Azander walks over to the miners' bodies and, holding up the lantern, begins poking and prodding with his boot and his rapier, trying to see if they have anything useful on them.
Your meddling disturbs the green worms crawling all over the pile of corpses. Several latch onto the sides of your boots and begin to gnaw on the tough, old leather. You notice that they have rings of tiny teeth. You do notice a sealed envelope protruding from the top pocket of one of the dead miners. Gingerly retrieving the letter, you see that it is addressed to Balabar Smenk.
I apologise for the unconventional manner in which this letter must have been delivered. I hope that we have your full attention. The supplies you have been delivering are unsatisfactory. You have sold us spoiled food and broken tools at outrageous prices and now have the gall to demand further payments to ensure your silence? Should you continue to conduct yourself in this unfortunately bullheaded fashion, we will ensure your silence ourselves. It would be ever so easy for one of our little green friends to find its way into your breakfast.
This is the only warning that you will receive. If I do not observe an immediate improvement in the quality of goods delivered to the Dark Cathedral, I will give the order to terminate our partnership in the most absolute sense of the word.
Yours sincerely;
B.Z
Jack sticks his finger done with throat trying to expel the worm. If that doesn't work, he will beg Arial to intercede with her god again for healing.
Azander swipes the worms from his boots and uses the tip of the rapier to slide the rapier out from the bodies, then reaches down to pick it up, stomping and shaking his legs to shake off the last of the creatures. "Nasty little things, not like what we used to face, back in my day ya had real monsters, tough, big, ugly things, they'd tear your face off or run ya through or eat ya more for spite than hunger, but they didn't try to burrow in an' kill ya from inside out..." He trails off as he opens the letter, muttering about "purple worms" and other creatures that'd put these to shame.
"Huh. More proof that Smenk's up to no good." Azander looks over to Jack and Arial. "Ya wanna keep goin', or ya need ta turn back an' get some help?"
You manage to make yourself sick, but the puddle of bile you produce is conspicuously worm free.
You have reached a dead end. It looks as though this is the extent of the mine's expansion before the miners were infected with these foul worms. A quick investigation reveals the other tunnel mouths that you passed on your way to this point also lead nowhere of interest.
Following an impulse from Sehanine, Arial takes a knife and cuts Jack where the worm burrowed in, catching the wriggling thing with the point of the blade and flicking it out. (hopefully)
Assuming Arial isn't successful, Jack will beg the others to leave the mine and take him to the best healer in town.
"Sorry about, you know, stabbing you a little bit," Arial says to Jack.
Jack does a happy dance as the last of the worms are destroyed. He pulls out 3 slightly crushed strawberry tarts and hands one each to his friends before consuming one himself.
"So I guess the worms are the thing that we're supposed to put into the container and take back to Mister Cranky."
"Mister Cranky, huh? I like that name, yeah, it's a good name for that rat-faced weasel spawned from an orc." Azander unscrews the container and flicks some worms into with his sword. After a moment's thought, he also slices off some flesh from one of the bodies and puts it in the container along with them. "Right. Let's take this on back to Mister Cranky, eh?" He chuckles a raspy laugh and blows a cloud of smoke out.
Having cleared the mine of worm-infested miners, the ride back up to the surface is without further incident. From the position of the sun, you deem it to be barely noon. You are escorted inside by a different pair of goons to the two you encountered yesterday. How many interchangeable thugs does the mine manager have on retainer? Smenk is waiting for you in his library. As well as his usual contingent of attentive bodyguards, he is accompanied by a tall, gaunt fellow with bright eyes gleaming from within bruised sockets. This man is wearing a rough apron smeared with blood, which he absently wipes his gloved hands on now and again. His hair is oiled back and his beard is neatly trimmed.
"Ah, back so soon?" Smenk welcomes you, chomping on a fresh cigar.
"I assume that your oily friend is from the Dark Cathedral. Are you going to introduce us?"
"I'm afraid I have no idea what you are talking about." Smenk replies, "This is my good friend Nicolas Filge, recently arrived from the Free City. Nicolas is an alchemist and has agreed to help cure the affliction affecting my staff."
You notice a travelling case rests against the stranger's chair. It is made of black leather and resembles a doctor's bag, the contents causing the sides to bulge slightly. The gloved man rises and bows awkwardly.
"It is my pleasure to meet you all." Filge says, diplomatically ignoring Jack's coment on the condition of his hair, "Any friends of Balabar are friends of mine."
Introductions complete, the man's too-bright eyes wander towards the container that Azander carries.
"Is that what I think it is? Have you managed to acquire a live specimen?"
Azander frowns and drags on his cigar as he sets the container down. "Well then, Filgey, not sure whether we'd be friends or not, seein' as Smenk an' I ain't exactly cordial. But I'm thinkin' I might have what you're talkin' about, although it ain't like what I've seen in the past, nothin' like what ya got in the old days, back then ya didn't have stuff burrowin' inta your skin or summat, ya know how it is--ah, course ya don't, too young. Well, here ya go."