the papers.
>Did my job and scoped it out.
>One entrance in the front, one in the back.
>Return to the group.
>Tell them the setup.
“You three watch the back door.”
“We will go in through the front.”
>Fighter doesn't like that idea.
“Are you sure about that?  You six are all very combat focused, you have no support, no range.  Who knows what they've got down there.  For all we know they could be brewing alchemist's fire and have a half-dozen sorcerers.  I think three of the dwarves should stay out here, and we'll join you going in.”
>Barren-Bairn do not respond.
>They turn to one of the dwarves beside them.
>Gives the dwarf a nudge and points towards a barrel sitting against a wall in the alley.
>Dwarf draws a hand axe.
>Throws.
>Axe smashes through the barrel.
“We have range.”
>Turns to another dwarf.
>Says something in dwarven.
>Dwarf nods.
>Dwarf steps forward, opens his bag, and holds it out for us to look in.
>It's full of potions.
“We have support.”
“We can handle this.”
“The clan will handle this.”
“You watch the back.”
“We'll go in through the front.”
>Fighter raises his hands in resignation.
“Give us some time.  We're going to go around the block and find a good route to get us to the back door.  Once we're in position we'll give you a signal that we're ready.”
>Barren-Bairn nods.
>I lead fighter and wizard on a round-about path through the alleys.
>Eventually we reach the back door to the store house.
>Look to wizard.
>He whispers a few words and waves his hands about.
>Produces a small ball of green fire that floats above his open palm.
>Steps towards the alley beside the building.
>Throws the fire down the alley.
>Quickly steps back out of the alley.
>Wait for the party to start.
>Don't have to wait long.
>Hear the distinct sounds of dwarven war cries and people trying to run in full plate.
CKRHACK!
>That would be the front door giving way.
>Hear them tromping around inside.
SKRTCH!
>That would be the basement door being ripped from its hinges.
>Hear a voice.
>It's muffled but loud.
>Step towards the back door to hear better.
“I'll say this in common!”
“So you're needle-ears can understand!”
“I am Buldairn'a of my Lord Piotern Ogdoular Loektuk Dulsfur!”
“Lord of the Ancestral Dulsfur Hall!”
“Eleventh Hand of the Thane of Helmscraig!”
“Slayer of the Dulcoal Manticore!”
“A Hero of the Siege of Laskveil!”
“We have come to fight!”
“So be ready!”
“For it would anger us greatly it you did not face us proper!”
“Only a proper battle will appease us!”
>Sound of footfalls on stone steps.
>Struggle.
>Explosions.
>A wonderful fight.
>Feet on the stairs.
>Coming up fast.
>Step away from the door.
>Wave to the fighter.
>He readies his sword.
>Door swings upon.
>Something steps out.
>Fighter swings high.
>The something that came though the door hits the stones hard.
>Ready ourselves for any more to come.
>All goes silent.
>Wizard shouts something in dwarven through the door.
>Receive an answer in Dwarven.
>Wizard looks at us.
“It's over.  Let's see what we got here.”
>Wizard chants points to fighter's sword.
>Sword begins to emit light.
>Fighter holds the sword to the body.
>A back-skinned figure donned in leather armour lies dead at our feet.
>Hoof beats.
>One of the overly armoured halves of Barren-Bairn steps out through the door.
“You should have told us we were fighting drow.”
“We would have brought three more dwarves.”
“More for the fight.”
“A roaring good time.”
>They laugh.
>For the first time since we saw them, the Pushmi-Pullyu laughs.
>Loud and long.
...
>Be eight days later.
>Recovering from the party.
>Every shimmering scale of the God Dragon, please stop this ringing in my ears.
>Two days celebrating the avenging of Lord Dulsfur.
>Two days celebrating the deaths of the six “black-skinned rats”.
>Three days “properly” mourning for Lord Dulsfur.
>Apparently they've already spent four days in mourning for him.
>But now that they know who his real killers were, the mourning could be done “properly”.
>Constant drinking.
>Endless singing.
>Occasional fistfight.
>Can't remember when one party ended and another began.
>This morning we got rounded up by a gang of dwarves.
>They lifted us above their heads.
>Following Barren-Bairn, they marched us out into the streets of Helmscraig.
>We're paraded around for hours.
>Completely confused as to what's going on, but can't help but feel a little proud.
>Parade ends at the open doors of Helmscraig.
>We're set down, our bags dropped at our feet.
>Bend over to lift my bag.
>Noticeably heavier.
>Really heavy actually.
>Give it a shake.
>Jingling.
>Give another shake.
RRRRPPPPTTTT
>Bag splits open.
>Coins come pouring out.
>More coins.
>Where are all these coins coming from?
>Seriously, I had food, maps, tools, and weapons in this bag, how did they fit all these coins in?
>Stare at my feet being covered in wealth.
>All the dwarves laugh.
>Someone throws a leather sack at me.
>Sheepishly take the sack, bend over, and start scooping coins into it.
>Barren-Bairn steps forward.
>Turns so that both of his head can face the crowd.
>Shouts out in Dwarven.
>A short speech.
>I'm sure it was a good one.
“Buldairn'a!  Buldairn'a!  Buldairn'a!  Buldairn'a!  Buldairn'a!”
>The crowd chants, turns, and leaves.
>They march back into the Helmscraig, chanting.
>Barren-Bairn turn to face us.
“We hope there's enough in your bags to settle all accounts.”
“Everything should be well and paid for.”
>Fighter gives his bag a pat.
“Feels like a little too much.”
“The extra is for the inconvenience.”
“For the time spent being hunted unjustly.”
“Dwarves aren't exactly the best with humility.”
“Call this a 'dwarven apology'.”
>If this is what dwarven courtesy looks like, I could stand to be hunted a little more often.
“Thanks again for your assistance.”
“Your talents are appreciated and welcome.”
“We wish you safe journeys.”
“It was an honour to have met you.”
>I notice they're not wearing their full plate.
>Just the same pieces they wore when we first met.
>See the bags slung across their backs.
>See the old axes hung from their sides.
>Barren-Bairn steps around us, and trots through the doors of Helmscraig.
>Fighter shouts.
“Where will you go now?”
>He stops, turns to face us.
“Buldairn'a of Dulsfur has lost his master.”
“The Pony is without his miner.”
“I cannot bring him happiness here.”
“He cannot hear my songs or share my stories.”
“So I shall find someone to hate, then kick them to death.”
“So his soul may tell the miner that his pony is still strong.”
>They smile.
>Turn.
>And Gallop into the light of the world outside the mountain.
...
>Be dwarf
>A vassal of the great Clan of Dulsfur.
>Sitting with my many great grandchildren.
>Pointing at the tapestries and etchings of our great hall, telling them the stories that each one contains.
>Point to a section of the eastern wall.
>Point to an area of the carved stones.
>Point to the figure of a dual-headed creature with the body of a four-legged, hoofed beast.
>The children laugh.
>They say its impossible.
>Tell me it's all a myth.
>Become angry.
>Tell them to follow me.
>Lead them through our ancestral halls.
>Lead them deep into our home, far from the sounds of the refineries, smithies, mines, and taverns.
>Take them to a place of silence.
>Quite likely the quietest place in the whole of our hall.
>Guide them to a door.
>Mounted upon the door are Seven wire frames.
>Each frame containing a face of dried, desiccated, black skin.  The faces are stretched out and held to their frames with fine, braided, white thread.
>Open the doors.
>Show the suit of heavy steel plates, hundred of years old.
>Show the axes of our clan.
>Show the helms of the five that followed them.
>Show the name, carved into the immortal stone of the Hall of Dulsfur.
>Show the truth to my tales.
>Show the honour earned.
>Buldairn'a