Lucille didn't hear them. She was staring at the ground with the focus that preceded her wildest ideas, and the ghost healers exchanged a look that said this assignment was going to be significantly more painful than dying for the first time.
Her eyes were on the dwarf's weapon.
A two-handed warhammer.
Blacksteel head.
Heavy enough to crack foundations.
Her eyes lit up like a child's on the morning of a feast.
She bent down and grabbed it with her left hand, and the weight settled into her grip with a rightness that had no business being there.
Two-handed weapon, held in one hand.
Her Strength stat didn't care what the weapon was designed for.
Furthermore...
She hadn't dropped her axe.
Both weapons hung in one hand each, the magma-coated axe in her right and the blacksteel warhammer in her left, and Lucille twirled both in a slow, testing rotation that carved a lazy circle through the air.
Her whole face lit.
