You all start heading toward the village. The crisp air and the smell of pine needles slowly mixes with the smell of burning coal, cooking meat, and dwarven habitation. As you get closer, you see quite a bit of activity. Dwarves are on the outskirts of the village tending to sheep, picking crops like potatoes and carrots, and carrying dirty tools to and fro. They stop and pause to look at the strange trio of travelers, but most only for a moment. A few of them seem to recognize Burik, and give a friendly wave. As you start walking through the spread out homes toward the center of town, a dwarven woman observes you from a dark doorway. She has long reddish hair and an impressive beard braided down to her waist. Her hair has bits of soot in it, and her face and hands are visibly dirty. An outline of goggles remain on her face, and the skin around her green eyes is clean and pale. The slightest wrinkles form around her eyes as she smiles and starts walking toward you. She picks up her pace as you get closer, her apron flapping alongside her. 

"Burik, me boy!" Burik steps in front of you all and embraces his mother. She pulls back after a moment and grabs his face. "I've missed ye! It's been too long."

After a moment, she turns to the rest of you and extends a hand. "Well met! Name's Tyssora - I'm the dwarf who raised this one here. Pardon me manners, but youse all look like shite. Why don't you go say hello to your father and then come home for a wash and some food?"

"Pfaugh," Effort says.  "I'd rather set my own skin on fire than grow excess hair over my entire body."  She means that quite literally; sometimes she can feel the infernal blood racing just below her skin, pumping through her veins whenever she gets particularly excited, angry, or upset.  It's never set her to smoking before, but she's seen other tieflings self-combust... and come out of it none the worse.  Unfortunately, trudging through the cold pine forests hardly gets her blood boiling, and she resigns herself to another long trek of being accosted by insects and chilled to the bone.

 As the group heads towards the village, Effort eyes her companions.  "So," she says to them.  "Are we... calling this little group of ours something?  I take it you two were traveling together with Sam and his paladin friends long before we met.  If you had a name before then, I'd like to know just what I stepped into."

When they enter the village, Effort is surprised by how bustling and outgoing the other dwarves there are.  They seem almost... ordinary, like any other city folk.  She'd been under the impression that all dwarves were as tough, silent, and thoughtful as Burik seemed to be.  His mother pokes a hole right through that theory the moment she flies in and smothers her son, red hair flying everywhere.  Effort stifles a grin as she watches Burik buried in a very public cascade of motherly love, with little a touch of jealousy.

"Well met, Tyssora," Effort replies to the woman.  "It must be nice for Burik to have a home this welcoming to return to.  I am Effort, and this big lug behind me is Brask," she says, thumbing towards the minotaur.  "And this is my pet owl, Cadmael," she gestures to her shoulder, where Cadmael clicks his beak together once.  "We appreciate your hospitality." 

It's unusual for Effort to say so much in one go, but she can't help but be pathetically grateful to be out of the forest, with a roof and a warm meal in sight.  The trapper's outdoor lifestyle, she decides, is definitely not to her liking.

To each his own, says Brask to Effort, enjoying the warm fur covering protecting him from the chilly air, if the air is chilly.  Nah, we met Sam once, maybe twice.  Other folks too.  They didn't stick around.  A name?  Not yet.  Maybe later.  

As Effort introduces him to Burik's mother, he nods politely.  Evening.  And then follows along, curious to see Burik's reaction.

"Hello mother. It has been... a while." Part way to the tavern he asks, "Did they.... Have they reopened the mine while I've been gone? I know I kind of left in a hurry..."

He greets several people along the way, with most being surprised by his presence/return. He's also looking around, seeing how much (if anything) has changed.

Your mother stops short when you ask about the mine, but then she gathers herself and continues walking toward the tavern. "Best let your father fill you in on such matters." She gives you a half-smile.

As you look around, you notice some familiar faces but there also seem to be a lot of dwarves you don't recognize. The village seems busier than when you left. 

As you all enter the dimly lit tavern, the smell of beer and meat gets stronger. Nobody inside pays you much mind - they all continue their drinking and talking. Burik, your father is pouring a pint of ale for someone at the bar, and upon finishing, looks up and sees you. A fast smile comes over his face, and he rushes around the side of the bar to meet you. He claps his hands down hard on your shoulders. "Burik, thank Moradin you're well! And you look healthy...strong! Who are your friends here?" He eyes your group up somewhat suspiciously but remains friendly. "C'mon, ye tired souls! Pull up a chair and have a drink. Bharrum Darkmine brews the best ale this side of the White Wind Mountains!"

He fills up four tankards of ale and slides them across the bar. "Looks like you might be needin' two." He nods to Brask.

Brask downs the first ale, and puts the tankard back down onto the bar.  You said something?  He takes the second and drinks half, and then gives a long sigh.  Good.  Good stuff.  I needed that.  This day is getting better.  Yeah, Burik's pretty tough.  Good fighter.  Some magic, he says shrugging dismissively, but you should see him with that greataxe of his.  Hey, did you teach him?  he looks interested in that possibility, and eyes Burik's father up and down, judging his martial capabilities.

Effort seats herself at the bar and accepts the ale, hesitantly sipping at it.  Her throat burns and her eyes water instantly; she's not used to drinking dwarven-strength spirits at all.  It does get her blood pumping, however, allowing her to shake off the last vestiges of cold from their long hike.

"Effort," she says to Bharrum.  Scrambling for her human manners - which might not be of much use amongst the village dwarves who seem to care less about propriety - she casts about for a minor compliment.  Not the ale, she thinks quickly as she brings it close to her nose and the pungent smell hits her.

Ale? she hears Cadmael ask, and hides a wince while quietly slipping her ale in Brask's direction.  Not for you, she reprimands the familiar curtly. 

"Your wife is lovely," she finally says to Bharrum.  "As is this village.  Are you mostly miners by trade here?"

"Ha! No, not I," Bharrum laughs as he pours a few more beers for a table of dwarves. "Boy was always physically gifted. Probably gets it from his mother. T'were a group of boys always the best and strongest at everything they tried. Burik among 'em."

Brask, roll an insight check to see if you can ascertain Bharrum's martial prowess.

He refills Brask's first tankard and puts it back down in front of him. Then he leans under the bar and emerges with a tankard of water, which he places down in front of Effort. He smiles nonchalantly, not making a big deal out of it. 

"Aye, mostly miners. This village here is one of the oldest in Oshait. The mountains have been 'ere longer than anyone can remember, and this spot has always produced better than any other. Stone, aye, but gold too." Bharrum, noticing nobody at the bar currently needs a drink, slumps back onto a stool. "And no arguments from me about Tys. That woman has more skill in her right arm than most dwarves have in their whole bodies."

Brask's Insight 7 

He's in decent shape, other than a rather impressive beer gut. Could probably hold his own in a fist fight, but definitely doesn't look like he's a fighter or warrior of any kind.

Brask downs the second half of his second beer, and reaches for Effort's before she can snatch it back. 

Gold?  Gold's good.  Seen any gold dragons?

"Ha!" He snorts. "Not in these parts. The last gold dragons are rumored to live up on the mid-peaks of the White Wind Mountains. Higher than any dwarf or man has gone. There's rumor that they come down into the valleys in the spring, and you'll occasionally find a dwarf who claims to have seen one. Supposedly there's even a dozen or so dwarves who live higher up and mine gold in exchange for warmth and protection, but I ain't never seen or heard nobody that can confirm that. Why? Have you all seen a gold dragon?" He leans back on his stool and raises an eyebrow. "Hope you're not on some hair-brained dragon huntin' mission. Won't end well for ye."

Nah, says Brask.  We're off to the east to kill dog worshippers, mostly.  I know, right?  Who's dumb enough to worship some dog?  Well, tons of folks, apparently.  Seen any around here?

"It's more like what rumors you might have heard," Effort cuts in.  "I don't think cultists would go about advertising that they want to steal your women and murder your children in civilized company.  It's a crappy pitch," she snorts, taking a long sip of her water.  "We think the cultists have been active along the Carrion Coast.  A lot of reports of kidnappings have been floating around, and we've been sent to investigate.  They seem to be targetting specific people, perhaps those demonstrating arcane or mystical powers," she adds.  "If you've heard any rumors of unrest or the like, it might help us pinpoint where they're operating from and put an end to their machinations before they can hurt even more people."

"Something flying lit a barn on fire, and was apparently gold. About day or two down the hills. So as we're going this way we thought we'd have a look, but yes our main objective is some Gnoll worshippers on the far coast." Burik takes a good long swig of the ale. "But how about yourselves? Guessing business is good given how much busier it is here... But it's because the mine got reopened, right?" His last words are a little hesitant, as if he know the answer but doesn't want to hear it.

"Ah, we did have a dwarf come up from the outskirts of Lovilra, said he had heard something about kidnappings," he starts. The faint aroma of baking bread starts to fill the bar area. "Nothing like that around here, though. Only dwarves for the past few months, save for you lot."

He puts up a finger as he turns and heads back into the kitchen. A moment later he emerges with two huge loafs of steaming bread. He puts them down on the bar and starts slicing them as he continues.

"Aye, Burik. The mine was reopened, but that ain't the only reason there's so many dwarves around here." He pauses from slicing the bread. "T'were a small village north of here. Only a few dozen dwarves. Well, something happened up there and a crew went missing. Similar to the incident in our own mine...and now they've all moved down here as there wasn't enough of them to keep their home occupied. Not enough folks to mine, or farm, or defend livestock. And so we've welcomed them here, and it's been going smoothly for the most part. Except we've had two more go missing. First was another miner. Young dwarf, veered too far from his crew, and nobody could find him after multiple search parties. Second dwarf was Thurnar Birchstone. Remember that lad? Well, he came wandering up to the village one day after the boy went missing, all by his lonesome. Big pack, armor, the whole nine. He had been serving in some army on the other side of the mountains. But he said he came back to look for the boy. And he went into the mine and never came out. Another search party for him. No trace. Folks sure are getting worried. Worried we all might have to up and leave one day. Or worse...maybe we all end up disappearing too."

Bharrum pauses again before continuing to slice the bread. He slides a few pieces over to you all and then brings a plate over to one of the larger tables at the far end of the tavern. He comes back around the bar and puts the knife away.

"Carrion Coast is a nasty place!" He smiles through his worry and tries to change the subject. "Heard you can smell it miles inland when the winds pick up."

"Something is in those mines, then," Effort says, not completely oblivious to Bharrum's attempt to change the subject, but unwilling to ignore it.  "Whatever it is, it's a much more immediate threat than the stench of the corpses on the Coast."

Part of her is eager to take this detour because Bharrum is right; Effort still remembers the smell on the way down to Lovilra, and is in absolutely no hurry to reexperience that joy once again, this time on foot and therefore for twice as long.  But the question of the fleeing baby gold dragon still niggles at her conscience.  Knowing that it might be a bad idea, but disregarding it all the same, she speaks her mind.

"Whatever might have flushed a baby gold dragon out of the mountains is likely also responsible for destroying one mining village, and gnawing away at this one as well."  She looks at Burik.  "This is your hometown.  You can't possibly tell me you're going to stand aside and let this slow death take away the one place that welcomes you with unreserved open arms in this world.  You'd be a fool who risked losing your identity if you did.  Better to die defending what's yours than to live as a rootless grifter."  Something about the serious timber to Effort's voice tells you that she's speaking from experience.

That evening, you join Burik's parents at their residence on the southern slope of town. None of the buildings in the village are particularly big, but they have a moderately-sized home thanks to two long-standing and successful businesses. They offer up some space for you all to put down your things and set up sleeping arrangements, and then invite you into the kitchen for supper.

Tyssora brings out a huge platter filled with tender goat meat, potatoes, carrots, onions, and leeks. She spoons generous portions onto everyone's plates as Bharrum pours more ale for everyone - and a glass of water for Effort. 

"Tell us more about yourselves!" Tyssora turns to Effort and Brask, then smiles to Burik. "I want to know more about who my son is adventuring around with." 

OOC: Just wanted to move things to the Darkmine residence. You can continue discussions on where to go next - the coast or the mines. And you'll have time in the morning to do anything you need to before setting out. Visiting the market, blacksmith, long rest, etc.

Effort helps herself to a portion of the meal that is almost Brask-like; realizing just how much trail food is in her future, it looks like she's decided to shamelessly take advantage of any ounce of hospitality they get while on the road.  After ravenously feasting on the home-cooked meal, she sips at her water demurely, patting her mouth dry.

"Ah... well, I was raised in Gorta," Effort begins, thinking of how to approach her prickly background.  "I didn't come from a family of means, but those of us who were together were very close-knit.  Unfortunately some bad circumstances forced us to part ways.  I took up the study of history and religion at the Temple of Oghma there; I guess you could call me a librarian of sorts."  Her tail twitches uneasiily; she's not sure how readily these friendly dwarves are going to buy into the story of a tiefling being openly welcomed at any temple, especially in Gorta, but she'd still rather not elaborate any more than she already has.  She reaches for another potato to avoid further questioning.  "This is delicious, I hope you don't mind if I help myself to some more."  A deft flick of her fingers and a fierce glare keeps Brask's questing hand away from the bowl she was reaching for.

Someone found her appetite then, Brask says approvingly as he listens to Effort tell her tale, but he's less happy to hear what she has to say.  Books, he says flatly.  Books and temples.  Well, all I can say is, thank some God that you got away from all that sh... rubbish, he amends, eyeing Burik's mother.  Come on, now.  Here we are, on the open road, with monsters and cultists to smash and storms that almost washed us away.  You gotta admit it's better, right?  He looks around at what he assumes to be Burik's childhood home.  A hut's a fine place to sleep on a cold night, but no-one was meant to spend all day under a roof.  It's just... not natural.  

Me?  Well, I'm from...  it doesn't matter.  Nowhere nearby.  I don't remember it much.  I remember being taken from my parents and sold, though they didn't call it that.  And I remember fighting in the arena for the crowds, and getting bigger and stronger and learning how to make the crowds cheer.  The only way out of that life is to win one of the great championships and take freedom as your prize, and, well, that's how it went down.  He looks away for a moment.  There's people back there I'm gonna pay back, one of these days.  His fist curls into a ball, he breathes deeply, exhales and relaxes his fingers.  You get many elves round these parts? he asks in what he thinks is a neutral tone of voice.