"I see. T-thank you. Uhm," he turns and looks to the rest of the Acharnost to see if they had anything to add. "I think we'd like to rest now if that's alright."

Thurston listen to the old dwarf explanations with interest, for it brings some light to how much they don’t know. He also see Vark’s reactions, perhaps now the young half-orc would be more prone to listen. He was playing a very dangerous game. 

He, however, steps forward. 

“M’Lords” he days speaking to both dwarves “during our exploration of the labyrinth below I’ve come across this beautiful gauntlets. They are a masterpiece of smith’s works and they also have magic properties. They belong to you. “ 

He finish offering the gauntlets to them. 

"Bakazril," Thane Forgekeeper marvels, taking the gauntlets delicately from Thurston and turning them over in his hands. "These were long ago thought lost. This was preserved within the vault?"

"These are artifacts of your people?" Val speaks up from the rear of the group where she has been silently watching everyone following the tense disagreement in the tunnels below. "We had assumed these belonged to this... Abbathor you called him?" She looks to the others and gauges the two dwarven leaders standing before for several moments before... "Are there more relics of your people that may have been lost within those halls?"

Thane Forgekeeper nods slowly, glancing up at Valaith.

"Many treasures of our forefathers were lost in the wake of Dumboga. The recovery of such ancient relics is a good omen to be celebrated."

“Domboga?” Ever-curious Vark chimes in again,

"The Great Silence of the last era," Master Kragshield explains. "It was a dark and chaotic time, before Moradin brought the light of the Morndinsamman to guide Dwarf-kind."

"And... you said Abbathor is one of these Morndinsamman right?" He thinks for another moment before asking "Where did the Morndinsamman come from?"

"The Morndinsamman are our people's ancestor Gods," the Rhunki continues with a nod. "These wise and honoured heroes of old guide us from atop Mount Celestia."

Val looks at her companions, leaning over to Thurston and Jex in the brief moment where the Rhunki spends a moment speaking with Vark. "Perhaps... should we show them the rest of the relics we found? It might go a long way in getting their help with rebuilding Sheercleft. That is why we are here, is it not?"

Jex sighs but nods. 

"inside the tomb, there were three locked boxes, each requiring a combination to open, I was able to solve them all, though most would not and the contents risked destruction. You may look at them and if they are of cultural value we can agree a trade perhaps? For the future of our fledgling Town. Much as we have saved your city, our village needs saving too, for it is vulnerable. "

The Thane and Rhunki glance at one another briefly, before nodding eagerly to Jex and stepping forwards to see what else was found below the hold.

"Sheercleft has long been a valued trading partner," Forgekeeper assures the half-elf, "in this period of upheaval, it is time that we strengthened those ties. As allies we stand stronger together. Khaz a Grungron owes you much for what you have done today. What does Sheercleft need of us?"

"Builders, architects and trade. We acknowledge you are the best at these things and would value anything you can offer. I have plans, but require an expert eye and hands to carry them out."

The Thane nods and examines the runed hand crossbow.

"We will gladly make our finest craftsmen available to you. You see this here? This is Dammaz," he tells the group, "and this," the Dwarf continues, lifting the bronze megaphone, "is Rorkaz. You have done us a great honour today by returning these ancestral treasures to us. Come, let us speak of your plans for Sheercleft."

Forgekeeper has his honour guard gather up Bakazril, Dammaz, Rorkaz, the longbow 'Dardok', the ring 'Oklok', the silver ewer, golden bracelets, golden locket, silver necklace, and the silver and gold brooch. The party are lead up through the hold to a balcony where they can enjoy refreshments overlooking the mountainside settlement. By Dwarven standards, it is a village, but it comes across like a beating heart of industry to those with more rural backgrounds.

Jex looks over from the balcony. "Most generous of you Thane. I have plans drawn up in my wagon, might I sit down with your architects to go over some of the details? Once your builders finish construction on the initial project we would also like to hire them on to work a little longer, and purchase more stone from you, we have several projects to complete if Sheercleft is to thrive." Jex gives a bow, his mood once again jovial despite the unfitting trousers gathered by an uncomfortable rope around his middle.

Thurston shares Jex excitement and talks to the dwarves with his friend of plans for maki g Sheercleft a more safer place. 
Still he finds himself searching for Val with his eyes every now and then. 

Aiden grabs a mug of dwarvish ale and sits off to one side. This was pretty standard fare. The fighting was done, and now it was time for the bosses to talk about the reasons for the fighting. He hadn't proven himself exceptionally well to these people, but it could have been worse. Much worse, he recounted as he thought back to that tentacled thing that had descended from the ceiling and almost eaten some of them.

He decided there in that moment that he would follow these people a bit further -- if for no other reason than to get out of the dwarven city. He catches Thurston's eye as the larger man scans the room and raises the mug in his direction. "Skal," he says with a slight nod.

Below the balcony filled with praise and glory, two dwarves approach a mighty temple hewed from the stone mountainside. Between two massive doors, a great statue presided over all who came with a heavy hand resting atop each portal. Bründir's heart sunk at the immensity of the carving. Such things weren't unheard of, but generally rare back home. Hurrig, however strode through a door as though he were walking into his home.

Inside, the pair were greeted by a young dwarf dressed in brown robes and a short ringmail shirt. Around his neck hung a stone pendant, an anvil topped with a gleaming quartz at its center. Moradin's symbol was all too common in dwarven holds, even adorning parts of Hurrig's clothes. "Brother Solinnor, are there any Thalornor here? My friend's not well."

The attendant smiles and offers a hand down a side hallway, "There's a small collective of Sharindlar's faithful. This way, if ye please." Around two corners and a hundred feet, the hall opens to a roomy chamber occupied by a half dozen cheery dwarves gathered at a table filled with platters of food and pitchers of drinks. The trio draw the attention of one resident who leaps to greet the newcomers with a wide smile.

"Friends, welcome! I'm Thalornor Ironbrow, what can we do fer ye t'day?"

Hurrig nudges his friend forward, "My friend, Bründir, had a nasty run-in with goblins on th' mountain roads t'here. We're thankin' everyone above an' below we can, but, well, ye can see how he faired."

Bründir made no move to expose his face, the crude covering was enough to tell the story. His good eye stared cold into the joyful face of Sharindlar's priest, "Half given's twice received. Gave'em worse'n I got."

The Thalornor couldn't help but smile wide, "Ye know th' wisdom well! I don't mean t'be crass, but I'd sure hope ye'd give'm somethin' worth an eye. Now, then, let's see it." Bründir removed his dressing with delicate ease. Time and blessed healing had done wonders to stem the bleeding and mend the surface, but it was little better than his dressing compared to the work that lay ahead. With a closer inspection, Thalornor Ironbrow's jovial eyes well with the threat of tears, "Oh, Lady of Mercy pity ye, lad. Ye've been through a terrible spat, an' it breaks my heart t'see someone so young hurt so much. Yer not the first, what with that mess at the gate yesterday."

Bründir held his dressing up again, if only for modesty, "Can you fix it?"

"I'm sorry, but no." The Thalornor replies, in a sad, apologetic way, "Such things're beyond our ken. There's some in th' world, yes, but none so close. What we can do fer now is keep th' rot away. We've got oils t'help, then time takes th' rest. Fer yer sight, I can only guide ye," the robed dwarf gives and energetic wave and another brings a small, black stylus and paper. A moment of scribbles and the note is given quickly, "Tinker in town, just up th' way. Does wonders fer baubles and like, I think e's got somethin' fer eyes."

The card is only a small consolation; a trinket for an organ. He stared for a long moment at the paper, like he expected it to produce a new eye. Hurrig took his shoulder and leaned in to break the tension, "I'll cover 'im, least I can do fer what e's been through an' done fer me. Thanks fer th' tip, we'll 'ave a look at what yer friend has."

Bründir's feet sweet away as his head raced. The entry hallway twisted and warped, his vision blurred with the crushing reality that he was crippled, fated to go home broken, settle down swinging mugs under a tap than being a legend he felt a part of. It was too much. In the last turn, the door out came to view, and the dwarf's legs were set to buckle under him. A squeeze at his hip, though, gave solid ground among the storm in his mind. He looked down, and saw the hilt of his beautiful sword staring back at him. He didn't feel worthy of wearing it anymore. He wanted to plant it at an ancestor statue somewhere and let fate take it away. The Solinnor led them out and was having friendly small talk with Hurrig. At the entryway. Bründir looked into a large chamber with a regal-looking dwarven statue standing over an anvil. Good enough, he thought. He unbuckled his frog, and turned to his attendant, "Can ye please find th' head priest, or whatever 'is name is? Don' mean t'be an ass, I've just got questions." Bründir dragged his feet inward, Dumdrengi's scabbard nearly scraping the stones behind him. At the anvil, he collapsed to his knees at last, raised his blade, and placed it upon the metal slab like an offering. "Take it back. I'm not meant fer it. I'm a miner, an' decent with a song over drinks. I'm no champion, no hero."

Hurrig gently pulled Bründir away, leading him to a nearby bench in the chamber. The two sat in silence until a dwarf similar to the door attendant arrived. This one held an obviously greater status, though. His robes her fine red and brown, his mail shirt gleamed behind a silver anvil amulet topped with a diamond, and atop his head rested a great, silver-inlaid helm.

The cleric steps towards Bründir and Hurrig, looking down at the battered and broken young Dwarf and his hearty companion.

"Greetings, child," Moradin's priest tells Bründir simply, his voice deep, rich and booming. "What brings you to the Father's temple?"

The Thane and Jex come to an agreement that in thanks for the return of Dwarves' ancestral treasures and as a marker of the continued cooperation between Sheercleft and Khaz a Grungron, materials and labour will be provided to support the existing building efforts in Sheercleft. Anders' old barracks will be expanded into a true keep, the town hall will be reinforced as a full stone tower and retaining walls will connect both to the temple in between.

With the negotiations complete, Thane Forgekeeper and the Rhunki bid their allies farewell for the night.