[center]━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━[/center][table][row][/row][row][cell]
[h2][color=64520A][i][b]Daxos Ironbow[/b][/i][/color][/h2][i][b][color=64520A]Dwarf, Rogue, Thief, Level [/color]05[/b][/i]
[color=64520A][i][b]HP:[/b][/i][/color] 43 / 43	[color=64520A][i][b]Armor Class:[/b][/i][/color] 14	[color=64520A][i][b]Conditions:[/b][/i][/color] N/A
[color=64520A][i][b]Location:[/b][/i][/color] The Coach House
[color=64520A][i][b]Action:[/b][/i][/color] Getting to work
[color=64520A][i][b]Bonus Action:[/b][/i][/color] N/A
[color=64520A][i][b]Reaction:[/b][/i][/color] N/A 
[/cell][cell]
[right][img]https://i.ibb.co/p67XnxBB/IMG-0542.jpg[/img][/right]
[/cell][/row][/table][center]━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━[/center]



Daxos listened patiently as Blackberry voiced his concerns, one thick brow raising at the question.

[color=64520a]“Whit ah meant, lad,”[/color] he began, gesturing toward the polished wooden barrier,

[color=64520a]“is that some Dwarven doors arenae made tae yield through the wee lock in front o’ ye. When ye build deep underground—proper deep—yer doorframe’s the true guard. Sometimes the only way tae get past the thing is tae work the stone around the mechanism instead o’ fightin’ the lock itself. Ye move the bones instead o’ ticklin’ the skin, ye ken?”[/color]

He watched Blackberry try his “open sesame”, lips twitching.

[color=64520a]“Nae harm tryin’, but if it were magic, laddie, ye’d feel the hum in the stone.”[/color]

His fingers brushed the wall again—feeling for that hum.
There was none.

Kathryn and Blackberry exchanged another round of thoughts about fetching Master Urmdrus, and Kosara mentioned it as well. Daxos exhaled softly through his nose, amused and mildly exasperated.

[color=64520a]“In the time it’d take tae bring the Master doon here, get him settled, an’ have him squintin’ at the stone, ah’d already have ye lot inside wi’ tea in hand.”[/color]

But then Lizbeth spoke—and her voice, though small, carried weight far beyond its volume.

Daxos turned to her, searching her face for doubt…
and found none.

He gave her a single, solid nod—the kind a soldier gives before breaking a shield wall.

[color=64520a]“Aye, lass. Stand back then.”[/color]

He rolled his shoulders, took a breath, and knelt beside the frame again.

What followed was not brute force—at least, not in the crude sense.
Daxos handled the stone with the precision of a surgeon and the familiarity of someone raised among halls carved from the bones of the earth.
His fingers traced the mortar lines, feeling where weight settled, where tension sat, where the frame bore the pressure of the hidden corridor.
Then he chose his points—three in total.

Not random.
Not lucky.
Chosen.

He produced a compact hammer and a prybar from his pack. The tools met stone with a sharp, ringing clang, echoing through the cellar like a bell calling dwarves to work.

The first strike sheared a sliver of stone cleanly away.
The second widened an unseen seam.

The third broke a mooring with a crack like ice fracturing on a frozen lake.
Dust plumed around his boots as he worked—
controlled, rhythmic, purposeful.

Despite the harsh sound of metal on stone, his technique caused minimal damage. The stones surrounding the door loosened, tilting just enough to break the tension keeping the door locked in place. Small fragments fell, but the overall frame remained structurally sound—repairable with a day’s work, maybe less.

Finally, with a grunt of effort, he pried the last anchoring wedge free and stepped back as the door shifted.
Not violently—
not collapsing—
but releasing, surrendering to the removal of the pressure that once held it immovable.

He wiped dust from his beard.

[color=64520a]“There we are. Door’s no’ broken—just… convinced.”[/color]

He glanced back at Lizbeth.

[color=64520a]“Ye said ye were meant tae go in. Then let’s see what fate’s got waitin’.”[/color]