Final Tally:
Take the Path of Crossed Axes: 5
Take the Path of Crossed Picks: 5
Rest here for a while: 1
A tie. Rolling to determine the result. Axes is low, picks is high.Looks like she’s taking the path marked with picks.Shouldering her axe, Digger continued on her path south, heading down the path marked with two crossed picks.
Immediately upon entering, she noticed that the stonework was much rougher here, the tunnels narrow and meandering. This concerned her a bit; hadn’t the kobolds said the dwarves lived in the ‘smooth place’? Had she taken a wrong turn? Or did they lie to her?
As she progressed, Digger found herself clambering over piles of rock and chunks of ore. “This must have been the beginning of the mines," she muttered to herself. The rough-hewn tunnels were positively labyrinthine, following the random and organic paths of the earth rather than the structure of man or dwarf. Several times, Digger came across a dead end, where the last withered veins of one metal or another had been exhausted.
Burning lanterns hung from the walls, showing that these mines were still at least partially inhabited, so Digger Hatchetsoldiers soldiered on. It was slow going, however, and Digger was about ready to give up and head back to the waterfall-room when she saw a ragged figure coming up on her from the depths of the mine.
Digger tensed up, tightening her grip on her axe. Soon, the figure walked into the light of a nearby lantern, revealing itself to be a dwarf. An exceptionally filthy dwarf.
His clothing was in tatters, and his beard was besmirched with an impressive variety of grease, soot, and what appeared to be a live colony of lichen. He was tall by dwarven standards, and solidly built, with biceps like hard chunks of granite. His face was cold and stern, and in his hand, he clutched a well-worn steel pickaxe.
This was the first dwarf Digger had ever laid eyes on, other than the one she saw in the mirror every morning. She decided, right then and there, that she would never allow herself to feel self-conscious about her appearance again. If this man was a good representative of his race, then yes, Digger could rest assured that she was attractive. Hell, she was practically an Armok-damned princess in comparison.
“Hey, woodcut!" The filthy miner hailed her in the dwarven tongue. "Cool your heels a minute. I see you a-comin’ from the grove, but I don’t see no logs. Old Rosco give you trouble? Or am I jes gonna have to bust your head for bein' thick and lazy?”
The dwarf got within six feet of Digger before coming to a halt, squinting at her in the dim lamplight. It was now his turn to stare. “Armok’s arm-hair… you’re clean!”
Digger was, of course, spattered with now-dried troll gunk, but it was clear the man was speaking in relative terms.
The dwarven miner’s brow contracted in what was either eagerness or anger; Digger couldn’t tell. “You’re from outside, ain’tcha? Ain’tcha? How in Armok’s name did you get down here? Tell me!”
How should Digger deal with this fellow?
1. Be honest with him.
2. Lie through her teeth.
3. Show him the First Axe of Zonzocol, and see if he knows anything about it.
Poll
16 (48.5%)
Author
Topic: Choose Your Own Adventure: The Scourge of Zonzocol! (Read 3914 times)