<b>[Bjorntheim]</b><br/><br/>The alarm's unseen, unheard, and unheeded flashing and beeping ceased as a rangy figure gradually materialized in the capsule. Horgar's words climbed the scaffolding to reach her; she shook her head amusedly, then clambered down pipes and ropes to where he conversed with himself. There, the young and lean-framed Dvergar woman reached a pale hand out to touch his shoulder -- unassuming, meant to greet rather than startle -- and, grinning at his back, remarked,<span style="color: magenta">"But not all us girls are dazzled by jewels like that, old man,"</span>in tones rich with affection.<br/><br/>Eira Areksdottir occasionally joked that their first meeting had been the hand of Fate, but if she was honest with herself she'd admit that it had been pure happenstance. On a journey between two remote villages she'd heard mechanical grinding and then an explosion from behind a rise, and upon investigating discovered Hogar hurt amid the wreckage of one of his inventions, with dawn -- the sun's touch lethal to their race -- fast approaching. However isolated from her people she may have felt, she wasn't about to leave another Dvergar to die like that, so patched up his injuries as best she could and sheltered him from daylight, and the dangers of the road, until he recovered enough to travel back belowground. She'd assured him it wasn't necessary, but he'd insisted on rewarding her with the teleportation device and a standing invitation to his home.<br/><br/>Since then, she'd been an infrequent visitor. Given her self-imposed exile she'd never been entirely comfortable simply<i>appearing</i>in the middle of a Dvergar city, but Horgar refused to pry into whatever haunted her, and as time passed she found herself increasing grateful for the gruff but brilliant engineer's occasional company. Whenever she felt like she'd lost her ability to smile or laugh, she could come here, and talk with one of her own kind. Now, between paying jobs, she'd arrived to renew their friendship.<br/><br/><span style="color: magenta">"On the other hand,"</span>Eira went on, wrinkling her nose at the slab of iron in Horgar's gnarled hands,<span style="color: magenta">"that <i>could</i> use some sprucing up. Passers-by ought to see the Stronghammer name up in bright lights and sparkles, so they know where to come to see their wildest imaginings made real."</span>Years away from her family hadn't entirely scrubbed the highborn cadences from her speech, but there was no mistaking her good-natured teasing.<span style="color: magenta">"I'll just, when I come to visit, have to hide in the cellar 'til they leave. You do have ale down there, don't you? And a good whetstone?"</span><div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>