Underdeep Slums
"Remember, Mason. We are a simple half-giant. Nothing more, nothing less. No sudden movements. No surprises. No-"
"I think he knows what he's doing, Garth."
In the stone-paved streets, beneath the dim red glow of the city's lights, something walked freely among the dwarves of Underdeep. A cloaked giant, standing many heads above the dwarves passing by. Some looked at the hooded figure, gawking. Most everyone else paid it no mind, for either stranger things they'd seen before trumped the sight...
Or they were just too busy to care.
"We've never been in such a crowded place before. I just want to be extra cautious."
"Then be quiet and let him find out where we're going!"
"Fine, fine... Mason, where to?"
The giant reared its head back and looked upward past the ramshackle buildings and jutting rock formations. It looked past its mask hewn from pale bone plates and laid its eyes on the most present and forward sight - the very large, very dark tower looming in the distance, in the center of Underdeep.
"There." Mason said, raising his very large arm and pointing one of his meaty fingers at the tower. His cloak was lifted a little, revealing the white porcelain mask fastened to his abdomen, if only for a brief moment.
"Down, down!" Garth said in a hush but urgent voice, "Arm down!"
Mason quickly did as told and turned his head, looking to see if anyone noticed his... "lower third". A few glances, but they didn't seem at all alarmed. The one behind the porcelain mask, the brother Garth, peered between the tears in the cloak, towards their new destination - the tower. That's where they were meant to go, as it seemed.
"Oh, this will be fun!" The third brother, Ferdinand, quietly announced whilst buried under the rags of the cloak. He was hunched over a bit so as to give Mason a more centered appearance, therefore muffling his own voice some.
"Yes, but if something nasty happens... just remember who's idea this was."
"Hmm..." Mason said in place of any excuse or reason. Garth and Ferdinand both knew very well why he wanted them to come here.
He wanted to help.
Two days prior...
...
"Sounds like they could really use the help, though." Said one of the men by the fire.
"I guess..." Said the other, "But if they're so down on their luck that they need to ask for our help, then it's nothing good. And I don't want any part of it."
"So you're not gonna answer the summons?"
"Nah." The man said, crumpling the paper. "Dwarves ain't worth our time." He raised the crumpled paper in his hand, ready to toss it into the fire.
"Stop!"
The man dropped the paper as a voice rang out from the darkness surrounding them. As the paper rolled onto the dirt, the two men rose from their seated positions and drew their weapons. They scanned the area around them for any signs of hostile life, peering into the night air past the small ledges they'd been using for shelter. An audible thud sounded away from their campsite, and they turned to face its source. One of the men grabbed an unlit torch near their pile of belongings and set it with the fire, raising it towards the darkness.
"Who's there?" He called out. And in response, out of the darkness their visitor emerged.
It stood heads above them, like an orc, or a half-giant. The glow of the torch revealed first a simple porcelain mask, with two open eyes and seemingly nothing hidden behind them. Above that musk were two more - one of bone that seemed oddly curious, and one of gold that seemed decadently cheerful.
All three of those masks, and the heads that bore them, were attached to the same gray-skinned, grotesque, scar-ridden body.
The man with the torch raised his arms and announced, "Get back, monster!"
The "monster" did not listen. It simply stepped forward and, with one lumbering arm wielded by the one with the bone mask, reached for the crumpled paper lying on the ground.
"I said get back!" The man said again, waving the torch forward and causing the hand to rear back.
"I just want the paper." A deep but soft-spoken voice said behind the bone mask. He reached for the paper again, but the man swiped at the creature's enormous arm with his short sword. It left a scratch, but no visible wound. Like the arm itself was just a big callous. The man noticed the string of red beads fastened around the wrist. He didn't bother to wonder what they were for.
The creature quickly pinched the paper between two of his thick fingers and grabbed it. The man let out a yell and charged forth, sword and torch both raised, but he was quickly subdued. The full blunt force of the creature's arm smacked the man's face and sent him into the dirt with a twirl. It certainly wasn't fatal, and it wasn't meant to be. But one thing was for sure - he was out for the rest of the night.
"We'll need that torch to read it." A weak yet gravely voice said behind the porcelain mask.
The other man watched in blatant fear as the creature knelt down and, with its other, smaller arm, picked up the still-lit torch. He raised it up to his golden, smiling mask, and with his other arm - he appeared to have two of the same orientation - pointed at the unconscious man.
"When he wakes up..." The golden-masked head of the creature said with a kind, professional voice, "Please tell him we're very sorry."
And with that, the three-headed creature turned away and walked back into the darkness. The glow of their newly acquired torch slowly faded as the man tended to his unconscious companion, though thankfully, he had nothing but a bruise on his face from the creature's wrist beads.
...
"So you really want to go there?" Garth asked.
"Yes." Mason replied, "I want to help them."
"Fine."
That was all Mason ever wanted. To help people.
The way he saw it, maybe if the brothers helped enough people, they wouldn't think so badly of the three of them at first glance, and they wouldn't have to wear that ragged cloak in public anymore. Maybe they'd start to make some friends. But that was what Mason wanted, not so much Garth and Ferdinand.
They arrived at the entrance to the tower after many, many straights and turns in the city slums. They stood before the open gates, still disguised (as applicable as the word could be to them) as a cloaked, hooded half-giant.
"If anyone's in there, we don't talk to them." Garth whispered, slowly taking the trio inside. "If they talk to us... Mason, just do your best to get them to go away. Give them the usual story."
"Burns?" Mason asked.
"Exactly."
They entered the Mustering Hall, as the note with the map to Underdeep described. They looked around at the high walls and scattered tables. For the most part, it was vacant, save for a few dwarves sitting in relative silence, waiting for something. They eyed the new arrivals... well, one arrival from their perspective, and seemingly paid them no mind, much to the brothers' fortune.
Garth carried the trio over to the wall farthest from the seated dwarves and, between two torches hung along the gray stone beside them, seated himself against it.
"And now..." Garth whispered one more time.
"We wait."