Discussion resumes easily enough after the last explosion dies away. No further alarming noises are heard from the mine, and the dynamics of labor exploitation vs reward in an early capitalist framework take up a good bit of discussion.
Eventually workers drift off to the dormitory, or the 'shower' - a cistern of water with a simple system of pipes and valves that will rain cold water onto you if you desire such a thing. There's even curtains for privacy! Most of the workers elect to settle for splashing hands and faces with water and changing to a cleaner set of clothing to sleep in, rather than put up with cold water once the sun has set. But a few are determined to get clean, so a small line forms for the shower.
The green-haired gnome (his name finally overheard as Minty) seems to be an enterprising sort: he lurks near the shower area, offering to cast a minor dweomer on your blankets/towels to warm them up, for a simple copper coin. A warm blanket is tempting enough even if you don't shower, as the barn is no warmer tonight.
Specks pulls a woolen cap from somewhere and jams it onto her head as she climbs into her cot. "You'd think they could patch the damn walls! Maybe I'll ask if we can have some supplies for that-- if we do it on our time they might let us?"
A wiry human who looks to be from far to the south by his coloring chuckles thinly. "Probably take the cost of the supplies out of your pay," he points out, dragging his own blanket over his head.
A few workers try to stay up and chat, but most are tired enough to elect for early bed, and the chill of the barn doesn't encourage socializing. One by one, workers crawl into their cots and lanterns are turned low.
Argatha nods at the kobold, "Oh right. I forgot she's got a healer's kit too. Cool." He doesn't seem interested in dancing.
He doesn't take a shower, though he did clean up earlier, a bit, before eating. There is such a thing as being too clean in his humble opinion. He does consider a warm towel though, but in the end saves the copper.
That night he sleeps fitfully, or mostly.
vs DC 15
Argatha gets up out of bed, and walks casually up to Specks, whispering quietly so as not to wake the others. "Did'ja see a rat or something? I'm surprised this place isn't absolutely crawling with them. I haven't seen any cats about."
He looks to see what they're looking at.
Em
When she returns home Cal is eager to hear stories of what she saw, and if she found anything interesting. Em has to fight her own tiredness to try and tell him enough to satisfy his curiosity, though probably he is still a bit disappointed. Finally she is able to get to her own bed-- though sleep eludes her despite the day's labor.
Em finds her thoughts, and eyes, wandering to some of her most prized possessions: books that speak of a vast world beyond Salt Spire. She has three: one is a collection of stories from all over the Inner Sea region. Tales of the feats of Aroden, Taldan romances featuring gallant knights and courtly ladies, a skin-crawling tale from Ustalav that used to keep her up as a girl. She got the book in childhood-- given to her by a friend leaving Salt Spire whose family insisted that the luggage be lightweight.
The other two are more recent acquisitions. A year back, one of the fruitless expeditions to Salt Spire had paid Em to take them to the Door (always nice, when gullible adventurers think you need a guide to walk straight down the main mine shaft!), and proceeded to spend two days camped in front of the thing as their wizard had analyzed it, cast spells on it, muttered strange words at it, and finally kicked it, all to the same end result.
When the group had left, the disgusted wizard had tossed two books at the Door as a parting gesture, and the resourceful Em had been quick to make sure they didn't stay there. She's read through both books many a time: A Primer to Basic Runes of a Lost Language and An Introductory Survey of the 'Dwarves' of Golarion. (Both published by Lepidstadt University and authored by one N. J. Biggleswoth.)
Through these, Em has learned some rudimentary Dwarven, though she's far from fluent. Mostly they have continued to fuel her active imagination. Perhaps it's time for a refresher tonight... or perhaps it's just time for sleep. She'd have to light a candle to read, after all.
Brimble opts to take warm clothing and blankets after the cold shower. Regulating his body temperature was enough of a task already. Besides, he had to admire Minty’s ingenuity and it was always good to support a fellow laborer... even if it meant parting with hard-earned coin.
Specks pulls a woolen cap from somewhere and jams it onto her head as she climbs into her cot. "You'd think they could patch the damn walls! Maybe I'll ask if we can have some supplies for that-- if we do it on our time they might let us?"
Perhaps surprisingly, the kobold offers a less-than-skeptical opinion. ”They just might. How much time and money will they lose if a whole bunch of us come down sick or are draggin’ ass because we’re shivering every night? I don’t mind fronting the idea… but it might go over better by someone else.”
Between his warmed clothing and blankets, Brimble falls into a deep and undisturbed sleep.
Em converses a little longer on the subject of what makes for a pretty Kobold, and has a few things to say about the possibility of a dance. A dance could be made indistinguishable from a ball, if you wore the right eyes and held the right thoughts. She declines both the shower and the offered magic, planning to sponge herself off with the washbasin when she returns home.
------------------
Em produces a single, flat piece of copper. She's done her best to polish it with salt and friction, but it would take acid to bring out the best luster. She flips it idly while talking to Cal. "I saw magic today," she tells her younger brother mysteriously. "By the way, did you hear those big booms, started around sunset?" There is a little excitement in her voice at the prospect of discovering their effect tomorrow, but she does her best to seem reserved. After talking with Cal through a few yawns, she gives him the flattened copper before laying down to rest.
Em wonders what Jalynor's read. Bigglesworth (his friends call him Nico) was a worthy author of good sensibility, but rereading works best when you've forgotten some of the passages before you start from the beginning again, when you've read a few new things in the interim (or so Em has heard). That way there is still some sense of discovery. Instead of reading, she decides to listen to the sound of the dwarven tongue, repeating a phrase deeply graven into her heart. "Beneath the stubbornest stones hides the purest ores."
She hopes for dreams of strength
Phantrel
Despite his weariness, the walk is somewhat restorative to Phantrel. His heart, if not his body, is soothed as he enters the first of the higher pines and sees more greenery about. His heart is possibly soothed further with a figure detaches itself from the evening gloom and greets him softly.
Dryads are often imagined to be figures of perfect beauty, vibrant and glowing. This one is less so: still a face and form that might be called pretty, but she has the wan, overly thin look of someone who has recovered from an illness. Still, her smile at Phantrel puts a light in her eyes and for a moment she's very pretty indeed.
"Hail, wanderer," she murmurs in Sylvan with a teasing smile. She looks Phantrel over, the amusement slowly fading. "Ah, you look very weary. It's not good for your soul to be under the ground, my friend."
Xiramona
At some point Xira takes her leave of the other workers and starts the walk back home. In the mine it was sweatily hot; now, at night, with the wind whipping cold off the ocean, it's chilly indeed. She walks briskly.
Before bed she takes out the worn deck of Harrow cards that is one of the last legacies from her mother. It's seen better days; the paint is worn and fading on many cards, and several cards are missing (the Locksmith, the Tangled Brier, and the Theater, specifically). But it still has a spark of power, and tingles beneath her fingers.
Her weariness leads her to avoid the effort of a full 'Tapestry' reading with nine cards. Instead, a simple three-card reading of past - present - and future will do for tonight.
The first card she draws is the Empty Throne; the second is the Midwife; and the third is the Marriage. Huh.
Argatha gets up out of bed, and walks casually up to Specks, whispering quietly so as not to wake the others. "Did'ja see a rat or something? I'm surprised this place isn't absolutely crawling with them. I haven't seen any cats about."
He looks to see what they're looking at.
The halfling half-jumps out of her skin, wheeling on Argatha wide eyes in the low glow of the dimmed lanterns. She hisses, "Thamir's thunder, don't sneak up on me like that!"
Specks shakes her head, relaxing somewhat. "Yeah. Heard it. Thought I might be able to bean it good and stop it scrabblin' around." For emphasis, she gestures with a rusty hoe she likely found among the old tools.
"Hail fair maiden," Phantrel replies, using the tongue of forests and fey creatures. He stoops into a low bow, a grin on his face, and reaches to kiss the dryad's offered hand in a parody of knightly courtship. "That I am," he agrees. "It was a long day and hauling rocks is as hard and as dull as you would expect." He stretches his arms skyward as he speaks, looking to put a little more life into their leaden weight.
"And you're right again. Based on what I've seen today and the state of some of the miners I'd go so far as to say it's not good for anyone. Perhaps once upon a time it did something for the dwarves but..." He lets the silence hang, implying that whatever was responsible for the vanishing of the dwarves, living underground clearly did nothing to save them from their fate.
Phantrel carefully scrutinises the dryad at the same time her green eyes are closely inspecting him. It's an open look, the kind permissible only due to the intimacy between them. The dryad, in keeping with the surrounding trees, has been in better health. The half-elf says nothing of it, however. In part this is because he knows her fey nature may not take kindly to the words, however sincerely they are meant or delivered, and in part because nothing needs to be said as both know it to be true. He also knows that, like the wind-whipped pines around them, she is hardy, a survivor. Phantrel steps closer, reaching out a hand to cup her face and breathing in the scent of her. She smells warm, woody, familiar. "It's good to see you, Celys," he says quietly.
Raka gratefully opts to wash herself from head to toe, though the curtain was clearly meant for shorter folks-- she can see the ground over the top of it. She tries not to make uncomfortable eye contact with anyone as she washes.
Specks pulls a woolen cap from somewhere and jams it onto her head as she climbs into her cot. "You'd think they could patch the damn walls! Maybe I'll ask if we can have some supplies for that-- if we do it on our time they might let us?"
A wiry human who looks to be from far to the south by his coloring chuckles thinly. "Probably take the cost of the supplies out of your pay," he points out, dragging his own blanket over his head.
"Well I'm a warm sleeper," the big woman says as she climbs into her own cot. "Anyone who gets too cold can join me." The double meaning of her words doesn't occur to her until long after they've left her mouth, but by then it's too late.
During the night, Raka sleeps so soundly that not only is she utterly oblivious to Argatha's and Specks's conversation, she makes it harder for other people to hear it.
The halfling half-jumps out of her skin, wheeling on Argatha wide eyes in the low glow of the dimmed lanterns. She hisses, "Thamir's thunder, don't sneak up on me like that!"
Specks shakes her head, relaxing somewhat. "Yeah. Heard it. Thought I might be able to bean it good and stop it scrabblin' around." For emphasis, she gestures with a rusty hoe she likely found among the old tools.
Argatha grins in a friendly manner, "Oh, sorry. I don't see it, so you must not have gotten it. We should get a cat."
vs DC 15
He yawns, satisfied there's nothing to do, and goes back to sleep.
"Well I'm a warm sleeper," the big woman says as she climbs into her own cot. "Anyone who gets too cold can join me." The double meaning of her words doesn't occur to her until long after they've left her mouth, but by then it's too late.
From beneath the pile of warm blankets, a muffled voice emerges. "Sure, I'm the naughty one..."
Raka's impressive, reverberating snores overlay the conversation between Argatha and Specks, but the halfling merely smiles a toothache smile at Argatha. "Yeah, good idea. Have to see if anyone has one to spare in town. Welp. G'night!"
She hurries back to her bed.
**********
Morning comes, as it tends to. Today's breakfast is more of the oat porridge, a fried egg, and several smoked kippers. The tea is hot and sweet and Brimble isn't the only one to try and curl around his mug for warmth.
At the first bell everyone falls in before the mine entrance, the locals and out-of-towners alike. Ubek briefly counts heads to make sure nobody's missing, grunts to himself, and waves you on in. "Like yesterday, Carver'll tell you what to do."
If anyone wants to make the case for some labor to be allocated to the barn building, now is the time.
"Hail fair maiden," Phantrel replies...
Celys accepts the hand with a half-smile. "And good to be seen," she responds with a hint of tease. Her own hand settles over his, lightly resting there. "--be careful, Phantrel. I do not like that you go down into the earth like this. And I cannot follow you there if you do not return."
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The first card she draws is the Empty Throne; the second is the Midwife; and the third is the Marriage. Huh.
Xira studies the spread intently. The Empty Throne in the past position is easy enough to read, with both her parents gone. They taught her so much. She may have found Mam's lessons on Harrowing, history, and magic more exciting than those of her woodworker Papa, but the patience, care and craft she puts into her calligraphy and painting, that she learned from him.
She brushes a tear from her cheek.
The Midwife in the present spot, now that one's interesting. Salt Spire certainly has an influx of new arrivals, thanks to the Door, and who knows what Dwarvish creations and information they may find on the other side of it? The Door is the conduit, closed though it still is.
She knows the Marriage represents all kinds of unions, not just a wedding of two people. So what will be joined? Salt Spire and the GMC? The mine workers, in camaraderie and friendship? The present and whatever of the past lies waiting to be uncovered? Something she cannot yet see?
If her deck was whole and healthy and she more advanced in her training, she might be able to perceive more. As things stand, she can only wonder, and she can't let wondering steal too much time from sleep. With a sigh, she collects her cards, sets them carefully in their niche, and goes to bed.
Em wakes reluctantly to a cold day, the chill breeze whipping through her lean figure. Yesterday, after the first shift, she had felt alright. Rest had been before her, but now that it's behind her, she can appreciate the full measure of her situation. Long toil makes a strong back, she thinks, with a sigh, as she arrives at the barn once more.
"Forgot about the kneepads," she tells Xira, hot food making her breath steam. "I was too busy thinking about your magic."
"I know you don't," Phantrel says, trying to reassure her. "And you know that I'd prefer not to be doing it either, but we've talked about it and I don't think either of us is going to change our mind." He looks down, meeting the dryad's gaze with his own. "If that happens then something has gone seriously wrong. Mining is dangerous but there is aid, including magic available, and they seem like a serious operation at least."
He steps back, breaking contact. "Come," Phantrel says, "I've spent all day underground and I'd rather not relive it all now. I'd much prefer to spend tonight doing something better. Show me something interesting that's been happening in the wood since I last saw you." He smiles, hoping that a little bit of flattery will nudge away the gloomy clouds of Celys' mood.
* * * * *
In the morning Phantrel's body still aches but his soul feels a little lighter. He breaks his fast with a little food before making his way down the slope to the mine, where he takes on more sustenance. The food remains both relatively plentiful and more than edible. He waits to find out what Carver has in store for them all today.
When he got back, Colin eyed his bed suspiciously, something had bitten him in the night. But he was prepared! Carefully he unwrapped the fumigation candle, which was a sort of firework. Oblivious to anyone else he lit it and set about thoroughly fumigating his bed, being careful not to singe it too much. A jet of noxious green smoke smelling strongly of sulphur shot out.
If anyone was there Colin helpfully offered to fumigate their bed saying, "Those nasty biting things won't stand a chance! Don't worry the smell will go in a day or perhaps three. You'll get used to it I promise!"
”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.”
Xira quickly swallows a bite of carrot before her sudden chuckle makes her choke on it. "That would certainly be a sight to see, Sir Brimble," she laughs. "I'm sure you'll be grace and elegance personified."
"Forgot about the kneepads," she tells Xira, hot food making her breath steam. "I was too busy thinking about your magic."
Xira chases a spoonful of porridge with tea. "Been a while since I've needed to use it," she says, looking down at her left palm. "It's strange, how quickly it comes back to me.
"And don't worry about the kneepads. We can scrounge supplies tonight. I still have that sheepskin rug Papa had on the floor of his workroom--"
"Ah ... it's Xiramona, right? And Em?"
Xira turns to find the freckled halfling addressing her, looking a little awkward, hands twisting in her pockets. "Yes, that's us. And you're Specks, yes?" She starts to extend a hand for a shake, but seeing Specks' hands staying resolutely pocketed, Xira converts the motion to picking up her tea for a sip.
"Yep." Specks nods and forges on. "Some of us were talking about how the barn gets colder 'n a hag's hinder at night, y'know? I said maybe we could get some supplies out of the company to do a patch job on the walls, and Brimble said the higher-ups might go for it if we pointed out they wouldn't want us workers getting sick or just plain exhausted. He also said we might want to get someone who can talk smooth to pitch the idea."
One hand comes out of a pocket to rub at the back of Specks' neck. You two seem like you're good at that kind of thing. Can you talk to Ubek? Try to bring him around?"
Xira blinks and considers, but only for a moment. "Sure, I can do that. There's no harm in trying, and gods know we all need the best sleep we can get." She turns and smiles at Em. "Care to come along?"
Having never been the shy and nervous type, Xira broaches the subject with Ubek directly after greeting him and picking up her gear. "So it turns out that the barn walls are letting in an awful lot of cold air at night." She smiles and makes her tone hopeful. "Would it be possible to scare up some supplies to let us patch the gaps? Since workers coming down with ague or clumsy with fatigue would have to hamper the dig."
Brimble tags along when Xiramona pitches fixing the barracks to Ubek, adding his weight to the idea. ”Boss, that coastal wind comes whipping through the cracks and it’ll get worse as the seasons turn. If you supply the chinking, we’ve got folks ready to put the work in off-shift to seal up the barn. Like Doc here said, folks start getting sick, it’ll slow up progress. Whaddaya say?”
Sitting at the table with Xira and Em, Raka takes a bit of kipper. "We'll need wood, at least. It's too bad this place hasn't been kept up since the Dunneys skipped out." She nods toward one particular hole in the wall. "I think that one was you, Xira," she adds with a chuckle. "Remember we used to sneak in here?"
* * * * *
Raka waits to hear what will be done about making repairs to the barn before heading dutifully for Carver's area. Regardless of the barn decision, the day promises to be long and exhausting, just like the day before-- but the GMC are paying her for it, so it's not all bad. And spending hour after hour working her muscles, requiring nothing of her except her best skill... well, she supposes there are worse ways to pass the time.
Phantrel is weary already from the day and a hike to see deer sounds like it could mean another hour before he gets to sleep. Does he beg off with apologies, or throw caution to the winds and follow Celys to the fawns?
****
The dark-skinned, wiry human who had spoken up earlier makes an enormous face at Colin's candle. "By Besmara, what foulness is that, man? Are you trying to poison us all before the mine can get around to it?"
He drags his cot well away from Colin and his fumigation exercise. There are some other groans and complaints from those nearby-- the end result is that Colin has cleared out the bugs from his bed, and all other workers from his immediate vicinity.
****
After breakfast the workers assemble before Ubek, and Xira puts forth the argument, bolstered by Brimble, that perhaps some labor and supplies could be used for making the barn more habitable. The hobgoblin glances up from a clipboard with mild surprise, then mulls over the suggestion, picking at his formidable jagged teeth with one thumbnail.
"Don't see why not," he grunts eventually. The hulking man strides over to piles of covered supplies and yanks the tarp off one of them.
"Canvas. Nails. Hammers. Rope. Clay for caulking. Oh, and rat poison, heh. We can spare three of you from the dig today, I s'pose."
Specks' hand shoots up like a rocket. Ubek says, "Right, there's one. Two others?"
Brimble is in a conundrum. "I'd like to pitch in, Boss, but after that blasting I'm probably more use in the shaft." The kobold tallies another point for Ubek.
Ubek nods at Brimble's words. He points at the dark-skinned man who had so objected to Colin's efforts last night, and then scans the group, deciding on a third...
Delighted to hear the excitement in the dryad's voice, Phantrel encourages her to lead on. It might mean a later night but he considers it time well spent.
* * * * *
Interested to learn that their leaders are not immune to persuasion, Phantrel pays attention to the arguments and who made them, storing the information away for future reference.
While the idea of working outside is an appealing one, given he's not currently bunking in the dorm he feels it's a bit unfair to deprive someone else of the opportunity so doesn't put himself forward.
"I can stay and help, though I'm no carpenter. I can hold the boards, stuff the holes, etc. as well as any I suppose." Argatha offers to help 'fortify' their dwelling.
"Unless someone has, you know, any actual skill? The wheelbarrow is OK too." He shrugs with a grin, though his muscles say otherwise.
""Been a while since I've needed to use it,"she says, looking down at her left palm. "It's strange, how quickly it comes back to me."
"If I had such powers at my disposal, I would not pass one day without calling on them." Em looks longingly at her friend's hands. "Perhaps not even one hour. Tell me, do you often find yourself recalling arts long disused?"
-------
As much as Em would love to have an easy day, she's too eager to see what the blasting might have uncovered to volunteer for barn repair. "Canvas and nails are good," she adds, "but do you have any wood?"
Apparently, yes, these rejuvenate him enough to help him stave off fatigue!
⛏️⛏️⛏️⛏️
"Awright, you three, barn work then," Ubek says with a wave of one clawed hand at Ubek, Specks, and the Mwangi man. "As for wood: what we've got of that is going to build supports in the mine, we won't spare extra for the barn. We gots to bring it in and that costs! You want to scavenge wood from unused outbuildings or something, be my guest. Now, the rest of you, down to the mine and report to Carver!"
⛏️⛏️⛏️⛏️ ⛏️⛏️⛏️⛏️
The black maw of the hole in the wall near the Door has been made larger by the explosions you heard last night. Fresh piles of rubble are accumulated on your side of the hole. Carver is standing at the edge of the gap, the glowing gem on her mining helmet brighter than yesterday, blasting a beam of light into the dark. Her hands are planted on her hips as she looks expectantly in.
"Day shift coming, lads!" she calls into the pit, after a quick glance your direction (that nearly blinds several of you). "Clear?"
A muffled yell comes back that you are too far away to make out, but Carver can understand it, judging by her sigh. "Feckin' hells! Well get it done before Absalom sinks back into the sea, you gormless grubbers!"
Carver turns back to you all with a shake of her head and taps at her helmet to turn off the blazing beam of light. She takes stock of the group and says, "--oi, did three of you already crap out?"
It's explained that Ubek has requisitioned three bodies for dorm work, earning a grimace from the half-orc. "Bugger me sideways, so because you all want a luxe inn I'm down three bodies? Bah, fine, ain't ready to send you in anyway. The eggheads are still checking it won't crack down on you all. In the meantime don't just sit and braid each other's hair-- clear this rubble!"
Raka, Em, and Colin are among those who are directed to wheel the wheelbarrows back to the outside, and Brimble, Xiramona, and Phantrel are in the group who must load debris into the barrows and have full ones ready to go back out.
As you work, Carver and the 'eggheads' continue to call back and forth to each other. Finally it sounds like their voices are returning and coming back your direction, even as the mid-morning break bell rings.
⛏️⛏️⛏️⛏️ ⛏️⛏️⛏️⛏️
Up above, Argatha, Specks, and the Mwangi man (who introduces himself to Argatha as Kubanu) set to work figuring out how they can make the dormitory more habitable. Specks seems to have a decent bit of engineering know-how, and Kubanu's height is useful as he starts nailing canvasses to the existing barn walls. Specks directs Argatha to use the caulking clay to pack some of the smaller gaps.
It's not exactly sculpting, but it is working with clay, something Argatha's done many times in his life. He might not mind if all the work for the GMC involved this, actually: mixing a little water in with the clay to make it pliable, then smearing it into the gaps and cracks between the beams. The morning is cold at first, but as the sun climbs the day becomes downright pleasant. By daylight, the winds coming off the ocean are refreshing rather than bitterly chill. There's none of the cramped closeness of the mine tunnels. Argatha might even find himself tempted to whistle.
The three workers can distantly hear the mine bell calling for the morning break. Kubanu stretches out his shoulders and has a seat on his cot, reaching for his waterskin to take a drink.
Argatha is perhaps preparing to do the same when a figure appears in the barn doorway. She is a young woman dressed in much nicer clothing than most in Salt Spire wear (certainly nicer than any miner would wear) and looks pertly into the barn.
"Oh, hello! I didn't expect anyone would be in here! What is it you're doing? Is it a rest day?"
Brimble starts moving rocks… many, many rocks.
In the morning, the reek from Colin's fumigation was still lingering but he was convinced any bedbugs or other biting horrors had been eradicated!
Buoyed from this success he happily ate the rather spartan breakfast. His mood soured somewhat when he was tasked with hauling wheelbarrows full of rubble. He was a qualified engineer, this seemed a waste of his talents! Still thought he'd make a go of it, and ask later if there's was some way he'd be better suited to helping out.
Towards lunch time Colin remarked to Raka and Em, "I know this isn't what's regarded as heavy work, but I have aches where I didn't know you could ache! If only I had a proper alchemy kit, I could whip up something to soothe cramped muscles."
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: (1/1)
Spells Memorized (Caster Level 1, Concentration +2)
. . 0 (11): Create Water, Light, Purify Food & Drink
. . 1st (12): Cure Light Wounds, Sleep
- - -
Argatha uses the clay to fill the holes, and actually seems to be enjoying himself. He doesn’t quite try whistling again, but he does hum along to an odd little ditty that he himself couldn’t tell you where he first heard.
vs DC 15
”No, no rest day ma’am. We three have been assigned to spruce up the barracks a bit today. Make it less drafty, hunt for rats, that kind of thing. Is there something we can help you with? Management isn't here.”
"Oh! I see. Wait, rats? You have rats? That's terrible! I'll see if we can do something about that. What's your name, my friend?"
Before Argatha can answer, Ubek's raspy voice yells, "Hey! Get outta there, no fraternizing with the workers!"
The hobgoblin appears in the doorway behind the pretty young woman, looming over her by at least a foot. "I don't care if it's your boyfriend or brother or what, but these people got work to do, get yourself back to town, little girl!"
The young lady does not appear intimidated by Ubek's growl. She smiles up at him. "Oh, but I'm not from 'town.' I'm from Absalom."
A deeper, masculine voice joins the conversation. "Indeed. She has come a long way. And I expect you to speak to her with more respect."
Ubek turns to address the new speaker, and does a visible double take. His manner changes entirely and he bobs a very awkward, clumsy bow.
"Lord Highcliff! I- uh- we-- nobody said you were coming!"
Argatha has been with the GMC long enough to know the name, though he's never laid eyes on the man before. Highcliff is the majority principal owner-investor in the Consortium. In the flesh, he is a human of middle age but still tall and powerfully built. His gaze raking over the hobgoblin is cold and stern and he wears clothing as fine as the younger woman's.
"No, that would defeat the purpose of a surprise visit. What is your name and position?"
Ubek offers another very awkward bow. It's like watching a hippopotamus try to genuflect. "Uh, Ubek, sir. My lord. Site, uh, supervisor, quartermaster, uh...."
"Mmm. Well, Ubek, my daughter and I are here to see the site. Perhaps you might lead us to see the work being done."
"Of.... of course, sir, just uh, one minute, let me give these workers instructions..."
Ubek hurries into the barn and beelines for Argatha as the closest. He grabs the laborer by the shoulder and hauls him close. "Listen. Run to the Salt Cellar and get Brazali. Wake his arse up if you have to. Tell him Highcliff is HERE, in the mine. Go now!"
He lets Argatha go with a little half-shove and then turns back to the two well-dressed individuals, who are standing the barn doorway, waiting. The woman, at least, is smiling-- at Argatha, at Specks, at Kubanu.
vs DC 10
Argatha continues his clueless streak as he smiles back to the young lady. "Miss." he bows by way of departure as he rushes to do as Ubek bids.
He wonders who Lord Highcliff is, but from his dress figures he's a high-muckity-muck. He's heard the name, but isn't sure quite what his place is in the boss's list.
He heads down to the Salt Cellar at a brisk pace. He doesn't start actually running until he's out of sight of the Lord however. Upper crust folks like haste, but don't seem to like running much in his experience.
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As you take a break from moving the post-blast rubble known as "muck," Carver converses with the figures emerging from the dark hole ahead. Some of them are the four engineers you saw yesterday; Colin gazes at them enviously. Oh the injustice!!! To have him wasted in this position. Maybe Carter just doesn't know his qualifications!
Other figures who come out from the dark are hard-looking men and women with actual armor, and weapons. It'd be nice to be close enough to hear what's being said, but alas.
Carver eventually jogs towards your group, fresh rock dust on her clothes and skin.
"Awright! Heads up, scavvies. Some of you been in post-blast zones before, some of you ain't. Listen close, either way.
"First thing: your whistles! If you haven't yet, dig them out and hang 'em around your neck by those little cords they got!" She holds up her own by way of example. "If somethin' goes wrong, you don't wanna have to fuggin' try and dig this little damn thing out from your pack! Three short blasts means 'trouble.' If you hear three short blasts, you stop what the fug you're doing and, if you don't see anything that would make it unsafe for you to do so, you scarper back here to the staging area, kesh!?
"Second thing: you are now goin' into dwarfturf. Yer gonna see a lot of gold. Don't get stupid and figger you can slip a piece or three in your pocket and nobody will ever know. We'll know. Aside from that, it's a great way to get your fingers blown off. Dwarfgold workings often got all sortsa s**# worked into them and what you think is just a spare screw or something might go off in your face."
Past GMC laborers know this is something of an exaggeration-- at least, you've never heard of 'a spare bolt' exploding-- designed to probably help override any greedy instincts the new workers might have. But it is not an exaggeration that dwarfwork is often trapped or otherwise dangerous. Workers have reported burns, acidic substances, lightnings, and other hazards of interacting with dwarven mechanisms and metals.
"You got water with you. It's for drinking. It's also to wash s#!@ off your skin if anything starts burning or stinging. Be sure your canteens are full 'fore you go in. Don't touch dwarfgold bare-skinned, that's why you got gloves. I mean, best you don't touch it at all, we're havin' you move rocks, not gold, but if you can't help but make contact, then gloves! Keep them on! Yeah I know your hands'll get hot and sweaty! Deal with it!"
Carver paces a bit before the group as she speaks. "Eggheads have gone through and checked the roof won't fall, checked the air that it's safe. The mercs have gone through and made sure nothin's gonna jump and eat you. This don't mean you get to close your eyes and la la la through your day-- yesterday shoulda showed you that even doin' 'safe stuff' can still get someone banged up good, like if a wheelbarrow slips. Today won't be so safe. So keep sharp! Watch yer area, watch your other workers. Medics, keep eyes out for signs of exhaustion, not enough air, all that s$!$.
"Alla you over there-- you're loading and hauling. We're clearing the muck from the other side of that big hole there. Colin: you're still checking air regularly, but you're also takin' lanterns from the supplies and settin' em up inside. Adjust as needed so your fellas can see what the hell they're doing. Raka! The gods made you tall enough to crack your head on every ceiling but they also made you tall enough to help the engineers put up support trusses, so you're doin' that, stick with the little goblin s~~%head who's runnin' around here. Saltgirl: grab those bags full a' marker flags. If you see somethin' in the rubble that looks dwarfmade, it doesn't get moved into the barrows! You put a stick and flag next to it and signal for an egghead. Got it? Any questions?"
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Raka wipes her brow with relief when she hears the morning break bell. She does a double-take a few minutes into their break when she sees the armed and armored warriors pass by. What in the deepest hells do they need stuff like that down here for?
She's even more flabbergasted when Carver explains what they'll be doing the rest of the day. "Real dwarf gold?" she blurts out before she can stop herself. Though it might sound like greed in Raka's voice, actually stealing some of the stuff is the furthest thing from her mind in this moment. She grew up on fables about the dwarves and the gold they killed each other over-- it's supposed to be very cursed.
Raka takes out her gloves and inspects them for holes.
"The gods made you tall enough to crack your head on every ceiling but they also made you tall enough to help the engineers put up support trusses, so you're doin' that, stick with the little goblin s+#%head who's runnin' around here."
"Don't I know it!" Raka says brightly, happy to be assigned to support truss duty rather than risk handling the dwarven gold.
The kobold double-checks his gear. He's got no questions... or at least no questions related to the work. He does have some questions that would probably result in Carver beating him into a pulp. He decides to save those inquiries for another time.
Phantrel listens carefully to the instructions, looping the cord of the whistle around his neck. He's as curious as everyone else about the dwarf gold but acquisitiveness isn't one of his vices so there's no temptation burning to disobey the instruction. He pulls on the gloves and flexes his fingers, testing the range of movement. They fabric is pretty tough but he can move his hands without too much restriction. Not so different to the pair he has at home for working with certain plants.
As he starts loading the rubble - muck, in miner parlance - he says to the group nearby, "Anybody need any extra water just let me know."
Colin wasn't convinced about all this talk of dwarf gold. He'd been in a gold mine before, sometimes you could see little specks of gold in the quartz veins, but usually it needed to be crushed and smelted to collect all the tiny particles into an appreciable quantity.
"Lanterns eh? All right. What's the air flow like down there? Guess that's going to determine spacing. Don't want to many or too few so we can't see well..." replied Colin.
Turning to Colin, Phantrel adds, ”I can also create temporary magical lights for a short period if you need any extra at any point.”
"I know this isn't what's regarded as heavy work, but I have aches where I didn't know you could ache! If only I had a proper alchemy kit, I could whip up something to soothe cramped muscles."
"That sounds nice. What are you missing?" Em hopes the answer isn't 'the whole kit.'
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Em listens to Carver carefully. Since it's her job to mark out the dwarfgold, that means she can steal things before anyone knows they're there. She figures that as the gold marker, she's most likely to have her pockets checked, so it will be best to give any purloined items to someone else for safekeeping. She surveys her companions carefully.
Brimble would probably help, but only out of pity for Em's foolish ways.
Raka seems interested enough, but she might give up the game accidentally.
Phantrel probably doesn't care enough about dwarfgold to risk anything.
Colin is not to be trusted with delicate operations.
And that leaves...
"Xira, you thinking what I'm thinking?" Em asks quietly. She waves at a mercenary, hoping he'll approach so she can ask about what's behind the door
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Argatha hurries to the building where he first met all the townsfolk. Fortunately, he does not have to ask any staff where Jalynor might be- the half-elf is at a table in the common room, where he seems to be having a late breakfast and an unpleasant meeting with an irate Spire-woman who is showing him some dishware.
"--CRACKED I tell you. CRACKED. This is an HEIRLOOM, Mister Borzoi. My grandfather's grandfather's grandfather!"
"Odd, I thought it was your grandmother's," Jalynor sighs. "I must admit I really can't see the crack, Mistress.... Vonnekin, was it? And it is in fact Brazali."
"It IS cracked! And chipped! Right here! Look!" The plate is brandished aggressively in Jalynor's face.
"Ah. Yes. I do see a minor line right there. And is there any proof this devastation happened during last evening's blasting operations, or... I mean, the dishware is several generations old, so..."
"Are you calling me a liar, you pointy-eared--"
The half-elf's gaze roams for an escape, and settles on Argatha. He blinks, frowns, then says brusquely, "Yes, what is it?"
Argatha quickly relays Ubek's message. It prompts a sudden paleness in the half-elf. Jalynor abandons his breakfast and surges to his feet.
"YES HERE YOU ARE MISTRESS VONNEKIN PLEASE BUY A NEW PLATE ON THE CONSORTIUM'S GENEROSITY!" he says rapidly, tossing a few silvers onto the table and beelining for the door. Argatha, who so dutifully just ran here, must now turn and go the other way to keep up with the hurrying recruiter.
"Highcliff, and his daughter? You're positive? What can he be-- no, no, never mind, you won't know and it doesn't matter! Damnation!"
The half-elf bursts into a full run, something Brimble would no doubt pay to see, but alas, Argatha and a few Salt-Spire-folk are the only witnesses.
(Rhondra Vonnekin scoops up the silver coins, and a forgotten pastry, with a smile for the day's fortunes thus far. By golly, the mayor was right about the mine bringing back wealth!)
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Raka's tone makes Carver look at her rather sharply, but the eager agreement to work on trusses seems to assuage the suspicions for a moment. Colin's question earns a little nod from her.
"Naturally, pretty stagnant. One of the eggies did a bit of windwork, though, so there's a small breeze just now. The lanterns are all in nice good glass so won't go out with a gust," she says, rapping with her knuckles on one of the lanterns as demonstration.
"Oh-- nearly forgot the third thing." Next to the extra lanterns on the supply table is a leather sack with something roundish inside. Carver reaches in and pulls out what surely looks like the bleached skull of a humanoid, perhaps a halfling or gnome by the general size. One side is intact, the other has a nasty caved-in portion with a fracturing web of cracks radiating from it.
"ANYBODY KNOW WHAT THIS HERE IS?" Carver waits only a beat or two for a response. "It's a reminder to WEAR YOUR $^$@in' HELMETS IS WHAT IT IS! This poor bastard took his off and took flyrock to the noggin! Cut his career shorter than he was. Poor Wazzer. Don't be like Wazzer. Wear your $^$@in' helmets."
A few miners, mostly the new townies, look a bit pale over the skull demonstration, and proceed to hurriedly start checking their own gear. Carver nods at the sight. "Ten more minutes to make sure you're good and ready. Hit up the lat, check your water, check your kit, then we'll goin' in."
She marks down how many supplies get taken from the table by each worker. As the laborers ready for the true work of the mine, whispers are traded and a certain nervous excitement is in the warm underground air.
The merc who Em had waved to gives her an idle once-over, then saunters their way.
"What're you wantin', girlie?" he drawls once nearer. He seems more or less human, though his skin might have a greenish cast to it, and is broad-shouldered with a solid paunch his armor only partially contains. Half a dozen weapons are strapped to his body and all look as though they've seen use. From beneath the visor of a helmet, a pair of small, dark eyes appraise Em, judging her usefulness or potential thereof on calipers known only to their owner.
Colin blew his cheeks out and replied, "Well lets see, I could do with more willowbark and sulphur and lamp black and phosphorous and essence of nitre and a funnel flask or three and an alembic and a stirring bar, a lode stone and oh and several other, well more than several other standard reagents..." He gave Em a wan smile as he added, "One lives in hope!"
When Phantrel offered to summon light, Colin nodded as he said, "Thank you, that may come in handy in a pinch!"
Colin wasn't quite sure how to process Carver's response, the question he asked hadn't been answered exactly. Oh! He thought I'll just have to make this up as I go along, let's assume we spread the lamps somewhat far apart, and perhaps take Phantrel's offer up as a stop gap if anyone complains.
Brimble gives the skull a respectful nod accompanied by a silent plea. He’d ‘met’ Wazzer a couple times. The one time he hadn’t received the skull’s warning was Feldspar… and that dig ended in disaster. So, while the kobold didn’t consider himself superstitious, he ignored the hypocrisy of believing Wazzer might be a good luck charm.
Give us the luck you didn’t take for yourself, Wazz. See us safe to where the topsoil is below our feet, not above our heads.
Aside from that, Brimble’s gear was sorted and he was ready to get to work.
Argatha does his best to keep up with the running half-elf. He wonders if he should return to the barn-duty he was put to, but decides to stay close in case Jalynor needs him for something.
huff... huff... huff...
She nods toward one particular hole in the wall. "I think that one was you, Xira," she adds with a chuckle. "Remember we used to sneak in here?"
Xira laugh-groans, one hand over her face. "I could hardly forget." Turning to their table-mates, she elaborates, "We found some rope in a corner, so of course we had to sling it over the rafters and swing from it. It didn't occur to us that the rope was likely as old as the barn, until my swing broke and sent me flying toward the nearest wall. Fortunately the wood was weak enough that my leg went through it instead of breaking. Just as fortunately, I was able to heal the scrapes and avoid some awkward questions from my parents."
"If I had such powers at my disposal, I would not pass one day without calling on them." Em looks longingly at her friend's hands. "Perhaps not even one hour. Tell me, do you often find yourself recalling arts long disused?"
"No, not really. Just the one." She gives her own hands a arched-brow look, wondering what Em sees in them. She's known her friend long enough to appreciate her very individual way of looking at the world.
"Canvas. Nails. Hammers. Rope. Clay for caulking. Oh, and rat poison, heh. We can spare three of you from the dig today, I s'pose."
Xiramona would high-five Brimble (or mid-five for her, given their relative heights) after Ubek's decision, but it doesn't seem wise with their hobgoblin supervisor still right there. She does give the kobold a triumphant grin as they head down the main shaft. Doc, hmmm? She doesn't mind the nickname a bit.
The grin soon fades during the morning's backbreaking labor. She observes and copies the lifting and shifting technique of her more experienced workmates, thus keeping her efforts from literally breaking something, back or otherwise. Still, the constant lift-load-lift-load-lift-load-shift barrow-repeat has Xira sweaty and straining soon enough, and she's glad of the morning break when it finally arrives.
Break over, she listens closely (and a touch apprehensively as things are Clearly Getting Serious) to Carver's instructions. Whistle, water, gloves, HELMET ye gods, latrine, kit, all check. Then Em comes over, a gleam in her eye.
"Xira, you thinking what I'm thinking?" Em asks quietly.
Xira stifles her first response of Sweet Desna I hope not, modifying it to an equally quiet "Can't answer that when I'm not sure what you're thinking, Em." She has a guess, though. She and Raka had the biggest reputation for hellraising when they were kids, but Em had her own ways of getting into trouble, some of them downright creative, and Xira has seen that eye-gleam before.
The merc coming over forestalls Em's reply. Xira takes a half-step back and awaits developments.
Guess she wasn't. We can work on that.
"Tell me," Em says, eyeing the approaching man's second axe, "did you find anything...alive?" She's had dreams of dwarves before, living behind the door through all the long centuries. Once, a traveler swore she heard voices behind the door, stern tones that commanded approbation. It's a childish notion, but she does wonder if there might be fouler things, down there in the dark. "All this talk of sudden traps, but I suspect the real danger comes from noisome creatures, the kind you might deal with."
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"Well lets see, I could do with more willowbark and sulphur and lamp black and phosphorous and essence of nitre and a funnel flask or three and an alembic and a stirring bar, a lode stone and oh and several other, well more than several other standard reagents..." He gave Em a wan smile as he added, "One lives in hope!"
"Essence of nitre? Can you make that from animal dung?" Em asks, encouraging. She's more than happy to offer a listening ear to someone who has clearly lacked one for some time.
Making a quick check of his kit, including that his helmet is securely fastened, Phantrel is soon ready to go. And, he assumes, to keep on going. He doesn't feel like a miner yet - perhaps he never will - but for now at least he's dressed like one and doing the work so he supposes that makes him one, at least for the moment.
"Tell me," Em says, eyeing the approaching man's second axe, "did you find anything...alive?" She's had dreams of dwarves before, living behind the door through all the long centuries. Once, a traveler swore she heard voices behind the door, stern tones that commanded approbation. It's a childish notion, but she does wonder if there might be fouler things, down there in the dark. "All this talk of sudden traps, but I suspect the real danger comes from noisome creatures, the kind you might deal with."
The mercenary grins a bit, displaying a few teeth that have been silver-capped. He fondly pats the haft of the axe that's drawn Em's gaze.
"Nothin' alive after we dealt with it," he chuckles. "Yer typical cave-crawly crap, aye. Bugs, worms, bats.... most stuff just flees the light. The nastier stuff comes atcha. But quick steel sees to most of it well enough. Don't worry, girlie, me an' the others will be ahead where the dangers might be. You just gots to clean up after us."
He doesn't walk off right away; Em has time to ask another question if she's so inclined.
****
Jalynor is out of breath by the time he and Argatha reach the mine entrance. He braces a hand against the outer wall and leans over, wheezing as he tries to regain his composure. Clearly, he is more used to doing paperwork than running. After a bit, the half-elf straightens up, blinks to realize Argatha has kept pace, but immediately asks: "--do I-- look alright?"
Half of Jalynor's hair has slid loose of its tie and is stuck to his sweaty, flushed skin. The cravat he was wearing around his throat is crooked and his shirts are all askew. It's up to Argatha if he wants to relate the truth or a polite lie.
Ubek is nowhere to be seen; most likely he and their unexpected guests are already heading deeper into the mine.
****
With your preparations checked and doublechecked, Carver beckons you to follow... into the dark, into caves that could hold anything... With a last deep breath, and prayers for those who wish to raise them, you start clambering through the blasted entrance and into the chamber beyond.
The lanterns cast wildly shifting shadows ahead of you over a chaotic jumble of rocks. There's still a haze of dust in the air, kicked up by the return of the mercenaries and engineers, and at first you can't see much beyond the immediacy of broken rocks, with the lanternglows reflecting off the fine haze. But slowly, it settles, and slowly, you begin to get a sense of the space you are in.
It's big. The mineshaft you had followed down here had rarely been wider than ten feet, and sometimes only narrow enough to permit the cart tracks and a tiny walkspace next to it. This room.... hall? must be at least sixty feet across, and the ceiling at least that high, if higher. The floor is thoroughly covered in rubble, so you cannot see much of it, but as for the walls and the ceilings...
As lantern beams sweep across them, some of you have a moment's disorientation as you find yourself staring at... the night sky? A field of unknown stars? A dizzying myriad of glowing lines? The illusion resolves itself in a moment: the stone walls and the vaulted ceiling far overhead have been inlaid with reflective decorations, creating patterns that shine your own lantern lights back to you. On the walls there are lines upon lines upon lines, intricate patterns that do not depict anything you can recognize but repeat upon themselves with designs that slowly evolve to others. The lines that twist and pattern on the walls gleam golden, just like the Door itself.
The ones overhead are more silvery in nature, with occasional brief scintillation in rainbow hues as the lanterns catch on whatever substance is giving back your light-- crystals, perhaps? Rather than lines, there are hundreds of individual dots or points on the ceiling, clustered in places, spread wide in others, and creating the illusion of a star-studded night sky, albeit with occasional chunks missing where pieces of the ceiling have fallen down.
The walls have thick stone buttresses every twenty or so feet, arching up to that remarkable ceiling overhead with clean, geometric lines. Those of you, such as Brimble, who are curious about the Door from this side are able to turn your lanterns that direction: indeed, there it is, gold and gleaming, looking much the same from this side as it does the other: featureless, smooth, with no evident handles or mechanisms to interact with it. If there are hinges, they must be buried in the rubble, as this side has considerably more loose rock piled against it than the other.
Carver gives you precious little time for sightseeing. She starts barking orders-- Colin to start getting the area well lit, Raka to help with support trusses on the blasted hole, and so forth. And for most of you, to just start the drudge work of actually moving rocks out of here.
When Em suggested essence of nitre comes from dung, Colin replied "Oh! You're probably thing of saltpeter, but yes absolutely! I should scrape the stable walls. Blindingly obvious but I didn't think of it. Thank you Em!"
Colin then wanders off in a happy daze as he plans an important acquisition for his merge alchemical collection.
When they half crawled out of the cramped mine shaft into the wide hall, Colin's Immediate reaction was wonder, "Oh my!"
This turned to awe as he realized the ceiling was covered in stars, "Look at that! That band is The Caravan, that red one is clearly Cynosure. The position is a little off, but I guess that green one is Castrovel..."
Colin then set about placing lanterns, he chose a wide grid pattern reasoning they would need to clear section by section.