Teuila’s barely holding it together. She would be laughing her head off in our shared mindscape right now. I’m in basically the exact same position, almost ready to give up the ghost and just roll around laughing. I can hardly keep a straight face. The capo says a few things that I ignore, I don’t even get his name as I just vaguely wave responsibility off towards Teuila to establish a precedent. Showing that, despite my display of power, Teuila is the one who has me in her service. I’m her dumb hired muscle basically. Magical muscle, since she has plenty of her own physical muscle, but, yeah.
I purposely let Teuila take the reins as I refer to her as boss several times during our chaperoned excursion into the dwarven city. I find myself spacing out, ignoring most of what’s going on around me as I try to piece together the importance of this Terrorzin name.
It sounded like even Kozzurth was scared of him, like invoking him in her dying moments was almost a taboo she could barely bring herself to do. What the hell could scare an ancient dragon so badly? An ancient dragon, and a society of dwarves who have firearms? My guess would be -the- ancient dragon. Maybe primordial even. Some force that even dragons bow to. They always get more powerful with age, I think. Even Lil was somewhat convinced they could become as grand as Lord Agni given enough time. I roll my eyes and chuckle at how much of a goober Lil can be about getting bigger and stronger. They were jokingly ignoring apocalyptic information to press for my opinion on their ability to maybe become continental-sized. The laugh lasts only a short while before I sadden myself.
Darn it. My sweet Lil buddy. I hope you’re okay out there. I hope you’ve forgiven me, and found that heroism inside yourself once again. You are a hero Lil. You are. I’m so sorry you were alone for so many months, digging with only TQ and Lucky to keep you company. I’m sorry buddy. I can never apologize enough. I hope one day you forgive me for wielding the timeline that produced our current states. Hm, what? Oh crap, we’re already in some sort of private mansion. They’re speaking. Oh no. Oh no this is straight out of a movie from Fakeworld, Earth. I barely keep from cracking up.
Don responds to something Teuila asked, “You come to me, on this, the day of my daughter Frannie’s wedding to beg a favor?”
His daughter, Frannie apparently, begs, “Eh Papi I told yous this would happen. Why yous gotta be so mean to them little lizard guys and gals? You bettuh fix this. They looks like they means business. Ahma go freshen up. You bettuh be nice to owuh guests, and get to the chapel in time. ‘Ey yous twos! Yuh invited to mah wedding! Capisce?”
A bit stunned, I nod towards Frannie as the Don whispers some affirmations and love towards his daughter. Likely not wanting to show weakness by acknowledging the tender bond they share. His wife glares down at him from where she stands near his throne-like seat. I wonder what that’s about. Paulette, Frannie, and the Don. No one will tell us any other name for the Don beyond their family name, Derbrightmine. Had a bit of a comedy of errors with that name for a minute. Couldn’t tell if people were saying Don The Bright Mine, Don Da Bright Mine, or Donder Bright Mine.
Paulette, frighteningly enough, draws what appears to be a shotgun and a pistol from behind the throne. They aren’t aimed at anyone in particular, but she mentions something about losing a prototype as she whispers angrily to the Don. Huh, there are faint hints, smears of grease on her fingertips, and a bulge at her hip suggests a toolkit beneath her dress. Is she some sort of tinker? Inventor? Artificer? Her guns look both more advanced, and more mystical, fantasy, than the other weapons we’ve seen.
Paulette loudly announces, “Ah’ll be in muh workshop. Sowt this out.”
My brain starts to go to mush as Teuila and the Don argue back and forth. Teuila occasionally intimidates a capo or button-dwarf that aims a weapon at us. Why are they rolling out a cannon ball? Teuila lifts it with her left hand, effortlessly, and smashes her right fist into it, denting it deeply enough to bury her fist to the wrist. I’m pretty sure everyone stares in shock. Even my eyes shoot wide as Teuila spends half a second ripping apart the cannon ball to free her stuck hand. Holy hell Teuila, when the crap did you get -that- strong? Compressing iron with a punch? Tearing that same iron asunder!? Eff a duck My Wings. Jeeze.
Oh, apparently that was some sort of display of if we could even remotely harm a dragon. Hah, there’s a lot less doubt now. Hahaha. I should probably pay attention to the conversation, but I’m playing the part of a dumb lackey. Quite happily honestly. It’s so freeing to not be the one making these diplomatic choices and speeches. I let my senses drift, actually enjoying the ambiance of the dwarven city. There are actually clocks, a clocktower specifically. There’s the frequent, though distant, fall of a hammer striking steel. There’s the buzz of some sort of foot-pump engraving tool, equally far away. There’s a shattering sound from. Wait, shattering!? Oh, okay, wait, whew. It was just glass. Maybe they’re breaking it down to melt it down to make new mosaic windows. Hm, it seems like the crafting, the smiting of the hammer, and the strength of the engraver are reaching some sort of crescendo as they pick up pace, becoming almost frantic.
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There’s a faint sound, no one else can hear it. It’s a scream from a familiar voice. My eyes shoot wide as I interrupt everyone to ask, “Is Frannie okay!? She just screamed!”
The Don goes pale and glowers at me. He orders all assembled, “We talk as we walk, if you was lying just now, you’ll regret it.”
Teuila eyes me suspiciously, but the fear in my eyes isn’t from Don Derbrightmine’s threat. It’s for the life of an innocent woman. I gulp back a shuddered gasp, trying not to betray my thoughts. We’re all walking swiftly in the direction Frannie did some time ago now. As we ascend what is almost some sort of tower aside the mansion, we pass a curiously shattered window. The crimson carpet is actually faintly spotted with tiny bloodstains. If someone broke the window, they cut themselves, barely a nick. No one else seems to spot the bloodstains on the carpet as we all continue rushing towards Frannie’s room.
She has her own mini palace up in this tower, several rooms, but she’s not in the hosting area, or guest room, or the vanity closet, nor is she answering the Don’s now frantic calls.
Don asks, “Frannie? Frannie!? Are you okay? Frannie! Ansuh yuh fathuh!”
We’re all virtually sprinting at the moment. I spy the occasionally tiny single droplet bloodstains on the carpet, and they lead the direction we’re heading, towards Frannie’s bedroom. Don is pounding on the door, and, receiving no answer, he opens the bedroom. I barely catch a glimpse, but I know how this is going to play out.
Don shouts, “Spread out! Find who did this! Whoever catches the criminal what struck down my daughter gets ANYTHING they desire!”
The various ‘family’ members do as they’re ordered, while the Don drops to his knees as he shuffles into the room, towards his daughter’s body laying beneath a table. Don tosses the table aside, knocking a curious instrument to the floor. It looks like, well, a prototype of the pistol weapon that Paulette had. I know for a fact she whispered that it was missing. Don cradles his daughter in a pool of her blood, and likely misses a sound over his own enraged sobbing. There’s the faintest breathing, and pulse coming from Frannie.
I beg, “Don, Don she’s alive, MOVE! She was struck down, but she’s not doomed, not yet, move!”
Teuila looks shocked as I sock the hysterical Don to the side, and rip the drapery from Frannie’s bed to pack her wounds. She’s got a nasty strike wound upon her brow, but dwarven skulls being what they are and all, that’s not the deadly wound. Instead it’s a gunshot thr-. Through the right lung. Dippy!
I scream at the top of my lungs to anyone who might listen, “Bring the blue kobold to Frannie’s room right this instant! All his gear too!”
Don glowers at me as he admits, “It couldn’t have been the lizardskin. He was locked up.”
I roll my eyes as I ask, “Don, do you know how to pass rescue breaths? You need to breathe for your daughter.” I then urge in a hissed whisper, “Immediately! She’s still alive! She was struck down, but not dead!”
The Don’s eyes fling wide as he realizes I mean to have Dippy save his daughter. He echoes my order, “The blue lizardskin, up the tower, with all his gear, NOW!” His voice booms supernaturally loudly across the entire cityscape. My hypersensitive hearing leaves me dazed, and my ears ringing, sounding their tinnitus loudly at his thundrous voice.
Don does as I suggested, breathing for his daughter as I recover from my daze. The moments pass by in agonizing slow motion as we await Dippy’s arrival. Teuila had already caught on though, and she rocketed out of the room after I called out for Dippy, knocking anyone and anything aside that might be in her way. As long as the dwarves don’t fight her or try to stop her, Teuila should be back here, dragging Dippy along in mere moments.
Teuila must have filled Dippy in on the way up the tower. There’s nothing but kindness in his eyes as he fishes out the wand-like object from before. Despite the dwarves treatment of him, and his clan, he’s instantly ready to save a waning life. I literally burst into tears upon seeing Dippy’s kindness displayed. Don continues to breathe for his daughter, while Teuila and Dippy work to get Dippy’s wand-like device to touch both the entry and exit wound on Frannie. Finally, the bleeding has stopped. She’s going to need help breathing though, for a long time.
I rub my wet, itchy eyes forcefully as I ask, “Don, do you have the concept of an iron-lung? Can you get her in an air-pressurized environment? A gentle, automatic billows. I know she’s probably hardy, I’m sure your family is amazingly resilient, but, but listen to me man, look at me! Can you get an iron lung rigged up for her quickly?”
Don stares at me dumbly for a moment before glaring angrily as he responds, “Aye. It’ll be done. I. If y’ three find who did this, I’ll grant any desire. Leave, go, Please.”
Teuila begins to dash off with Dippy in her arms, but I catch her and close the bedroom door behind me as I hold a finger to my lips and point at tiny discolorations on the floor. Bloodstains on the carpet. Whoever they were, probably thought they were a smooth criminal by breaking in through the window, but they left evidence. We don’t want to alert them that we’ve realized this though. Also, ulterior motive, we need to be the ones to catch the perpetrator, as horrid as it is to leave justice hanging in the balance for personal gain. Plus, a pre-orchestrated murder attempt has to have a strong reason behind it. I want to know what that is.
Teuila sets Dippy down to begin investigating. Dippy gazes around quickly, then bends low and he sniffs the stains like a bloodhound, and silently takes off quickly, waving us to follow along. Zippy flits quickly along after him. Dippy leads us back to the broken window. I mean, fair, the trail was going to lead here one way or another. I’m not going to disparage his tracking abilities just because of this. Hm, the stone is marred slightly along the outer ledge of the window. Two grooves. A grappling hook maybe? That would explain how they scaled the tower wall without being spotted. Teuila flips something curious in her hands, spinning it about her index finger. It’s the prototype firearm from the table of Frannie’s room. It’s probably evidence, and probably incredibly dangerous.