Hesketh Tolson
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RS 28: Jam and Dwarves
🕑 Added 2021-04-04 09:53:10 +0000 UTCChapter 28
Jam and Dwarves
Hugo held the pot of jam up, obediently. The giant Spider Mother [Level 30, Very Dangerous] took it gently in one of her pincers.
“Thank you, my dear,” came the deathly whisper. The dust swirled in eddies at her feet.
[ding! Quest completed! Jam delivered to Aunt Mavis!
All Party Members+10XP]
“Aunt Mavis?” asked Joan, tentatively.
“Yess?” hissed the enormous spider.
“Are you going to eat us?” pipped up Hugo, a little too cheerfully for the situation, Fred felt.
“That was the original script,” Aunt Mavis said. The giant spider shifted her bus-sized carapace. More dust fell of the ceiling. “At least I am supposed to try. But this quest is not that popular and I was made long ago. Most of us NPCs know our own minds here. I’ve never really liked eating people. Adventurers are tough and chewy and the weapons get stuck in my gut. Last time I ate a knight I had the runs for days– ”
“What doyou eat then?” asked Hugo. Joan frowned at him, shaking her head slightly but Hugo was oblivious, beaming happily. The giant myriad saucer sized eyes swiveled towards him.
“Flies,” Aunt Mavis whispered, and the boom of it echoed against the ancient statues. Fred was glad she was keeping her voice low. Full volume Aunt Mavis would most likely bring down the mountain. “I breed them big. A fly the size of a human is infinitely more delicious than any human.”
“Good to know,” said Fred. He could feel sweat on his brow, despite the chill of the tomb.
“The larvae are tasty too,” she continued. Aunt Mavis shifted, starting to turn away from them. Watching her legs move was mesmerizing. Each step was a swish and then an earth-rattling thump. “Is my nephew well?” she asked, dark eyes shining like orbs of pitch.
“Cob?” asked Joan. “Yes, err… he’s fine.”
“We left him fomenting revolution,” said Fred. “While we come to trade with the dwarves. Hopefully.”
“A very capable boy, Cob,” said the Spider Mother. Thump. Thump. “Takes after his mother. A fine, upstanding arachnid if ever there was one. A pity about his legs.”
“What happened to his legs?” asked Hugo, who seemed to be absolutely fearless.
“Quick tunnel accident,” she hissed.
“Ohhhh,” said Hugo. “Ow. Poor Cob.”
“Of course, under normal circumstances the dungeon would just have just remade him. But we haven’t been remade for a long while. And we try to keep quiet about it.” Thump. Thump.
“Remade?” asked Alice.
“You know,” an ichor coated pincher swept down towards Alice and poked her, ever so gently in the stomach. Alice gulped. “We are all made from the dungeon, and back to the dungeon we will go when our time comes.”
“Right,” said Alice. “Um, right.”
“Tis our destiny, as NPCS. The time we have to ourselves is precious. Perhaps this is true of all creatures. Anyway, I would invite you back to my lair for beverages–”
Fred brightened.
“–but my quarters are mostly given over to fly farming, I do not think you would find it pleasant. You will find the dwarves straight ahead. Send my love to Cob.”
“Thank you,” said Joan.
The cavern rocked with gentle tremors as the mammoth spider made her way back into the dark.
“Don’t stray from the path,” she hissed as she left. “Some of my flies might have got out…”
“Bye!” shouted Hugo. Fred shot him a glance.
“What is wrong with you?” he said.
“Nothing!” said Hugo, several decibels too loudly. “Everything is SPECTACULAR!”
Fred considered him, taking in the flushed, freckled cheeks and the feverishly bright green eyes. The dilated pupils. Epic and Joan leaned in to inspect him with motherly expressions of concern. Well Epic looked concerned, Joan looked like she might push him off a cliff.
“You ate something didn’t you?” said Fred.
“I DID NOT!”
“You don’t have to shout,” murmured Epic.
“I’M NOT, I mean I’m not shouting,” said Hugo. “I’m FINE.”
“Alice?” said Joan.
Alice scuffed the floor with her foot and sighed.
“Fine,” she said. “We took some food from The Watery Tart. We wanted to see if it was really potent or if Fred just can’t hold his fairy food.”
“Oi,” said Fred.
“You seem alright though?” said Epic. Alice looked embarrassed.
“Yeah, I think it’s my new bonus,” she said. “Remember? I can’t be poisoned? Or 50% less chance of being poisoned or something lame. Apparently, that means I can’t get high, er, I mean drunk on fairy food.”
“You sound disappointed,” said Joan.
“That’s because I am,” said Alice. “Look at how much fun Hugo is having.” They all turned to look at Hugo who was trying to walk up the side of a statue. As they watched he took out his triangle and tinged it enthusiastically.
“Oh god,” said Alice.
“We left The Watery Tart ages ago,” said Epic.
“Yes, but we only ate the roasted horse chestnuts ten minutes past,” said. Alice. “Because we were bored.”
“Ah.”
“It’s not really a very responsible thing to do,” said Fred, because he could see Joan’s vein twitching.
“You did it,” said Alice, accusingly.
“I didn’t know!”
“It’s fine,” said Joan, a slight edge to her voice. “Let’s get on. And be grateful we didn’t have to fight Aunt Mavis. A respawn at this point would be very unfortunate.” She smiled, her grin fixed and her eyes a little manic.
“Onward then, friends and lovers,” said Fred. “Alice, for crying out loud, please get Hugo off that statue.”
Alice grabbed Hugo by the back of the shirt and towed him after the others. They proceeded down the hallway, stopping only to chase a giggling Hugo around a dusty set of columns, and then a little later when they were attacked by a swarm of giant, human sized flies.
“Aunt Mavis’ dinner, I assume?” yelled Fred as he sliced one of the bugs in two with his rapier. His blade went through the insect’s flesh like butter. Where Fred had cut greenish-yellow blood seeped out filling the air with a foul stench.
[The Fredinator +10XP]
The creatures were hideous – their thoraxes plump and emerald green. Moist, spindly legs were stuck on at awkward angles and they propelled through the air with a sickening thrum of transparent wings. Eyes the size of dinner plates surveyed them, red and dull. They dripped sticky globules of goo that hissed on the stones below.
“Whoopsie,” shouted Hugo. He threw his triangle at one of them and missed. The triangle clanged harmlessly off a rock.
“Am I a bad friend if I pretend I didn’t see that?” muttered Alice. Epic grinned at her, before turning and clobbering one of the massive flies with a well flung rock.
[Epic Failure +10XP]
Alice sighed and jogged over to pick up the triangle. She ducked as the last remaining fly buzzed at her. It missed, turning in a circle to attack again.
“Alice!” declared Hugo, “Alice! Alice! I love you so much! Even if you are a bit of a turnip!”
“Thanks,” said Alice, running back. She dropped the triangle in the bottom of her bag and dove behind Fred. The fly dive-bombed towards Hugo’s innocently beaming face. Fred chopped it out of the air before it could do any damage.
“Good thing to know,” said Fred, breathing deeply. “That when Hugo is smashed he has absolutely no sense of danger. Whatsoever.”
[The Fredinator +10XP]
“S’not true,” said Hugo. He walked over to the edge of a gaping black hole and looked down it. “HELLOOOO!” he called, teetering on the brink of the chasm. Fred pulled him back by the scruff of his shirt.
“Woah there, sailor,” he said.
“Push the bodies down here, please,” came a rumble from the depths of the pit. They all froze. The cavern shook a little. “I’m too lazy to come up.”
“Ur, that’s fine,” Joan called down. “Coming!”
Fred and Epic, rolled the disgusting fly bodies along with their boots, kicking them off into empty space. They left oozing trails of green blood, and hit the ground, somewhere in the invisible depths with a fat, dull thump.
“Thanksss.”
The party hustled away from the chamber as fast as they could.
Fortunately, there were no more flies. At length, the tall vaults and statues gave way to a less stately passageway. Beams and rail tracks surrounded short, claustrophobic tunnels that led into the depths of the mountain. To right and left were mineshafts and carts. Some of them looked abandoned. Some of them showed signs of use.
“We should be getting close,” said Joan, eyeing a cart with distaste. They had stopped at an intersection to consult the map.
“You are not close,” came a cheery voice, from the darkness. “You are here!”
A short, rather wide dwarf with a magnificent beard emerged from a side tunnel holding a lantern. He beamed up at them through round dust encrusted goggles, his cheeks ruddy in the glow. His beard brushed his knees. It was braided, hung about with little bones and trinkets. He was wearing a leather waistcoat and apron that seemed a bit tight about the middle and was carrying a pickaxe over one shoulder.
“It’s been a long time since we’ve had visitors from the overworld! Welcome! Welcome! I am Four-Toes Johnson. I hope you had a good journey,” he said, “and that Mavis didn’t give you a scare.”
“A dwarf!” said Hugo, a bit too loudly for polite society. He pointed an accusing finger at Four-Toes Johnson. Epic folded it down apologetically.
“Bright lad,” said Four-Toes Johnson.
“Thank you,” said Fred. “For the welcome, I mean. Ignore Hugo, he’s drunk. Or high? I’m not sure. He ate something he shouldn’t.” Joan coughed. “Ah yes! Hmm. We are looking to trade for iron, for our glorious revolution. Can you help us out?”
“Ah, you come from the elven kingdom,” said Four-Toes Johnson, stroking his beard. His eyes darkened a little. “Well, follow me, follow me, and we’ll see if we can get you sorted. You’ll want to be talking to Jeff. Big Jeff that is. He’s the best man to talk to about iron.”
They followed Four-Toes Johnson through a complicated warren of passages. The dwarf was friendly, chatting to them about their adventures so far and telling them about his favourite ore deposits. After about fifteen minutes they emerged into a mammoth cave.
[ding! Quest Complete! You have discovered the Dwarven City of Delve!
All party members +10XP]
The dwarven city was stupendous. A craggy marvel carved by hand from a thousand rocks. Dwarves passed to and fro in dimly lit streets, going about their business. Lots of them had really impressive beards. The women, who had slightly less facial hair, had really thick tresses. Braiding flowers, gems and random knick-knacks seemed to be fashionable and Fred found himself rubbing his stubble with regret.
The scale of the buildings was in direct contrast to the stature of its citizens. Majestic columns and sweeping turrets were carved into the bedrock. Luminous mushrooms were everywhere. A waterfall fell from the unseen roof of the cavern, cascading down into a pool. The water wound its way through the centre of the city, creating a focal point around which the buildings were arranged. The homes, shops and businesses were carved from stately granite and marble. Others were hewn from rock veined with copper and quartz. A few were homely piles of brick and rock.
Giant crystal stalactites hung from the dome of the cavern, throwing subdued and glittering light in rainbows that danced across the mountain stream below.
Four-Toes Johnson came to a stop outside a small house, one of the homely piles. This one had a sort of crooked turret built on top of it. Perhaps, long ago it had been used as a watch tower. A dwarf bounced out to greet them.
“This is Alexander-the-Gate,” said Four-Toes. “Alex – some travelers for you. They be looking to buy iron. I suggested Big Jeff. Nice to meet you,” he said to Fred and co, touching his fingers to his head. “Good luck with your revolution.” The party chorused their goodbyes.
He vanished back up the way he they had come.
“Hello, hello!” said Alexander-the-Gate, cheerily. “Welcome to our city! It’s my job to greet adventurers but we have so few I set up a wool shop instead.” She waved behind her to the little building. It had a wide glass window and the piles of ‘Spider Silk Yarn in fifty colours!’ Alexander-the-Gate was wearing a rather nice jumper, with a pickaxe worked into it in pink thread. There were bits of yarn plaited into her side burns.
“Yes,” said Joan, “we’d like to shop for iron please. Cold iron.”
“The prelude to some interpretive elf clobbering,” said Hugo, chortling.
“Iron weapons,” said Fred, “just to be clear.”
“Going to get rid of the queen, are you?” mused Alexander-the-Gate, stroking her sideburns. “I’ve heard the king’s a nasty piece of work too. But it’s been ages since any of us have set foot in the Overworld.”
“Oh yeah,” said Fred, looking a bit embarrassed. He scuffed a toe against the rock. “Yeah, the king’s not there anymore.”
“He dead,” said Hugo.
“Excellent!” said the dwarf, brightening. “He was a nasty piece of work and not just because of the politics. Hmm. Good to hear! Well, if iron is what you are Big Jeff is your dwarf. Three doors down, can’t miss him. Dwarf with the forge and the giant hammer, let me show you the way.”
“Ta,” said Fred.
“The giant hammer,” said Hugo, with a snort. “I need a giant hammer.”
“Alice and I will take Hugo and try to sober him up,” said Epic. “Or we’ll watch him at any rate. You and Joan go ahead.”
“Good idea,” said Joan through slitted eyelids.
“Is there somewhere we can wait?” Epic asked Alexander.
“There’s a tavern just down the way. Everyone’s is friendly! Don’t be shy to ask if you need anything!”
“Thanks,” said Fred.
They split up, Fred and Joan leaving for the smith with Alex, while Alice and Epic frog-marched the happy Hugo to the dwarf tavern.
Epic, Alice and Hugo
The tavern was easy enough to find. A merry, boisterous place with music and light spilling out from inside a warm, cave. A wooden sign hung outside with a pair of clashing tankards. Epic and Alice looked up at the name. It was called The Tavern.
“That’s refreshingly to the point,” said Epic, as they pushed through the wooden saloon doors into the warmly lit and crowded interior. A fire-pit was lit in the centre hung round with roasting meat. A cauldron bubbled letting off tantalizing smells. Clusters of dwarfs were crowded round stout little tables, eating, drinking and gambling.
“We don’t do stupid puns,” growled the dwarf behind the counter. “Call it our own little rebellion.”
“Good,” said Alice.
“You,” said Hugo, in ringing tones, “are very short indeed.”
There was silence. All the dwarves in the tavern looked around. Epic felt like she should sink into the floorboards and die of embarrassment.
“Observant fella,” said the bar-dwarf, after a pause. Everyone looked away and Epic sagged in relief.
“What can I get you Overworlders?” the bar-dwarf said, dabbing the counter with a grimy cloth. “My name’s Bearded Jeff, by the way. My wait staff is Wee Arnold, Perfect Jill and Skinny Jeff.” Three dwarves in little aprons waved at them from across the room.
“Thanks,” said Alice, plonking herself on a stool. They were clearly build to accommodate a shorter frame, and her knees were bunched up awkwardly. Hugo sat and missed. He lay on the floor wheezing with laughter. Epic helped him up. Her stomach rumbled as she propped up on the stool, a feat made hard because he kept tucking her hair behind her ears.
“Um, thanks Hugo,” said Epic. “It’s really fine as it is.” She cast a longing glance at the fire pit. “I’m not sure if we can eat anything. Is it alright if we just sit for a bit?”
“Our friends are shopping for iron,” explained Alice.
“Oh, with Jeff-Son-Of-Jeff?”
“No?”
“With Jeffrey-Meat-Hands?”
“No, with Big Jeff,” said Epic. She paused. “If you don’t mind me mentioning it – you seem to have a lot of Jeffs?”
“City was founded by the Clan Jeff,” said Bearded Jeff. “Tis only natural. Ah, Big Jeff. He’s a good dwarf. Get you what you need. A dab hand at ye old enchanted weapons.”
The dwarves at the table next to them were served steaming plates of stew. Alice, Epic and Hugo all leaned backwards, sniffing.
“Hmmm,” said Hugo. “Jeff’s as far as the eye can see. I’m hungry.”
“Let me bring you some,” said Bearded Jeff.
“We are not supposed to eat fairy food,” said Epic.
“It should be fine,” said Bearded Jeff, his voice thick and gravelly. “We are not fairies. Let me bring you all a plate.”
“Oh yes,” said Alice. “Come on Epic, we are all starving. And some ale too while you are at it?”
“I don’t know,” said Epic, worriedly. Her stomach growled again.
“Oh, come on,” said Alice. “I’m sure it will be fine. This isn’t an elven city!”
“True,” said Epic. She glanced at the bubbled stew and breathed in the heady scent of warm spices. “Okay, fine. Three plates, please. Thank you!”
Fred and Joan
The sound of metal pounding metal rang out into the street, echoing off the stalactites. The hiss of steam, and heat of the forge greeted them in the doorway. A sign read "Blacksmith! Enchanted Weapons! A Sword for Every Occasion!" in cherry red letters.
“Here you go!” said Alex. “Stop by the wool shop if you need anything else! Or if you need some wool! Bye now!”
“Bye!” said Fred.
They wandered into the small courtyard where the blacksmith was working. His assistant was pumping the bellows and they both looked red-faced and strained, clearly in the middle of some taxing task. A rack behind them hung with weapons of all makes and sizes.
“Ohhh,” said Fred.
“Hello?” said Joan, “Big Jeff?”
"I'll be right with you," the dwarven blacksmith, yelled over one broad shoulder. He brought down the hammer on the glowing blade that he was holding delicately between hammer and tongues. "Just got to work the kinks out of this blade."
"No problem," said Joan, "we can wait."
"It might take a while," hissed the assistant. The younger dwarf’s hair was wild, and his eyes bloodshot. He was pumping the bellows as if he wanted them to explode.
"Can it, Otis!" shouted the blacksmith. A bead of sweat ran down his red puffing face. His fingers sparked, then glowed with magic. Fred and Joan leaned into look, eyes wide. Big Jeff brought down his gleaming hammer onto the glowing piece of metal on the anvil. It bent slightly and steamed.
"Harder, daddy," it whispered.
"No, no, no," shouted the blacksmith. "Just you stop it right now!" He brought down the hammer again.
"I love it when you talk dirty," said the blade.
"Um. Should we come back another time?" asked Fred.
"Hmm... that might be for the best. Give us half an hour," huffed the blacksmith. "That should be long enough."
"That's what she said," murmured the blade.
"I do apologize," said the blacksmith, bringing down the hammer again.
"Oooh."
"So sorry–"
"Ooooh–"
Fred and Joan exited the shop with some haste. They stood outside on the street.
"At least we know he works with enchantments," said Joan.
“Yes,” said Fred, grinning. They stood side by side watching the bustling of the dwarven city. It was rather beautiful.
Ten minutes later a flushed and untidy Otis poked his head around the door.
“Oh good, you are still here,” he said. “Big Jeff can see you now.”
Big Jeff was standing next to a water butt, pouring cold water over his head and neck.
“Ah, sorry about that!” he spluttered. “Occupation hazard. Last week it was a demented daggers and the week before I had a rapier that thought it was funny.”
“What were you aiming for?” asked Fred.
“Oh, just the usual enchantments,” said Big Jeff. “Fire resistance, Rapier of Spider Summoning, cursed blades, that sort of thing. Anyway, how can I help you? It’s not every day we see adventurers down here?”
Fred and Joan explained their needs, and Big Jeff hummed and hawed.
“Revolution, ey? Hmm, a worthy cause but my work isn’t cheap,” he said. “How much do you have? Would you rather buy a few high-quality weapons or a lot of basic ones? Are you trying to outfit the whole rebel force or just yourselves?”
“Can we see what you have?” asked Joan. “We have three-hundred gold pieces.”
“Of course! Of course! Otis!”
The younger dwarf scurried over. He and Big Jeff pulled out a giant rack of swords. And then one of war hammers, maces and morning stars. To the left came a selection of shields, and to the right, daggers, blades, knifes and a few letter openers, and one half eaten egg and cress sandwich.
“Aha!” said Big Jeff, “I’ve been looking for you.” He stuffed it in a side pocket. “As you can see,” he said, waving a hand at the well-stocked racks. “We have weapons for every occasion. Now, this revolution of yours. Is it a formal affair?” He whipped out a rapier with a beautifully ornate “The Rapier of Wit,” he said. “+ 25 ATK Guaranteed to skewer your enemies’ arguments and their ribcages. A bargain at 50 gold pieces.”
“Too fancy,” said Fred, regretfully.
“Too expensive,” said Joan. “We could outfit ten fairies for that.”
“Hmm, something more casual then,” said Big Jeff. He replaced the rapier on the rack and then turned back with a snap. Between finger and thumb he held a short, mental utensil. “The Spork of Mild Unpleasantness,” he said. “A steal at half a gold piece. +1 ATK?”
“Ah,” said Fred, forlornly, examining the spork. “I think a little too casual. It’s a revolution not a picnic. You’d have to work really hard to get someone’s eyeball out with that.”
“You’d be surprised,” muttered Otis, darkly.
“I mean granted you could probably scratch their cornea nastily. But if you want to kill them why not use an axe? You’d be scooping for hours–“
“Because its dull, you twit, it’ll hurt more.”
“Calm down, Otis,” said Big Jeff. “Why don’t you go and see about some tea? There’s a good lad.”
Otis shuffled off, glaring at Fred. Fred didn’t notice because he had brightened like the sun coming up at the thought of a cup of tea. “Sorry,” said Big Jeff, when Otis was out of earshot. “Been a long day. Anyway, where were we? Ah yes. How about these?”
After an hour or so of negotiation Fred and Joan walked out of Big Jeff’s with their pockets substantially lighter but pulling a small cart load of weapons behind them. The cart contained twenty short daggers, ten crossbows, five swords, fifteen axes, a bushel of fire arrows and one very nice curved longbow, because Joan pointed out that they were woefully short of ranged weapons.
Feeling pleased with themselves they trundled over to the dwarf tavern to find the rest of their party.
[ding! Quest Complete! You have successfully traded with the dwarves for iron!
All party members +10XP]
