Chapter 152 (Book 4 Chapter 29) (Patreon)

Author's Note:

Welcome back, everyone! Thanks for waiting. The break was good; I got some rest while simultaneously building up my backlog. Schedule should return to normal now...unless I get selected for jury duty on Tuesday. Fingers crossed that I don't.

--

Three Hours Later

"No need to be so dramatic," Elder Alessia stated. "It isn't as bad as it looks."

Rob made a point of staring directly at her crushed, shattered limbs, holding his gaze for a solid five seconds.

"...Just add me to your Party so I can begin the healing process," she sighed. "Regenerating bones from dust can't possibly hurt worse than how I feel at this moment."

Rob added Alessia, then activated Push Through, sharing a portion of its pain-reducing effect with her. As the Elder sighed with relief, Rob turned back towards the Dwarves' temporary liaison, deriving a bit of savage glee over how the Dwarf shifted uncomfortably at being the center of attention. "Your official representative will arrive soon?" Rob asked, in a calm tone.

The liaison blinked. Evidently, she'd been expecting some sort of reprisal, or at the very least a stern talking-to. She needn't have worried – even if Rob was the kind of person to shoot the messenger, he was actually in a pretty great mood. Relatively speaking. While learning that Alessia had been maimed was...not so fun, learning that she was alive far outweighed that. Limbs could be restored. Lives couldn't.

Admittedly, some vengeful part of him had wanted to mete out punishment after first seeing her condition, but he'd already beaten himself to that punch. The person responsible was dead and soon-to-be buried. Fucker should have suffered longer, Rob thought, as he smiled serenely at the Dwarf liaison.

"Your representative," he repeated, "is coming soon. Unless I heard wrong before?"

"Ah, yes. Wait! Um, I mean, no, you did not hear wrong, she will arrive shortly, I promise, please-"

"Neat," Rob interrupted, cutting off her babbling. "Bring some of your scientists, too." He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. "We need to discuss what to do with that."

She nodded, dashing off in a hurry. Rob watched the Dwarf go with an air of bemusement. Honestly, he didn't know why she was so intimidated. Sure, Rob was Level 67, a Human, backed by Level 50+ Party members, allied with the Elven Seneschal, and still had the Stonewarden's dried blood staining his shirt, but was that really reason enough to act so skittish?

...The nuke sitting at the other side of the room probably didn't help matters either.

"Is it wise to set up an encampment here?" Elder Alessia asked, staring at the weapon of mass destruction with well-deserved caution. "If the Dwarves wish to enact their revenge, then you've presented them with an easy means to achieve it."

"The alternative was leaving it unguarded," Rob replied. "Staying here is a bit risky, but the Dwarves won't detonate their nuke when it's this close to Dhalerune. Avenging Grant isn't worth the destruction of an entire city."

Rob had sequestered the nuke's handheld launching mechanism in Spatial Storage, but he didn't buy for a second that it was the only one of its kind. One of Grant's scientists or upper brass likely had a backup stashed somewhere. Without knowledge of the launching mechanism's activation requirements or range limitations, the best Riardin's Rangers could do was sit by the nuke, making sure no one got near it unless absolutely necessary.

Elder Alessia nodded, accepting his answer. "So," she began, pausing briefly. "The Stonewarden is dead."

"As a doornail."

"You don't do things by halves, do you?" Alessia twitched, then winced. Rob got the impression that she'd tried to cross her ruined arms. "As it stands," she continued, with a hint of embarrassment, "we are in a moderately favorable position. The fact that the Dwarves have not sent waves of soldiers at you in an ill-advised attempt at retribution means that they consider Grant's death to be justified. Enlighten me – what transpired during your confrontation with him? The prevailing story I've heard between hushed whispers is that Grant threw himself upon your sword."

A joyless grin crept up Rob's face. "Actually? Yes."

The minutes following Grant's death had been...touch-and-go, to say the least. Even if he'd made some highly questionable decisions near the end of his reign, he was still the Dwarves' beloved Leader, one who'd supported their territory with unwavering dedication for decades. His passing heralded the onset of a new, frightening era of uncertainty. A fight almost broke out then and there, the Dwarves arguing amongst themselves over how to proceed, some calling for Rob's neck while others wished to take the Stonewarden's parting words to heart and strive for a better future.

Rob had – for the thousandth time – found himself missing Diplomacy. They might have been able to salvage things. Instead, Riardin's Rangers and Sylpeiros were forced to watch and wait, aware that offering their perspective would've been like tossing a lit match onto a box of dynamite.

To their surprise, system logic is what finally convinced the Dwarves to stand down. Before killing Grant, Rob had been level 65, fairly close to reaching Level 66. After killing Grant, he only rose to Level 67, even though Grant himself was Level 81. For a Human with Fast Learner, killing an enemy sixteen whole Levels above him should have resulted in more than a mere two Level gain.

Unless he'd never been in any real danger. The system rewarded risk with additional EXP, and it deducted EXP from kills that were served up on a silver platter. Rob's meager Level increase forced the Dwarves to accept that what they'd witnessed with their own eyes was, in fact, true. Grant had purposefully run straight into an outstretched sword.

From the start, he'd intended for his duel against Rob to be his last.

"My world has a term for this kind of situation," Rob said, his grin turning brittle. "We call it 'suicide by cop'. Where someone reeeeally isn't fond of living anymore, but also doesn't want to be the one to off themself. So they attack a person who's armed, put that person into a position where they need to exercise self-defense, and let everything play out to its natural conclusion."

"You believe Grant craved death?"

Rob shrugged. "Sort of? According to him, he just couldn't stop moving forward with The Scouring 2: Electric Boogaloo. I guess he viewed this as his only way to protect Elatra from himself."

Some people might view that mindset as a case of tragic heroism; others, of sinful weakness. Rob didn't give a shit either way. The nature of Grant's character was a subject for bored Dwarven historians to debate. In the end, all that truly mattered was that Fiendland wasn't a radioactive crater.

"I see." Alessia hesitated. "How is 'suicide by cop' viewed on your home world? Your tone indicates that it is considered to be a shameful act."

"Oh yeah. Usually traumatizes whoever the 'cop' is."

"...You can't say that and not expect me to worry," she said, staring him straight in the eyes.

Rob let out a bout of laughter that, even to himself, sounded slightly unhinged. "It's fine," he began. "I'm well past the point of being traumatized over stabbing one dude." He paused. "Do you know how many people, in total, that I'd killed until just recently? I won't make you guess – the answer was 'two'. Two people whose faces I remembered distinctly, especially since they were polite enough to visit me in my nightmares on a regular basis. When I killed them, I felt that weight."

He looked away from Alessia's gaze. "Here's another Earth saying: one death is a tragedy, while one million is a statistic. Truth is, I have no idea how many people I've killed by now. Lost count. Makes the first two barely seem important. They were important, they had their own lives, but I'd feel like a fucking hypocrite if I kept focusing on them after what I did to dozens more today."

Rob ran his hand down his face. "And it wouldn't be fair to single out any of them, anyway. Like, what difference does it make if one of the people I killed happened to be named Grant?"

Or Vevrandi. Whose fate Alessia didn't know about yet.

"Do not disregard your own feelings," Elder Alessia lectured. "Rob, I've witnessed veterans of war – active longer than you have been alive – crumble to pieces because they obsessed over what they believed they should be feeling, rather than what they were. While it is a soldier's right to process the brutality of warfare in any manner that keeps them sane, I refuse to sit idly by and watch as you fall into that very same trap."

"...Thanks," Rob said, quietly. "I'll keep that in mind. Promise." He turned, gesturing to the side. "For now, though, let's focus on helping out the others. If you have any advice, I'd be happy to hear it."

After things died down, Riardin's Rangers had split up into several groups. First there was Keira and Zamira, who were commiserating with each other over their experiences during the invasion. Well, mostly it was Zamira commiserating; she was sporting the emotionless mask she only wore when genuinely upset or anxious. In contrast, Keira seemed largely unfazed, far more concerned with Zamira's emotional state than the Dwarves she'd killed.

Rob didn't want to interrupt their bonding time, but he was worried about how quickly Zamira would be able to bounce back from everything. She'd always been so dedicated to making the world a better place. While stopping the advent of nuclear warfare was an objectively virtuous accomplishment in every capacity, it was probably hard to feel that way when it came at the expense of so many lives.

Vul'to, Meyneth, and Faelynn were in the second group. From what Rob could tell, Vul'to was feeling just as guilty as Zamira, and upon seeing this, Meyneth had tried to ease his woes. Then lingering shame over the Krazan incident reared its ugly head, and she promptly turned into an awkward mess. Faelynn, bless her heart, had attempted to intervene and ameliorate the situation; a classic case of the blind leading the blind. Now the three of them were stuck in a mire of social missteps, sinking ever-deeper, dragged down by protracted silences and averted eyes.

Rob would rather manually disarm the unstable Dwarf-nuke than take a crack at fixing that hot mess.

Seneschal Sylpeiros was alone, sulking in a corner. A more charitable person would describe it as 'contemplating' or 'planning', but Rob knew sulking when he saw it. The Seneschal was clearly suffering from buyer's remorse, no longer certain that siding with Riardin's Rangers was the right call – if he'd ever been certain to begin with.

While Rob would be perfectly content to let Sylpeiros work out his issues on his own, he didn't want it to end up with the Seneschal betraying them for some random reason they couldn't predict. Why can't any of the Elatran Leaders be stable, well-adjusted people? he bemoaned. I mean, I'm one to talk, but still.

Finally, there was Orn'tol and Malika, sleeping soundly. Faced with the weight of taking lives at such an early age, they'd opted for perhaps the most sensible course of anyone in the room: go to bed and let the adults handle things from there.

With them, Rob was torn between envy and gratitude. While he appreciated their trust, he'd barely slept last night, and it was starting to catch up to him.

As he surveyed the room, Elder Alessia followed his gaze, her eyes narrowing. "How curious." she stated. "The moment we began to discuss your condition, you directed my attention towards the rest of the Party."

She sighed. "With that in mind...I understand your concerns, so I will offer what advice I can. For Zamira and Vul'to, give them time. Softhearted as they are, they know what is at stake, and will eventually come to terms with the necessity of their actions. Malika and Orn'tol are, unfortunately, less suited to emotional maturity. They will likely repress today's ordeals, so stay on guard for errant mood swings within the next few days or weeks. As for the Seneschal..."

Their discussion lasted for several minutes, ending when two Dwarves walked into the room. One of them was a Level 32 Combat Class user named Nerasi, while the other appeared to be one of the scientists who'd participated in developing Titan's 'gifts'. The scientist's eyes shifted from left to right as he approached, his hands wringing, as if he was expecting someone to ambush him at any instant. Riardin's Rangers and Seneschal Sylpeiros gathered together – rousing Orn'tol and Malika from their slumber – and greeted the newcomers.

"Fair tidings, Stonekiller," the Combat Class user – Nerasi – said. Her voice sounded thoroughly tired; not from physical exertion, but mental exhaustion. "I have been selected as the Dwarven representative for these proceedings."

Rob waved. "Hey. My name is Rob. It's nice to meet you. Never call me 'Stonekiller' again." He tilted his head. "So you're in charge of these proceedings, but nothing past that? Then who's going to be the new Leader?"

Nerasi grimaced at him. "You truly are from another world, aren't you? Dwarven territory no longer has a Leader. Our highest-leveled Combat Class users are only within the low-40s range. I fear that we'll be lacking a proper successor to Stonewarden Grant for decades, if not centuries."

Message Sent By Party Member: Alessia
Alessia: To clarify, nation Leaders are more than simply the highest-leveled Combat Class user of their race.
Alessia: They need to stand far above their peers, as if perched on the top of a mountain, while their subordinates struggle to climb halfway up.
Alessia: Otherwise, it would be impossible for authority to consolidate unto a single person.

That made sense. Although Rob had never thought too deeply about the subject, Fiend territory also seemed to lack a Leader of its own, instead being shepherded by five Grand Overseers of roughly equal Levels. He didn't know how long that'd been the case, and he wasn't about to ask Faelynn anytime soon; based on Nerasi' reaction, having no Leader was something of an understandable sore spot. It implied martial weakness that could easily be exploited by rival nations.

Or the Blight.

"Gotcha," Rob said, in a placating tone. "Didn't mean to poke at any sore spots. Let's start things off on the right foot – how do you want us to address you?"

"Nerasi is fine."

He nodded. "Then, Nerasi, I'd like you to meet the rest of my Party." Rob introduced his friends one at a time, hoping to ingratiate them with the Dwarves via the wonders of basic common courtesy. It didn't seem to help; by the end of their introductions, Nerasi looked just as done-with-this-shit as when they first began, and the scientist accompanying her appeared no closer to calming his nerves.

"...Well okay then!" Rob finished, clapping his hands once. "Elder Alessia can take over from here. I'll still be free to answer any specific questions you might have for me."

Nerasi raised an eyebrow, glancing at Alessia's mangled form with open skepticism. "She is in charge?"

"Watch it," Rob snapped. "Her injuries were inflicted by your..." he trailed off, preventing himself from saying 'your psycho former boss'. Diplomacy would eventually come back to help untangle this knot, and there was no need to make the Skill's job harder. "Her injuries don't stop her from being the smartest person in the room."

Nerasi said nothing, and to Rob's surprise, neither did Alessia. A few Party Messages popped in Rob's mind, but before he could read them, Seneschal Sylpeiros spoke up.

"The Human gained 12 Levels in the past week," Sylpeiros stated, as if that was an explanation – and apparently, it was, comprehension dawning on Nerasi's expression a moment later. Noticing Rob's confused look, Sylpeiros continued, the Elf's lips twisting into a wry smirk.

"I assume that, in the past, you deferred to Alessia during inter-faction negotiations," he said. "That may have been feasible when you were Level 40, or 50, but you are currently Level 67, a few Levels shy of the Merfolk King and Harpy King. Conversely, Alessia is Level 43. Respectable – when compared to her peers."

Sylpeiros tone turned sour, as if he was speaking under duress. "You, Human, are not her peer. Level 67 marks you as something akin to a Leader in your own right. Everyone, from Diplomats to the common Baker, will regard you as such. You merely have yet to internalize that change due to the accelerated rate at which you've grown, much like a Combat Class user who puts too many newfound stat points into Strength and accidentally tears the next door they open off its hinges."

Keira let out a small, nervous chuckle. "Haha, yeah," she mumbled. "Who would do a foolish thing like that?"

Rob suppressed a snort. "Just because I'm stronger than Alessia doesn't mean I should be in charge."

"You will find no luck in convincing others of that," Sylpeiros said, shaking his head. "They won't believe that you are completely uninterested in seizing control. Plenty of high-leveled Combat Class users have played the part of the 'approachable' demigod – only to rage against whoever was unfortunate enough to misspeak. The safest path for a low-leveled person to take when conversing with a high-leveled person is to offer them absolute deference."

Rob glanced at Nerasi, who was staring at him like he was a strange, alien creature. Absolute deference, my ass. "You guys do realize that this is a shitty way to run things?" he said, exasperated.

"And?" Sylpeiros countered. "Do you expect the common folk to endanger their lives with flippancy? If forced to choose, they would rather risk offending Alessia than you." He sighed. "Lothren preserve, I've never witnessed anyone bellyache so much about gaining influence. Let me state this in no uncertain terms: while no standing body will grant you the title itself, you are, nominally speaking, the Leader of the Deserters – and by proxy, Fiend territory. Learn to live with it."

Message Continued With Party Member: Alessia
Rob: I quit.
Rob: Can already tell this job is going to suck.
Alessia: Worry not. For now, converse with them normally.
Alessia: If there is something I need for you to say, I will send you a Message, and you can repeat it in my stead.
Rob: You mean I'll be your puppet?
Alessia: I wouldn't phrase it in such a demeaning manner of-
Rob: No, that works great. All these people are fucking crazy. Trying to figure out their neuroses on-the-spot is exhausting. For the love of Christ, help me.
Rob: ...Man I miss Diplomacy.
Alessia: As do we all.

As Rob and Elder Alessia conferred with each other, Seneschal Sylpeiros faced towards Nerasi, his tone sharpening. "Stonewarden Grant and I brokered a deal before his demise," he stated.

"As far as I am aware, the Stonewarden mentioned no such thing," Nerasi replied.

"It was done in secret."

"How utterly convenient."

Sylpeiros put on a full smile, close to baring his teeth. "Oh, I am quite confident that Dwarven territory will desire a continuation of Grant's promise. I'll enlighten you once our immediate business here has been concluded."

Nerasi gave him a disaffected half-shrug. "As you wish," she said, seeming almost bored. Rob expected Sylpeiros to get annoyed over her disrespect, but the Seneschal merely nodded, content that his voice would soon be heard.

"I guess it's my turn again," Rob said, addressing Nerasi. "To start with: how are people outside handling things? Like, in general. It's hard for us to tell when we've been cooped up in this workshop for the past few hours."

"Are you referring to the rank-and-file soldiers, or the general populace?"

"Both."

For a brief moment, Nerasi seemed surprised. "Very well," she said, gathering her thoughts. "Our soldiers are conflicted, as you might imagine. The Stonewarden's death does not yet feel real, especially among those who weren't there to witness it. That, combined with our losses in the Blight raid and your rampage, has left our chain of command in disarray. As for the general populace, rumors of Grant's death are just now beginning to circulate."

She raised her eyebrows by a hair. "Once they learn that your Party killed him, the masses will cry out for vengeance. It matters not Grant technically took his own life – your hand held the blade that slew him. In the face of that deed, any faint rumors of your contributions in the Blight raid will be washed away."

Nerasi folded her hands together. "So, in conclusion, between soldiers who idolized the Stonewarden's leadership, and civilians viewed him as a pillar of societal stability, I can assure you that your Party has made no shortage of enemies today."

Rob winced. Maybe they should've taken Grant up on his offer of a celebratory parade – that way, the public would have known more about Riardin's Rangers saving Dhalerune City's ass. Now it was too late; grieving Dwarves looking for someone to blame weren't going to wait patiently in order to hear every side of the story.

"Thanks for the honesty," he said. "Out of curiosity, how do you feel about all this? Are you okay working with us?"

"Yes," Nerasi stated.

Rob paused, then shrugged. "Alrighty, sounds g-"

"Why?" Keira suddenly interjected, her voice full of suspicion. "Most Dwarves would resent our Party."

"Perhaps they would. I don't care."

"How-"

"Stop." Nerasi sighed. "No more. There is only so much emotional turmoil that a person can bear in one day. If you must have an explanation to soothe your paranoia...over one hundred people died when your Party invaded this fortress. Some of them were my friends. One of them was our Leader. They sacrificed themselves, giving up their future, and for...what? To protect the Stonewarden's desire to backstab our benefactors – a desire he seemed to regret, in the end?"

Her mouth contorted into a disgusted grimace. "So fucking pointless. Others may hold vengeance in their hearts, but I've seen what unchecked wrath can lead to. I am more than willing to set aside my enmity if it means we don't have to bury another hundred Dwarves."

Rob didn't fail to notice the subtle barbs in her explanations, but all things considered, it was reasonable. He certainly wouldn't have been 100% chummy with whoever killed his friends.

"I understand," he said. "And I'd like to discuss how we can work together to make things right. Before that, though, the nuke takes precedence. We won't be able to move forward until it's out of the picture."

"Agreed." Nerasi gestured to the Dwarven scientist cowering beside her. "You requested one of the creators of Titan's Fist, correct? His expertise should serve you well."

A quick cast of Identity showed that the man was Level 9 and named Gharvis. As eleven sets of eyes turned their attention on him, he audibly gulped. "H-hello," he said, in a wavering tone.

"Hello to you too," Rob greeted, calling upon his PR-Friendly Smile Training. "We're not here to punish you, so don't worry. I'm sure you were just following Grant's orders."

Gharvis lowered his gaze. He was silent for a few seconds, and when he spoke, his voice was as quiet as a passing breeze. "We did not know what we were making," he said. "In the beginning, at any rate. The Stonewarden simply described it as a more powerful Firebomb, stronger than any before. When we learned how much stronger..."

He covered his face. "Titan preserve, none of this was worth it. If I could turn back time, I'd do so in an instant."

"You can still change the future," Rob consoled. "Starting now. How do we disarm the nuke?"

"We don't know."

There was a pause. "What?"

"You must understand," Gharvis pleaded, "that we were scarcely able to develop a version of Titan's Fist that performs its intended task. Without Titan himself offering guidance at key intervals, and the usage of specialized spells to bridge the gap in our technological ignorance, the 'nuke' would be little more than an inert metal oval. It's a marvel that it functions at all. And due to its precarious nature, any attempt at dismantling it would harbor a significant degree of risk."

Rob's heart sank as some of his pessimistic assumptions were brought to the forefront. "So, just to clarify...how stable is that thing, exactly? Will it blow up if we touch it?"

Gharvis shook his head. "No, no. Of course not." He paused. "However, I wouldn't recommend opening it. Or hitting it. Or using an excess of mana in its vicinity. Or leaving it in stasis for too long. Or-"

"I think we got it," Rob interjected, his head spinning. "Fuck. Okay. After this talk is done, we're moving the rest of our meeting to a location far away from this room. I don't want to leave the nuke unguarded, but if the alternative is staying near a ticking time bomb that might go off if we look at it funny...yeah. Any disagreements?"

There weren't any.

"Swell." Rob took a deep sigh before facing Gharvis again. "You're the expert. What do you recommend?"

Gharvis perked up slightly. "My colleagues and I were discussing this earlier. While disarming Titan's Fist would be a risky endeavor, there is an alternative. To preface, are you aware of how Titan's Fist functions? As in, how it can be possible for a large container of metal and internal components to soar through the sky like it was thrown by a god?"

In truth, Rob hadn't given it much thought. He was too busy worrying about...everything else. Now that Gharvis mentioned it, though, how did the nuke launch? If the Dwarves were running on 1940s-era technology, then they shouldn't have been able to fire the nuke from an extremely long distance, let alone hit their target with any degree of accuracy. He exchanged glances with his Party members, but they were equally clueless.

"You likely haven't noticed," Gharvis continued, "as doing so would have required you to get within close proximity of Titan's Fist. Underneath its base lies a mana-infused runic circle which, in very simplified terms, is comprised of an inverted gravity spell merged with a detection scrying spell."

"That's ridiculous!" Malika blurted out, seeming offended. "I can't make that. Elder Alessia, could you make that?"

"Perhaps in 500 years," Alessia stated, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Gharvis averted his eyes. "It is one of the steps that Titan offered guidance for."

Fucking divine assholes. "So if we nullify the runic circle," Rob said, "the nuke can't launch?"

"We aim to go one step further. By adjusting the circle's targeting spell to point north, Titan's Fast can be harmlessly launched into the open ocean. This method would be much safer than attempting to remove the runic circle outright." A hint of a smirk played across his features. "Who knows? Maybe one of the Great Leviathans will be struck by Titan's Fist and meet its end. I'd consider that a far better legacy than what the weapon was originally intended for."

That...sounded doable. Theoretically. If Gharvis was telling the truth – which was a big 'if'.

Group Message Started By Party Member: Rob
Rob: Everyone okay with this? I'm sensing an inevitable betrayal.
Zamira: Are you sure? He seems willing to make amends.
Meyneth: He may be.
Meyneth: What of the others who created Titan's Fist?
Alessia: It is highly probable that at least one Dwarf amongst their group harbors thoughts of revenge.
Alessia: Yet, we may have no other choice but to accept his proposal.
Alessia: Our options are...limited.
Alessia: That does not mean we trust blindly. The Dwarves shall be searched before entering Grant's workshop to prevent them from smuggling in a launching mechanism.
Alessia: And despite the dangers, one of us will need to stay behind and watch over the Dwarves to ensure that they keep their word.
Keira: I'll do it.
Rob: No, you're not. What if they fuck up while adjusting the runic circle, and the nuke blows up with you standing twenty feet away from it?
Keira: When the alternative is Fiend territory's devastation? I view that as an acceptable risk.
Keira: Danger Sense will allow me to sense if the Dwarves have ill intentions, and they are more likely to obey someone with high Intimidation.
Rob: That's...
Rob: I'm Party Leader, so I should go instead.
Keira: Ah, yes. A truly compelling argument.
Keira: Your concern is appreciated, Rob, but you know I'm right.

"Um," Gharvis muttered. "You've all gone quiet. Did I say something wrong?"

Rob sighed. "No, everything's fine. Your plan sounds good. Let's just...continue this conversation elsewhere. Where it's safe."

If any place in Dhalerune City was safe from a nuclear blast.

As everyone moved to leave, Rob's gaze drifted back towards the nuke. Usually, when his Party formulated a plan of action, he felt better about the future. This time, that relief was absent. Something was going to go wrong. Call it instinct, call it pattern recognition – he knew it in his bones.

"Actually," Rob said, slowly. "I'll be right behind you guys. Want to talk with Gharvis about something first." After a minute of making excuses to his Party and assuring Gharvis that he wasn't going to be 'taken care of', Rob was left alone with the fidgeting Dwarven scientist.

And the nuke. He kept staring at it, transfixed, an idea percolating in his mind.

"You said it was safe to touch the exterior?"

--

Changes, Character Sheet, Skills List 

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