Lechula

As far as Lechula is concerned, the surface dwellers can keep the place. It’s bright, it’s cold, the sky is terrifying, and even if that massive void up there won’t swallow you up, it’ll still cook you medium rare if given the chance!

The healing salve helps, but she still has no intention of leaving the cave until she stops being as red as one of the Redcap’s hats. Merrik seems to have avoided the worst of the sunburn, as the surfacers call it, so he’s taken to slipping outside occasionally, but even he is mostly staying inside until night.

“The sun really did do a number on you, Lechula. Even your temperament is inflamed,” he teases as he returns with dinner. The reddened pale dwarf would grump at him, but it’s just not the same without crossing her arms, and that would involve far too much of her skin touching anything besides air. Still, he’s not wrong about how sour her mood is right now.

“I think I had a better time recovering from the Harbinger speaking to me,” she sighs and leans back against the blessedly cool cave wall. She would say the caves wouldn’t betray her, but a cave-in is why she and Merrik are here. The pale elf nods as he sits beside her, taking a moment to enjoy the cool cave all as well. Just because he didn’t get it as bad doesn’t mean he’s not also suffering.

“The spear was a lot more painful, but at least it was just in one spot. I’m not certain which I’d prefer.” Lechula grunts in sympathy. She’d much rather a spear in the shoulder than this, but probably because she’s trained to take a spear wound. This sunburn…

“Do you think the surface folk could win just by retreating and letting the sun cook the Maw’s forces?” she asks in a weak joke. Merrik at least chuckles, making her feel a little better.

“I actually asked a similar question to the healers. While the sunburns can get even worse than what you got, they’re mostly painful, not incapacitating. In a long campaign, the Maw’s forces would lose a lot of morale, but it wouldn’t be enough to actually stop them. And I don’t know if the denizens would be affected at all.”

Lechula sighs and rests her head against the wall, trying not to think about her burning skin, nor about the idea of the Maw’s denizens attacking the surface without fear of the sun overhead. Thankfully, the scent of the meal Merrik brought is a good distraction from things she’d rather not think about. “What’d you get?” she asks, nodding at the wooden boxes.

He hands her one as he explains. “Mushroom bread, with a venison and vegetable stew. I saw some of the dwellers loading everything onto the bread to make messy sandwiches, but I think I’m going to eat it as it is.”

Lechula tests the meal with her fork, and takes a small bite of the bread, letting the flavors mingle. It’s not the most balanced profile, but it’s definitely edible. “I don’t think I want to make that much of a mess. And having some of the stew drip out onto my arm right now would… probably hurt a lot,” she agrees, and soon the two settle into a nice quiet meal.

They both seem to be hungrier than they thought, or the stew was tastier than initially expected, because by the end, they both use the last of their bread to mop up the final bit of thickened liquid. They set the boxes aside after finishing. There’s plenty of time to return them. For now, they both want to relax and not move too much, so as to not anger the sunburn.

Before long, though, a small spiderkin peers into the cave, and smiles as she sees the two. “Ah, you’re the two from below, yeah?” she asks as she walks in like she owns the cave. From the light armor and odd spear, Lechula can tell she’s one of the fighters, but the way she carries herself makes her suspect she’s one of the better ones.

“Oh, yes. I’m Lechula and he’s Merrik. I don’t think we’ve met?” she asks, and the spiderkin nods as she settles on a large rock nearby.

“Nah, we haven’t. I hear you two got burned pretty bad. Makes it kinda hard to go be social. The ratkin sometimes get it bad on their tails if they stay underground too long. Anyway, I’m Vernew, Huntsmistress and leader of the dwellers, at least this batch.” She offers a hand to each of them to shake, and Lechula nervously accepts hers. Merrik looks a bit more confident, or at least less nervous about it, and they both shake.

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“So… I’d ask how the surface is treating you, but it’s kinda obvious. How’re you two holding up?”

Merrik takes time to consider his response, but Lechula answers pretty quickly. “Sunburn aside, we’re doing well. There’s… everything is just so different here! Not just the environment, but the people, even the dungeon is different than I was expecting!”

Vernew chuckles at that and nods. “Yeah, heh. We’re still figuring out how to work with outsiders. The Weaver only gave us an enclave a few months ago. We’re still figuring ourselves out, honestly. He helps a lot.”

“The Weaver?” asks Merrik, and Vernew nods as she fishes out a little amulet from under her armor. The string is simple leather, with a lacquered orange disk attached to it.

“The Weaver of Threads, Lord Thedeim. Our home, our sanctuary,” she says with a smile, looking at what Lechula can only assume is a holy symbol. She and Merrik are both put a bit on guard at that, remembering how fanatical the clergy of the Maw could be.

“I… thought this was the Southwood?” Lechula tries gently digging for information, hoping to not offend.

Vernew doesn’t look offended in the slightest. “We’re currently in the Southwood, yeah, but he’s Lord Thedeim’s ally. He’s a good four days' journey away, I think? Even with Teemo’s shortcuts.”

Ally? That sounds nice, but…

Vernew smirks at the two sunburned subterranean people. “From your looks, I take it the Maw doesn’t play well with others?”

“Not… really…” replies Merrik, understating the situation significantly.

“Well, the Weaver’s pretty friendly. You’ve seen the adventurers, yeah? Not just the dwellers? The Weaver is friendly enough with the guild that their guildmaster is encouraging them to come help, and they’re happy to do it, too. According to them, He’s the best delve Fourdock has had in… ever!”

Merrik gives her a curious look at that. “Are they really so close to a dungeon? Even though he kills some of them?”

Vernew grins wide at that. “They sure are! Probably because He doesn’t kill them. Almost a year now, and still no delver deaths. Well, except a few scythemaws, but those don’t count.”

“Still, only a year. That’s not especially long,” argues Merrik, and Lechula pipes up.

“That seems like a pretty long streak to me. Accidents happen. Even after he got chastised for it, a few people have still died in the Harbinger’s training. What was his record for no deaths before?” she asks Vernew, earning an even wider grin.

“He only has the one record. He’s never killed a delver since he started, not quite a year ago.”

Lechula looks confused at that, and Merrik processes it quicker than she can. “He’s not even a year old?! That’s not even remotely possible! How can a dungeon not even a year old have an ally, an enclave, and over a dozen scions?!”

Vernew just looks smug as she settles onto her rock. “He has two enclaves, as well as a protege and a vassal, too. Lord Thedeim isn’t any ordinary sanctuary. I don’t know how He does half the things He does, but He does them just the same. I’ve met the local inspector from the Dungeoneers, and even he doesn’t know how the Weaver does it. He just fills out the paperwork.”

“How often does he demand sacrifices?” asks Lechula, trying to wrap her head around how any dungeon could afford that kind of insane growth.

“Sacrifices?” echos Vernew, looking confused for a moment, then furious, before she takes a deep breath and continues. “The Weaver of Threads doesn’t need nor want sacrifices. He grows like He does because He does things differently.” Her rigid demeanor softens as her anger truly subsides, and she meets the eyes of both her and Merrik. “Look, I know most enclaves worship their dungeon. High Priestess Aranya even said so, and I’ve talked to the High Priest of Hullbreak, too. But The Weaver… He’s more than that. It’s more than the fact He made us. He cares for us. He cares for practically everyone! That’s why He doesn’t just kill delvers! That’s why He didn’t want any of us to come join this fight! But we want to help Him, even though some of us probably won’t be coming back from this. He’s always trying to help… so we want to help, too.”

Lechula and Merrik both stare at her for several long seconds, each trying to process what the spiderkin woman just said. “He really didn’t tell you to come fight?” asks Lechula in shock, and Vernew’s snort helps cut through her confusion.

“He even asked us to stay out of it. When we insisted, he started making us things, to try to keep us safe.” Vernew looks at her spear, smiling at the strange head on it.

“Can… can you explain more?” asks Lechula.

“It’s a lot different than the Maw, that’s for certain,” follows up Merrik. “He demands sacrifices, demands we fight…”

Vernew nods at that. “Yeah, I can help you try to understand Him a bit better. I’m not exactly Aranya, but I do my best. Heh, that’s the closest to anything He demands of us: our best. So… where to begin…”