Rolled 3, 19, 13, 16, 1, 20 = 72 (6d20)
>>5344678>>5344604>>5344536>>5344507>>5344502>>5344443>>5344400>>5344381>>5344378>>5344368“You have anssswered all fo my quesstionsss.”
“Good,” the Eldest Dwarf grunts. “Then I will be returning to—”
He stops short, gasping, and then coughing. Blood splatters the stone as the Apprentice Pit-Guard’s blade pierces him from behind. You rise, drawing your own blade, and looking down at the old mammal with ambivalence.
“You ssserved your purpossse,”you explain, “but your grudges run deep. You are too dangerousss to leave alive.”
Your sword slashes, and his head tumbles from his shoulders. You clean the blade, and instruct your retinue to dispose of the body while you attend to other matters—namely, the remaining dwarves.
You arrive in the former living-quarters of the dwarves, guarded by the Bastard and many a kobold to discourage escape. As you enter the remove, you have the remaining elders removed—three females and another male. They are of the same stripe as the dwarf you just slew: too old, stubborn, bitter, and knowledgeable to be left alive. They would serve as a reminder of the deep past—of the old ways, of freedom from you. Though the younger dwarves wail and clutch at them as you remove these elders, it cannot be helped. For what you have planned, you need a clean slate.
“Ssilenccce!”
Your roar the word and, though you lack the Fearsome Presence to affect such mammals, you achieve much the same effect as you otherwise might.
“You elderss are doomed,” you say simply, “but you… And your children… Are not. Not NECSCESSSSARILY, anyway.”
You stride into their midst, unguarded, enduring the scheming and vengeful glares of the dwarf-women. They are a short sort of woman, mostly-unwashed, with frizzy and rough hair most often styled into braids and joined by such braids or by beads into a curious beard-mimicking hairstyle to keep the hair manageable; despite this, their sexual dimorphism is unmistakable, far moreso than with the elves, with distinct and pronounced curvature of form under their heavy tunics. One area where males and females seem quite alike in this race, though, is in physical strength; you can see muscles beneath their subcutaneous layer of fat, flexing with a desire to tear you limb from limb.
“Let me tell you of my godsss, the Dark Godesss,” you begin, fixing you gaze upon each of them in turn. “In particular… The Mother of Dragonsss. Protector of Eggsss. Goddesss of Motherhood.”
The dwarf-women look suspicious, confused.
“I know little of your culture,” you admit. “I ssee that we have one thing in common, though—ssomething the Divine Mother would approve of: the males came to fight uss on the ssurfacce, in the minesss… But you, you protected the home, the children. The Mother of Dragonsss iss the Goddesss of Home Defencce. She would ressspect what you have achieve here, thisss day, in guarding your home, and your children.”
