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Barnabas trudged through the marbled floor halls of his home. A half-full wine bottle in one hand, and his aimlessly waving about through his tired and buzzed march. Despite the clothes he wore, a white shirt made of the finest silks from far off lands and woven by the best seamsters and seamstresses of the city below his home and deep blue pants, he carried a preserved cloak of bear hide across his back, its head hanging off rather than covering his head. Another trinket he pulled from the family heirlooms vault, a token he took in the hopes to inspire him to be like the dwarf who first wore it.

He sipped from his wine bottle, tasting the sweet blackberries used to make it as he pushed forward the large wooden doors by its lowest handle to the...well not living room per se, but his attempt to call it 'The Hall of Ancestors' had always been shot down. Paintings and trophies littered the walls, illuminated by the open door as the dwarf stepped inside. Each painting, statue, or simple carving was an etching of a deed belonging to his forefathers and foremothers.

Another swig of wine trailed down his throat.

The first painting depicted his Great-Great Grandfather, Kral Tinsmit. A dwarf of proud stature and a fiery red beard with braids locked in gold, wearing armor dented and bruised through the many battles and wars he'd fought. His father often told the dwarf stories of Kral, more stubborn than a mountain, who'd take only his axe and hold off a band of roving orcs alone, earning him military honors and stations that he declined to keep fighting. His last venture through him to the abyss, where some Barnabas believed he still fought, defending dwarven lands from the encroaching demons.

He drank, wondering what the pits of the abyss smelled like or even if demons emitted the same stench.

Next game his Great-Grandmother, Greta Tinsmit depicted older than her father with aging lines across her fast. Rather than the armor of a foot soldier, she wore the longcoat of a naval commander, being on the first dwarven pirates or privateers as his brother liked to claim, to make a name for herself across the seas. Grey locks hung from her head, doing little to weaken the confident smirk across her face. By the time she was Barnabas's age, she had already left her hold and sailed three voyages, slowly earning a reputation that helped bring their clan from beyond simple foot soldiers with deeds, to one with allies and connections.

He nearly tripped over his foot at the third swig, catching himself right before tumbling into the bust of his Grandfather, Ferdinand Tinsmit, the dragonslayer. Chiseled with shorter hair and a beard many dwarves considered too thin, Ferdinand shared his mother's sense of adventure, but cared little for the freedom of the seas. Seeking his place, he left the hold at a young age, traveling and allying with folk of all sorts until he and a group of allies killed a towering dragon holding a horde so valuable that his father claimed it to be a sea of gold. Barnabas, by comparison, had yet to leave the city his family lived in.

Then came his father, Heinrich Tinsmet, the merchant. Barnabas's drink had run empty by this point.

Heinrich shared his ancestors' adventurous and risky spirit. Unlike them, he's ventures were more business focused, with battles fought more with the quill and parchment than blade and magic. The image in the painting reflected this, with a dwarf dressed in the finer silks more accustomed to a deal with nobility over trudging through swamps or mountains.

Using the fortune gained by their forebears, Heinrich established several businesses. From trade routes, to mining, the family had grown wealthier and connected under his reign.The mines of this city paid for the very mansion Barnabas grew up in.

Would he be happy with his son? Barnabas's fingers hovered over the painting, memories of his father walking him and his brother through this room flooded back. He'd been taken too quickly, some disease or poison, Barnabas was never sure. All he could believe was how he preferred to remember his father as the proud dwarf in the painting, rather than the withered husk laying in bed in his final days.

"I should have left by now," he said to no one but himself and his ancestors. "By my age, you all had already begun your journeys. Yet I'm needed here." The dwarf chuckled, a lie he repeated to himself, "Someone's gotta watch Hestrom, right? So he doesn't die from overworking like dad."

The doors opened wide as he spoke. "Barny? What are you doing in here?" His brother asked. Barnabas turned and smiled, tipsily waving to his older brother in birthright. Physically, Barnabas looked more like the older dwarf. He was barrel chested and strong, with a long beard that he normally kept braided. Hestrom, on the other hand, was thinner with a smaller beard to match. It made his smile all the more noticeable, along with worry and frustration toward his brother.

"Just talking with old family," Barnabas muttered, reflexively trying to drink from the empty bottle. "How's work?"

"Work is work, but you're being ridiculous with this getup." Hestrom tried to pull off the bear cloak, but Barnabas pulled back. "Barny, you can't just walk around our home like this. You need to show some decorum."

"Why? It's our home. I should be able to walk around naked if I wanted."

"We have an appearance to keep."

"What 'we', Hestrom?" He snarled, gritting his teeth and jabbing a finger into his older brother's cloth covered chest. "You're the one that does the finances and the business. I'm not given any responsibilities, and yet you still won't let me leave."

Hestrim rolled his brown eyes with withered frustration, "Is this about your silly fantasies again? Father wouldn't want you to go out and get yourself killed all for some meaningless glory."

"Glory is how we're remembered."

"No," Hestrom batted his brother's finger away and pointed to the paintings, "Money is. Or do you think these were made off of glory alone? Barny please, our Ancestors already attained the wealth for our family. It's our responsibility to maintain it."

"And again, you give me nothing to do."

"Because you don't want to do anything with business. Your mind isn't interested."

"It..." He stopped, feeling the lump in his throat blocking off his lie. It's true, Barnabas had no interest in the business side of his family, often snoozing away whenever their father talked about his most exciting deals. Swallowing it down, he forced it out, "It could be, if you made it interesting."

"Interesting?" Hestrom snapped, "And what's interesting to you, Barny? Weeklong trips to the red lamp district? Or how about paying for everyone's round at the most expensive taverns in the city? It's not impressive that you managed to rack up a tab of over a hundred gold in a tavern, Barnabas. It's problematic."

"Well then stop giving me those jobs and let me travel."

"To let you get drunk in another city and die in a ditch?" His brother laughed, "No thank you, brother. I care about you too much to let that happen. Look," Hestrom rested a hand on his younger brother's shoulder, "I will find you something to do. But you need to trust me, alright? Things are going to build up quickly, you'll see."

Despite wanting to bat the hand away, Barnabas sighed and nodded. For as much as they fought, the dwarven brothers did trust each other. Family and clan came first in dwarven culture, and Barnabas always considered himself a dwarf. Even if he failed to live up to his own expectations.

"Now, why don't you go get some rest."

"Sure, I'll do just that." Barnabas left his brother back in their ancestors' room. Once out of sight, he swerved the corner and headed to the wine cellar. He might as well get a wee bit more drunk before going to sleep.

***

"Is this what you call clean?!" The butler dragged his finger across the mantle that Bahralpha had just dusted. A task made easier by the dwarven home being built for people of her stature, but no less annoying with the ridiculous frilly maid dress the white kobold had been put in. Being of 'monstrous descent' as others called it, she and Blenafee got stared at enough.

"Yes....sir," She bit back her contempt for the honorific, "I had just dusted it down."

"Then why are my gloves still covered with dust?" The man showed his gloved finger to her, masked in a tiny layer of dust that the kobold had to blink to notice. She eyed up to him, nearly breaking her mask of loyalty with confusion at the amount. Surely a small speck of dust didn't matter? It is not as though she can remove all of it with feathers attached to a handle. "Well?" The butler asked again, his razor thin mustache cutting into her own patience.

Before she could speak, Blenafee ran up and curseyed beside her, "That would be my fault, Sir," The goblin said, hiding his voice perfectly to match the feminine gown he'd chosen to wear, "Greta here was just double checking my work when you arrived. If anyone deserves to be punished, it should be me for my negligence."

Staring down the goblin with old and weary eyes, the grey haired butler breathed in and exhaled slowly. "If you feel the need for someone to double check, do it yourself, Quinn. You've proven yourself more than capable of handling your duties without interference. Unlike Greta," His tone turned sour at the mention of Bahralpha's cover name, "You seem to care what happens to these antiquities as if they were your own."

Cheerfully smiling, Blenafee brushed away a hair near the human's crotch, "It's less that and more that I love to make people pleased. It seems you, well," His backhand brushed against the older man's crotch, earning a confident smirk from the goblin as the butler looked away, "You could use a little pleasing later, Frederick."

"S-Some other time, perhaps," Frederick coughed, pushing the goblin's fingers away, "And it is Sir when working. Next time I will have to reprimand you."

"Looking forward to it, Sir."

Bahralpha bit down to restrain her urge to vomit at the display. She'd seen Blenafee work his silver tongue both figuratively and literally to help them out, and while the kobold rarely let it bother her, the image of the old butler plowing into her boytoy made her scales crawl. Now red in the face, Frederick bowed to Blenafee, nodded to Bahralpha, and left the two of them to continue their work. Bahralpha waited until he was out of earshot before grabbing a nearby throw pillow and screaming into it.

"I hate this job!" She uttered with a violent whisper, knowing full well how the halls carried sound. Blenafee giggled, "Well, it was your idea to infiltrate the mansion as staff."

"I didn't think we'd be doing this for a month. This sort of work is beneath me." Sighing, she leapt onto the nearest couch and landed face first, hiding her frustrations. It's leather scent filled her nostrils, the good kind of leather that had to have come from only the most dangerous beasts. "We should have disguised ourselves as ladies in waiting. Then I might not have the urge to freeze that stupid butler whenever I see him."

"You yourself said that disguising ourselves as targets would take too long." Blenafee rested his hands against her back, slowly kneading away her stress with his fingers. "We did track the disappearances to this estate, so it made the most sense to try here."

Shuddering in delight at her precious boytoy's masterful touch, the kobold stretched herself out to let him work further down her body. "I know. I'm just sick and tired for being yelled at and not having the ability to fight back. I'd freeze Frederick's tongue solid if it wouldn't ruin our cover."

"Don't be so harsh on him. He's under a lot of stress."

"Don't cut him some slack because he's fucking you."

The goblin laughed, "Oh please. He's a selfish lover and can barely last. But he's giving me some juicy details, like last night."

"Last night?" She blinked, getting up to eye her goblin partner, "What happened last night?"

"Well during some pillowtalk he brought up unusual papers in Master Hestrom's quarters."

"Unusual how?"

The goblin shrugged, "Didn't ask. They just looked unusual to him. Maybe it had some strange script. It's not like he goes through the papers in the estate."

Bahralpha sat up, smiling with confidence toward her goblin companion. "Well, we are."

***

A benefit to being a race whose ancestors primarily thrived in dark areas was that the lack of nightly torches meant little hindrance to Bahralpha and Blenafee. As a child, Blenafee wondered why some places with similar races even used torchlight, given the ability to see in the dark. And indeed, many homes of those races, particularly in poorer districts, lacked much reason to light aside from the warmth fire gave.

But for the rich? Well they couldn't marvel at their things through a shade of black and white. Thankfully color wasn't necessary to find the door to Master Hestrom's personal office, and the goblin's acquired key, the most rewarding thing he got from his bedroom encounter with the estate's master, granted them access. "Watch the hall," Bahralpha ordered, "If someone is coming, I need you to distract them." Blenafee stood rigid in mock salute, smirking with his response. The kobold rolled her eyes and slipped into the office, leaving the goblin alone in the grey halls, turning dismal without the light to display the golden leaves etched into the masonry.

Heavy footsteps trudged against the marble of the floor, avoiding the carpet stretched out across the way. Turning to the right and squinting, Blenafee noted a squat figure slowly lumbering toward them. Terror gripped his heart at the thought of Hestrom approaching. The goblin had no doubts in his ability to flirt and woo others to get what he needed, or at least distract, but his few interactions with the head dwarf had led him to believe Hestrom had little desire for the physical delights.

He rushed over, pinching his skirt to curtsey before the dwarf, "Good evening, lord Tinsmit," Blenafee said, eyes to the floor to avoid the master's stare. "Are you doing well this fine evening?"

"Well? I..." The voice spoke with inebriation and a hint of sadness, with a pitch deeper than Hestrom's, "I supposed physically I have my health. And I'm not mad. Got no reason to feel bad but..." A cork popped off a wine bottle in his hands. Blenafee looked up, seeing not the thin whiskers of master Hestrom, but the thick and scraggly beard of his brother, Barnabas. "Well, I could be feeling better."

"Oh?" The goblin blinked, his eyes skirting back to the light underneath Hestrom's door, "And what appears to be the matter, sir?"

"Well, can't say I've really earned that title or honorific or...whatever they call it," He ranted, taking a swig from his bottle. "I'm not sure what you mean, sir. You are a Tinsmit are you not?"

The dwarf laughed, loud enough to shake the goblin. "That I am. And yet despite that, I'm wasting away in this mansion instead of doing what my ancestors did to earn their legacies. I'll be lucky to be but a footnote in the family book."

"I'm sure that's not the case." Taking the dwarf by the scruff of his beard, Blenafee directed the drunken depressive over to the nearest room. He'd hoped to leave him there, but the dwarf pulled him in. "You don't understand. I can't even stand being here."

"What..." Blenafee tried to escape from his burly arms, but found little luck, "What do you mean?"

Sighing, the dwarf let him go. "Tinsmit's are adventurers. It's in our blood, our very spirit. To stay in one place for so long, it just feels so unnatural. I want to travel the world, see waterfalls that hide castles, or mountains glittering with gems, perhaps even be under the shadow of a dragon as it flies overhead. Something to show me the beauty of this world like..." His eyes stared over to Blenafee's, lighting up the moment their gazes met, "Like your own..."

He'd heard the line hundreds of times. From fresh suitors to wannabe pickup artists. But there was something about the dwarf's expression, how his eyes sparkled, that made the goblin's green face turn red. "What...what's your name?" the dwarf asked, extending his hand, "Mine's Barnabas, though I guess that might be obvious."

"Blenafee," The goblin answered, taking his rough and hairy hand and shaking it softly, "It's a bit harder to tell in the dark."

"Well, maybe I should get a candle and-" Blenafee pushed him against a nearby coach before he could finish. With a seductive smile, the goblin pulled off his shoes and firmly pushed his foot against the hardening rod beneath Barnabas's bathrobe. "No," He said, "I think I prefer the dark."

With deft toes, the goblin slipped Barbabas's cock out. Like most dwarves the goblin had seen, he carried a thickness that had Blenafee shivering with anticipation. Making his way to the couch, the goblin tossed his remaining shoe aside and clamped down with both feet, feeling the pulsing cock between his soles.

"Fuck..." Barnabas moaned, "Never seen a goblin...or anyone really...do that."

"Then you haven't lived," the goblin giggled, caressing his dwarven suitor's cock. One foot worked the shaft, the other grinding against his head whilst Barnabas struggled to remain still. His breaths labored, strong hands gripping the fabric until one final teeth clenching moan escaped his lips. Smiling, Blenafee wiggled his digits, feeling the slish of dwarven seed between his green toes. "Someone must have been-"

Barnabas crawled to the floor and kneeled before the goblin. Taking his frail legs in strong hands, the dwarf's tongue lapped away his own seed against the soft footed maid in disguise. Blenafee resisted the urge to laugh, the dwarf's tongue tickling his small feet so delicately. "You really don't get out much, do you?"

"Can't say I do, much anymore anyways." The dwarf smiled, wiping away the seed and saliva from his beard, "Care to turn around for a little packing?"

"Packing? Really?"

"What? It's been a while since I've had to be romantic."

Smiling, the goblin rolled his eyes and turned around, "Ok, but I must warn you, I'm only interested in taking it up the ass."

"Well I can't well fuck your dick." Blenafee blinked, looking over to the dwarf in shock. Barnabas smiled, "I'm a lot more perceptive than I appear."

Pulling back the goblin's tights, Barnabas's tongue lathered the pert green hole. His fingers followed, stretching out Blenafees ass. His cockhead pushed against the goblin's pucker, sinking deeper and spreading him wide. "You've got a very good ass."

"I aim to please, Barnabas," the goblin chuckles, fingers digging into the wooden frame, "I aim to please."

***

When Bahralpha asked Blenafee to distract anyone that came their way, she should have known exactly how Blenafee would have distracted them. It only proved how thin the walls themselves were in this mansion, a puzzling little fact that she tried to ignore as her finger toyed with her slit. "Damn it..." She muttered, massaging her clit as the moans grew louder behind the walls.

Leaning back and stretching her legs against the desk, her head hung loosely over the chair as she strummed her cunt. Why did Blenafee have to have all the fun? Ever since they'd gotten here, he'd slept and snuck around with most nobles and waitstaff, somehow hiding his gender or revealing how many of these blue blooded fools didn't care. Meanwhile she was stuck doing the snooping and the cleaning, getting yelled and blasted at by the very same silver spooned richfolk.

"You'd all be better on your knees..." She muttered, gritting her teeth and imagining the mansion under new management. Her own. Her staff would be the most physically fit, wearing nothing save collars, thongs, and she supposed bras for the ladies. They would bow before her, kissing her talons with glee for her smile.

"Fuck..." The schlick sound of her juices echoed through the room. She'd use the bastard Hestrom as a personal pony, riding him through the halls with Blenafee at her side. Then, when speaking of her personal affairs in her office, her precious goblin boy would be right between her legs, under the desk so no one could- "Fuck!" she screamed, the orgasm hitting her. Weeks of holding back flooded out, coursing through her body and nearly fluttering her from the very chair.

"By the gods, how I needed that." Wiping her fingers off with a nearby cloth, she returned to scouring through the envelopes and documents. Perhaps it was the orgasm that cleared her fog, but she noticed a strange insignia on one of the letters, a spider. "That seems ominous." Taking a dagger, she carefully slid the blade underneath the wax seal, intent to leave it as untouched as she could or at least appear so.

The doors opened right as the letter unfurled.

***

"You hear something?" Barnabas asked, balls deep inside Blenafee. The goblin shook his head, but he was sure he heard something. Pulling out, Barnabas perched his ear to the air and listened. Something wet came to mind, wet and fleshy with a mumbled muttering. "Wait a minute..." The direction hit him quickly. Tying his bathrobe tight, he marched toward the door.

Blenafee reached for his shoulder, "It's nothing, let's just get back to-" Barnabas shrugged the goblin off. "I can't ignore it, love. Someone's in my brother's study, and the clan watches out for the clan."

With heavy hands he pushed the doors of Hestrom's office open, finding a white-scaled kobold in a maid's outfit sitting at the desk, opening up a note with a seal he did not recognize. "What's this?" Barnabas snapped, grabbing the letter before the maid could react.

The kobold raised their finger, "Put that down you-" Blenafee rushed in and put himself between the two, "Get out of the way!" Ignoring their argument, the dwarf examined the document. Hoping to find exactly why she took it, or why it had such a strange seal.

It being in undercommon helped. Barnabas didn't have much field experience with the language. But, like his brother, he was versed in it through tutors to better understand the ways of the world. Even so, it looked like a basic trading manifesto, with contents that had him wrinkling the paper in anger. "My brother...no, it can't be." Barnabas looked to the two intruders, currently pausing themselves mid argument to eye him. "Why are you two here?"

Letting go of the goblin, the kobold cleared her throat, "We are here because a lot of women have gone missing in the town and there's a reward for any proof. Through my deductive reasoning and my partner's information gathering, we were able to link it to this estate. Now," She held out her clawed hands, "If you'll kindly hand me that letter, I will happily not encase you in an entire block of ice."

"You think my brother is responsible?" Barnabas blinked. Hestrom was a businessman, but even he had limits on what he'd do. At least, that's what he told himself. In truth, his brother had a more ruthless air about him as of late. "We need to confront him."

He left without waiting for their response. The two maids watched, dumbfounded, before rushing beside him. "No, we don't need to confront him," The kobold gripped at his robe, "We need to turn in evidence to the town guard and-"

"If what you insinuate is true, my brother has no doubt bought the captain of the guard." It was in Hestrom's playbook to control all seen variables in a trade deal, so that he'd win no matter how much he lost. "So reporting him with just a letter would no doubt get you both in a cell." Passing the hall of his ancestors, Barnabas grabbed his grandmother's cutlass from the wall. Age had dulled the blade, but it would make do for what was needed.

Instead of the tired and frightful visage of his brother, Barnabas found no one in Hestrom's room. The bed was in disarray, but not in the way that someone had slept in it. More that it had been raised. "That's...odd," He muttered, sheathing the sword between his bathrobe, "Hestrom would most certainly be asleep right now."

The kobold, who went by Bahralpha, started scouring the bookcase. "There must be some kind of secret passage. These kind of mansions always have them."

"What?" Barnabas said flatly, "I've lived in this house for all my life," He stepped forward, intent on stopping her from tossing away all the books, "And never have I seen any sort of hidden door or," His foot sank into the floor. Gears turned, and the bed slowly rose. Its sheets falling inward as the floor under it split open, revealing a staircase.

"Huh...usually they're behind a bookcase," Blenafee said, leading the way. Barnabas blinked, having never seen any sort of hidden passage in the castle before. Only after Bahralpha followed and the passage started to close did he rush down the steps, letting the entrance shut behind them as darkness took hold.

Thankfully, they could all see in the dark.

"What is this?" the dwarf asked aloud to no one in particular. His hands bracing against the stonework across the walls. Definitely dwarven work, practically like the mines that made most of their current fortunes. But the house wasn't directly connected to the mines. At least, that's what he remembered.

"Well it looks like a secret passage, genius." The kobold silently snapped, pushing a talon to his lips, "And whisper. We don't know how far these halls carry. And don't you dare tell me to treat you with respect because I don't actually work for you."

"I think he gets that, Bahralpha," Blenafee pulled her hand away, looking to the dwarf with sympathy, "It's a whole new world for him. Not everyday does one learn their family is corrupt."

"Corrupt?" Barnabas stifled his voice, "The Tinsmit's are proud and noble...well, nobles. We aren't corrupt."

"Feh," The kobold scoffed, "Every noble is corrupt. The difference is how much their corruption takes them. Even I had a few secret pleasures when in charge of my clan after all."

"You say that as if you don't now."

She blushed at the goblin's comment, "Well...they aren't secret anymore."

Their bickering died down as they reached the bottom and scoured forward. More dwarven tunnels, but they weren't terribly old. Not freshly made, but perhaps only a decade or two of time had passed since their first formation. Hushed whispers echoed from the back halls. The trio crept forward, and Barnabas's ear perked up at the discussion in undercommon, and the familiarity of his brother's voice.

It couldn't be. He dare not believe it, but the dwarf still drew his sword at the discussion of slaves and payment. "My brother...I can't believe he'd do this..." Blenafee rested a comforting hand on his shoulder but said nothing. The poor goblin couldn't think of what to say.

Bahralpha smiled, "Well, I'm sure we have evidence so we can just-"

Barnabas set out, gripping the cutlass so tight his knuckles turned white. "Hestrom!" He shouted, his words bouncing off the walls like a drum. He saw his brother's head turn, eyes wide in shock while the dark skinned elves behind him looked on in confusion. Enraged, he held out his sword, "What have you done?!"

"Barny?" Hestrom waved his hand, stopping the drow from drawing their weapons, "What in the nine hells are you doing down here?"

"I could say the same to you! But evidence has made it clear, except for the why." He lowered his sword, staring toward his brother in disappointment, "Why are you dealing with these drow? Why are their documents talking about slave trading? Brother, what do you need more money for when we have the mines?"

"The mines are all dried out!" His brother snapped, "Save for those which stretch into the underdark, belonging to these fellows behind me. Our family isn't equipped for a ground war against the drow, Barnabas. What would you have me do?"

He froze. Barnabas understood the words from his brother's lips, but belief in them still troubled him. "But...but you're the smart one. Surely you could have figured out a plan or-"

"I did. A trade for access to their mines. People that no one would miss, no one cared for." Hestrom laid out his hand, "Just, put down the sword and listen, little brother. You'll understand this is how our family will survive. Our ancestors would accept it."

"Accept it?" Barnabas's grip grew tighter, "Our great-great grandfather jumped into the abyss to fight off demons! You'd think he'd understand trading in slaves for gold and gems in a mine?"

"You-" A drow in black robes rested her hand on Hestrom's shoulder, "I believe your brother has made his choice." Finger outstretched to Barnabas, an arcane word escaped her lips, with fire erupting toward him. He could feel the heat singe his beard, but the shock of betrayal froze him in place.

The sphere of fire shattered before it touched him. A chilled breeze blew past him as shards of ice hurtled toward the drow. One doged, another saved themselves with an invisible shield, while the third received an icicle in their throat. "Don't just stand there!" Bahralpha yelled, "Either be useful or get out of the way."

He sprawled out on the rocky floor, ducking away from the ensuing arcane battle developing between the fake maids and the drow. Ice, fire, and the strings of a lyre played behind him while he saw Hestrom escaping from the corner of his eye. Gritting his teeth, the dwarf chased after his brother, knowing in his heart of hearts that he couldn't let him escape.

"Hestrom!" He shouted, reaching out with his left hand. His brother's answer came swift and deadly, swinging an axe from his side. "You ruined everything!" The older dwarf struck relentlessly, his ill-trained attacks filled with desperation and anger. Barnabas dodged and parried what he could, but his hope for his brother outweighed his own self-training. "All you had to do was lay around the house and be drunk. I had everything under control."

"Under control?" He pushed against his brother. The two dwarves lost their footing, tumbling through the mines from natural to man made scaffolds, losing their weapons as they struggled to gain a footing. Hestrom's fist slammed against Barnabas, separating them as they found each other on rickety wood. "You're selling people to the drow. How's that under control?"

"We would have gone under otherwise!" He roared, slamming into Barnabas and grabbing a mining pick, hoisting it over his head, "We'd be out on the streets!"

"We'd still be family," Barnabas looked at his brother, seeing the despair, fear, and anger mixing in his eyes. "Brother, please...we can still fix this."

For a brief second, he saw a spark of understanding in his brother's eyes. But the rage returned, and as he swung down, a large snap sounded between them. The scaffolding shattered, from what Barnabas couldn't surmise. Thinking quickly, the dwarf grabbed one of the chains stamped into the wall. His brother couldn't release his pick quick enough, tumbling into the dark abyss. "Hestrom!" He screamed, holding out his hand for his brother, but the sibling's missed each other by a hair.

Not even his darkvision showed him his brother's fate.

***

Paying his respects, Barnabas surveyed the room of his ancestors one last time. He wasn't sure when he'd be seeing them again, but rather than fear, it bore excitement. Picking up his bag, he tipped his hat to the bust of his father, and stepped out the door. Bahralpha and Blenafee were waiting for him, no longer dressed in their maid uniforms but gear suited for travel. "I hope you're ready to pull your own weight," The kobold said, jabbing a finger to his chest, "I don't keep Blenafee around just because he's good in bed."

"Well you haven't had me in bed yet," Barnabas said with a smile. Blenafee chuckled while the kobold rolled her eyes. The dwarf, smiling, patted down the axe hanging from his belt. "But I'll be sure to earn my place amongst you both. Like my forebears did long ago on their own quests."

"You sure?" Blenafee asked, leaning against the dwarf, "Our lives aren't easy. Sometimes we don't even get solid beds." Laughing, Barnabas squeezed the goblin's buttcheeks and said, "If I'm with you, any bed is worth it."