“Let tha’ new guy get it.”

Those were not the words that Preston wanted to hear, at all. The young merchant saw a dozen eyes turn to him at once, expectation lingering heavy in the air. He sheepishly chuckled, quietly, as his bright blue eyes flit back and forth to his traveling companions. Up until that exact moment the dwarves had been as carefree as the human was, but the tone had become much more somber. Preston licked his lips nervously and nodded.

After a week of travel the small group had found their way back to the dwarves’ home, in the Windlancer Mountain range on the Northern part of Scara Brae. Preston, a young merchant from a family of merchants in Radasanth, had become somewhat of a traveling salesman, procurer of goods and wares, as well as an adventurer. The small island nation was a great place to build a profitable base from which to expand, and he had met many interesting characters since arriving. The dwarven troop was amongst the latest to take him in and show him a new way of doing business - hands on.

“Are you sure about that? I don’t know that it is the best idea…” he half suggested, half pleaded. Radur’s grin was almost sinister in the low light of the rocky tunnel, the light of the lanterns casting his features in a dull orange glow. “Oh, come on. Why should I do it?”

Radur crossed his meaty arms at his chest, the tip of his thick black beard just touching them as he took a wide stance. Preston had been impressed with his overall strength on the travels, able to lift and carry far more than he would have thought. Likewise, his party of family members had all shown their aptitude for strength and drink alike. It was Radur’s jovial nature and keen sense of trade that had made him most amenable though. But, just inside the caves of their mountain home, Preston was seeing a different side of the man and his team.

“Ya wanna learn, don’cha?” He responded with a grunt. “Ya wanna get tha ore from these hills, yer gonna have ta earn it.”

The other dwarves weighed in with hushed cheers and nods of agreement. Preston closed his eyes, pursed his lips, and nodded. He wanted the ore contract more than anything, as he had already found a good smithy who could work masterpieces. The raw materials were required though to do so, and Radur had those aplenty.

“Well, what do I have to do?”

The dwarf unfolded his arms and beckoned the young man forward. Preston made his way to the head of the group with the leader and leaned down to be level with him. “You have to move carefully, because if you aren’t careful…” his words drifted off as he shook his head and clicked his tongue. “‘Ere take these.”

Preston took a pair of long, thin tongs. They were similar to the kind that he had seen blacksmiths use, but far more delicate despite the thick layer of soot and grime on them. He nodded and waited for the next instructions. “Then ya carefully, gently, reach in and pluck it out.”

Easier said than done. He thought as he looked over the lip of the rock down into a small, narrow channel running the length of the passage walls. At first he had thought them to be drainage lines, or something similar, but the thought was ignored as ludicrous. Instead, he had found the real purpose. Carefully, he ever so slowly reached with the tongs and with a feathers touch pinched them down.

“Oh, it’s so gross!” Preston called out as the tongs secured his prize. At the end of them was a seven inch long, gray worm-like creature. It was as wide as the dwarf’s arm, and ridged with what looked like a chitinous shell with small spikes. One of the strangest creatures he had ever seen, Preston quickly tried to discern what to do next. He could not tell which side was the front and which was the back, but knew immediately it was not happy.

The thick grub started to inflate and deflate, as if attempting to intimidate a predator. Preston moved quickly to lift it so he could secure it safely.

The grub reacted further by remaining inflated and pushing against the tongs. As it did so, streaks of deep blue began to pulse along its surface like lightning flashes.

“Move, move,” Preston said as he tried to stumble back to where he had started in line. Back to the container he needed to put the creature in. The dwarves laughed as they darted out of the way. “Open it!”

One of Radur’s brothers, Nildar, quickly tossed the top off the deep wicker basket and jumped out of the way. Preston reached the lip of the basket just as the grub reached its final response to predation - spewing a sticky mess of fosforescent goo onto the young man that had one of the most disgusting smells he had ever experienced. It was a mix of a mid-day summer in lower Radasanth when there had been no rain to clean the filth from the streets, old fish innards at the docks that hadn’t been cleaned in a week, and a bag of manure.

Less than gingerly, Preston dropped the grub into the basket and in turn the tongs to the ground. Behind him, the dwarves were roaring with laughter, back to their old selves again. Feigning anger, he turned around with his arms in the air, avoiding the gunk on his shirt and pretending not to breathe. “Thanks for that.”

“Ya held the wrong en’ t’wards yerself!”