I needed to spend too much time figuring out how the story will go. But at least I have!
Turns out there was no point: none of the halflings wanted to touch a single artifact in the site. “We’re just here to build a landing strip,” he told me. “We ain’t about to go screw around with magic crap.”
“Good,” I told him. “There’s bad sorcery down there. The kind that makes you queasy after a while.”
“That’s just sorcery, Prof. Nasty crap, all around. If it was up to me, it’d stay down there, too.”
That puzzled me. “So why are you helping dig it up?”
“Why do you think, dude? Cash.” Jim kicked at a loose clod of dirt, as if he wanted to cover up the hole to below with it. “The Whisper Council figures we can sell magical crap by the wagonload up north, and you’ll pay good money for it, too. Newhome can use it too, you feel me? We ain’t like those assholes up in the Protectorate, making boots and wands for the War.” Jim snorted, and lit another cigarette. “Ha! The way things are going, there won’t be no War soon. It’ll suck to be them, then.”