"Aye, it's been only a few months I've been stuck down in the bleedin' deathtrap they call the gunnery deck." The broad smile and glint in Rothgar's eyes belied his complaint. He'd found a home here, a niche that fit him better than any he'd had in the halls of the Stonecrawlers. If he ever managed to find time to return to his research he was sure that breakthroughs would be easy to come by. If nothing else, the availability of obscure components was better than in the largest cities back home. That is, if you could find what you were looking for. Last week he'd found a satchel of voltweed that somebody had stored within a barrel of black powder for some reason. It had taken him the better part of a day to remove the delicate package without it throwing a spark.<br/><br/>He hadn't had much contact with humans in his life. A few mercenaries and missionaries had traveled to his homeland, but little in the way of organized contact. Dwarves traded with dwarves, who traded with other dwarves, until the edge of civilization was met. There they traded with humans. Finnegan wasn't like any human he'd ever met. She had a sense of humor, for one thing.<br/><br/>"I'd thought it too, but couldn't reckon on any single mistake that'd warrant it. And if they're gonna axe me, they could do me the courtesy of not makin' me climb twelve decks ta take delivery of the blade." He tugged on his beard as he thought. It was a stereotype of his kind, but a good one. It moved the blood around the skull, helped make the thoughts run cleaner.<br/><br/>"What about you, missy?" he addressed the other woman. "Any crimes ta confess ta us?"