Colin accepted his pack with initial enthusiasm, half hoping for some demolition tools. He was less enthused at being the air quality monitor but whatever, it beat having to pound or shift rocks. His hearing was slowly coming back so he thought he got the jist of the instructions, but the pound of white powder stumped him. He sniffed it, prodded it, crumbled a tiny portion between thumb and finger before licking his fingers. Rather puzzled he asked, "What's this for? I take it I'm not baking any cakes. I suppose it could neutralize acid in a pinch, wait! Is there something we should know?"
Once dressed for the day, Raka practically bounces out of the makeshift dormitory. She is, undeniably, a morning person. She reaches down and pokes Brimble good-naturedly as they stand in line for breakfast. The height difference between the two workers couldn't be more stark, making for quite an odd pair. "Stay out of trouble last night?" she asks with a grin.
Like most reptiles, Brimble is physically a bit sluggish in the morning. His mind, however, is not. He returns Raka’s smile and pitches his answer to carry to the people around them. ”Well, I had all sorts of naughty and romantical dreams ‘bout each of the beautiful ladies on this shift. But as my dream self took to wearing boots and a safety vest, no GMC policies were violated. So, I suppose I didn’t get into trouble last night.” Brimble didn’t actually recall his dreams. But morale was important and it cost him nothing to try to make a few coworkers start their day with a smile… because after ten hours of sweating in the mine, they’d be too tired to grin.
The halfling that Brimble had shared a nod with the night before winds up sitting next to him. She has an overabundance of freckles as well as short-cropped strawberry blonde hair; he recalls she's known as Specks, whether or not that's her real name.
"Didn't think I could miss Dawnspear," she says by way of greeting, "but at least it was feckin' warm!"
Trying to raise his body temperature quickly, Brimble clutches the bowl of hot porridge to his chest. He nods at Speck’s observation. ”I hated that mine but the warm mornings were great. Days off, I’d just go bake on a rock.”
"Palescale!" Ubek gives the kobold a toothy grin when he approaches. "I heard Brazali made you Safety Lead! Lucky you. Might want to get one of your tallfolk to carry all this, eh, scrawny as you are?"
Brimble hrmphs at the hobgoblin's slight as he looks through the gear-bag. He throws on the colorful leather tunic then hefts the pack onto his shoulder with little show of effort. His physique isn’t impressive by human standards but Brimble is ‘jacked’ for a kobold… and he has his pride. He hangs his personal pick on his belt in addition to his assigned one – adding more weight. He demonstrates a few deep knee bends and a small leap to show how capably he carries the load. ”Seems like I don’t need any help. Do you got a set of trap-picks for me? If we run into any dwarf-cunning, I’ll need something better than a hammer to suss it out.”
Phantrel had eaten lightly when he awoke but partakes of second breakfast with the rest of the GMC employees when he arrives on site. Keeping his strength up is probably a necessity and the food isn’t actively terrible. Skimping on rations means that the workers will just be less productive so he figures his new masters know this and plan accordingly, even if the emphasis is likely on quantity rather than quality.
He checks the equipment in his pack once he is assigned to it and turns to Em, who he finds himself next to. ”Good morning, Em. How did the night treat you? Do you think we missed anything by not bunking down here?” he asks the young woman genially.
"I had a familiar dream last night, but I can't remember which one. No time to write it down after I woke up." She sighs, rolling up her long brown sleeves before she begins eating. The dream had kept her warm on the walk up to the mine, despite a chill breeze that rose off the moiling ocean. She had watched waves cast foam high up broken crags and jagged stones, where it bubbled and glittered white as fresh snow against the black rock. Strange, she reflects, the ocean doesn't normally look beautiful from within the limits of Salt Spire.
"I'd expect, based on the account of our scaled friend, that we missed absolutely nothing." She watches the kobold, planning to offer to help him carry his things once they've been down in the mine an hour. If she's still feeling brave by then. "Though by the sound of Ubek's warnings, there might be lots of dreadful things we should hope not to miss, once we're down below."
Xiramona does indeed rise early enough to break her fast at the farmhouse. Thin as her purse is, she'd be a fool to turn down free board, and she's gregarious enough to enjoy a meal shared with others. Whoever she winds up in line with or sitting next to, she'll try to strike up a bit of conversation. She's also among those who chuckle at Brimble's cheery wit.
Things get serious quickly enough when they arrive at the mine entrance. She sorts through her medical gear, making sure that it's securely packed.
vs DC 10
Though Xira does know a fair amount about healing, she has never had to treat the results of underground hazards. At her earliest opportunity she nudges Argatha and whispers, "Not to sound dense, but can you translate 'pink puffers, blue bloaters, and jelly-legs' for me?"
Raising an eyebrow, Phantrel asks Em, ”Do you remember your dreams regularly? Is it common to have the same one repeatedly?” genuinely interested.
The half-elf snorts at the mention of Brimble and his colourful account of all the trouble he didn’t get into the previous night. ”I suspect you’re right,” he agrees, adding quietly. ”And it might be you dodged an arrow if kobolds in heat aren’t to your usual taste.” Phantrel thinks for a while before responding to the next point. ”Mining is always dangerous, but my understanding is most of the dangers come from natural hazards – or not taking adequate precautions – the mundane rather than the mysterious."
"Ah the dangers of the mundane." Em draws a scrap of cloth from her pocket and cleans her lips and fingers out of habit, feeling that she can't force herself to eat any more. "Dreams are one of the few ways to escape them, you know." She folds her hands on her lap, ready for work. "Mr. Palescale may be another. I think you not at all a fair judge of him, if you already believe he'll require dodging." Em herself had seen a little of his manners at the GMC intake, but not enough to fully take his measure or yet form an opinion.
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Rather puzzled he asked, "What's this for? I take it I'm not baking any cakes. I suppose it could neutralize acid in a pinch, wait! Is there something we should know?"
The hobgoblin chuckles. ”Can’t promise you won’t run into acid, Baguette, but it’s to help in puttin’ out stubborn flames. Fed by gas and such. But just like people, a fire dies quick if you choke off its air.” The burly quartermaster briefly mimes strangling someone in midair.
Ubek watches Brimble’s demonstration of his strength with a crooked, toothy smirk. ”Ah, not bad! Only half as scrawny as I thought.” He claps Brimble on the shoulder nearly hard enough to bowl him over, then his fanged grin turns to an assessing glance at the question of further tools.
”If yeh run into dwarf-cunning, you know to get someone higher-up,” he says sharply, then scratches thoughtfully at a deep, old burn scar on one of his beefy shoulders. ”...But sometimes yeh can’t. Right, then. If you lose these, I’ll see that Brazali adds another month to your contract.”
Ubek fishes among the supplies on the table and hands Brimble a set of picks.
The familiar chit-chat from breakfast can be continued on the path to the mines, but once Ubek starts passing out the gear, most of the workers are focused on donning their equipment. The quartermaster waves you all to follow him into one of several yawning tunnel maws. Those of Salt Spire have no doubt seen them all before– squares of darkness against the granite faces of the rising rocks, with old lumber bracing the entrances to keep them stable. There’s half a dozen such entrances here at the foot of the mountains, some smaller and some larger, all of them well-picked through over the last few decades. Children of Salt Spire often dare one another to enter the tunnels (bravery measured by how far you make yourself go down the shaft, of course), and the most persistent miners, like Raka, still occasionally find a crevice of useful ore that other eyes have missed. More than a few people in Salt Spire could lead the way themselves down the largest tunnel, the one Ubek guides you down, for this is the path to the Door.
The Door: Salt Spire’s only claim to a very mild sort of fame. It is a journey of several hundred feet down the main mine shaft, which slopes steadily but shallowly downward, past the occasional branching side maw… Em has perhaps tagged along with past would-be explorers (for what else in Salt Spire holds any sort of romance or power of imagination besides the Door?) and walked this path before. The GMC has already improved it: lanterns have been hung at thirty foot intervals, burning with a steady and reassuring glow, and there is less debris than the last time Em was here. The old cart tracks are still here, their rails choked with gravel and dust right now. Ubek waves a hand down at them. ”Some of you probably gonna be clearin’ that,” he rumbles, but leads on.
After a walk of less than five minutes, the thirty-odd laborers emerge from the tunnel into a cavern, some hundred feet across, a ceiling that is lost into shadow but is perhaps fifty feet up. The far cave wall holds a sight that has captured imaginations for decades, though never yielded its secrets before: a flat, featureless, gleaming wall, a dozen feet high and nearly as wide, shining golden in the light of GMC lanterns. It is set improbably into a natural rock wall, perfectly straight lines stark against the more irregular rock. There is no sign that the stone around it was worked to accommodate it: it seems rather as if some deity had simply drawn a square against the stone and neatly deleted it to make room for the golden surface instead.
Even the Salt Spire folks who have seen it before might be caught up a moment by the visual impact of the Door. It looks to have been freshly cleaned by GMC hands, but it’s also never seemed to need it– every time Em has been down here, the golden door always appears immaculate as if freshly polished and installed. The workers who have never seen dwarfcraft before stop and mutter amongst themselves.
”Yeah, yeah, it’s a bloody dwarf door!” Ubek snorts, not breaking his stride.
In the wide-open space before the door, the GM has set up a staging zone: a few tables and stools, stacked crates of supplies, a cistern of water, even a single latrine behind a curtain. Some GMC staffers are consulting schematics and measuring out quantities of blasting powder (Colin no doubt looks longingly that way). Twenty feet to the right of the smooth golden surface, a jagged-edged hole shows where the Consortium blew their way further in. The air is filled with rock dust, the sounds of machinery working further in, and a buzz of exploratory activity.
”Oi. Carver!” Ubek calls to be heard over the industrial noises. A rangy half-orc leaves off from the table and saunters towards the group. She has a bandolier of tools over her chest and a helmet with a glowing rock embedded at the front. Her lanky arms are covered with tattoos.
”Got your crew here, Carver. Alright, you lot: Carver here is your shift lead. Do what she tells you. And what your safety lead there tells you!”
Carver hooks her thumbs into her belt loops and briefly looks the group over. ”Heads up, ears open! The experts are working beyond that giant arse-crack in the rock over there! When they give the okay you’ll all be hauling rubble out from the other side. Maybe there’ll be somethin’ good back there. But today you lot get an easy warmup! First off: track clearing! Half of you… yeah, you… and you… you over there: grab buckets and brooms. See the track here? See how it’s about fuggin’ choked with s+!%e on either side of the rails? Get out the bigger stuff with your hands or your hammers, sweep out the smaller stuff, dump it in the buckets. We want to be able to get carts down here again, kesh? Right, get to it.”
Hands on her hips, the half-orc selects another dozen workers with a nod of her chin. ”Once the track’s cleared we can get supplies in and rubble out a damn sight easier. Until then, we have to do it with raw muscle. So you strong’uns, see the wheelbarrows over there? You load them with the rubble from there, cart ‘em back the way you came, dump ‘em back outside in the piles there, then on the return trip you bring some of the s&!*e Ubek’ll have waiting for you there. Then you do it again about three hundred more times. Het to!”
A sharp clap of her hands sends the more veteran workers scurrying to their assigned tasks. Brimble, Em, Xiramona, Colin are indicated to join the track clearers, while Phantrel, Raka, and Argatha are pointed towards the wheelbarrows (Carver spares an approving look for Raka’s height and muscles).
Today promises to be dull…. But quite safe. Other than the chance of back injuries, anyway.
For the track clearers, the work might seem to be easier at first: digging out gravel and pebbles, filling up your buckets, moving a few feet to repeat the process. But it becomes apparent ten minutes in that the constant scooping, scraping, sweeping, crouching, and bending will take its toll on your knees and spine by the end of the day.
The ferriers only have to contend with the wheelbarrows… and the uneven floor of the path uphill, back out of the mine. It seemed smooth enough when you were walking it. But the wheels of the handcarts seem to find every possible crack, fissure, and pebble, and bounce at each one, threatening to veer free of your grip each time.
By the time the ten-minute morning break is called, the chill of dawn is a distant memory, erased by rock dust, sweat, burgeoning blisters, and the surprising heat of being deep underground. Workers guzzle from their waterskins, queue up for the latrine, or otherwise take advantage of the all-too-short reprieve.
Unsure if his attempt at humour was misjudged or just misinterpreted, Phantrel decides it's easier to smooth things over. "I was merely referencing what he himself said. I meant no offence, Em, and I make no judgement to his character or otherwise. He's clearly regarded well enough by the consortium, which probably says something."
"And dreams are good," he agrees, "though if they are worthwhile, I prefer to try and turn them into reality."
* * * * *
As the group of miners are led down the tunnel, a murmuring rises as they reach the Door. It's been at least a couple of decades since Phantrel has been to see it but despite the passing of years and the dirty work of the mine it looks much the same as it does in his memory. Clearly it has some kind of property which protects it from the dust and the grime.
The half-elf is slightly surprised to be described as a "strong'un". He's definitely not physically unfit, being well-used to outdoors work planting, harvesting and everything else that comes with growing things, but, glancing around him, nor does he have the hardened frame of some of his new colleagues. It only takes him a couple of trips pushing a wobbling wheelbarrow outside to realise that his muscles will be getting a significant workout. By the time break is called he is drenched in sweat, his body adapting to the new conditions. He is thankful at least that working with his hands and being on his feet a lot means that they are already well-accustomed to manual work and therefore less prone to blisters.
”If yeh run into dwarf-cunning, you know to get someone higher-up,” he says sharply, then scratches thoughtfully at a deep, old burn scar on one of his beefy shoulders. ”...But sometimes yeh can’t. Right, then. If you lose these, I’ll see that Brazali adds another month to your contract.”
Brimble puts the picks in his bandolier. ”I got no interest in playing with dwarf stuff… but we got a lot of fresh fish on this job. You know a couple of them are gonna be poking around at dwarf baubles when they should be worried about their own. Maybe I'll help'em keep theirs with these picks.”
The kobold regards the construction with a critical miner’s eye. As soon as he sees the old lumber braces, he makes a mental note to inspect every support beam. He’d heard sea air could rot out just about anything. He was sure the GMC had engineers to look into issues like that. Whether the company heeded their recommendations was another matter.
Brimble had seen dwarf-work before, but it never failed to impress him. The door and its fitting were unparalleled artistry. Kobolds knew a lot about mining but dwarves somehow managed to work stone and metal like elves could work wood. It was more like large-scale sculpting than actual mining, though he had no doubt they were amazing miners as well. Looking at the impossible precision of the door was humbling.
To avoid drawing the shift lead’s ire, Brimble doesn’t approach the portal, yet. He’d wait until they were working in the tunnels beyond and then he’d find a chance to view the other side of the door. Will I see common hinges or are those cleverly hidden as well? Hell, maybe they didn’t use hinges. Wouldn’t that be something?
Brimble gets to work using his deft claws to clear the tracks. As they slowly make their way back towards the entrance, he only stops briefly to examine each brace while he stretches is back.
When he first sees the gold door he whistles. Or tries to, but he’s not very good at it, so it comes out a sort of half-whistle half-sigh. ”Wow, and that’s just sitting there?” He wonders if anyone has simply tried to open it. Would they all assume it’s locked and just not try? He wonders, but not for long as the orders keep coming.
Argatha likes wheelbarrow work.
It’s not that it’s easier, he suspects it’s harder, but it requires less thinking. Mining, using the pick, is fraught with choices. Do I hammer here, use the pick there, pull away this bit of rock or that. Hoisting heavy loads up and down the ramp requires much less decision making. He likes that.
Still, it’s hard work, and by the break he’s ready for it. He summons water to splash himself with to cool off and wash away the mine dust - though it tends to just wash into his clothing. He summons a little more to drink, before getting back to work.
"I see. Then I was the one who misjudged you," Em says to Phantrel, as the group prepares to head down into the mine. She tries to own her lack of perception honestly. She does not further converse on the subject of dreams, having long since learned that hoping to make them reality tends to cause pain.
-------------
Em is captivated by the jagged tunnel beside the door. She doesn't hear a word of Carver's orders, loud though they may be barked. While her mind wanders through familiar and long forgotten palaces, Em decides to stand next to Xira and copy everything she does. "Remind me at the end of the day, and I'll try to find some scraps of leather or unused hides with which to make kneepads. All this kneeling, and without a single lordly figure in sight." She says these last words with a glance at Ubek and a quiet sigh.
Down in the mine with the track clearers, Colin took his assigned incendiary duty seriously. He roved around checking that there were no naked flames, and using the the quarter hour glass as a guide he lit a tinder twig and inspected the color of its flame closely. This was all still a novelty but after a few hours he knew boredom was going to be an issue, a potentially deadly one if they did encounter a pocket of bad air.
Thinking about the situation of no naked flames and being able to see he remarked to anyone close by that, "Too bad there's no hedge wizard among us, one of those fancy magical lights would be handy down here."
Now updated on the various symptoms bad air can cause, Xiramona is glad to be working in an area with ready access to the fresh version. Yes, today should be quite safe, but she keeps an eye and an ear out for any signs of overexertion or minor injuries. She starts in on the work readily enough, though she rather envies Brimble his claws.
"Remind me at the end of the day, and I'll try to find some scraps of leather or unused hides with which to make kneepads. All this kneeling, and without a single lordly figure in sight."
"Good idea. I'll help you make them," she replies. "Maybe we can scrounge some canvas or the like to make straps." Xira is just as loathe as Em to wear out her trousers or her joints.
"Too bad there's no hedge wizard among us, one of those fancy magical lights would be handy down here."
Xira looks up at Colin's comment, wiping rock dust off her face with the back of her hand. "Don't know if I'd call myself a hedge wizard, Mr. Bazalgette, but I do have a few spells up my sleeve, and making light is one of them."
Colin was intrigued, "Ah! A most useful talent. I'd be curious to learn how that works some day..."
As he was speaking the last sand ran out of his quarter hour glass, and he muttered "One moment please." He put the glass down and fumbled with a tindertwig for a moment, it lit with a sulphurous flare and after judging the color of the flame for a few moments he carefully snuffed it out before picking up the hour glass and turning it over.
The break is over all too soon. Conversation doesn't cease entirely when work resumes, but it becomes more intermittent and strained, depending on the spare breath each worker has to share. Dig, scrape, bucket, bend, dig, scrape... or push, push, push, push, unload, unload, load, load, push, push, push....
It may feel anticlimactic to the laborers, to be doing something so mundane within sight of a relic of a vanished people. Argatha's pondering as to whether anyone has just tried said door... the golden surface itself seems to have no obvious lock, knob, keyhole, or other opening mechanism. If it has hinges, they aren't visible from this side, at any rate, though perhaps Brimble will be able to satisfy his curiosity on that front later.
He is at least able to satisfy his more pressing curiosity about the beams: despite the salt of the air, the beams appear solid enough, and likely to hold through any typical working pressures. (It's those non-typical ones you have to worry about.)
The kneepads that Em and Xiramona are planning would indeed be valuable, as their knees let them know, consistently and emphatically. The lunch bell's ringing earns a big sigh of relief from the laborers.
Food is spread out onto some of the tables. Bread, hard cheese, and pickled onions are the primary components, along with a somewhat sour cider for those who want something more than water. Immediate conversation ceases during the first wave of people quenching the hunger that hard labor can create.
During the eating, you're all within hearing range of the table full of engineers who seem to be planning out barrages of explosives- they talk fast, gesture at maps and diagrams in front of them, and saying words like clearance zone and blast hole pattern, rock bolts and stemming-- terms familiar to Colin, at least. One of the engineers, a goblin, converses briefly with Carver, which you can catch snippets of:
"--another blasting sequence this afternoon..."
"No bloody way, crew's working and if you go setting things off we lose half the day-- you do it in evening, after we're all out, and it has all night to settle!"
"We can't make further progress until we clear the obstruction--"
"Well you won't be making further progress if nobody's bringin' you your fuggin' wire and powder, will ya-- ahh take it up with Ubek, dammit--"
Carvers waves the displeased engineer back to their table and stomps to the cider, pouring herself a big cup of it before knocking it back. She wipes the back of her mouth with her hand, lets out a belch, then calls "Right, back to work, ya slackers! Day's half done, don't quit on me now!"
There are some groans as people heave themselves back to the work.
The afternoon goes much as the morning has. It's boring. It's hot. You develop aches in places you didn't know you could ache. Those who are on porting duty at least get to stand out in the cool, windy air for brief reprieves, a compensation for the muscle soreness most of them will surely have across their shoulders and in the backs of their calves tomorrow.
None of you find any dwarven relics, gemstones, or any of the other fancies that might have filled your mind. The most exciting discoveries are Brimble finding a loose iron nail buried in the dust and Em finding a single oblong of copper so flattened and distorted she might not have recognized it, if not for knowing that miners once amused themselves by placing copper coins on the mine cart tracks in order to see them crushed to thin discs.
Towards the end of the day, workers are tired. And tired makes for clumsy. Brosker the fisherman is wheeling another load of debris back out the tunnel when his gloved grip shifts, and the wheelbarrow jerks sideways, toppling over onto...
...Brimble and Xiramona, where they are working together on a stubborn bit of rail debris.
"Oh hells!" the burly fisherman blurts as forty pounds of rock rubble spills.
For most of the day, Xiramona has glanced up at the workers manning (or womaning, in Raka's case) the barrows as they went past, looking for signs of over-strained muscles. But tired also makes for less attentive, so when the barrow tips--
Xira manages to squirm away from most of the debris, but not all. When the rocks hit, she comes out with a few words in Varisian that would have earned her a swat and a stern chiding from her Mam. But bleeding hells, that hurts!
Once the rubble stills, she remembers her workmate. "Brimble? Brimble!" she gasps, choking a little on the dust.
As a matter of self-preservation, Brimble eavesdrops on the engineers’ talk. He’d been in two mine disasters. In Heartford, it was an act of the Gods. In Feldspar, it was the fault of some egg-headed engineer working for an ambitious idiot of a foreman. Never again.
He doesn’t know some of the terms being flung around but he gets the gist of it. He gives Carver a point for heading off this dumb idea and Ubek (presumably) for backstopping Carver. It wasn’t proof they were good people. That would only come from decisions they make when the dig is behind schedule, the mine isn’t producing, and the GMC is breathing down their necks. Then, he’d really know.
Brimble wolfs down his lunch laying on a large rock. Food is silver. Stretching his back for a straight thirty minutes is gold. He doesn’t even grumble when they return to work.
The kobold pockets the dusty nail… lots of fine uses for a nail. Thankfully, his find doesn’t distract him too much when the wheelbarrow carrying more than his body weight in rock heaves over. Brimble attempts to dive away from the cascading debris only to hiss as a head-sized boulder smashes into his lower leg. Luckily, he doesn’t hear or feel that sickening wet snap of a bone breaking. He crawls to safety before turning to survey the damage.
Once the rubble stills, she remembers her workmate. "Brimble? Brimble!"
He waves to clear some of the rising stone dust. ”I’m here. I’m good. Little beat up is all. You OK?”
HP: 6 / 8 | AC:15 / T:13 / FF:13 | CMD:11/9
Bullets (20):
Frost Spitter (1):
"Not *cough* too bad." Xira winces and holds a hand to her ribs. "Caught a rock to my side and another to my knee, but I don't think anything's broken."
She gives Brimble a wry smile. "It'll be a bit embarrassing if I have to use my kit on myself."
* * * * *
Raka whistles up at the Door when they come to it. To her, it's never made sense to call it the Door at all-- what kind of a door doesn't have a handle? She's always thought of it as the Wall. "Never get tired of seein' that."
She starts taking a step toward the wheelbarrows before Carver even picks her for the task, seeing her assignment as a mostly-foregone conclusion. Not that she minded. Being so far from the ground would have made track clearing that much harder for her. No, she would much prefer hauling a wheelbarrow over so much bending and scraping.
Even still, it's tough work. The muscles in her arms and legs work the repeated motions with ease-- at least at first. The heavy rocks and stifling, dusty air take their inexorable toll on Raka. By the lunch bell, she's as grateful for the reprieve as anyone else.
* * * * *
"I love pickled onions," she comments with a smile. Hard labor or no, some simple pleasures deserve to be appreciated. Carver calls them back to work all too soon. She takes the extra few moments waiting for the wheelbarrows to fill back up again to stretch her tired muscles and warm them back up in preparation for the afternoon shift. The day wears into evening and she starts looking forward to a nightly reprieve--
CRASH!
Oh no. Raka abandons her wheelbarrow and rushes to the wounded workers. She'd probably get a yelling-at from Carver or Ubek, or both, but right now she didn't care. "Everyone all right? Anything broken?"
Brimble gets up and tests his leg. It works. He looks to the fisherman. ”Brosker, is it? Right that barrow and let’s get it loaded unless you want to get chewed on by Carver. Colin, Em, lend a hand here.” He starts hefting stones back into the wheelbarrow and using his bucket to scoop up the loose debris. As he works quickly, he says to Xiramora, ”I expect checking your own ribs is hard to do. Get a medic to fix you up. Lemme know if you can’t walk that far. We’ll fetch one for you.”
"Everyone all right? Anything broken?"
Brimble watches Xira for a moment before replying. "I think we're alright. Thanks for checkin' on us."
HP: 6 / 8 | AC:15 / T:13 / FF:13 | CMD:11/9
Bullets (20):
Frost Spitter (1):
Weapon Equipped = None
Sling Bullets = 10
Conditions = None
Melee: Attack: BAB +0, Str +2 Damage: +2
Ranged: Attack: BAB +0, Dex +3 Damage: +2
Called: Reroll a one on attack (1/1)
Healer’s Hands: (0/1)
Spells Memorized (Caster Level 1, Concentration +2)
. . 0 (11): Create Water, Light, Purify Food & Drink
. . 1st (12): Cure Light Wounds, Sleep
- - -
Argatha is on the way back from a particularly heavy load. He has a load of supplies that he's bringing in, but going down, and with not-rocks it's almost leisurely.
Until he comes upon the scene. Oh my!
He rests the wagon safely along the wall and approaches the pair. "Anyone need any healing?" he inquires offering to do his bit.
vs DC 20 to heal 1hp
Argatha binds the injury but doesn't do much to heal it at all. "Sorry... it doesn't always work the way I want it to." he eyes the pair checking for more grievous injury requiring the magics.
Brimble points Argatha in Xiramona's direction as he continues to fill the wheelbarrow. "Her ribs could use a look. Maybe compliment her pretty eyes too."
Xira snorts in amusement at Brimble's quip, then smiles through her wince or winces through her smile as Argatha tends to her ribs. "I'll be all right. Thanks for the binding; it helps."
It does help, but the twinge she can still feel when inhaling tells Xira she may have bruised ribs. As for her knee, she grits her teeth to hold a few more Varisian curses behind them as she straightens it out.
"This needs some healing," she sighs after the initial jab of pain eases. "Or I'll be hobbling all the way home."
"I love pickled onions," she comments with a smile. Hard labor or no, some simple pleasures deserve to be appreciated.
"They're good," Phantrel agrees. He doesn't mind pickled fare in its place - it's a necessity over winter when less grows - and the sharp tang at least distracts him from his aching body. And fortunately there's no shortage of salt to keep what meat can be found over the scarce months too. But unsurprisingly he does prefer fresh produce and he can coax crops and plants to give up their goods in most conditions.
* * * * *
The half-elf is a fair way off when the accident happens so he doesn't see it, only the aftermath. It's clear that both Brimble and Xira are nursing some bruises but it could certainly have been worth. He makes his way over. He offers his waterskin to the woman first, then the kobold. "Have as much as you like, I can make more. And if there's any wounds in need of cleaning you're welcome to use it for that too."
Weapon Equipped = None
Sling Bullets = 10
Conditions = None
Melee: Attack: BAB +0, Str +2 Damage: +2
Ranged: Attack: BAB +0, Dex +3 Damage: +2
Called: Reroll a one on attack (1/1)
Healer’s Hands: (0/1)
Spells Memorized (Caster Level 1, Concentration +2)
. . 0 (11): Create Water, Light, Purify Food & Drink
. . 1st (12):
- - -
"Yeah, hobbling is no good. No good at all."
Argatha warms up his hands and places one one Xiramona's knee while clasping something around his neck. Hard to see in his fist, when he removes it, it looks very much like Erastil's stag. However, it has painted on jewels on the ends of the antlers. Very unusual.
- - -
"And, uh, you do have pretty eyes too." Argatha smiles and stands back up. He looks around for any other injured before heading back to his load of tools. Hoisting the wheelbarrow he heads off on his weary way.
Work stops for the little knot of workers in the aftermath of the tiny 'rockslide.' The dust settles leaving people coughing and with a few painful bruises and scrapes, though nothing worse, at least.
Brosker tries to help, though he is no trained medic, clearly beside himself for the mistakes. "Gods, I'm sorry, Xira! You aren't too hurt?? Your parents' ghosts would haunt me for life! Dammit, dammit..."
He hurriedly helps Raka with lifting chunks of rock away from Xiramona. Only when she's clear and Argatha is crouched tending to her does he throw an awkward, apologetic look at the kobold. "Ah-- sorry there, lil'fella. Right you are, back to work--"
Carver seems summoned by the invocations of her name. The half-orc stalks down the corridor with a frown for a half-dozen people not actively working. "Oi, what the f&@~'s this?"
A brief explanation makes the half-orc heave an sigh and pinch at her nose. "Awright, well clean it up and get back to it!"
Brosker runs his big hands nervously through his hair. "I'm v-very sorry, M-miss Carver--"
"Oh stow it, B-b-brosker," the half-orc says with a dismissive handwave. "SAFETY LESSON: Mind your grip, all of you! And you two, you can walk alright? You can cut your day early if you need to. 'Course it cuts your pay too."
Argatha's healing light has, fortunately, set Xira's leg to rights.
Xiramona accepts a mouthful of water with a nod of thanks to Phantrel. She sighs again, this one a sigh of relief as Argatha's healing energy seeps into her knee. "That feels so much better," Xira says as she carefully flexes and extends the joint. An experimental breath widens her smile. "I think it even helped the ribs a bit. Thank you, Argatha!"
She chuckles at Argatha's comment about her eyes. It isn't the first compliment the young woman has received about their bright amber color, but it is surely the first instigated by a kobold.
After a few more flexes, Xira pushes off the floor and regains her feet. "I'll do," she murmurs as she puts some testing weight on the abused leg. "Let's get back to it."
Colin froze when the accident happened, this was awful poor Xiramona, and on their first day too! Flustered he didn't know what to do but then Argatha came, invoked the divine and just as suddenly the worst of the wound vanished.
Still from the way she was favouring the knee he could tell she was likely going to sport an impressive bruise. "That was remarkable Argatha, don't think I've ever seen a healing before..."
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Still from the way she was favouring the knee he could tell she was likely going to sport an impressive bruise. "That was remarkable Argatha, don't think I've ever seen a healing before..."
"Well," begins Argatha sheepishly, "I never did try it on a person before. But it works on the goats back home, so I figured why not?"
Brimble expresses no surprise at Carver’s ‘generous’ offer of unpaid time off. He often thought that if he lost an arm on the job, the GMC would likely amend his contract to 75% pay, arguing he only had three of the four useful limbs he’d started with.
Glancing at his wounded leg, he marvels at how his white hide has suddenly turned a deep purple. He imagines he’d look good as a purple-scale kobold. Regardless of the ache in his leg, Brimble returns to work… and deducts half a point from Carver’s rating.
The kobold listens to the conversation but largely saves his breath for the work. Except for a response to Argatha’s comment that gets inadvertently voiced. ”Why not, eh? Goats and humans got similarities.”
"Well," begins Argatha sheepishly, "I never did try it on a person before. But it works on the goats back home, so I figured why not?"
Goats. Xiramona sucks her lips between her teeth to stifle giggles. She certainly doesn't want her benefactor to think she'd laugh at him. After a few moments she says, "Well then, I thank you and the goats you got to practice on."
She turns back to the work, taking a moment to give Bosker a reassuring smile and pat on the shoulder. She does not correct him with a reminder that Mam is missing, not dead. Most of the town made that assumption after two years had passed since her vanishing.
One more stretch, and Xira carefully lowers herself back to her knees (or knee actually) and resumes scraping debris away from the cart rails.
Fortunately, no other incidents mar the last hour of labor, and the adrenaline rush of the accident at least perks everyone up for a little bit. It could have been worse.
Nevertheless the weariness is ready to reclaim its victims when the sharp whistle is blown to signify the end of the workday. The more experienced workers know the drill: line up before Carver, turn over anything of value, leave the general gear for the next day's shift, and then trudge out for blessed fresh ocean air on your faces and the promise of dinner. The newer workers follow their veterans. As you leave the Door behind, you note the engineer squad are unrolling spools of wire and arranging braids of fuses with industrious fervor.
Druv, a lanky local youth, looks half-done-in by the day and groans when they reach the outside air again. "By every god, the ocean's never looked so good as just now! And this contract is for a year?"
The view is admittedly good just now, as the sinking sun paints the ocean with gold. The spectacle is lost on the next villager, who mutters, "Not sure a silver coin sounds as good as it did last night."
One of the non-locals, the freckled halfling named Specks, chuckles. "What, already throwin' it in, townie? That was an easy day. We din't even break up no rocks..."
The back and forth continues all the way to the mess, for those who wish to eat collectively. Those who want to go back to their own homes are able to do so.
The supper, served up by the same women as earlier in the day, is probably not as tasty as ravenous appetites make it seem in the moment. Boiled beef (imported, surely, as Salt Spire doesn't have enough grazing land for cattle) drowned in a thick salty gravy, with some carrots and onions tossed in as afterthoughts. More bread. Water, or weak beer. All the same, many of the laborers dig into it like starving wolves-- protein, fat, and salts are welcome after the day's exertions.
Druv nearly falls asleep at his spot at the table. Brosker chuckles and helps lug the youth upright. "I'll get him home. Next morrow, mates."
As dinner winds to a close and other villagers also take their leave, the sound of a muffled boom cuts across the dinner chatter. Everyone goes silent for a moment, forks halfway to mouths, heads turned in the direction of mine. Another boom follows, a dozen seconds later, rattling tin mugs on the tables.
"They're blasting," says a gnome with fading green hair, nonchalantly... and resumes eating. The experienced miners nod. One of them listens, head cocked, lips moving soundlessly as she counts.
A third boom.... a fourth. Specks looks towards the counter, who says, "Minute intervals. They're focused on clearin' somethin' alright."
The green-haired gnome scrunches up his face and spears another piece of meat. "It better settle by morning!"
The fresh air is almost as much of a blessed relief to Phantrel as the end to hauling rocks. He weighs up the walk back up the mountainside against the lure of a closer bed, but the promise of home wins out. His own space is appealing after the time in the cramped quarters of the mine and he's always been more than comfortable with his own company. He bids the crew goodnight and heads up towards the wood. Even at a slow pace and despite his weary body, it feels easier than he expected, probably because he isn't pushing a wheelbarrow.
"Well," begins Argatha sheepishly, "I never did try it on a person before. But it works on the goats back home, so I figured why not?"
"That is so cool," Raka says appreciatively. "Best I can do if you get hurt is throw you over my shoulder and get you to safety. Can't do nothing like that though."
* * * * *
BOOM.
Raka pauses like the others to listen to the sounds. "It's almost strange, ya know? How after all these years of folks pondering over that Door, that someone is finally just blasting through it. No more pondering... no more mystery." She takes a drink of her watered-down beer and chuckles. "And here I am, gettin' all sentimental over a hunk of rock."
Exiting the mine, the kobold breathes deep to take in the fresh air. Minutes later he dives into his food and doesn’t even flinch when the blasting starts.
She takes a drink of her watered-down beer and chuckles. "And here I am, gettin' all sentimental over a hunk of rock."
Around a mouthful of boiled beef (maw aimed up so he doesn’t spray it), Brimble points a gravy-stained claw at Raka. ”I shoulda pegged you as the romantical sort… what with all that talk about folks f*<kin’ like bunnies in the barracks. Practically teased a tear from my eye.”
He stops eating when the final blast echoes away and turns his earhole in the direction of the mine, listening intently for half an hour. Unfortunately, his 'ears' are ringing a bit.
If something went wrong with the demolition or the follow-on inspections, it’ll happen any time now…
"That is so cool," Raka says appreciatively. "Best I can do if you get hurt is throw you over my shoulder and get you to safety. Can't do nothing like that though."
”Thanks! I’m sure we all have skills and such. I hope this isn’t the limit of mine.” he shrugs, but isn’t sure what to yearn for. Just more I guess.
Argatha breathes deeply of the wonderful sea air. He’d had snippets of it while unloading the wheelbarrow, but that was under the stern eye of leadership, so he didn’t dawdle. Now the air was his own, and he enjoys it. He tries not to think of the grueling days ahead until his body once again becomes, well somewhat, accustomed to the labor.
He hears the explosions deep in the mine. ”Lots of rocks to haul out tomorrow for sure.” he comments, very nearly under his breath.
He munches on the boiled beef, slobbering a bit over the salty sustenance.
Em is not much use during the commotion. She would offer to refill waterskins, but then, Phantrel has that covered with his magic. Ah magic, even the barest hint of which is so easily enthralling. She watches Argatha go back to his wheelbarrow with so little celebration of his work, and makes a note to ask him more about it when there’s less at hand.
For the time being, Em approaches Brimble. ”Any way I can lighten your load, friend?” She had been planning to offer earlier, after watching him make such a spectacle when he was first given his gear, but hard work had made her too cowardly. ”I can’t offer any healing, but I do think you’ve got nice claws.”
”I can’t offer any healing, but I do think you’ve got nice claws.”
"But I can." Xira turns to the kobold, still one-knee kneeling. "Shall I take care of that bruise for you? I should've offered right away, but, well, pain makes an excellent distraction."
She runs a hand over her own much-improved knee while she waits for Brimble's answer.
The kobold takes a step back, surprised by the sudden attention from two directions.
”Any way I can lighten your load, friend? ...I can’t offer any healing, but I do think you’ve got nice claws.”
"'Preciate the offer. I'll carry the weight. But, I might ask you to hold an item or two if I have to sort out some dwarf-cunning. Best to be light-footed when that happens." He looks at his claws, not sure what to make of the compliment. "They're handy. You ever need a back scratch, you let me know. I hear they're also good when ya don't have a comb."
"Shall I take care of that bruise for you? I should've offered right away, but, well, pain makes an excellent distraction."
Brimble thinks about it only briefly. The shift was about over and the odds anything serious would happen now was low. He sticks his leg out. "Sure, that'd be nice. I wasn't looking forward to seeing if it kept me up all night or how it feels tomorrow." He pulls up his pant leg to display the livid bruise.
The sound of the explosions going of greatly excited Colin and he remarked, "Cor! Listen to those bad boys go off. Now that's what I want to be doing, a little demolition work!"
Hearing Argatha gripe about hauling rocks but missing the tone entirely, Colin agreed readily, "That's the thing about mining though isn't it, got to shift tons and tons of waste to get at something you measure in ounces."
”I shoulda pegged you as the romantical sort… what with all that talk about folks f*<kin’ like bunnies in the barracks. Practically teased a tear from my eye.”
"Me?" Raka snorts. "You're the one who had, what did you call 'em? Naughty and romantic dreams about some o' the other workers?" At least Brimble's sense of humor has returned. That's a good sign. "Maybe they're the ones who sent Brosker's wheelbarrow after you."
Brimble licks the gravy off his claws while feigning outrage. ”What?! I’m an inclusive fella. I had naughty dreams about each and every female on the shift! Which.. ok… that would be ‘some’ when you exclude the men-folk. But who could be offended by my gallant attentions enough to send a murderous wheelbarrow after me?”
Delighting in the nonsensical banter, Brimble stands up on the bench, to his full 3’ of height. His claws rake back the mane of hair he lacks and he sports a lofty stare into the distance as he pronounces imperiously, ”As the kobold sages have said for countless ages *ahem* ‘উপেক্ষা কৰাতকৈ ওপৰলৈ চোৱাটোৱেই ভাল’ which means ‘It is better to be looked over than overlooked.’ I think we can all see the wisdom of these words.”
”And I suppose your small stature makes it that much easier to look every inch of you over in intimate detail,” Em adds, having remained quiet until now. It’s been such a long day, but she’s trying to keep her spirits up by spending time in company of others. And eating free food.
———-
Em remarks that she will keep the usefulness of Mr. Palescale’s claws in mind, should she ever find herself in a pinch. Hair related or otherwise. The rest of her shift is passed quietly, though she finds it harder to let her mind wander the more tired she grows. She watches the sun blazing down the horizon on the wall downhill, wondering what others might be watching the same brilliant colors before they fade into a distant darkness.
Brimble thinks about it only briefly. The shift was about over and the odds anything serious would happen now was low. He sticks his leg out. "Sure, that'd be nice. I wasn't looking forward to seeing if it kept me up all night or how it feels tomorrow." He pulls up his pant leg to display the livid bruise.
"Mmm, I hear you. Without Argatha's help, I would have either had to use this on myself or wake up stiff as the proverbial board tomorrow."
As she speaks, Xira lays her left hand very lightly on Brimble's injury and raises her right palm-up. A slow, deep breath, then she starts softly murmuring in a language that is neither Taldane nor Varisian.
After a minute, Xira ends her chant. "That should do it," she breathes, lifting her hand to reveal scales that are the kobold's normal shade of white.
The kobold admires his newly fixed leg, shaking it a few times. Then he puts weight on it and tentatively hops around. Impressed with the results, he bubbles. ”Nice work, Doc! Thanks! I owe you a drink or somethin’ on our day off.”
He puzzles over the language Xira spoke but can’t place it. With at least four months on this contract, he has plenty of time to figure it out… and little mysteries about his co-workers were a good distraction from the long days of drudgery ahead.
======================
”And I suppose your small stature makes it that much easier to look every inch of you over in intimate detail,”
His chuckle is a hiss. ”I guess so… but only for warm-blood folks with a discerning eye. We don’t show muscle like you do and being ‘pretty’ is subtler… more about the sheen on your scales, the brightness of your eyes, the swish in your tail, and the pearly-ness and sharpy-ness of your teeth.”
Argatha sees Brimble’s healed leg later at supper and comments, ”You heal remarkably fast sir. Do you regenerate?” He’s heard of lizards regrowing their tails and the like, but usually not so quickly, so he’s intrigued.
Hearing Argatha gripe about hauling rocks but missing the tone entirely, Colin agreed readily, "That's the thing about mining though isn't it, got to shift tons and tons of waste to get at something you measure in ounces."
”Yeah…” he grins good-naturedly, ”We get the tons of waste while our betters get the ounces.” He chuckles, and seems to accept his place in the matter.
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”Yeah…” he grins good-naturedly, ”We get the tons of waste while our betters get the ounces.” He chuckles, and seems to accept his place in the matter.
"Well I don't know about you, but I didn't see an ounce of anything worth keeping today... an' I got silver out of it. Seems like we're the ones that came out ahead!"
”You heal remarkably fast sir. Do you regenerate?” He’s heard of lizards regrowing their tails and the like, but usually not so quickly, so he’s intrigued.
Brimble scratches his belly scales through the coarse fabric of his tunic. ”I’d like to say it’s because of clean living, my pure heart, and me being beloved by some god er other, but really…” he points to Xira, ”she did all the work. Guess Miss Xira wants to see a kobold in action at Salt Spire’s next barn dance.”