Scavenging the hinges off the steeple’s fire eaten double doors, the dwarf figured a single replacement possible. For other parts, he employed pigsect and arachnid equally, traveling down the massive divide in the earth for the source of sap so plentiful, riding to the ruins of Omelet for a knob. It especially pained the dwarf during the latter to think one with working key existed behind an obstruction already once disassembled. He considered reloading his training with the doctor so as to retrieve the knob conveniently, but it seemed horribly wrong. The dwarf didn’t wish to be talked to again with likely the same words and he dreaded reliving a day on someone else’s schedule; he would not be ‘LOADING’ in the face of an indeterminable obstacle. Morally--which Mallow had so kindly espoused--the dwarf considered what it would mean to the funguay to send words towards a receiving end already familiar? Though he would only be aided by a vague memory, the dwarf knew the funguay would suspect. If it truly was not aware of ‘SAVING’, it would have no reference point to refer towards should the dwarf’s unnatural familiarity be in question. Or had he overthought it all? The dwarf wondered whether to ask Funguayou the next time it visited, if the dwarf did not first. Though the likelihood of such an event seemed low. He could not yet bring himself to face the mushroom hogsect spawn.

In the end, the dwarf did disassemble the pile, labor beating down his back. His effort unfinished, he collapsed to the ground, chest heaving. Words spoken by Mallow the day previous hung in his head concerning the lost souls only a door and trash away. The floor had given way and what was dangerous advertised itself as moreso. None had been “guided home”. The dwarf forced himself up and out of the apartment into the cold, a rush of flurries battering the bouncing Waspig unsuccessfully. He let out his tongue and took in an extraordinary amount of snow in just the same manner as a boy. What Mallow had said of it, too, the dwarf agreed with, even if his cold, exposed feet didn’t. Could it really be a curse? Puzzled, he tried to connect an eternal isolated snowstorm with zombies. It did make sense he hadn’t encountered any outside--they’d freeze, topple and be topped. If the response to the walking dead was a curse, it worked--perhaps too well. The dwarf identified several farms decimated by fields of white. Nothing could survive here long.

Omelet being a desolate town, the dwarf imagined the possibilities should the curse be lifted. But whether the remaining zombies would then exit shelter in droves remained to be seen. And how did the dwarf intend to herd the undead out? At the realization buried within a realization, the dwarf groaned. Doctor Mallow had used its key to fix the door before its resealing and taken it home. He tried to remember something else the doctor had said: “You can always use the experience.” Though that wasn’t the funguay’s intention, it amused the dwarf to twist it this way.

“LOCKPICKING SKILL INCREASED TO 5”

Inside, the dwarf used the lockpick to unscrew the hinges and release the door. He did the same to remove the knob, stashing all in a second sack before stored flat within the cowskin pouch. Double doors were possible after all, the dwarf relished. Done with his task and satisfied at the permanent amount of light let in (little as it was), the dwarf creeped in, sticking to the walls, sidling from one corner to the next until arriving at the stairway towards the back. He appreciated the small comfort of descending versus previously climbing, and an edge emerged. A floor down, barrels and crates partially obscured shambling, mummering undead. Their terrible pallor and exposed bone shone via the funguay made hole. One stumbled and threw itself over the stairs making a grab for the dwarf’s beard--he whipped it with glittering light.

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“ONE-HANDED SKILL INCREASED TO 3”

It shrieked and collapsed, creating a new set of holes. Another snaked around the newly made obstacle only to find its legs slashed with the same holy rope. It fell and the dwarf bound its limbs, a fifth string of rope set between its monstrous teeth. As it chewed, the dwarf could not help but picture dog with bone. The thought ushered the dwarf on after rearranging the noticeably taller zombie with its back against a toilet. The next floor brought him to his best guess of gambling, bright rune mounted above. The dwarf broke it free and left it atop the table by the locket box and coins--they would not be the only spoils. But the dwarf peered past the fresh hole and eyed the two remaining zombies, one shuffling and splashing, the other prone and motionless. The dwarf drew from his palms another line of golden light, jangling it for the zombies’ attention. The former soon splashed from view making obvious way for the stairs. The latter remained as if nothing had happened. Puzzled but appreciative of the straightforward task ahead, the dwarf met the incoming undead with a sharp bright strike across its face. Binding it, he propped it against the card table and descended to examine the inanimate. Uncomfortably close, the dwarf raised its shoulder for a better look: it was indeed ‘dead’, as dead as the once pulverized zombie of another life. The dwarf dragged the decayed corpse to the stairs and nearly mounted it had the blue potion not flashed across his mind. Soon one hand grabbed at the corpse’s spine with a neck as blue as his gi secured in the other. He made to climb the stairs and released the zombie, eyes widening, knees bending, potion releasing and smashing across another undead with bright scarring tissue all along its limbs. The contents visibly seeped into its peeling flesh, and it howled. The dwarf advanced and struck it with a fast made rope. Caught unaware, it received several more blows until laying as limp as the corpse near it. Up the floor cautiously with hands free, the dwarf came upon the still bound captive save its legs--scarred.

In an unignorable demonstration, the dwarf learned there were limits to his ‘FAITH’...

Exhausted, the dwarf threw himself into the river beside the steeple, moon and planet above never closer. He scrubbed at the filth and bile covered in, bruises and cuts made clear. Waspig, its own bath complete, bounced around in the night heat with Cath and Blissey. Former’s hair so wildly tangled, the dwarf considered a shave. The thought of the same happening to his own beard stayed the suggestion. Emerging dripping, the dwarf wandered his wet hanging clothes and towards the playing flock, joining for his own humor.

“ANIMAL HUSBANDRY INCREASED TO 41”

The dwarf grabbed at the cowskin pouch and second sack resting against the brick of the steeple. He had his wood, a knob, sap, and enough hinges for spares. But what the dwarf really needed to tackle the concept of his door was unavailable: a handsaw. Worse, he already knew one reason to visit Funguayou and the doctor. But if it would have to happen, it would be done tomorrow. His drying back yearned for the cold of the tiles soon beneath him, and his eyes drooped.

The dwarf dreamed of those same four floors.