|The Dwarves will respect a swift victory, Jack thinks.|
He draws forth a PowaShroom from the Pouch of Ghrul and is just about to pop it in his mouth when suddenly Fearghal Notchblade utters a piercing whistle. Old Stonefist retreats to a neutral posture and Jack looks around in confusion. The Dwarves are all glaring at him in disapproval and disgust.
“Drugs?!” Notchblade cries. He looks around at his fellow Dwarves. “When the Deep Dragon rose from the Kimberlite Rift, did we chew leaves to give us courage? Did we swallow mushrooms to give us strength?”
All around, Dwarves shake their heads ‘no’ and mutter in their beards.
“No!” Notchblade cries. “It was our courage that bore us up, our strength that parted the beast’s head from its scaly neck!”
He turns back to Jack. “Sorry, lad. Looks like I misjudged you. There will be no audience. I suggest you leave quietly and find another source of information. The Dwarves of Oakstump Hall can be of no aid. You’ll find your weapons next to the GreenShaft where I greeted you.”
It seems there is no point in arguing. Without a look back or another word, Jack makes his way down to the pair of GreenShafts at the entrance. As promised, the Dwarves have neatly parceled his weapons and shield near the GreenShaft where Notchblade first confronted Jack. The GreenShaft is capped; as Jack stands upon it preparing his leap to the entrance GreenShaft, the cap shifts slightly under his feet.
It would be best to leave. But Jack cannot contain his curiosity . . .