Sherborne bites his lip at that last comment but add, "Yes perhaps talking would be the way to go.  Bursting in on them would at best put them on the defensive".

Albricht cocked a bushy bleached eyebrow, considering Lanliss carefully to see if he thought the smarty elf was making fun. But then a rather odd mannerism became apparent as the aged water-finder began to look to his clothing and appearance, slicking his eyebrows down with spit, and fluffing his whiskers with his gnarled fingers.

"Hrrrumph! Been ages since I've done any dwarf-chants myself, nor have I heard many in at least three-hundred year-ends... I'd say this would be the wrong time of season, and there are no loud hammerfalls to keep the rhythm... I'm skeptical its dwarves, but if so, then I'll admit ye might be right... sun could've gotten to'em and they may not be right in the head!" He thumped his own noggin to emphasize this.

He hummed a few bars of a chant he thought he could recall from long ago, "Hoom-oom, haaammer-BAM!" It had been a popular one back a few millennia ago when he'd been a lad.

Plathstream takes all this in and then simply opens the door!

"Yes, the sun...because there is so much sunlight under ground, wherever dwarves might lurk..."

Its hard to tell if Lanliss is joking or not, and perhaps that is deliberate.

"The sun doesn't even shine under... Bah! Nevermind."

Albricht readied his warhammer because now another of his elven groupies had done something else foolish. One of these days I'll need t'be havin' a really serious talk with that bark-chewer! Got a deathwish he does! Hrrumph!

Plathstream opens the door to reveal a room, approximately 40 feet east-west, and 50 feet north-south.  Along the north and south walls of the room hang large tapestries showing the major constellations.  The groups seems to have interrupted a religious service, as thirteen figures in rainbow-colored robes and silver masks stand in front of a stone, star-shaped altar.  The masks match the face of the middle statue on the pyramid, the winged child.  The center-most figure of the group wears a silver crown.

The chanting of the group falters, then stops, as the thirteen turn toward Plathstream and the party behind him.  In the momentary pause, the one wearing the silver crown smoothly recovers and calls out in an upbeat tone, "Welcome!  Welcome to the temple of Usamigaras!"

"Hail Usam .. Usmas ... Usmigras!" calls out Silverglade in a probably vain attempt to avoid a fight.

Plathstream bows. "Greetings, followers of Usamigaras. We are visitors. Apologies for interrupting your service."

He stands aside to let the others in, waiting to see what these people do.

"Oh," the one wearing the crown scoffs, "not to worry.  Usamigaras, while often demanding, is always fun-loving."  The others in the silver masks seem to relax a bit when he says this.  "His magic and wonders cover and guide you," he continues, making what is most likely some sort of ritual gesture of blessing.  "Come on in and tell us of yourselves."

The dwarf shuffled from one foot to the other, waiting to see what his companions might do. The shock of the very tall warrior women had worn off about the time the food and water had come upon the scene, but he was nervous about these mumblers. And they were outnumbered. Again.

He did however glance around to see if any of the robed figures were, or might possibly be, dwarves.

And he sniffed the air... just in case this was some sort of roasted goat ceremony.

Plathstream waves the others in.

Roak moves in, his bow still in his hand but a bit more relaxed, and stands next to Plathstream.

Albricht notes a disappointing lack of the smell of roasting goat.

Sherborne holds his hammer down in a non-aggressive position and moves into the room. He considers if he has heard of Usamigaras before.

Taking advantage of his taller companions, Albricht shuffled into the room behind them, but could not help poking his head out, convinced that if there were not roasted goat, then there must be something sinister about these mumblers.

"Usimigaris... be that a friend of Gorm?" he questioned tentatively while keeping as neutral of a face as he was able, which wasn't easy for a dwarf as they were dour or mirthful by nature and by extremes.

Sherborne is quite sure that he is unfamiliar with the name.

"A friend of Gorm?" asks the man in the mask and crown.  "I wouldn't say that they were exactly friends, but definitely not enemies. Gorm has very little sense of humor, for one."  The warmth and a hint of a smile seem quite obvious in the man's voice.

Several of the others in the room back up a bit to make room for the party.
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:31, Wed 16 Nov 2016.

"Is Gorm a Dwarf god, by any chance?" asks Lanliss as he joins his companions in the room. These zealots seemed entirely too cheery though for a place like this, so the Elf was on his guard.

Plathstream suppresses a chuckle. "We are new to this part of this place. Tell us of Usimigaris." he says calmly.

"Been findin' water out in the desert for the last six centuries or so... I'm a little behind on the Who's Who of worship lately..." Albricht whispered to Lanliss. He too was wary of this cheery lot. "Probably been inhaling a little too much ceremonial incense if ya know what I mean..."

"A dwarf?  No." replies the man with a chuckle.  "Usamigaras is the lord of magic, wealth, and joy.  He is the winged child, often seen entwined by serpents, bearing a wand and a handful of coins."

Plathstream nods. "Very good. I like all those things. Is this layer of the pyramid your home?"

Vsaati carefully steps into the room.  "Usamigarus and I go way back."

"Hrrrumph, sounds similar to the ancient Dwarf-God of Ill Fortune, YammerBammer... often seen entwined by snarling brambles, bearing a cleft helmet and untied bootlaces."

Albricht didn't have much use for magic, the exception being his own personal powers of water divination of course. He was wary, but decided to play along with his companions, trusting the fluttery natures of the elves for once, for shouldn't they know a thing or two about child-like deities?

The dwarf let his gaze peruse the room, seeking to notice any unobvious exits or surprises...

The man wearing the silver crown gives Albricht the type of look that one can only assume is also given to the exceedingly drunk and nattering old uncles at family gatherings before turning to Plathstream and politely asking, "What is a pyramid, sir?"

Plathstream blinked and then said, without skipping a beat, "It is a word we created to describe the world here. Apologies for using an odd word. Is this level of the world your home?"