[H1][center]The Dwarf Miner[/center][/h1]

[b][i]Moments ago?[/i][/b]

Nine jail gaurds stood about the lip of a pit. A single thin stairs made from wood, easily broken if need be, leading down into the darkness of the pit below. This was the usual size of the detail. Sometimes bigger sometimes only one or two members smaller. Never less then three though. They stood and looked into the pit below. And listened, watching in carefully. From below the steady grunt of exertion, from below the crunch-grind of steel on stone. Here below the Maw itself, an inmate did his penance, willingly.

One guard turns to another, "Is it really true about this guy?" He asks of thr other. The other gaurd pushes up their visor revealing a grizzled old woman, tired and looking like they have seen things. She looks the first guard over, "New here?" The first guard nods, "First shift. So is it true? You jbow there are stories about some of those who are in here." The woman hums rubbing her cheek right beside a painful looking scar, "This one is the regicide..." She says and points into the pit. "Killed royaltythis one. The Dwarves gave him up to the King, couldn't deal with their own." There is a crunch from below and then a flicker of light and the gaurds startle, there in the black a face lit by candle.light. Staring up at the nine of them, as if gauging them. Then with a puff, the candle light is gone. 

The gaurds trade looks and thus none of them.see thr flitting shadow that ghost down the stairs.

It takes them an hour to realize the strike of steel on stone has stopped. Bit are told not to report it when the nine boil to the surface.

It's taken care of.

[b][i]Now[/i][/b]

The darkness is welcome. The light this strange blue light, is not.

Then the voice, no not it, no..."Yes my friend. Up now. Up."

With a groan he shifts, and feels many things. The hard shaft of something at hand, and many many hard plates, and chain, and leather a deep breath and he feels a familiar hiss and smells a familiar scent. He's in his armor and his mask and his helm with his axe pick at hand, but he's bound. Why?

He opens his eyes, and though it is shadowy a Dwarves natural darksight picks out forms, but his eyes stop on...it...that thing, woman shaped could be comely, could be curvy, but not really.

 He stares at the Warden.

Then sees the half giant, ahh someone who shares in the rage. And then stands tall the shadow moon thing. And he feels his bindings give. He sets his plated boots upon the floor, hobnails biting before he finds his footing. And a rumbling voice, "What is sought of stone?" He looks about wondering who else is here.

For a moment he bristles, eyes behind the steel mask going wide pupils dilating, and he takes up the might axe pick in one hand, weighing it anew, and for a moment he seems to be wondering how much it would take to kill them all, or if the Warden would stop him if he tried. But then with a sigh and a long low hiss through the mask Bors calms himself, no, no killing here today. No killing these ones.

No.

Not today.

His attention returns to the Warden, the others are dangerous but the Warden is the most deadly. He waits and listens.