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"An Icy Grave" : A Tale of Two Brothers
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<blockquote data-quote="Jon Potter" data-source="post: 303436" data-attributes="member: 2323"><p><strong>Part 12: If I Had a Hammer...</strong></p><p></p><p>"We'll need ta get ye outen that armor so's I can tend ta yer wounds," Malak said as he began to fumble with his medicine kit. There was more than a hint of concern in the Battleguard's voice.</p><p>Karak harrumphed.</p><p>"Chalak, I have nae time for a full inspection," he growled. "So let's salve up what we can 'fore tha invisible sprites seep in ta prevent healin'."</p><p>Malak smiled to himself. Invisible sprites, indeed! What rubbish. If Karak had made it further in his training, he would know what every Battleguard knew: it was an imbalance of elemental humors, not faerie creatures that caused the problem. As he worked on his brother's wounds, he checked each for telltale signs of trouble. There was neither the excessive heat of a fire imbalance nor the excessive sweating of a water imbalance; the wounds weren't hard and swollen such as they would have been if Karak was leaning too far toward earth and his breathing was fine so air was not a problem either.</p><p>None of Karak's injuries required stitches. Malak applied bound poultices of garlic and sphagnum moss to the worst of them and a light smear of St. Lendor's wort ointment to the others.</p><p>"How do ye feel?" he asked as he put away his supplies.</p><p>"Me thinks it be about time ta head upstairs," Karak replied, flexing his muscles experimentally.</p><p>"Aye, tha rumblin' in me belly says that it be well past supper time," Malak said. "But I'd guess we've a few hours 'fore midnight. What say we check tha downstairs?"</p><p>Karak considered this and then nodded.</p><p>"Before we go, I want ta dispatch tha Golems," he said. "I dinna want ta face this thing what killed tha monks while stone Golems be smashin' our backs."</p><p>He handed his war axe to Malak and unslung the heavy warhammer from his pack. It felt light compared to his weapon of choice, but he clutched the haft of it with both hands as he approached the nearer of the two statues. It took two solid blows from the steel hammerhead to reduce it to a broken pile of rubble. The second statue required three before it too succumbed to the inevitable and fell apart into several chunks.</p><p>"There," Karak said as he secured the warhammer to his back again. "I be feelin' better already."</p><p>Malak approached and handed the war axe back to his brother. As he did so, he noticed a scrap of parchment amongst the broken pieces of statue. He picked it up and frowned at it. On one side were a series of glyphs written in the Vebar tongue - an ancient theological script used in the performance of certain complicated religious ceremonies. Malak had not yet learned to decipher them, but he could recognize them well enough. On the other side were written a few words in the human tongue: "To my little brother - May these stalwart companions guard yer sleep now that I cannot".</p><p></p><p>The goat began bleating at them as soon as they came into view on the steps.</p><p>"He's probably as hungry as we be," Malak said and began rummaging amidst their gear for the animal's feed.</p><p>"Aye," Karak agreed. He unslung his pack, pulled out a strip of mutton jerky, and began chewing on it furiously. He handed a strip to Malak who chewed it as he placed some feed in the goat's bag and secured it over the animal's muzzle.</p><p>"While we're 'ere fumblin' about in Arngrim's packs, let's take a look-see if'n there be any torches amongst 'em," Karak said around a mouthful of leather-tough meat. "I've been thinkin' on that note we found. It seems ta say that whate'er did all this killin' is afraid o' fire or light. I'm thinkin' it'd be right smart ta light up a torch or two 'fore we 'eads up."</p><p>"It kinna hurt," Malak agreed.</p><p>He found a bundle of twelve torches, a spare tinderbox, and a skin of lamp oil inside one of the bundles.</p><p></p><p>From the entryway, they retraced their steps through the hall of idols to the kitchen with its two sets of stairs.</p><p>"Up or down?" Malak asked, holding the lantern high enough to illuminate both sets of stairs.</p><p>"We've nae seen any matchin' staircases on tha floor above, so this must lead directly ta tha creature's lair at tha top o' tha place," Karak surmised, indicating the stairs up with his axe. "Let's save that for last."</p><p>Malak nodded and they descended the stairs into the basement.</p><p>The staircase opened into a narrow room - little wider than the hallways above -that trailed away to the right. The ceiling was low, and a human would have needed to stoop his head to avoid striking the rafters. They could just see a door at its far end. Bundles of javelins and other more exotic-looking weaponry lined the left-hand wall. Three suits of studded leather armor were mounted on pegs set into the wall itself.</p><p>The armor was sized for humans, and although dwarves rarely worked their protection from leather, it was obviously of a very high quality. Most of the weapons were of a type neither brother had ever seen. Some consisted of chains and wooden clubs, others were of oddly curved and weighted blades, while still others looked like normal pole arms until one noticed that the shafts of the weapons were far too flexible to stop a charge. A vast array of what looked like polished steel snowflakes were mounted to the wall around and between the other weapons.</p><p>They checked the door at the far end and, finding nothing, proceeded on to the next room where large barrels and sacks of supplies were stacked to the ceiling, dividing it into narrow corridors between the aisles. It took them a few moments of searching to notice the door in the opposite wall. A musty smell was very prevalent in amidst the containers, and Karak found out why when he cut open a sack. The grain that had been stored within had been exposed to moisture and was covered with a bluish mold. The barrels of salted meats and fish had kept well in the cold, however.</p><p>They found nothing to further threaten them in the room and after a less-than-thorough search, they proceeded to the next door.</p><p>The room beyond was the largest of the basement rooms, but it felt cramped. A great stone furnace dominated the area and numerous bronze pipes led upwards from it, disappearing into the ceiling. The doors of the furnace stood open but no fire burned within. Drifts of coal filled the corners of the room, and a filthy shovel was propped against the far wall. </p><p>Both dwarves had seen such devices before, of course; the furnace was a dwarven design after all. They were used to warm the drafty upper halls of the largest delves, powered sometimes by a carefully routed lava vent or a creature of elemental fire. Sometimes - as was obviously the case here - they were fueled by coal.</p><p>"It seems what these monks 'ave had more than a bit of dealin' with tha dwarven folk," Malak said, taking a step nearer to the furnace. "This be o' our design, ta be-"</p><p>The clatter of coal falling off the pile as a broken, ash-covered corpse pushed its way to the surface cut off his words.</p><p>Malak had time only to move away from the thing and put down the lantern. He reached for the handle of his claymore.</p><p>Karak reacted at once, however, and swung his axe, being careful to avoid hitting the ceiling. He had spent more of his youth running from the tunnel wardens than he did training with them, so he never learned the finer points of close-quarters fighting. The swing was clumsy and missed by a wide margin.</p><p>The undead creature had it worse than both of them. Its broken limbs and long burial had taken their toll on its coordination. It slipped on the coal, tripped over its own feet and fell face first to the floor. Its head made a wet thwacking sound against the stone.</p><p>It was a simple matter then for Karak to split open its skull and stop its movements.</p><p>"How many monks did Arngrim say were here?" Karak asked, wiping frozen brain off his axe blade.</p><p>"I dinna think he-" Malak began and then stopped, his head cocked.</p><p>A sighing sound was coming from upstairs, drifting down through the bronze pipes to their ears. The sighing grew louder, like the rush of wind, and along with it came the sound of smashing wood.</p><p>"I fear it may be midnight," Malak said as the goat above began to bleat with fear.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Jon Potter, post: 303436, member: 2323"] [b]Part 12: If I Had a Hammer...[/b] "We'll need ta get ye outen that armor so's I can tend ta yer wounds," Malak said as he began to fumble with his medicine kit. There was more than a hint of concern in the Battleguard's voice. Karak harrumphed. "Chalak, I have nae time for a full inspection," he growled. "So let's salve up what we can 'fore tha invisible sprites seep in ta prevent healin'." Malak smiled to himself. Invisible sprites, indeed! What rubbish. If Karak had made it further in his training, he would know what every Battleguard knew: it was an imbalance of elemental humors, not faerie creatures that caused the problem. As he worked on his brother's wounds, he checked each for telltale signs of trouble. There was neither the excessive heat of a fire imbalance nor the excessive sweating of a water imbalance; the wounds weren't hard and swollen such as they would have been if Karak was leaning too far toward earth and his breathing was fine so air was not a problem either. None of Karak's injuries required stitches. Malak applied bound poultices of garlic and sphagnum moss to the worst of them and a light smear of St. Lendor's wort ointment to the others. "How do ye feel?" he asked as he put away his supplies. "Me thinks it be about time ta head upstairs," Karak replied, flexing his muscles experimentally. "Aye, tha rumblin' in me belly says that it be well past supper time," Malak said. "But I'd guess we've a few hours 'fore midnight. What say we check tha downstairs?" Karak considered this and then nodded. "Before we go, I want ta dispatch tha Golems," he said. "I dinna want ta face this thing what killed tha monks while stone Golems be smashin' our backs." He handed his war axe to Malak and unslung the heavy warhammer from his pack. It felt light compared to his weapon of choice, but he clutched the haft of it with both hands as he approached the nearer of the two statues. It took two solid blows from the steel hammerhead to reduce it to a broken pile of rubble. The second statue required three before it too succumbed to the inevitable and fell apart into several chunks. "There," Karak said as he secured the warhammer to his back again. "I be feelin' better already." Malak approached and handed the war axe back to his brother. As he did so, he noticed a scrap of parchment amongst the broken pieces of statue. He picked it up and frowned at it. On one side were a series of glyphs written in the Vebar tongue - an ancient theological script used in the performance of certain complicated religious ceremonies. Malak had not yet learned to decipher them, but he could recognize them well enough. On the other side were written a few words in the human tongue: "To my little brother - May these stalwart companions guard yer sleep now that I cannot". The goat began bleating at them as soon as they came into view on the steps. "He's probably as hungry as we be," Malak said and began rummaging amidst their gear for the animal's feed. "Aye," Karak agreed. He unslung his pack, pulled out a strip of mutton jerky, and began chewing on it furiously. He handed a strip to Malak who chewed it as he placed some feed in the goat's bag and secured it over the animal's muzzle. "While we're 'ere fumblin' about in Arngrim's packs, let's take a look-see if'n there be any torches amongst 'em," Karak said around a mouthful of leather-tough meat. "I've been thinkin' on that note we found. It seems ta say that whate'er did all this killin' is afraid o' fire or light. I'm thinkin' it'd be right smart ta light up a torch or two 'fore we 'eads up." "It kinna hurt," Malak agreed. He found a bundle of twelve torches, a spare tinderbox, and a skin of lamp oil inside one of the bundles. From the entryway, they retraced their steps through the hall of idols to the kitchen with its two sets of stairs. "Up or down?" Malak asked, holding the lantern high enough to illuminate both sets of stairs. "We've nae seen any matchin' staircases on tha floor above, so this must lead directly ta tha creature's lair at tha top o' tha place," Karak surmised, indicating the stairs up with his axe. "Let's save that for last." Malak nodded and they descended the stairs into the basement. The staircase opened into a narrow room - little wider than the hallways above -that trailed away to the right. The ceiling was low, and a human would have needed to stoop his head to avoid striking the rafters. They could just see a door at its far end. Bundles of javelins and other more exotic-looking weaponry lined the left-hand wall. Three suits of studded leather armor were mounted on pegs set into the wall itself. The armor was sized for humans, and although dwarves rarely worked their protection from leather, it was obviously of a very high quality. Most of the weapons were of a type neither brother had ever seen. Some consisted of chains and wooden clubs, others were of oddly curved and weighted blades, while still others looked like normal pole arms until one noticed that the shafts of the weapons were far too flexible to stop a charge. A vast array of what looked like polished steel snowflakes were mounted to the wall around and between the other weapons. They checked the door at the far end and, finding nothing, proceeded on to the next room where large barrels and sacks of supplies were stacked to the ceiling, dividing it into narrow corridors between the aisles. It took them a few moments of searching to notice the door in the opposite wall. A musty smell was very prevalent in amidst the containers, and Karak found out why when he cut open a sack. The grain that had been stored within had been exposed to moisture and was covered with a bluish mold. The barrels of salted meats and fish had kept well in the cold, however. They found nothing to further threaten them in the room and after a less-than-thorough search, they proceeded to the next door. The room beyond was the largest of the basement rooms, but it felt cramped. A great stone furnace dominated the area and numerous bronze pipes led upwards from it, disappearing into the ceiling. The doors of the furnace stood open but no fire burned within. Drifts of coal filled the corners of the room, and a filthy shovel was propped against the far wall. Both dwarves had seen such devices before, of course; the furnace was a dwarven design after all. They were used to warm the drafty upper halls of the largest delves, powered sometimes by a carefully routed lava vent or a creature of elemental fire. Sometimes - as was obviously the case here - they were fueled by coal. "It seems what these monks 'ave had more than a bit of dealin' with tha dwarven folk," Malak said, taking a step nearer to the furnace. "This be o' our design, ta be-" The clatter of coal falling off the pile as a broken, ash-covered corpse pushed its way to the surface cut off his words. Malak had time only to move away from the thing and put down the lantern. He reached for the handle of his claymore. Karak reacted at once, however, and swung his axe, being careful to avoid hitting the ceiling. He had spent more of his youth running from the tunnel wardens than he did training with them, so he never learned the finer points of close-quarters fighting. The swing was clumsy and missed by a wide margin. The undead creature had it worse than both of them. Its broken limbs and long burial had taken their toll on its coordination. It slipped on the coal, tripped over its own feet and fell face first to the floor. Its head made a wet thwacking sound against the stone. It was a simple matter then for Karak to split open its skull and stop its movements. "How many monks did Arngrim say were here?" Karak asked, wiping frozen brain off his axe blade. "I dinna think he-" Malak began and then stopped, his head cocked. A sighing sound was coming from upstairs, drifting down through the bronze pipes to their ears. The sighing grew louder, like the rush of wind, and along with it came the sound of smashing wood. "I fear it may be midnight," Malak said as the goat above began to bleat with fear. [/QUOTE]
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