The journey through the gauntlet of traps, snares, and other bullshit that lay past the broodmothers' ledge was beyond tedious. They had barely lost sight of the bridge when they needed another rest, all of them having been variously snatched up in nets, doused with acid, bitten by bear traps, and singed by small yet fiery explosions several times over. This was after having managed to avoid the genuinely heinous ones, which were thankfully marked by the pile of darkspawn bodies who had come before. By the fifth day, Ten began to empathize with Branka, guiltily wondering how long she herself would keep going at it before resorting to things she had never dreamed of to make it go faster. Though, even after several days and multiple chemical burns, sacrificing friends and family to Laryn's fate still seemed beyond the pale. She also began to wonder why, exactly, this place was so heavily guarded and why by traps rather than sentries.
It was the better part of a week, though by Sten's estimation, they had traversed less than twenty miles from Bownammar, when they came to a respite with some semblance of civilization. Whatever trappings of dwarf development had been between the Dead Trenches and there had either been worn away by the ages, or - what was more likely - been stripped for parts and carted off by enterprising darkspawn. However, on the fifth day, at the end of a winding tunnel that permitted only two of them to walk abreast, but seemed blessedly devoid of mischievous hardware, they came to a heavy door set into the rock. Oghren tried it first, clearly prepared for it to be a struggle. However, the handle turned with little effort, and it opened without protest as though the hinges had been recently oiled, not rotting and rusting for the better part of a century. Beyond the door lay a well-lit, moderately-sized cavern that appeared blessedly devoid of anything actively trying to injure them. However, they all stepped gingerly through, eyes on a swivel for a secret trapdoor, crossbows set into the walls, and the like.
When Morrigan, the last among them, stepped through, the door swung closed behind them on its own, and there was a series of clicks that sent a shiver up Ten's spine. To her surprise, several brass claws shot out of the door behind them successively and gripped the rock in the most ostentatious display of 'this door is locked' she had ever seen.
"Well, I guess we're not going back that way," she observed mildly. Given what lay behind them, she was less concerned about getting back and was generally hoping the path would lead them full circle so that they might return without further botheration.
"Someone's been living here," Alistair, who had taken it upon himself to start exploring, announced. He had gone over behind an outcropping and held up an empty mug, "Fire's still smoldering."
"Made herself comfortable too," Morrigan announced, looking down at what at first appeared to be a stack of boulders but was, on closer inspection, several pillows made from what looked like discarded clothes sewn together with large, inelegant stitches.
Oghren had gone over to one wall where a naturally occurring rock shelf had been polished smooth and held a line of scientific-looking instruments Ten had never seen before. "Well, she's alive. I don't know anyone else who even knows what half of these are for." He picked up one that looked almost like a barometer with several glass globes full of variously covered liquids, tipping it this way and that to watch them run together and then separate themselves..
"Oghren, how many times do I have to tell you, do not touch my things!"
The voice seemed to echo all around the cavern. Ten flinched and looked around.
From behind a rock wall that apparently only went three-fourths of the way across the room, she heard cackling. Then, out stepped the source of the voice. She was a couple of inches taller than Oghren, but slender by dwarven standards, with sloping shoulders. Her hair looked like it had not been brushed in the two years she'd been gone, tied back in a knot, and on her face she wore an enormous set of spectacles. Ten had only seen such things worn by the elderly and ostentatiously wealthy, so seeing a pair on the face of a woman in her forties who otherwise looked like a complete derelict was downright jarring. She held up something conical made out of tin in one hand, apparently used to project her voice and put it to her lips again, "Haven't had a chance to try it yet! Scared the shit out of you, though!"
"Branka…" Oghren sighed, replacing the instrument on the shelf. He looked befuddled, beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead, like he did not know what one was supposed to do in this situation.
"What are you doing here, Oghren?" Branka asked, setting her tin horn on the other end of the shelf, "And who are the tallfolk?"
"Well, I am down here looking for you, obviously," Oghren said, "And now I have found you."
"Me? Well, that's overkill. Hardly any reason to send a search party. What, have you drank all the gold I left you with already? If you've got the coin for surfacer mercenaries, I'm sure you have the coin to stave off the bill collectors," Branka grumbled. She cast her eyes over said surfacers suspiciously, "What's he paying you lot, anyway? No doubt it's out of the joint account, not like he brings in anything more than beer money…"
"There's been some… turmoil back home. The king is dead," said Oghren, "We need you back. Your council is required."
"Really!" Branka exclaimed, taking her spectacles off and cleaning them on the hem of her shirt, though given how much dust on was on it Ten wondered if it didn't leave the lenses dirtier than before. Without them, her eyes were so pale a brown they looked almost yellow, "How? Did someone assassinate him?"
"Nothing so dramatic. Just old age and infirmity," Oghren said, a little uncomfortable, "Long slow decline."
"That can't be right. I saw him not three months ago, the picture of health," Branka said.
There was a long, awkward silence.
"How long do you think you've been here?" asked Oghren.
"Oh, I don't know, I've been too busy to count. Maybe three months? Four?"
"It's been two years, Branka," Oghren said.
She put her spectacles back on. They made her eyes look enormous, and so when she blinked, it had the effect of a fish out of water, "Well." She rubbed her hands together, and Ten could see the gears turning, "I suppose the work takes what it takes."
"Where's everyone else?" Oghren asked, "You left home twenty-five strong. Where are the others?"
"Never mind that," said Branka, "The work takes what it takes. You know, I never thought I'd catch myself saying this, but it's good you're here. I need some extra hands. I've hit a snag."
"A two-year-long snag," Oghren said.
"Momentary," Branka corrected him, "But I'm sure we'll be able to figure it out with my head and your hands. And once we do, once I'm done, I am happy to return to Orzammar and play whatever ridiculous political game the powers that be require. But… not a moment before."
"The work can wait," Oghren said. He sounded almost… gentle. Ten cocked her head at the pair, trying to imagine them much younger. Branka puzzling over diagrams. Oghren bringing her a cup of tea. Telling her to come to bed and try again in the morning. Branka throwing a shoe at him. Oghren retreating to a bottle.
"No, it can't! In any case, that door you came through's not opening until I tell it to, so you can help me get through, or you can sit here and starve watching me try," Branka said. She looked at the strangers again, her eyes settling on Sten, "You. Big man. Have you ever fought a stone golem?"
Sten, who had been watching the interaction curiously, said, "I am not familiar with this term."
"Ugh. Surfacers," Branka muttered, "Come here."
She strode up to Sten and grabbed him by the hand. The height disparity between the two gave them the look of a toddler leading her very patient father to see the mud pie she had made. Sten, obligingly, let her lead him beyond the rock wall from whence she had come. The others trailed after them to where another door was set into the rock. Branka yanked it open and pointed. It opened onto a long gallery, perhaps fifty feet, but ultimately empty. Along the walls, spaced about twenty feet apart, were four… well, they looked like nothing more than standard piles of boulders. For a moment, Ten thought this was another symptom of the woman having completely lost her mind, but when Sten crossed the threshold, stooping in order to do so, the boulders…. Got up. Arranged themselves into some semblance of arms and legs, and started walking, slowly but deliberately, toward him.
"You know, after the last several days, I didn't think I'd ever be completely unsettled by anything again, and yet, I continually stand corrected," Alistair said.
"Those are stone golems," Branka said.
Sten backed up behind the threshold. The golems turned and went back to their places.
"So you see the problem," Branka said, "Everything leads me to believe that the Anvil of the Void is beyond this room. I have no idea who controls the golems. Normally they are inert, except if someone has a control rod. I have never heard of them even functioning without a person exerting their will via said rod. But…. whenever someone steps foot in that room, day or night, here they come to beat the living shit out of whoever's crossed the threshold. So either they are somehow automated, or whoever controls them does not sleep."
"How many?" asked Oghren, rubbing the back of his head with one hand.
"What do you mean?"
"How many of your retainers did you send in there to be crushed to death by stone golems in order to test your theory?" Oghren asked, crossing his arms.
"They went on their own," Branka said, waving him off.
"There were twenty-five of you, Branka. Twenty of them warriors. You're telling me that four stone golems could kill every one of them? Really?"
"You really need to mind your own business. The point is, there are enough of you now. One of you stands beyond the threshold. Keeps them coming. The rest of you…. Do what mercenaries do."
"We're not mercenaries," Ten said, "And I have no idea how to take those things down."
"So if you're not mercenaries that my dear husband has spent my hard-earned gold, then what are you?" Branka said, her eyes falling on Ten for the first time.
"Not amused. I am not amused," Ten said, "Why didn't you go back to Orzammar for help?"
"Didn't need help until now," Branka said dismissively, "So are you going to help me figure it out? Or will you sit here for however long it takes me to figure it out without your input? It's the only way you're getting out of here."
Ten studied the golems for a moment. She wasn't quite sure what made the stones arrange themselves into a vaguely humanoid shape and so she dared not guess at what or whom she would have to stop in order to keep them still. Maybe a crowbar within the joints, use that to pry them apart? No, you'd have your face bashed in before you could even get close enough to try. Maybe trip them up. If they fall hard enough maybe they'd just break apart. Or…. "Well," said Ten, "I think it might be time for explosives."
This got Branka's attention and she looked at Ten for the first time, "What kind of explosives?"
"Oh no," Alistair sighed, "Here we go… Ten, this woman has taken leave of her sense, why are you playing into this insanity?"
"Nobody asked you," Ten said, dismissively, "I've got a blend I made on the surface." She reached under her leather cap where a small vial nestled in the curls atop her head, "Saltpeter and sulfur and charcoal. It smells like ass, but it'll get the job done if you pack it tight and throw it hard. I haven't tried it down here yet." She handed it over. This one was packed with a nasty powder made from combination dried toads and centipede venom that would coat the lungs and, in a large enough quantity, cause someone to effectively drown on dry land, "Careful, there's enough in there to kill everyone in a five-foot radius."
Branka looked at the vial, holding it up to the light. She put her spectacles back on to examine it more closely. She gave it first a gentle shake, and then a harder one.
"Don't!" Ten cried. She snatched the vial back. "Don't do that. It's volatile."
"You've been carrying it around in glass while you tromped through a hundred miles of the Deep Roads," Oghren said, "What do you mean, it's volatile?"
"I had it in my hair. The only way it was exploding is if I hit my head hard enough to kill me," Ten said, "If I'm going to go, I'm taking whatever did it down with me."
"And everyone else in the room?" Alistair asked.
"Oh please, if I'm dead, that means all of you already fell," Ten said, "Anyway." She turned her attention back to Branka, "I have some of that reagent but I can't get any more down here unless you know of any sulfur deposits, and I'm sure saltpeter could be had. But I also got some lyrium dust off a fellow in Dusttown the other week. I didn't realize lyrium would explode under the right circumstances, but I got it in a solution with some distilled alcohol and charcoal ash that did the trick. I haven't used it for anything but a poison delivery system, though."
"Wait, hold on… when exactly did you test it?" asked Alistair.
"Don't worry about that," Ten said, irritated, and opened her mouth to further explain it to Branka, who was actually listening.
"No, Teneira," Alistair insisted, "When and where were you playing with explosives?"
"When and where am I not playing with explosives," Ten scoffed.
"What's your name, girl?" Branka interrupted before Alistair could interfere further.
"Teneira," Ten replied.
"From where?"
"Denerim."
"Are you in demolitions?"
"So to speak."
"Where'd you go to school?"
"Didn't."
"Pity. But you'll do. I lost my last three lab assistants to… golem-related complications. Come on. I have no idea what saltpeter is or where to get it, but I've got lyrium dust coming out of my ears."
"Do you… want me to tell you where to get saltpeter? It's abundant, but gathering it isn't the most pleasant process," Ten said.
"No, I want you to show me a lyrium-based explosion."
Teneira found herself on the receiving end of another iron grip from another half-crazed dwarven woman, this time dragging her down a broader corridor to the left of the door to the golem room. This, in turn, led to another winding tunnel. For about the fiftieth time since she'd been down in the Deep Roads, Ten understood what dwarves meant when they said 'stone sense.' Without Oghren they would have been lost several times over. Somehow the dwarves could identify landscape features that went utterly over the surfacers' heads.
"Well, like I said, I think it would take quite a lot to get a pop large enough to do anything but deliver deadly gas, and I don't think those golems have lungs," Ten said, "But, it's stable!"
"Unlike you…" Alistair commented. He broke into a half-jog to catch up with them, Oghren on his heels.
"What did I tell you, friend," Oghren warned, "They're two peas in a crazy pod."
Morrigan, deciding she was not about to be left out of the fun, went after them, "I'm the only one who can get fire on it from a distance!"
"Mage?" Branka asked, pausing to look up at the witch.
"Yes," Morrigan said.
"All right, come on."
"Three peas in a crazy pod," Oghren corrected himself.
"Jewels and dresses, they told me," Alistair grumbled, "And tea parties. And gossip. And baking pies."
Branka's "lab" was a medium-sized cavern with several dwarfmade holes at the top. Ten was impressed but not altogether surprised to see that she'd set up a full forge, and every flat surface had some sort of strangely shaped piece of metal on it.
"What were you working on?" asked Ten, genuinely curious. In the back of her mind, of course, was the fact that this woman had sacrificed her own people to fates worse than death, but it did not stop her from being fascinated.
"Check this out," Branka said, raising her eyebrows, her pale eyes sparkling. She picked up what looked like a piece of slag, but in the light, Ten could see that it was purposefully crafted. It was in the shape of a star, forged out of a dark metal that did not shine in the light, though she could make out that two of the edges had been sharpened. Branka held it by out of the blunt ends, other, wound up, and whipped it at the opposite wall. It whizzed through the air and embedded itself several inches into the stone, letting out an unearthly song as it vibrated.
Sten, who had reluctantly followed the group once it was made clear where the action actually lay, walked over, the only one tall enough to try to fetch it back. With some difficulty, he pried it loose from the rock and examined it, then let loose a grunt as he accidentally cut his finger. "It is still sharp!" he announced, his voice betraying surprise and awe for the first time Ten had heard it, "It is… very, very sharp," he continued, his awe turning to alarm as blood started dripping liberally. Morrigan bustled up to him and, with a word, closed the cut. He thanked her quietly, a little chagrined, and they rejoined the group. "What is this wondrous metal?" he asked Branka eagerly.
"I call it shardsteel," Branka announced proudly, "The problem is I can't get a full blade made of the stuff to hold together. I've tried everything, but that throwing star is about the biggest I can get a hunk of it to stay without it cracking in two."
Ten examined the rest of the 'shardsteel' sitting back the forge, "Could you make like a… bolt-shaped thing out of it?"
"Too big," Branka said, "But…" She looked at her forge, then back at Ten, "I have an idea. So you said that your… saltpeter concoction makes a big explosion, but it's unstable, and you don't know how to get more. Now, lyrium makes a smaller explosion, but maybe, just maybe, it's not just the explosion we can turn to our advantage."
Ten stared at her momentarily, then nodded slowly as she saw what the dwarf was getting at, "Lyrium doesn't make a strong enough explosion to take down stone golems on its own, but…"
"If it doesn't need to do it on its own…" Branka said with all the patience of a master waiting for an apprentice to figure it out on her own.
"We could just use the explosion as a… projectile delivery system," Ten said, "And if we have something here that will cut right through stone…"
Branka took her spectacles off dramatically, "Boom."