Excerpt from the histories of Helious Prime.

Excerpt from the histories of Helious Prime.

This city is poorly designed, I miss the under home, it’s almost like the streets here are designed to be invaded. Someone new to the city has just as much advantage as someone who has lived here their entire lives.  That’s poor planning.  Ever since our deep tunnels collapsed and filled with water I have been stranded here. Thankfully the lock mechanisms designed by Torag when last he walked among us saved many but cut some of us off. Oceans are a continual engineering problem. At least I have made some friends among those less like gibbering self-involved children.

I went to visit Justin again today, his ‘Credibles Cocker’ idea has merit, it’s such a shame so few people realize the potential for guns. Humans stubbornly hold onto what their fed and they call us dwarves stubborn!

 I wonder if Justin is right, and once guns make armor a thing of the past, people won’t revert sensibly to bow and crossbow. Would they really persist with these temperamental, noisy, inflexible, hard to maintain, costly, and weather limited creations?   I suppose the same happened with the sling, flexible munitions choice, low maintenance and infinite ammo rarely seem to come first. I am not sure if its due to the manipulations of the merchant guilds, the sorry human desire to rebut the past, the feeling of joining a new community humanoids that lack community hunger for, or the sad fact that humanoids seem to prefer complex ‘exiting’ rituals over simple results. Time will tell as those fairy elves say.

On my way to his shanty next to the cemetery one of the priests of Pharasma came bustling up, bad news always follows a priest bustling the forge-master Vforg used to say. Justin was dead.  No point complaining, leave that to the more pitiful Halflings, all dwarves know actions solve things not words. The body was just being brought in by his travelling companions so I went to weigh the nuggets of their actions.

An ill-tempered assortment.

A Shoanti, pale and tall, stood out but his ill proportioned limbs, stringy receding hair, hunched shoulders, asymetrical features and pockmarked skin made the impression of a poorly nourished soul; not helped by the way he walked cautiously tense and hidden under a large curiously custom cloak. Reminded me of a human I knew once- went by the name of Alister I recall.

Then a bunch of those short, hairy, swarthy southeners this land has become plagued by. Some say they look part dwarven but no dwarf was that scrawny, olive skinned or kept their hair on their backs.The one who stood out the most was striking in posture and looks for a Mexican. He seemed to be doing most of the talking. Wanted a tomb made with monies taken from Justin with the epithet “Here lies Justin……………..”. Its good his buried here among the priests of Pharasma that reminded him of his tribe.

The short, hairy humans were a quiet bunch that just squabbled among themselves. A warrior of some sort attempting some sort of stoic solidarity but talking more then all the others while fingering one of those standard 2H swords human barbarians favour for their ease of construction. A cleric to Abadar that seemed far of and lost in his own world of theological questions and a striking stunted young lady whose mono brow, hairy moles, facial hair and awkward gait could make any dwarf feel at home, pity she had no chest to speak of.

I had some saved monies so inquired why they were interring him, knowing I could get some good interest on my investment in him, but it seems as he was struck down dead by foul necromancy he could not be raised. He was opposed to necromancy above all else and was fortifying himself against it, an irony I will have to drink to when remembering him.

In the ensuing discussion it became apparent that they felt they were outmatched and their foes were well prepared, almost clairvoyantly so, and could use another gun.  They seemed to respect the guns ability to smash through armour and I was keen to do something real in Justins memory so chose to accompany them.

I was supprised in the conversation that the Barbarian wanted to take Justins gun, not only did that show a terrible sense of companionship it showed theft and inconsideration considering we were in grounds dedicated to Pharasma the guardian of the dead. Supprisingly I think I might get along with him best because he seems the most stoic of the bunch. Its one of the reasons I got along with Justin, he kept his own council and faced adversity beyond him with stoicism.  Acceptance of ones own responsibility and dealing with things on your terms is what makes you no longer a youngling.

The Shoanti surprisingly got on my nerves the most, I expected him to be like Justin and other Shoanti- stoic, unconcerned about image, resolute. All he did was keep complaining about how unfair the things they fought were. I told him you cannot choose what things happened to you but you can choose your responses and if you cannot control them perhaps a career milking goats is better suited to him. 

Whining never helped anyone, well except to grow a vagina- speaking of which I did notice the shoanti had some lumps under its cloak. Now that I think about it it must be a she. The amount of whining, the controlled posture, the designer cloak..  Those bumps were pretty flat and pretty low, poor girl not only was she hit by one hell of an ugly stick those must be the droopiest tits ever. That’s barbarians for you, no idea how to rig a tit sling. I will have to make allowances for a girl, human women seem to be a much less resolute and stoic bunch.

I stayed the night at the inn they were staying at. It was surprising the reception they got. Obviously respected yet they weren’t greeted warmly as I expected. More a grudging respect;  that went along with a wide berth and a wary eye. I cannot say their habits were helping. Getting drunk, complaining, laughing at each-others misfortunes, talking about how much they want to kill things, greasing off other patrons, strutting like fat little entitled nobles. No wonder Justin preferred his hovel.