An half hour later, after much verbal bludgeoning, some of the other kind, and what was probably a rigged game of Drawn Straws, I find myself standing in the workshop. The beardling whose jaw I fixed is standing a pace ahead of me with my hand on his shoulder. I can feel him shaking through his armor. Come to think of it, I don't feel so hot myself, even with the White regenerative magic pulsing through my blood. In fact, I can feel my blood running positively cold as Baldir turns very, very slowly to stare us down with his mountain heavy gaze, like he just can't believe anyone would dare. His brows furrow together and he frowns, ever so slightly. Grabthar's Guts! But this Dwarf is scary when he's pissed. In anyone else, I'd have diagnosed a whiny disposition with a side order of temper tantrum. In Baldir, it's virtually all I can do to keep from pissing myself. I take some small amount of comfort in the sounds of pain I hear coming from the door behind me, gruff Dwarves with broken noses who will think twice before dwarfhandling me again.
I clear my throat. Baldir waits like stone. The beardling nearly passes out, so I give him a little healing touch and push him forward a step. Baldir's frown grows incrementally deeper.
"Master Baldir...we're so sorry to interrupt...ahem...but it appears we have a situation."
Baldir sets down his hammer. Its ominous, heavy clunk draws my attention to the project behind him. What a thing of beauty! I have no idea what its function might be but I can see its intricacy, tiny cogs and wheels set perfectly together and bounded in pure metallic artwork. For a moment, fear is replaced by sheer admiration. I've never been much of any kind of a smith myself. I'm more for repairing bodies. Strips of metal glow with heat to the other side of him and the heat waves rise up around his head and shoulders, as if visibly cloaking him in his anger. He crosses his thick arms and I'm forcefully reminded of my precarious situation here.
I relay all the information I've gathered, careful not to dawdle. His eyes widen as the greater implications hit home. When I finish, he grumbles, "And is that everything?" I nod. "Good, you have done well. Keep on it." I can see him pulling out of himself, taking charge of the situation, and I'm again reminded of why I took this job in the first place.
He turns to the beardling. "You. What is your name again? Sorensen?"
"Yes, sir, Brynjarr."
Baldir regards Brynjarr for a moment. "You're going to keep your mouth shut about all of this." A statement and not a question. The beardling nods, but Baldir is already talking again. "That's twice in recent memory you've shown courage, young dwarf. Your balls have just earned you a promotion. Come with me."
With that he strides toward the workshop exit. Brynjarr and I exchange relieved glances and he hops up to quickly follow the old ambassador. I can hear him bellowing as he enters the adjacent chambers, "Alright! Now, who thought it would be a good idea to keep all this from me..."