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Your darkvision gets real handy about now: you pick out likely places in the rubble hill to scratch at, and you are always in time to stagger any minor avalanches you cause into nothing.
Digging a little more you find the goddess' neck and tiddumz, and after a bit of positioning you Pouch the lot: you spread the Pouch mouth open on the ground, brace your back in some stable rubble, your feets on the stachoo, and roll it over and in with your legs. The goddess' arms and crotch are fully smashed, phooy, and the decorated plith with the fancy gold leaf and lettering you don't have a chance of moving. Fuggedaboudit.
You keep going, slow and steady, into the center. You think out the layout as you dig: the goddess stachoo, being plasty, should be from an open space from some upper level; where it fell through, supposing the cellars prebuilt, should be empty as well, a walk space. Mentally drawing a line from the destroyed stair landing through where you found the goddess, you guess the center of the cellar to be about <span class="mu-i">there</span>. If you were running out you should be somewhere <span class="mu-i">heeeere</span>; if you were fighting your way out you'd be hugging the load bearing pillars. You can see the tops of two of them; following their spacing, there might be more load bearers <span class="mu-i">there, there, there, there</span>.
Finding the foot of another buried pillar not aligned with the two peeking out, you conclude that the cellar is circular, or octagonal, something like that. If <span class="mu-i">here's</span> the landing, and <span class="mu-i">there's</span> the opposite wall, supposing a circular layout, then under the center of the pile is the altar.
And if a bozo was fighting and running their way out, they would hug the pillars between the center and the landing. <span class="mu-i">Here</span> and <span class="mu-i">here</span>.
LUCK! You started your digs on the right side, and the Humie workers have cleared it up to the best place, and you're here at the right time!
You go at it, tying a towel to both wrists and elbows to muffle the sound of bits tumbling down between them. It's a Time, two Times. You take a swigg of dubious grogg based with Delectable, cough into your raggy banditchief, keep fuggen goin, suspecting you might not have time and luck like this again.
You're half buried in masonry dust and it happens: MOAR luck! You're <span class="mu-i">Toads</span> Lucker, liek ohmuhgobb! Lucker than a Lepercunt! It's drizzln! Wind's in and 'ard <span class="mu-b">rainen</span>!
You hunker down still while the watchmen wake up, take their lamps down, roll down tarping to keep the rain out.
Then you digg in like a mad fugg, using the Carrionpede movements to scrabble the surface scree down, off, away, getting steadily closer to the <span class="mu-b">MONEY SPOT</span>. If you fail this you won't wait for Seafood to give you a drubbing, you'd brain yourself out of angst.
-!
>YES!
>YESYESFUGG<span class="mu-s"><span class="mu-b">YES!!</span></span>
It's a hand! Attached to an arm! Whitey sleeves! Whitey robe! Anna Big Hat!
Holden a jawbone!
And a satchbag!
And a <span class="mu-s"><span class="mu-b">WAND!!!!</span></span>
>YESSSSSS!!!!
