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The massive chamber was barely lit as you stood shoulder to shoulder in a mostly disorganized mob of guns and swords for hire. A brief look around the dim light indicated that maybe half the maniacs, crazies, and stupid people of noble intent were down here with guns cocked and adrenaline running high ready to face down the mutant menace with more fury and fire than maybe accuracy and good sense. Maybe you're one of those. Maybe not.
The chamber itself was the base camp for miners who abndoned their work a scant two days ago as the first of them fell before blood sucking mutants that attacked them as they were trying to carve out the room that would act as a local shrine to Torag. Ironic really since once the shrine was completed it would have been a fortress in miniature all by itself.
With the shield marshal's spread thin as it is a call was put out to any available fighter willing to earn some gold and ensure the mining continues smoothly. Once you arrived you gave your names up to a mousy dwarven girl clerk who carefully wrote down each name (a truly monumental task since many did not even now how to spell there own name). After a brief hour of waiting and getting a chance at a large keg of some rather watered down beer you were beckoned to draw from a jug was passed around for you to draw a simple wooden coin from the jug. Yours is colored Red. The understanding is whoever is in charge of this little bit of mayhem wants to increase safety by dividing everyone into teams. Of course the system is imperfect as friends are already gathering to trade away wooden coins to ensure they stick together. Fair enough really.
As groups start to divide, greetings exchanged, and conversations are made a broad shouldered dwarf stands up on a crate his breastplate gleaming in the dim torch light. His weaponry and badge of office mark him as a High Shieldmarshal among the best of the best of the shield marshals ranking only beneath the Ironmaster in terms of influence held.
His red beard is tied in a single braid and descends to just below his waistline where upon his belt is holstered a pair of Orc Choppers big monstrous revolvers said to be able to decapitate an orc. Just the right kind of weapon to blow big holes in bloodthirsty mutants. Granted if that didn't do the job than the big axe on his back would finish the job nicely.
"Alright listen up! My name is Kragger Flinthammer! That's Highmarshal Flinthammer to you! And ahm the organizer of this little mutant hunt! It seems over in our little housing project we got ourselves a bit of trouble. Something got into the tunnels an we don know how nor why since it was sposed ta be solid rock between here and the surface. That being said yer job is easy. Every mutant head ya bring back ya get five gold pieces t'yer group! If you find out where they're comin in from that's two thousand gold pieces t'yer group! One last thing! I lost a man down there a while ago. Ya find 'im, dead 'r alive and bring back proof you can expect a bonus on top of what ya already earned! Now get to it! Happy huntin!"
The crowd cheers and in the back of your mind you can't help but get the feeling of a pack of wild dogs being set loose.
Vance didn't say anything. He wasn't much of a talker most times, and at the moment he was aiming to prove himself. He simply nodded smartly to the Highmarshal and turned to get started. He figured he'd get to know his group once they were down in the tunnels.
Covered head to toe with his sand-colored walking robes, only his brown eyes visible framed by a bit of flesh and coarse fabric, Mumbar stared at the red coin in his hand. He was very thankful with all this talk of mutant hunting that, today, he awoke with normal coloring, for a human anyway. Holding the coin in a closed grip, he wandered through the crowd, eyes down ears open seeking for fellow red coin holders before things started to change. As it was, despite the stillness of the cavern, his wavering robes were being plucked clean of traveling dust. Please let it be all that happens...Focus! A whispered mantra escapes from underneath his burlap veil scarf. "Red coin. Brown clothes."
The red coin holders were not proclaiming themselves, calling for assembly. Couldn't blame them. The din in the cavern echo'd enough with the banter and bragging of already spent rewards. There go the group of "Blue" coin, rushing downward. Young, brash and well known to each other. The early vulture gets the freshest morsels. Ah, the yellow coins mulling behind them. A gang of sorts, reminds me of a pack of hyenas. Stay away from them. Ah, lets wander by the loner watching the crowd thin out at the entrance.
Catching a glimpse of color being fingered by the human male,"Red?" Holding up the reddish coin, Mumbar stands alongside and watches the crowd disperse into the mine like water spilt on sand. He does not break the silence any further. Pocketing the wooden coin, he continues to categorize the participants into prey or predator.
A man in a ragged Gunmarshal's uniform holds his red coin out so that anyone who looks can easily spot it. Over hearing the robe clad half-orc he limps over towards him, using his battered rifle with a bayonet permanently affixed as a cane.
"Red. Didn't think we'd have to deal with any damned Highmarshals or I wouldn't have come. Pretentious bastards the lot of 'em."
"Think what you want. They're the one's standing between the wastelanders and everyone else. They're also the ones calling the shots on this job." the lanky man at the front of the line said over his shoulder.
"Gunmarshals stand between Alkenstar and its enemies. Highmarshals just stand there waving their fancy swords. Granted, I haven't seen one since the storms started. Maybe things 've changed, but I doubt it."
"I didn't see any fancy swords."
"Well of course not, he's a dwarf. He's got that fancy ax instead". Kobad points at the ax on the man's back.
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"Think what you want. They're the one's standing between the wastelanders and everyone else. They're also the ones calling the shots on this job." the lanky man at the front of the line said over his shoulder.
A barely visible flinch, a tic of the eye and flexing his grip on the 8-foot spear, "I, politely, disagree. Sword, axe or gun they exist to exert the will of whomever carries the biggest stick. And here is a wonderful opportunity to three things at once. Killing the mutants," This said with a particular vehemence, "And any survivors are potential recruits or too busy nursing their wounds to be a problem. And right now, they are bleeding off the troublemakers, ambitious noisemakers and the desperate. Much easier to keep order if all you have is sheep for a population."
Shoulders slumping after that diatribe, then straightening up with a shifting of his balance, "We will enter last."
A rather plain garundi woman, more pretty than beautiful, looks out from under a dusty hood, her ragged clothing contrasting the soft look of her skin. With her red coin spinning between her fingers, she approaches the group. A faint smile twitches the corners of her mouth as she examines the gathered men.
Hmmm, nobody here I know, which is probably a good thing. They don't necessarily look like rapists, for whatever that is worth. Two anarchists and a mercenary maybe? The one in dun is scared though, so maybe he's taken a step beyond plotting and is now wanted by the marshals. Everyone saw the pulls though, and they were random sure enough. God's help me that I have enough witnesses to that.
Opening a belt pouch, she drops the coin inside amongst others of it's kind with mixed colors. Adopting a determined countenance, she meets your gaze, holding it for a few long seconds.
"Greetings. My name is Ashara. Not Ashara bin something or another, not Ashara, Who will pass on her share or even Ashara, Who won't shoot a rapist on his first pass. Hopefully we can earn some gold together but I tell you now that no man can see my draw and every potential rapist is a larger share for the rest of us. If you protect my behind instead of spending all your time watching it, we can all come out of this healthy, wealthy and wise."
Pointless no doubt. Every criminal and lowlife seems okay at the start. I wonder how many of these I'll bury by day's end. Here's hoping they don't already know each other so maybe I only need to shoot one and not all three."
*blink* Mumbar's eyes crinkle a little or squint. Details are lost in this dim light.
"Ashara." A nod greets you then he returns to observing the competition. No. Not competition. That implies morality. No such thing as morality when survival and greed are priorities. Just like the desert only without lights.
"We wait. Until all have entered. The sounds of combat will draw everyone in like a oasis. Then we follow the vultures."
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You wait for the rest to descend into the darkness and as the room clears Marshal Flinthammer is sitting on the barrel he was standing on before with a mug of ale in hand watching you.
"Dem mutants aren't goin ta die of starvation ya best get movin."
So, as one big happy family you descend the depths choosing not to follow the others especially as some you've caught up to give you some steely eyed glares obviously finding the idea of vultures at their backs most unwelcome.
That all of you are relatively strange looking certainly doesn't help. Vance's construct companion, Rani's patchy dry skin (a chunk fell off the back of his neck and rolled down his backpack to hit the ground. It was not a small piece.), then of course there's the half orc who smells differently every time you get near him and you can't help but notice that things change around him. Colors, lights, even minute sounds like circkets chirping in the distance can be heard. A tiny comet arches over his head as you head down the tunnel adn fades to nothingness as it descends below his ears.
You soon find yourselves leaving the comfort of the already carved out rooms and passages and enter the "new" tunnels.
The ongoing tunneling project has been a marvel of reckless design, speedy digging, and immense grumblings about cost. But the necessity is undeniable. Every day either a spelstorm manages to catch someone unawares on the surface or worse a mutant spawned by the storm manages to take a victim or ten before being brought down in a hail of panicked gunfire. Up until a few years ago the idea of dwarves digging tunnels out for human habitation would have been laughed at but the rising of the storms and the waves of mutants have turned the ludicrous into necessary survival.
What light sources are you bringing if any? The area down here is pitch black. Dwarves rarely need light to mine unless its to discern color.
Marching order?
Any preparations you would make before descending?
He is wearing full hide armor underneath his robes. He sees adequately in the mines with or without lights.
I'll post IC tomorrow.
The lanky man's expression doesn't change much during Ashara's colorful introduction. He just tips his hat and says "Vance." then turns back to the march.
Rani casually rubs at where the patch of skin fell off. He doesn't seem concerned, this clearly isn't a strange occurrence for him.
"I'll bring up the rear. Don't suppose anyone's got a light?"
"I'll bring up the rear. Don't suppose anyone's got a light?"
Ashara joins the group as the third in line. Her rifle is on her back to keep her hands free.
"I do not have a light as my rifle takes both hands. If one of the others doesn't have one, perhaps we can grab that one over there." She points to one of the numerous lights illuminating this large room.
Mumbar has the right of it. Rather than have four different discussion threads that rarely see use I just straight up have one for everything. Makes thing seasier and allows me to only need to make one post when I need to make an important announcement.
I'll have a proper update sometime tommorrow when I hope the hurting stops and I can breathe.
And by tommorrow I meant tuesday sorry bout that.
Also: about that lightsource?
Following the winding tunnels with the least amount of noise you find yourselves at the entrance of a cavern labeled "Chapel and Hospital" in both dwarven and common. The smell of blood and death is thick here by these tunnels and eerily quiet. The darkness is an encroaching thing constantly clawing and ripping at the edge of your vision. PErhaps a dwarf might be comfortable working in these dark tunnels but for men and women used to the comforting warmth of the desert sun such security is far away behind thick stone walls. Knowing that man eating predators are trapped in here with you only adds to your state of wary alertness.
The sandstone walls here are smooth and reinforced covered over with a thick white plaster to help keep the walls from corroding. Going a little deeper the tunnel branches off in three directions; Straight ahead, Left, and Straight/Right (or Northeast if looking at it on a compass).
Making out the barely legible words in the dark, Mumbar mouths the words as he traces the letters. In common, "Hospital might have more light sources." A whiff of offal lingers about Mumbar and the finely carved entrance sign looks like a chipped marred surface after he is done with his phonetic exercise.
Indicating with his spear, "Vote Left."
Ashara holds the torch in her right hand, it's flame off to one side and slightly above her head. [b]"Left's as good as any."[b] Indicating that he should lead, she steps up to second in line.
With a snap of his fingers Rani lights up a torch of his own, figuring he can always drop it when it comes time to fight.
"Never said I didn't have a torch, I just can't stab anyone while I'm holding one.
Rani silently observes his companions when they reach the branching paths. After Ashara and Mumbar speak, he weighs in.
"Might as well be left then"
Vance takes a few moments to light a torch off of one of the others to give them an additional light source and moves to the left with the others.
The leftmost tunnel is surprisingly comfy if not necessarily roomy for the human shaped group. The walls here smell faintly of the thin ammonia of drying plaster. Canvas sheets cover the walls doubtless to allow the workers to continue doing what they do without accidently ruining the thin sheen of plaster that would undoubtedly annoy some person or another not wishing to look at bare sandstone. Or to keep it from being corroded. Depending on who you ask.
The curtains give an eerie feeling to the tunnels and only cease briefly in areas where they have been cut out and a dark charcoal outline has been pressed into sandstone to form a large rectangle with the dwarven rune for "entrance" written on bare sandstone. You pass by two of these.
Merely 5 feet in and another tunnel branches off perpendicular to the right. A door frame hsa been installed here no doubt ready to close off this portion of the tunnels for some reason or another. Continuing on about 50 feet the tunnel terminates into a T-junction.
Willing for silence or perhaps Mumbar successfully filters out the localized distraction, he manages to pick out a distant detail.
That whiff of offal? It has graduated into a full-blown stench. Mumbar faces the group, points to his ears, then to the left. Mimicking scratching the wall and again pointing to the left. Pointing the spear to the left of the T-Juncture, he steps into the corridor. Assuming they follow.
Ashara follows.
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Progressing down the left corridor once more it turns abruptly after about twenty feet and transfrosm into a much rougher tunnel mind through the sandstone.
The pick marks on the walls are easy to make out and the floor is still unswept of the dust and sand left over from the work. At the end of this tunnel you come across the source of the scratching noise. A dwarf lies dead here. OR at least it might have been a dwarf. It's clothes are ragged and torn and the body appears to ahve been completely dessicated. Oddly though the skin does not appear to be specifically mummified merely absent of water. The eye are hollow sockets there darkness impenetrable by the torchlight save when you get close.
The scratching appears to be coming loudly from within the body.
Spear advancing until the tip is about a foot away, in the torch light he could see this was an unusual death and not some version of undead. This was different. He studies a bit longer, something not moving in time with the flickering torch.
Hand splayed outward, the half-orc muscles slowly backward, forcing the others to retreat with him. Steadily backing off until the dessicated dwarf is once again in shadow. "There is something, multiple somethings inhabiting that dwarven husk. Recommend burn now, investigate after."
"Good call."
Ashara hands her torch to Mumbar and draws her rifle. "Better burnt than in me. You will do the honors?"
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As one of you ignites the body with a trch the scratching crescendos and the whole body convulses as hundreds of thousands of tiny brown insects flee the body. As a precaution you burn as many as possible when they try to flee from your flame. As the work is done the body wrenches up suddenly arm raised and lets out a single terrible scream before falling once more on the ground and collapsing into ash.
After a brief moment the ashes smell of cinnamon and take on the color of a wet jungle evening.
Lurching back in surprise, Ashara asks, "What in the Nine Hells were those things? If there are more about, I'll regret bringing the rifle and not a shotgun!"
Mumbar gives Ashara a dead-eye stare, then simply shrugs as he accepts the proffered torch. Tying the torch to the steel blade of his spear, he deftly touches the Dwarf's clothes, igniting the husk in a couple of places. Sweeping the floor and wall wherever the bugs crawl out to congregate, he eventually works his way down to individual critters.
All is done, but then the body animates with a scream. "Aie! Undead!" He fully stabs the torch into the remaining husk as it turns to ash.
Untying the torch/spear combo and brushing off the burnt carapaces, he takes the moment to study the bugs, using his spear one-handed as he spreads the ashes looking for surviving bugs and whatever could've made that noise.
"Useful tool, this torch is." Satisfied with his inspection for the critters, the dwarf his eyes and ears perk towards the dark.
Vance can't help but chuckle at the gruff half-orc's scream, but nods when it is over.
"Well done."
Mumbar finds nothing of interest among the ash. PErhaps whatever toosls and personal effects the dwarf had were abnadoned before it ended up in this dead end corridor.
The bugs looked to be common cockroaches. Though in the wastes "common" can be very strange indeed. A few flew off and disappeared into cracks and under discarded stones but enough were burnt that it may be some time at least before an appropriately large swarm can build up to be a threat.
Ashara is ready to move forward and indicates such to Mumbar.
He finally takes note of the canvas covering the walls. Are these still present?
Handing back the torch to those behind him. Mumbar continues his advance down the roughly hewn tunnel. The spear point weaving a complex pattern in tune with his gait and shifting eyes. Stealth is a luxury he never had and that scream didn't help either. Instead of skulking, Mumbar walked right down the middle, assuring he was backlit by the torchlight. Although his broad-shouldered robed mass is not enough to fill up the tunnel, it was not for lack of trying.
The tunnel abruptly ends just past the corpse. Obvious pick marks in the wall indicate that this tunnel was not yet finished.
Putting explored map up in campaign description above. Please tell me where you want to go next. Also did we lose Rani?
"No way that's it." Vance scoffs.