Dain Lionbeard & Surtus Powdermane
Underdeep
The general hubbub of conversation faltered slightly as the heavy door to the Dark Tower swung open once again to reveal two short and burly figures. Their faces hidden by hooded cloaks, they quickly make their way to the center of the room before revealing themselves- the first wore simple garments adorned with leather straps and pauldrons. Folding back the dark hood of the black cloak showed the face of Surtus, Dain's youngest but strongest son. His stubble has grown in some, giving the illusion of powder on his face, a testament to Dain's old surname. His stubby nose turns up at first sight of the motley crew of individuals before him. His gaze sweeps the room before turning to the other cloaked figure.
Even with his face hidden, it is easy to tell Dain apart from other Dwarves. His gold-flecked white beard hangs in a dozen or so braids, all of which nearly touch the floor. Smoothing the hood back down to his shoulders, his initial reaction is very different from Surtus'. Quickly scanning the room, he smiles, and the look in his pale-blue eyes almost suggests he hadn't expected anyone. He leans to whisper something in Surtus' ear before studying everyone in the room individually. After what feels like several minutes, he brushes his spiderweb-like hair to the side and whispers to Surtus once more, who then turns to address those in the room.
"Firstly," Surtus' voice is rough and deep, as if he's inhaled too much smoke from the great forges, "my father wishes to offer a thousand thanks for the gathering that has accumulated here. You are certainly an odd lot, but he likes the look of you."
Surtus pauses for a moment as Dain leans over yet again to whisper into his ear. Surtus nods, and Dain retreats back to the door, leaning on a wall next to it.
"My name is Surtus Powdermane, youngest son of Dain and a proud warrior of the Krigare Caste. I'm sure you're all familiar with my father, so no introduction is needed." He glances back towards the wrinkled Dwarf, who still has a slight smile on his lips.
"I'm sure you're all as eager as we are to get things underway, so I'll break it down for us."
"A century and a half ago, when us Dwarves retreated back into this mountain, we were surprised when we learned that we were not the only beings to be found living here. The first assault from the abominations below was totally and wholly unprepared for, and is forever written in the annals of Dwarven history as the Night of Red. Many good men and women died on that night- but in the end, it was Dain who received credit for a close victory, to say the least. This event gave birth to the Dwarven Castes, and whatever dwells in the belly of this mountain has been the longest and bloodiest war we Dwarves have fought. Underdeep is far from the haven it once was, but Dain is proud to claim it as a place of safety in this world, and has gone to great lengths to keep it this way. However, there are those that would work against him to prevent that from happening."
Surtus pauses for a moment to clear his throat.
"My father has been studying any reports and any evidence retrieved about the evil that lives beneath our feet, and on the eve of an expedition to oust our foe, the unthinkable happened. Dain Lionbeard, Speaker for the Dwarves of Underdeep, lost his tongue."
Dain opened his mouth to prove the claim- sure enough, no tongue could be seen. However, it was clear that it wasn't cut out- it was almost as if a tongue had never been there in the first place.
"The witch that cursed my father to never speak again has fled into the Deep Pits, and the expedition has since been put on hold since the Speaker cannot speak. He cannot lead."
Dain pushes himself away from the wall with a grunt and joins his son in the middle of the room.
"Your task, should you all still hold interest, will be to hunt down the witch that cursed my father and figure out a way to reverse the curse- how that happens isn't rightly known, but hopefully, it involves slaying her. It would also be helpful to learn if this woman is linked in any way to what lurks beneath Underdeep. That-"
Dain interrupts his son to whisper in his ear once more.
"There's another thing, minor to the more important task but still worth looking into if you want more pay. Our Brewmaster, Kreggin, makes occasional trips to the Deep Pits to deliver the stale and badly made ale to the prisoners there- it isn't much, but it helps them work better, if only slightly. He hasn't been seen since, and most of Underdeep isn't aware of his absence entirely. We haven't heard from him and we'd like to- if you see him, tell him to send word to Dain that he's okay."
"One more thing- the witch, she's a dwarf. Long black hair that touches the ground- pale and freckled skin. Should be pretty easy to pick out in a crowd."
Surtus laid a hand on Dain's shoulder.
"Now, if there's any questions, nows the time for them to be asked. Otherwise, give us the okay and we'll show you your path."
"What about the reward from dealing with the witch, or shall we discuss that afterwards?" Asked one of the two elves in the room, at least from Surtus' observations. He always had trouble telling the differences between elves and humans in the lowlight of Underdeep.
"My father is overseeing that aspect personally, though since he can't speak, you'll find out." Dain nodded in approval. The room was quiet for several minutes, though Surtus was once again the one to break the silence.
"If that's all for questions, we'll head off immediately."
--
Underdeep Slums- Deep Pits Entrance
When compared to the likenesses of the great maw that is the entrance to Underdeep, the entrance to the dreaded Deep Pits is similar in several aspects. It stretches upwards, though isn't as tall as the main entrance, and also pertains the rocky jaws, as if the Dwarves had taken a liking to the shape when crafting the great tunnel within. However, in contrast to the front entrance, no lights can be seen from within, only an inky darkness that extends down the tall but jagged shaft. When looked upon from the entrance, it is not hard to understand why some Dwarves refer to the Deep Pits Entrance as the "Throat of the Mountain". As of now, it seems the tunnel is uninhabited, though since it stretches for miles it's difficult to tell just who or what dwells within.
"Here we are, the hellish entrance to the Deep Pits, the Throat of the Mountain, the place where the damned go to rot their lives away." Said Surtus as he stepped up to where the shadows ended and the dim torchlights from the slums only started to fade.
"One way in, one way out. All traffic to and from the Deep Pits is funneled through here, though there's much more of the former. It's a relatively straight shot into the Pits themselves from here, only a few twists or turns, and even those are mostly just outposts where you can get your bearings. I wish I could tell you more, but all I can tell you is that the Witch is somewhere between here and the Pits, if she hasn't tried to disguise herself and hide within the Pits. It's a simple get in, find the witch, get out with what info you can. If you have to kill her, so be it. And don't forget about Kreggin, last we heard he was somewhere down here, as well. Best of luck, adventurers. Dain's countin' on ya'."
Surtus stepped forward, slinging from a shoulder a leather pack. Had he always had that on? Inside were torches of varying sizes, though all seemed to be covered with the same amount of flammable material regardless. He passed a few to each member of the party.
"These'll light on just about anything, so watch where you swing them. If it goes out, just swipe it against the wall, should light right back up."
Surtus withdrew from the group and gave a small bow, placing the leather pouch back on his shoulder. He turned and started back towards the Dark Tower, "Thorbr save us." he muttered under his breath.
And so the party was left at the threshold of the dark Throat of the Mountain, which beckoned them to come in.