As Xira listens to Em talk with the mercenary, she also kicks herself a bit for her sudden suspicion. Just a few nights ago, she'd joked with Em about how they might find dwarven rune-writing behind the Door, which Xira would use her magic on to help Em translate. And now she was worried that Em had decided that the joke was no joke at all, but rather a fine idea? Very silly, Xira. Especially since anything on paper has to have crumbled into dust centuries ago, and any stones with a significant number of runes probably weigh at least as much as Em herself.
Ah well. Nothing spoken, so no harm done.
As she scrambles over the uneven rock of the tunnel, she does indeed offer up a prayer. Song of the Spheres, keep me safe that I may bask in the glory of your stars again. Lady of Inscribed Wonder, guard my hands so that I may craft more works in your honor.
When she finally emerges from the tunnel and begins to take in their surroundings, her first thought is Oh, for tattoos like that! But all that escapes her lips is a barely voiced "Oh..."
"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..."
It takes Colin's exclamation to clue Xira in (to be fair, she was more focused on wall patterns than ceiling glitter), but as she follows his gestures, she smiles in delight - a delight interrupted by Carver ordering everyone back to work. With a sigh, she chooses a rock and starts hefting again.
Raka whistles in amazement as she looks at the large chamber and the ceiling above. "I dunno what I expected to see in here-- but I didn't think it'd be this big." She's struck by the sheer amount of time it would've taken to carve such intricate patterns into such a huge ceiling, and then to arrange the "stars" after that (or before? hard to tell), even if they are in such a seemingly random scattering.
When Colin points out that the stars aren't random at all but are in fact arranged into recognizable constellations, it makes Raka appreciate the fine craftsmanship even more.
She eventually turns away from the ceiling and looks at the inside of the Door. Wild to think I'm one of the first Salt Spire natives to see the other side of that thing. She didn't know if anyone would ever reach this side of the mysterious Wall Door, but it certainly wouldn't have been her.
Finally, she sets to work hoisting support beams into place at the blast hole.
Brimble gives the cavern a moment of respect. They really knew how to build. Then he sets to work. He’d have time to ogle later on. They’d be walking through this gallery for a year and he’s sure it will be more impressive when it isn’t choked with rock.
But he can’t help but consider clearing the rubble by the door soonish, he wants an excuse to see if there are hinges behind the rubble.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
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.
Argatha reaches out and fixes the cravat, straightens his shirt, and reaches up to his hair, and stops. "Er, your hair is a little crooked sir. May I suggest catching your breath? You want to look, you know, calm and in charge."
He glances down to the ground, hoping he didn't offend.
"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.
"And that's your main job then? Or have you been hired for other purposes?" Em wonders how much the mercenaries are meant to keep her in line, but she doesn't want to ask so directly as to arouse suspicion.
-----------
"Oh..."
Em approaches Xira again on this side of the cave, ready to continue the notion she began upon earlier. The stars above, alone of all the matter in a barren and desolate world, have lived up to her imagination. "I was thinking," she says, not so quietly as to draw attention, not so loud as to be heard, "that dwarfgold must be so lovely as to make all the stars of the night sky, no, even the moon, high king of the night, whose nimbus casts the wind-writhen clouds in shades of silver and grey, even the moon must look pale in comparison. Truly, the dwarves have captured his light, as it were water in a well, and sprinkled it on their garden of radiance, and it has well blossomed into the picture now gleaming before our very eyes." Em will go on, extolling the virtues of dwarven handiwork in rhapsody long familiar to her active mind, until her friend acknowledges the value of such craft. Then she will suggest what hazards might be risked, in pursuit of dwarfgold, and so link one fancy to another, until it seems as natural to Xira as it does to Em, to think of stealing.
⚒️⛰️⚒️⛰️⚒️ ⚒️⛰️⚒️⛰️⚒️
Jalynor looks like he's not sure if he should be offended or not that a lowly indentured worker had the audacity to TOUCH his person, versus grateful for the help. "........
"--right," he says after a moment. "I've got it from here, uh, thank you--"
He runs his fingers through his hair a few times, reties it, surreptitiously checks his shirt to make sure Argatha's fingers haven't gotten rock dust or something else working-class on to the fabric, and then squares his shoulders with a deep breath.
"Gods, I hope Ubek hasn't stuck his foot in his mouth... Come along then... Argatha, right?"
Together they stride down into the mine.
⚒️⛰️⚒️⛰️⚒️ ⚒️⛰️⚒️⛰️⚒️
The soldier gives Em a cynical smile. He seems to guess the gist of her questioning. "That's the main job," he echoes. "But if we're needed for other stuff..... well. We do what we're paid to."
He lightly cracks his knuckles.
*****
The grandeur of the surroundings, and the novelty of being actually IN a dwarven ruin, are quickly enough blunted by the fact that most of you can't spare more than quick glances at the dwarven ruin in question. Shifting rocks on the far side of the Door seems very much like shifting rocks on the near side of the Door. Rocks are rocks.
...or are they? For those of you who are engaged in this most menial of labors, most of the rocks are, well, rocks, with jagged shear edges that speak to the fact they were recently blasted apart. Every now and then, however, you find a stone that must have faced into the dwarven section: one side smooth and flat, and inlaid with the intricate lines of gold, or at least, some sort of gold-hued metal. You dare not risk gaze at these for too long with Carver stalking around, but the glances you can spare by the light of the lanterns that Colin is methodically arranging show the gold lies seamlessly flush with the face of the stone, again with no sign of tool marks. It isn't deep, though: the gold never penetrates more than perhaps a millimeter or two into the stone. Looking very closely shows you tiny, hair-thin lines that course along the gold bands.
It is possible to shift these rocks without touching the gold, if you're careful.
Raka is partnered with a goblin who seems to be even skinnier and have an even larger head than most of that species. The goblin is wearing a helmet that has at least six different lenses mounted on wires that can be reconfigured, and is also wearing a thick pair of spectacles besides those. The goblin's gender seems somewhat indeterminate, though they introduce themselves as Zrmlix. Zrmlix proves to be a shrill but efficient instructor in the art of shoring up the blasted hole, and Raka gets a workout she might even find enjoyable as she drags beams into place, hammers joists together, and otherwise gets to avoid any risk of dwarfgold contact.
It has been perhaps fifteen minutes of this work-- Em hasn't seen anything particularly shiny other than the rocks with the gold inlays-- when you hear voices approaching. Ubek's is recognizable, if distant.
"Uh-- well-- I mean, I dunno if she ought to be just roamin', sir, uh, I mean we did just blast last night and, uhhh, so it's sort of a safety.... thing? We..."
"Oh nonsense. If it's safe enough for the workers I'm sure it's safe enough for me! And it IS safe enough for your workers, isn't it, Foreman Ubek?"
"Of-- of course, ma'am, just, uh-- well, you know, it's dirty, and dusty, and you, uh... Sir, she might get that, that dress messed, or--"
"I assure you that you can speak directly to my daughter, Foreman. Abadar can attest she certainly knows her own mind. Nor is she likely to care overmuch about her dress."
Raka has the first glimpse of the approaching figures. A young woman who is perhaps twenty years of age is determinedly approaching the gap where Raka is working, a firm smile on her face and the hem of her dress held up slightly to avoid the worst of the rock dust on the ground. Some fifteen feet behind her, Ubek is walking next to a tall human man of middle years. Another thirty feet behind Ubek, Specks is wheeling a barrow with a few small crates inside.
On seeing Raka, the lady's smile grows. "Oh, hello! Structural reinforcement, what? I-- my goodness, you're TALL!"
Raka is skeptical at first, to say the least, of being paired with such a small person as Zrmlix. How is someone supposed to help me hoist beams that're so much taller and heavier than they are? The goblin's usefulness becomes apparent quickly, though. They've done this before.
The work has barely started when the pair is approached by several people, only one of whom Raka recognizes. "The better to put these supports up," Raka replies, bristling against incoming criticism. Being large is often an asset-- being freakishly large has been a source of ridicule for as long as she can remember. "Foreman's right," she says, changing the subject as quickly as she can. "That's too nice a dress for being down here. You'll need something that can get dirty. Which job you been assigned?"
So far not much about the mines has surprised Phantrel too much but the stars overhead in the large chamber is sufficient to draw a sharp intake of breath. It's a feat of remarkably artistry and beauty, enough to make one forget that they're below ground rather than out in the open under the night sky. "Indeed," Phantrel agrees, nudging Colin, "and the Two Brothers there, pointing at a pair of stars and then some futher constellations. This is beautiful," he says wonderingly.
* * * * *
Phantrel thinks that Raka has the right of it when she says the young woman's dress is too nice to be down here. What's more, if he's any judge, it is also too expensive to belong here any more than its wearer - or the man with Ubek who he takes to be her father. The way the foreman spoke to her, and the way the man speaks to him in turn, leads the half-elf to surmise that these are important people.
"I'm not sure she's here to work," he whispers to Raka, quietly but audible for anybody close enough to hear, including the well-dressed young lady. "I think she's probably come to inspect things."
Phantrel turns and offers the woman a bow. "My lady."
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
The kobold casts his long-suffering eyes heavenward (roofward in this case) at the sight of the dressy woman. No one should roam around an active mine without a stitch of safety equipment. His tone is immediately challenging as he strides over to face down this new problem. ”OY! Where’s your helmet and gloves? If you fancy dying by misadventure,” the politest euphemism for ‘sheer stupidity’ Brimble can think of, ”…do it outside of my mine.” Thankfully, Brimble wears a set of large gloves to accommodate his claws. As the girl looks like the sort to be handsy, he pulls his gloves off and pushes them into her arms. ”Put’em on, now.”
He sizes up her large skull. ”I’ll get you a helmet.” The kobold gives Phantrel a hard-eyed ‘or else’ look. ”This girl don’t take a step further into the mine until she’s got more to protect her skull than a hairdo.” Without waiting for a reply, he jogs off to where the gear is stored. Likely spotting the equally unprotected other visitor, Brimble makes a note to retrieve a helmet and gloves for him as well.
As he grabs up the safety gear, Brimble indulges his pet theory that the reason humans and other strong-talls have been unable to wipe out the physically weaker kobolds is mostly because the tall races are inherently stupid when it comes to underground activities. They just invite death.
Probably won’t be a better time to test the explosive gold theory
Em glances at her gloved left hand, figuring that she can probably do without her ring finger. While carefully flagging chunks of rock that have gold, she takes note of a piece with gold that’s not easily visible, which she might touch as if by accident. Waiting until she’s The Lady’s field of view, if not under her attention, Em grabs the chunk in such a way that the tip of her ring finger, underneath her glove, just brushes against the gold. She holds her hand against the rock, determined not to drop it unless something disastrous happens and hoping that no one is watching closely enough to see what she’s doing.
Colin responds to Phantrel, by saying "You know the stars change depending on the time of year right? Well perhaps it's a coincidence but the positions of all but a handful of the well known stars are an exact match to what's actually in the night's sky..." The way Colin said that left you under no illusion that he thought it was coincidence.
"I'm not saying it's enchanted, but it might be. I also have a sneaking suspicion that it's old, like millenia old, that might explain why some of the stars are in the wrong place. Oh and one other thing, I think whoever made this sees substantially better in the dark than I can."
⚒️⛰️⚒️⛰️⚒️ At the Mine Entrance ⚒️⛰️⚒️⛰️⚒️
Jalynor looks like he's not sure if he should be offended or not that a lowly indentured worker had the audacity to TOUCH his person, versus grateful for the help. "........
"--right," he says after a moment. "I've got it from here, uh, thank you--"
He runs his fingers through his hair a few times, reties it, surreptitiously checks his shirt to make sure Argatha's fingers haven't gotten rock dust or something else working-class on to the fabric, and then squares his shoulders with a deep breath.
"Gods, I hope Ubek hasn't stuck his foot in his mouth... Come along then... Argatha, right?"
"Yes sir. With an 'a'."
He follows along doggedly, largely unmussed and ready to help. As he enters the mine, he puts on safety gear - gloves, helmet, etc.
Zmrlix can't physically help Raka, no, but they know their stuff! They give directions, Raka implements them, it's the start of a beautiful partnership... up until these newcomers arrive.
The young lady chuckles at Raka's words and starts to shake her head slightly, but Phantrel's muttered words to Raka help forestall further confusion. She smiles back at Phantrel, accepting his bow matter of factly, and opens her mouth to say more- only to be interrupted by a Brimble. An indignant Brimble. An authoritative Brimble. A Brimble fully personifying his role as 'safety lead'.
Ubek outright gawks as Brimble lays down the law, seeming to be at a loss for words. You didn't know hobgoblins could turn that color. Fascinating. The well-dressed man next to him cocks his head as a three-foot-nothing kobold lectures his daughter and then darts out to the supply tables. The daughter in question blinks... blinks again, and then laughs lightly, tugging on the gloves.
"Father," she calls, "see, you don't need to worry. I'll receive chastisement in plenty wherever I go!"
The older man snorts. He intercepts Brimble at the table, taking the gloves and helmet that the kobold is selecting for him, and says in a voice that carries, "Master Kobold. I see you take safety seriously, in 'your' mine. Though in point of fact, I believe the lawyers might consider it to be 'my' mine."
Ubek has managed to find his voice again, albeit a rather strangled one as he grits out, "Lord an' Lady Highcliff, uh, this kobold is the safety lead for this shift. He din't mean no fences. He is REAL REAL SORRY he took that TONE."
(Ever watched a hobgoblin try and explode a kobold's head telepathically with a glare? Well, now you have.)
Lord Highcliff gives a fractional nod to Brimble, his dark eyes scanning the mineworks so far, on the other side of the Door. The young woman's curiosity is focused on the Door and beyond, however, and she stands on tiptoes, trying to peer further in as she waits with ill-concealed patience for the helmet Brimble is fetching. She shifts her weight from foot to foot and fidget-tugs on first a lock of her hair, then her necklace, then her hair again.
*******
Em takes advantage of the fact that most eyes, including Carver's, are focused on the scene between the posh people and Brimble. She conducts an experiment of sorts: an unsanctioned one with unknowable outcomes.... When her finger brushes against the gold, there's a tiny shock! It feels like a brief sting or bug bite, but passes quickly. Em was braced for something to happen and so does not cry out or drop the rock. The pain subsides but leaves a sort of phantom sensation in her hand for a few more seconds, as if something was crawling along inside her veins, making her fingers weak. Then that too passes and it seems she is mostly fine.
*******
Argatha has his own kit, unless he left his pack back at the bunkhouse. Even if he did, he is able to easily grab some of the spare gear that is by the entrance. Jalynor looks at him momentarily bemused, then seems to feel this might not be the worst idea. He gingerly selects the least dusty helmet and just as gingerly sets it on his head, then enters with Argatha.
It takes a few minutes, but soon Argatha is back at the staging area underground, and can see that work has been busy. The hole from yesterday is a good deal larger, and Ubek and the two fancy folk are here in front of it, donning protective gear. Brimble is here too, they all appear to be discussing something. Further in to the hole he can see Raka and the others.
vs DC 15
Argatha notices Specs once again inserting herself where she aughtn't not be. Or is that naughtn't aught be?
He shakes his head as if to clear it, I've got to keep an eye on that Specs...
He hangs back a little when Jalynor enters so as not to be underfoot, but stays close enough in case the man needs him. He seems like the needy sort. Still, if he catches Brimble's eye, he waives.
The older man snorts. He intercepts Brimble at the table, taking the gloves and helmet that the kobold is selecting for him, and says in a voice that carries, "Master Kobold. I see you take safety seriously, in 'your' mine. Though in point of fact, I believe the lawyers might consider it to be 'my' mine."
It isn’t lost on Brimble that Ubek wants to kill him or that the kobold had verbally collapsed a tunnel on himself. As he sees it, there are two choices. He can pitifully attempt to dig himself out or he can hammer the stone once more and attempt to complete his internment.
Here lies Brimble. Four months left on a five year contract… The mine couldn’t do him in, so the mine owner did.
Even as he begins speaking, the small miner isn’t sure whether he’s trying to liberate or bury himself. But the continuing poleaxed look on Ubek’s face sort of makes it worthwhile. ”For sure and certain the mine is yours, Lord Highcliff. No disrespect intended to you, your daughter, or even your lawyer. But the lives of every worker and visitor in your mine… that’s on me. Stone is egalitarian. It’ll crush anyone it chooses without flinching – peasant or lord. So, I hope you unnerstand my enthusiasm for everybody’s safety. If things go wrong down here, I’ll be the one clawing through broken rock to get you out alive.”
It’s more a defense than an apology, but it will have to do. As something of an olive branch, Brimble offers a helmet to Highcliff’s daughter. ”Here ya go, miss.” He gives Argatha a minute ’sup! head nod. He doesn’t want to risk giving the GMC leadership another target.
The fact that the small kobold is still speaking earns him a longer, dark-eyed stare from the rich man. Cold eyes assess Brimble as if he might be a particular bit of slag from the quarries. After Brimble is done, the man lets him feel the full weight of his stare for a moment then speaks again.
"I do understand your enthusiasm for the safety of the dig. The fact that I understand it is the reason why you are still standing before me breathing air after barking orders at Lady Highcliff as you just did. Do you understand that? If you do, then do not push your luck-- or my patience-- further."
The young lady in question hurries over and places a hand on her father's arm. "Peace, father, no harm was done, and he was right, I ought be wearing a helmet! I think my skin thick enough to take a kobold's yips, don't you?"
Lord Highcliff turns his attention from Brimble to his daughter, studying her a moment before sighing. "Why did I ever let you study in Andoran? Enough of this, we have business. Foreman--"
Ubek is distracted from his death glare at Brimble by his hurried, if clumsy, salute. "Sir!"
"Show us the diagrams of the progress so far. Workers, as you were." A little wave of one hand (sporting a diamond ring that could probably buy most of Salt Spire) dismisses Brimble from his purview. The young woman flashes Brimble a little smile before he goes.
At this point, Jalynor Brazali makes his appearance, still a bit out of breath (or maybe that's just nerves) as he hurries up to Highcliff's side. "Milord! A thousand apologies, I had no idea you were coming! As you can see, we're making excellent progress into the inner chambers-- ah, milady, a distinct pleasure to see you again, and you look ever so lovely, thankyouUbekI'vegotitfromhere--"
"No, don't send him away," Highcliff says, already perusing diagrams on the table. "I may have questions for him. Now present me the reports on the tonnage moved thus far, ordinances used, air quality..."
Ubek looks as if he'd rather LIKE to be sent away, but stands near the table with an awkward hangdog air. The posh father and daughter fall into less-audible conversation with half-elf and hobgoblin.
As soon as she can do so discreetly, Carver's hand finds Brimble's small shoulder and yanks him into a spot out of sight. "You are a DAMN lucky fool, nards for brains! I hope you're happy you made your point. Get back to work, alla you! No gawkin'!"
Noticing Argatha and Specks in the staging chamber, Carver whistles sharply and gestures them to come on through the blast entrance and get to work with the others. "Don't just stand out there, act like you earn your pay! In, c'mon!"
Argatha gets the view of the stunning starfield the others already saw. It seems his dorm-repair hiatus is over, at least for now. Back to stone-moving...
Carver hovers near the blast hole, ostensibly supervising all of you but clearly keeping an eye on the discussion happening back in the staging area, and fidgeting a bit nervously with the tools on her belt. For at least a few moments, nobody is watching the knot of laborers very closely.
It becomes very clear to Raka during the ensuing conversation that this woman is not at all who Raka had taken her for at first. Lady Highcliff? she goggles. Guess that explains the fancy dress. Thoroughly embarrassed, she returns to her work. The affairs of rich families were never hers to meddle in.
Judging by the Lord's ring and the Lady's necklace (whatever it is), Raka guesses the Hightowers probably have more money than all of Salt Spire put together.
* * * * *
"Carver," she says softly but firmly once the Hightowers can no longer hear. "Point's been made. He screwed up. So did I, but nobody seems to've noticed. I think both problems coulda been avoided if only we'd known them Hightowers were coming to visit."
The conversation moves on quickly and away from Phantrel - not that he had anything particular to say beyond offering a greeting to the Highcliffs. Based on their interactions with the miners, and the conversation between them, Lord Highcliff looks to be every bit as difficult to get anything out of as he suspected. He can already hear Celys' "I told you so" - though in truth he also never really expected anything else. In his limited experience those who wind up owning large businesses tend to exert tight control and are more than happy to throw around their power. The point about his daughter studying Andoran is an interesting one and her more genial tone - treating the miners as people, even if there's a sizeable difference in wealth and rank - means there is at least the potential of something to work with there. If he ever sees her again.
The opportunity to listen and learn over, Phantrel follows the barked and instructions and resumes work.
As soon as she can do so discreetly, Carver's hand finds Brimble's small shoulder and yanks him into a spot out of sight. "You are a DAMN lucky fool, nards for brains! I hope you're happy you made your point. Get back to work, alla you! No gawkin'!"
Brimble puts on his replacement gloves and throws Carver a snappy salute then hustles back to the group of laborers. Despite his disastrous missteps, he’d mined some facts of worth. They say a fish rots from the head down. Businesses were much the same. Brimble always wondered who set the template for the GMC’s arrogant indifference. Now, he knew. Highcliff was the model for the company’s power, privilege, and sense of entitlement. In a dark corner of his heart, Brimble almost wishes he’d selected a damaged helmet for the Lordling. If Highcliff had a Wazzer accident, the world would likely be a brighter place.
The kobold quickly shakes the vengeful thought off… he has a job to do.
With all the highfalutin mucky-mucks out of the way, Brimble loudly clears his throat to draw the laborers’ attention. He rests his hands on the dual picks hanging from his bandolier and stands tall, trying to project strength and authority. Since he tops out at an underwhelming 3’, just got his ass served by Highcliff, and is wearing an orange tunic – it’s like ice-skating uphill. ”How do! I’m Brimble, your ‘Safety Lead’. That means I’ll do my best to get you back to the surface alive every day. It also means that if you find anything odd like dwarf stuff, doors, hatches, or strange objects… you don’t touch ‘em, you call me over, alright? You seen how they’ve got teams going in ahead of us so everything’s safe. Well, this is my fourth job with the GMC and ‘safe’ has become ‘not safe’ every… single… time. So, don’t touch anything odd unless you fancy maybe having your arm melted off.”
He looks at the assembled laborers. ”Raise a hand, claw, flipper, or whatever… if you’ve got more than three months experience working a mine.” He waits for the limbs to go up then continues, addressing the remaining workers. ”A’right. New fish these are the folks who know more than you. If you see something that looks strange or don’t feel right, you ask them. Don’t lay in with a hammer or your sticky fingers first.”
Brimble hesitates for a moment as he considers the things his Safety Leads didn’t say that they should have. He continues, ”Ubek and Carver spake about this but it’s worth a few more words. Simple rule: grudges stop when you’re in the shaft. There’s no place for bad blood down here. It don’t matter if the miner next to you impregnated your grand-daddy on your grand-mammy’s coffin. If you wanna kill each other… you do it top-side. Down here, we look out for each other or people die. That’s how it is. We’ve got to be able to trust the people on either side of us. So, no fighting, no ‘accidents’, and no letting accidents happen to the fella you don’t like... even if he overturned a wheelbarrow full of rocks on you or just dropped a boulder on your foot for the twentieth time.”
He smiles at the group, ”Leave your grudges at the top of the shaft and take care of each other. If you do, know that I will do everything I can to get each of you home safe. You got my word on that.” Brimble briefly debates laying out the or else.. but opts to leave it unstated until someone looks to cross the line. He wasn’t the GMC and heavy-handed wasn’t generally his way. ”So, be smart and be safe. Ain’t nothing down here is worth dying over. OK, safety speech over. Let’s get back to it.”
Argatha, told to get back to work, doesn’t know what to do at first. Then Brimble starts in on his speech and he relaxes. He’ll tell me what to do.
He listens intently on every word, but doesn’t hear his name. When the speech is over, everyone seems to get back to doing something, but his job for the day is out of the mine. He considers for a moment getting back to it, but Specs is here, so it must be all right.
Still, he stands dumbly for a minute trying to figure out what to do. Eventually, he shrugs, and grabs a wheelbarrow. After all that was the last last job they told him to do. And there’s a wheelbarrow right there with no one pushing it.
Time to shift some rocks. He gets to work.
"Carver," she says softly but firmly once the Hightowers can no longer hear. "Point's been made. He screwed up. So did I, but nobody seems to've noticed. I think both problems coulda been avoided if only we'd known them Hightowers were coming to visit."
"Did I ask ya, you overgrown numpty??!" Carver hisses at Raka. "Yeah, you both fugged it, but he doubled down. And we din't know the HighCLIFFS was comin', duh! You-- oh hell with it, 'm arguin' with the day shift, 'm losin' it. Just.... just get back to work!"
Argatha hesitates, not sure what to do, but resumes loading wheelbarrows before Carver's ire can settle on him, at least. There are no shortage of rocks to shift. Some of them even have pretty golden lines on them.
The work goes...
Carver organizes the general laborers into a crude assembly line: rocks from inside the dwarven section are taken outside by hand, as the blasted entrance is too rough to get barrows over, and from thence loaded into the barrows to be taken and dumped outside the mine. Rocks with the gold lines on them are set into their own pile. Those who are carrying rocks from the interior to the staging area can occasionally catch snatches of the dialog between Brazali and the Highcliffs.
"...everything documented, as the site is more intact than..."
"...recovered from Feldspar indicate that this location..."
"...possible central hub for their endeavors. Supplies for an aerial reconnaissance..."
At some point, Lady Highcliff wanders a few feet from her father and the table and notices the pile of rocks with gold on them. She lets out a small cry of dismay. "Father!
"Father, they blasted through a matrix for entrance. Look, it's just here as slag."
Highcliff frowns. "And how else would we gain entrance, Alithea? We know from Dawnspear the costs of trying to force the doors proper. There will be plenty of intact walls inside."
"Yes yes I know! But at the very least, we ought reassemble this and copy the pattern, no? It would be just our luck if this one was important."
Highcliff frowns, then nods. "Brazali, see to it. Rearrange the original pattern of the blasted wall as best your crews can, and then scribe a facsimile of the linework, two copies, one to be sent on to headquarters."
"As you wish, milord!"
The half-elf looks around the crew, seeming to judge who might be best for this, then points at Xiramona and Colin. "You two-- reassignment. Salpashti, you said you had some skill at diagrams, or the like? And you're... learned, Bazalgette. You can use that open space over there-- try and reassemble these fragments. Think of it as a giant jig puzzle. I'll have supplies sent down for the eventual sketch."
Should Colin protest that he is busy doing the lighting and air monitoring chores, Brazali shrugs. "This takes precedence. Carver, see that someone takes over his existing duties."
Carver throws a salute, and goes to corral one of the other townies.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
"But the lamps... Oh!" Colin's protest died as he eyes the fragments. As a child he'd been fond of jigsaw puzzles but this seems something far grander.
He looked at the fragments this way and that, circling them before referencing the intact sections of the wall. Colin scratched his head before muttering, "It stands to reason some of these patterns would have continued across the blasted section. Hopefully all the dwarf gold was recovered..."
He starts searching for anything that looks like it might be a continuation of existing lines, before slowly, methodically building up from there.
Argatha hesitates, not sure what to do, but resumes loading wheelbarrows before Carver's ire can settle on him, at least. There are no shortage of rocks to shift. Some of them even have pretty golden lines on them.
Having missed the prior instructions, he shrugs, Rock is rock. I wonder if they’re sorting it topside?
He holds up the gold-veined piece hoping to catch someone's attention before dropping it in with the rest. However he's a patient man, so he holds it up for a while before proceeding - though he doesn't actually call out.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Carver eventually notices Argatha sort of standing there mildly lost. Rolling her eyes, the half-orc comes over to him. "Gold-laced rocks, over in THAT pile, mate. And keep your damn gloves on when dealin' with 'em.""
That pile is the problem that Colin and Xiramona have been assigned to. Via logic and his awareness of the dwarven patterns, Colin is able to assess which piece might serve as a cornerstone for the pattern, and he moves it into a loose position to build the rest of the puzzle around. He is also able to determine from the blast angle on two other chunks of rock that this side must have been 'up.'
"I was thinking," she says, not so quietly as to draw attention, not so loud as to be heard, "that dwarfgold must be so lovely as to make all the stars of the night sky, no, even the moon, high king of the night, whose nimbus casts the wind-writhen clouds in shades of silver and grey, even the moon must look pale in comparison. Truly, the dwarves have captured his light, as it were water in a well, and sprinkled it on their garden of radiance, and it has well blossomed into the picture now gleaming before our very eyes."
Xiramona listens to her friend, a slight smile on her face even though she is still hefting stone. Em has a way of constructing as vivid a vision with words as Xira can with paint and brush; it's a talent she respects. If Em is using it to ease the drudgery of their task, she's doing a good job.
"As lovely as your description is, my friend," she says during one of Em's brief pauses, "try not to get too attached to it. It's not like we'll be able to keep any dwarfgold ours--"
The arrival of Ubek and two exceedingly out-of-place-looking people interrupts Xira's cautionary words. As she listens to the drama unfold between Ubek, Brimble, and-- sweet gods yes, that is the mine's owner --she finds her respect for the kobold's balls ticking up a notch, as does her concern for his livelihood, not to mention his life.
But the tension passes soon enough, or at least it eases with the withdrawal of the two wealthy visitors. And Brimble's safety lead speech certainly makes an impact, if the looks on the faces of her fellow workers is any indication. Well done, Sir Brimble.
Xira is toting a rock through the tunnel during Em's little experiment, and so misses it completely. What she does not miss is Lady Highcliff's concern for the matrix (matrix for what?) and Brazali's alteration of Xira's duties.
"You two-- reassignment. Salpashti, you said you had some skill at diagrams, or the like? And you're... learned, Bazalgette. You can use that open space over there-- try and reassemble these fragments. Think of it as a giant jig puzzle. I'll have supplies sent down for the eventual sketch."
"Certainly, sir."
Xira takes to this much more interesting task quickly, following Colin's lead over all, but also working to piece together smaller sections that he can place in the growing diagram. She still takes care to avoid contact with the gold lines.
As she studies what Colin is doing and looking for, Xira is able to bring her own sense of patterns and lines into play-- and to learn from his example of how to examine the rocks for the signs of the blast damage in order to tell which way is 'up.' She is able to correctly orient several more chunks of rock.
***
Zrmlix seems indifferent to all the drama and the high-profile guests. They tug at Raka's sleeve to direct her attention back to the support construction. "We going to clear rock from the blast-gap so they can put cart tracks in. Ventually. Reinforce entry so we can pick at floor. Yes? Yes. So now you place beam here... here... here..."
Under Zrmlix's steady instructions, Raka is able to continue to place supports and secure them.
Druv takes Colin's place with the lighting, a task he seems relieved by, exhausted as he was with the work thus far. And so it goes...
Colin and Xira might be almost disappointed when the lunch bell rings, though everyone else is happy enough for the break. Workers mop sweat from their brows and set down their gear, filing back through the gap into the staging area. Food is being passed out by the three women (they all look vaguely alike, maybe sisters? Mother and daughters?) who have been seeing to your breakfast and dinner as well. Today's lunch is sandwiches, with the filling being a slaw made of of shredded baked whitefish, chopped miner's lettuce, and some herbs and sauce. It isn't bad, if you like fish anyway, and everyone in Salt Spire either likes fish or goes hungry a fair bit of the time. There are also apples and sliced of fried and salted potatoes, and more of the sour cider as well as the chance to refill your canteens with water.
No sooner have you all sat down on various barrels and crates in order to eat when Lady Highcliff stands before your group. She has collected one of the sandwiches and an apple. "Hallo! May I sit and eat with you all?"
Colin was absorbed with the task, he tried moving chunks that he felt out to fit together being very careful not to touch the metal. After a while he saw a pattern and came to a realization, "Look Xiramona, I think we have some of the corners but these ones at the bottom need to move up. Give me a hand moving them, its a bit of a delicate operation. Oh and look these ones to the right can shuffle left a bit and they fit!"
The was still plenty to be done but they were making progress and Colin almost had to be dragged away when it was lunchtime.
He was surprised when Lady Highcliff imposed herself on the group, sighing inwardly, he'd have to be careful about what he said. He nodded absently, making room if necessary, although he hoped somebody else would do the talking.
Raka nods at Zrmlix's surmising of the next phase of her workload, not sure what to say on the matter, but for now she continues to raise support beams.
* * * * *
Raka had just taken a bite of her sandwich when Lady Highcliff approaches their table. She nearly chokes on it. After the debacle from earlier, she didn't expect more than a passing glance from the noblewoman ever again. After some coughing and pounding herself on the chest, she manages to swallow it down. "Yea, um, I mean, yes. Of course. M'lady."
If fear is an illusion, then what is pain? A blessing, perhaps, warning of the dangers to come. Em has never much heeded warnings. She slips her little rock into a pocket the moment she feels she has a chance. Idle curiosity makes her wonder if it can only shock her once, and she has half a mind to grab it again just to find out.
Having now become implicated in a crime, Em decides the best thing to do will be to hide the evidence as soon as possible. Ideally somewhere on the Salt Spire side of the door, where it will be easy to recover another day. Xira is assigned to rebuild the matrix. This is a double blow, since it means Xira will probably also be suspected, and because sooner or later someone will figure out that a piece is missing.
When visiting the latrine that morning, Em casts her eyes desperately around inside the curtained space, hoping for a nook where she can stuff her rock. If she can't find one there, she does her best to creep behind a supply crate, stash her treasure, and then return to the latrine without being spotted.
--------------
Em is delighted to see Lady Highcliff again. It's very unfortunate that she was indisposed earlier; she wants desperately to form connections with such an elegant and refined personage. She searches for the words one uses to address a lady, listening to Raka do the same. She waits for a proper moment to enter conversation.
"My Lady, I hope I may name you mine, for I do work in your mine," Em sits primly with sandwich and apple, imitating Lady Highcliff, "my senses cry out to me, my heart floods with an overflowing river of pleasure, in seeing you so adorned." Em clutches unwittingly at her own throat, wishing she had something shiny to wear around it. Prim never lasts long for Em, it doesn't suit her. "I am something of a dilettante with dwarf work, and the lambent glimmer of your golden pendant - oh! may it's luster never dim - recalls to my mind many blazing sunsets on drowsy summer nights, many fair dreams of honeybees gathering nectar in southern flower-fields, so that I can scarcely stop that ardent gush of praise which bursts from my quivering lips." Em restrains herself for a moment by biting her sandwich, wondering if her genuine praise will be mistaken for artifice and flattery.
Carver eventually notices Argatha sort of standing there mildly lost. Rolling her eyes, the half-orc comes over to him. "Gold-laced rocks, over in THAT pile, mate. And keep your damn gloves on when dealin' with 'em.""
”Yes boss. Got it boss.” He looks somewhat relieved now that he’s not making the decision, ”Thanks.” he grins and walks over to give the piece to the others, still grinning.
”Here, I hope this helps!”
Relieved of his gold piece, he heads over to the wagon and starts hauling the non-gold stone to the surface until lunch when he joins the others for the noon-time fish fricassee.
When the noble woman approaches, he gets up offering his seat, "Here you go." and he prepares to head to another table.
Colin and Xira do a good job re-assembling the blasted pieces of gold-laced stone into a fair reconstruction. Here and there they are briefly stymied when it seems they have run out of pieces... but then Argatha or one of the other laborers finds a new gold-stone to add to their supply, and the shape of things comes together nicely. It doesn't fit together perfectly-- after all, the stones were literally blasted apart, and some of the edges have gotten damaged or blown into powder-- but at least you can see what it looked like. By the time the lunch break is called, there is only one largish chunk remaining to be found by the miners.
Lady Highcliff smiles at the permission from the workers (as if anyone were likely to say no) to join them. "Thank you! Oh, you needn't give up your seat for me.... but thank you."
Em's flowery welcome makes the highborn woman blink a few times. "--I see we have a poet among our mining staff! Such... talents here!"
Em's mention of her necklace causes the woman to touch at it, with a smile. "Oh, I'm also interested in dwarven works! They were such masters of crafting, it's such a shame that we can only know them through what they've left behind, isn't it? I have a little collection of things we've found in the mines, this is one of them! The Consortium recovered it-- well, far away from here. Another continent, actually."
The lady takes a bite of her sandwich, shooting another smile around as if trying to be reassuring. She looks Raka over now they're seated, with another impressed glance. "Your height must be so very useful doing this work! And you never have to ask anyone to get something off a high shelf for you. I envy that!
"Tell me, please-- are your accommodations satisfactory? The food? Earlier I saw a few of you--" she inclines her head at Argatha, "working on your dormitory. Are there really rats?"
While he was working, Colin noticed the edges of the golden bits where frayed in a curious way. He showed this to Xira saying "Really need better light to see it clearly, but look at the edge of this bit where the golden part is. Does that look like hair, or tiny wire or something to you? Peculiar..."
Colin wracked his brain, trying to understand what he was seeing.
At lunch, Colin suddenly realized he was famished and was too busy eating to pay much attention to Lady Highcliff although he was puzzled why she was here. He hoped it wasn't some kind of test.
Colin studies the small wires, if wires they are. Non-organic fibers might be a good way to describe them, but thin and fine as hairs. Now that he knows to look for them, he can see them all through the many golden lines of the reassembled pattern. Are they magical? Alchemical? Mechanical? It is difficult to tell, but they are surely not merely decorative. Colin knows that certain metals, like copper, are highly conductive. The wires do not appear to be copper, but some sort of translucent substance. Glass? Some sort of clear metal, if such a thing is possible? But he would wager that whatever their purpose, they are conduits to carry some form of energy along them, just as surely as a bunch of glass piping would likely carry liquid or steam.
vs DC 18
(indentured) vs DC 10
Argatha smiles at the woman, and shifts to another table happily enough - oblivious of any subtler meaning. He chows down his meal quickly, worrying about where he is supposed to work that afternoon. Still lots to do in the mine, but lots of holes to patch yet in the barn too. And that was where he was directed to work today…
He supposes he’ll try working in the barn after lunch, unless someone tells him differently. Those holes keep persisting - they won’t patch themselves!
As he’s digesting, before the group breaks up, he pulls off a little of his clay and fashions a small figurine. When done, he lightly carves lines into it like the great big pattern the others are assembling.
In the end, it's really more of a lump with lines in it. Still, he leaves it on the table for others to enjoy.
"...everything documented, as the site is more intact than..."
"...recovered from Feldspar indicate that this location..."
"...possible central hub for their endeavors. Supplies for an aerial reconnaissance..."
Brimble performs his duty but he is somewhat withdrawn during the morning shift after overhearing the echo of some portion of the mucky-muck’s conversation. By lunch, he is back to his ‘normal’ (if one presumes much of kobold) behavior.
He grabs a sandwich and makes a point of sitting down beside Raka. He takes a bite of his sammy then stares at it – trying to figure out what the meat is – before continuing to chew on it slowly. He glances around to make sure there are no higher-ups in earshot then bumps the big woman’s elbow to draw her attention. He says quietly, ”Thanks for jumpin’ in there with Carver. I appreciate it, I really do… but don’t do that again. Don’t put yourself in the way of a landslide for me. That said, if you need a favor, you got one coming.”
Brimble nods warily when milady asks to sit down.
"my senses cry out to me, my heart floods with an overflowing river of pleasure, in seeing you so adorned." Em clutches unwittingly at her own throat, wishing she had something shiny to wear around it. "I am something of a dilettante with dwarf work, and the lambent glimmer of your golden pendant - oh!...”
If Brimble had eyebrows they’d be well raised as Em waxes rhapsodic. Beneath the table, his tail taps Xira’s leg. He says with a mix of concern and amusement, ”Doc, check her before we head back in. It’s not a case of pink puffers but she’s sounding like the air wasn’t as clean as it oughta be.”
Drawn by Em’s praises, he does look at the necklace Lady Highcliff is sporting.
"Oh, I'm also interested in dwarven works! They were such masters of crafting, it's such a shame that we can only know them through what they've left behind, isn't it? I have a little collection of things we've found in the mines, this is one of them! The Consortium recovered it-- well, far away from here. Another continent, actually."
Unflaggingly cautious around GMC personnel, something in Alithea’s words won’t let him go. Some answers were more important than safety. He leans in, engaged. ”What dig was that? Have you seen the original of this…” From beneath his tunic, he tugs out a necklace: a leather thong holding a barely-refined carved stone rendering of two crossed picks.
"Tell me, please-- are your accommodations satisfactory? The food? Earlier I saw a few of you--" she inclines her head at Argatha, "working on your dormitory. Are there really rats?"
Caution says, ”tell her everything is fine.” But Brimble had a strong sense the girl actually gave a damn. That would likely pass when she took over the family business… but you never really know. Against his better judgment, he chooses to be honest – and maybe by spreading a little praise he could get Ubek and Carver in a better mood.
”Well, Miss, the food is fine. The dormitory is a bit drafty with the sea winds here. That said, Ubek and Carver gave us the gear and supplies to make it wind-tight, so that’s a kindness. You can certainly visit it, if you like. There are a few rats and spiders but nobody's been bitten by either yet.”
”What dig was that? Have you seen the original of this…”
Alithea makes a small noise of interest and leans forward to gaze down at Brimble's displayed token. "Oh, yes, I may have! That looks rather like a replica of a melchinakh, a god-token of the dwarves. The scholarship suggests they had their own deities, you know. One wonders what becomes of a god when all their worshippers are dead. Let's see, crossed picks..."
"I believe that's the symbol of a deity known as Dranngvit. Not one of the more prominent ones. A god of debts, I think. How interesting. I can't say I've seen that one too often. Most surviving melchinakhs are hammers. Or axes. I'll have to check the collection when I return to Absalom to see if we have the original of that one there. Did you find it on a dig?"
Lady Highcliff toys with the golden cubes of her necklace as she continues to chater. "This was found in the Mwangi Expanse, a site we named Greenwater. Quite deep in the jungle. Did you know, we've found evidence that the dwarves made it to every continent and climate? It's fascinating, really!
"I'm so pleased to hear the food is alright-- I'll certainly drop by your dormitory to-night to see if any improvements can be made. Well, beyond having some rat poison brought in. I can't stand rats, you're all made of sterner stuff than me!"
Barely pausing for breath Alithea picks up the lump of clay Argatha has worked on and peers at it with lightly knit brows. She might be trying to figure out what it.... is... without being so rude as to ask. After a few seconds she says brightly, "Poets AND sculptors! What a talented bunch of employees! Is this, um, abstract art?"
”I believe that's the symbol of a deity known as Dranngvit. Not one of the more prominent ones. A god of debts, I think. How interesting. One wonders what becomes of a god when all their worshippers are dead. I can't say I've seen that one too often. Most surviving melchinakhs are hammers. Or axes. I'll have to check the collection when I return to Absalom to see if we have the original of that one there. Did you find it on a dig?"
Brimble commits the valuable information to memory A melchinakh of Dranngvit… god of debts. What does happen to forgotten gods? His musing is curtailed by Arithea’s innocent question. Slightly strained, he replies matter-of-factly, ”I did find it on a dig – Feldspar – and handed over the original to the company.” He gauges her reaction, curious if she knew of the disaster or did she get the scrubbed and polished version from daddy.
A shadow passes over Alithea's face at the mention of Feldspar. "Oh," she says softly. "I see. Yes. Well. In that case, yes, it probably is in the collection. I'll look for it when I get the chance."
Clearing her throat, the young woman casts around for another subject of conversation.
All too soon, the lunch break ends and workers sigh as they get back to their feet. Lady Highcliff frowns. "That seems like an awfully short mealtime..."
"Tell me about it, lady," some wag mutters from in the midst of the bodies. The noblewoman glances that way but doesn't press to see who the speaker was. She instead looks to the 'matrix' that is nearly reassembled.
"Oh, you've got most of it, well done," she says to Colin and Xira. "Hopefully this last chunk will turn up shortly!"
Bits and pieces do-- small ones. This part must have been where the worst of the blast hit, as the fragments are small indeed. Most of the ones so far have been the size of a human head, but these are hand or fist sized, or smaller. It takes Xira and Colin careful work with the last fiddly small chunks to finish..... ah, nearly finish... the pattern. One small chunk remains conspicuously absent.
Lady Highcliff tries to hide her disappointment at seeing the pattern almost-but-not-quite done. "Well! No doubt it's going to turn up as you finish with the rest of the rocks."
It doesn't. Colin, with the bulk of the assembling now done, is able to return to his lamp-and-monitor duties. Xira is presented with some good-quality parchment, a backboard, and charcoal sketching pencils, and the suggestion that climbing up onto one of the scaffolds in the staging area will give her a better view of the 99%-there-mural. Lady Highcliff lingers near the matrix for a bit, hopefully, before she rejoins her father and Brazali in the seemingly interminable discussion of the dig operation. It is evident she is not a mere wallflower for this talk, however-- she asks Brazali and Ubek plenty of questions of her own.
The afternoon wears on....
He listens to Brimble’s query, and waits for a response before blundering in with his own nonsense.
Barely pausing for breath Alithea picks up the lump of clay Argatha has worked on and peers at it with lightly knit brows. She might be trying to figure out what it.... is... without being so rude as to ask. After a few seconds she says brightly, "Poets AND sculptors! What a talented bunch of employees! Is this, um, abstract art?"
”I dunno. Sure. Could be. It’s whatever I’m thinking at the time, you know? I was thinking of the hole we put in the dwarven wall. All those pieces.” He looks at the lump, ”Maybe this is one of those pieces, I dunno.”
You’d be hard pressed to see a piece in the lump before him, but maybe - if you look at it from a certain angle and squint a little. Maybe.
After lunch he gamely heads back to the barn to continue hole plugging and general improvements.
Brimble admires his find... but can't think of a good way to hide it. Nevertheless, as he takes the piece out to the main tables where the jigsaw rests, he starts sizing up good hidey spots for anything he might want to free from GMC captivity. He let one melchinakh go, he didn't want to lose another one. "Got an interestin' find here."
Em watches Brimble's conversation with Lady Highcliff unfold. Feldspar? I wonder how much sorrow our nidifugous friend has seen, in his short life.
Em is happy to act as a refuge from Brimble's pointed words, illuminating though they may be. She happily asks Lady Highcliff more about her ever so small store of priceless artefacts located a mere continent away. Em is particularly interested in wearable dwarven items, palpably lustful that she might one day have her own such precious jewelry. She is disappointed to find Lady Highcliff's speech and words so near that of common folk, having expected a member of the nobility to sound much more like someone from one of her books. But it wouldn't be the first fairy tale that has crashed down around her, and if she is filled with disappointment, Em hardly thinks Lady Highcliff can detect it. She has resolved herself to be a pleasant interlocutress, and hopes that her knowledge of dwarven artefacts allows her to provide sufficiently stimulating conversation.
-----------------
"Well! No doubt it's going to turn up as you finish with the rest of the rocks."
"Are you a gambling woman, Lady Highcliff?" Em asks, happening to overhear. "I love little wagers, and I think my terms will not be disagreeable, if you would hear them."
Em might be disappointed at the noblewoman's seeming common behavior, but at least she can be secretly pleased that she herself has also heard of 'Dranggvit.' N.J. Bigglesworth mentions this deity briefly in his Introductory Survey. Of course, he hadn't mentioned the picks-- just that Dranngvit is a deity of revenge and debts. Still, there's a little flush of pride in her knowledge all the same.
She's also able to hold her own discussing these with Lady Highcliff. The woman seems delighted to have met someone else who finds these archaelogical trinkets interesting. She happily natters to Em throughout the too-short lunch break, and perhaps the end of the conversation is another reason why Lady Highcliff seems dismayed by the short lunch.
When Em makes her offer a bit later, Lady Highcliff blinks at her and then smiles. "I'm certainly open to hearing your terms, miss-- do you know, I failed to get your name? Wherever are my manners-- Father will despair!"
From what you've seen of Lord Highcliff, he'd probably be unhappier over the idea that his daughter wishes to talk at length to day laborers rather than her failure to do introductions properly, but whatever.
***
Several heads swivel Brimble's direction at his announcement of 'interesting', and Ubek's face contorts into a truly impressive scowl. He all but rushes over to see while the other high-rankers follow at a more leisurely pace.
"Palescale," Ubek grits out when he gets near enough, "I know you gots a tiny skull but I din't know the brain inside it was teensyweensy too. I sure as hell recall tellin' you REAL RECENTLY about if you find unusual-kinda dwarfstuff to GET SOMEONE ELSE, do you recall that? Or are you just plottin' today on how to make me look like shit to the bosses, izzat it? Cuz that's a dangerous game, runt. Real dangerous."
In a louder voice, for the benefit of the approaching trio of Brazali and the lord and lady, Ubek says with faux joviality, "Well now, that does look interesting! Careful now, sir an' ma'am, let me get the engineers over to look at it 'fore you get too close..."
"No need!" Lady Highcliff says pertly. "I'm qualified to inspect it."
Both Brazali and Ubek look as if they REALLY want to object, and throw nervous glances at Lord Highcliff, but the man's saturnine face gives away nothing. He only nods slightly as his daughter looks briefly to him.
"Very well, tell me what you see, Alithea."
Work slows down as people can't help but watch this scene play out. The noblewoman circles the chunk of crystal-studded rock that Brimble has set down, not touching it yet but gazing at it from multiple angles. At one point she gets out a monocle from her dress sleeve and peers at the rock through that. At another point she mutters low, guttural words and inscribes a circle in the air with her fingers.
After a few minutes she nods as if satisfied and turns to her father to say: "Porphyritic granite with embedments of worked quartz, themselves connected to internal wiring of probable electrum for purposes of illumination. An exceptionally fine example of dwarven lighting technique, such as is visible at Greenwater and Da Heidong, though I would say the light modules are larger than at either of those sites. No signs of sabotage or security measures, Father."
Lord Highcliff nods once. "Good. And where do you imagine it came from?"
"I would hypothesize the ceiling," Alithea replies, with a quick playful smile at Brimble. "You found part of the stellar ceiling-work, my good kobold. The stars, fallen to earth! How is that for poetry?"
****
Back in the barn the ceiling is not made of stars. Just wood, with shingles atop it, and gaps in plenty. Ubek had just waved Argatha off distractedly when he'd broached returning to the barn, which Argatha had assumed meant 'yes, go ahead'. Kubanu looks up when he comes back in.
"Here I thought you'd all abandoned me," the Mwangi man says. "Anything interesting going on with Brazali and them? Here, if you hold this piece of canvas up I can nail it in place."
One thing that's nice about working in the barn is the lack of oversight from the bosses, or the tension of having the fancy-folk there. Argatha is able to relax some as he gets back into the barn repair mode. Kubanu seems to be a bit of a chatter and regales him with stories of growing up in a distant land where giant cats with stripes roam between thick trees, and colorful birds talk with the voices of men.
With the dignitaries approaching, Brimble doesn’t have a chance to explain his decision to Ubek. And he’d worked up some really creative half-truths that just might satisfy the overseer. But he doubts the hobgoblin would believe it in any case or he’d take anything said as yet more mouthing off. So, the kobold scrupulously says nothing... playing the role that the mucky-mucks preferred.
"I would hypothesize the ceiling," Alithea replies, with a quick playful smile at Brimble. "You found part of the stellar ceiling-work, my good kobold. The stars, fallen to earth! How is that for poetry?"
The girl was going to get him killed. Ignoring her would fuel Lord Highcliff’s wroth. Responding would make him look like a social climber or – to Ubek’s eyes – a conniving worker seeking favor. He was damned, no matter what. In which case, he decides it’s best to be damned for being true to himself. Better to die on your feet than live on your knees.
As best as his face can articulate, he returns Alithea’s smile. ”That’s real poetry, Miss, and accurate. I spied it ‘neath a pile of rubble and secured it before it could get more broken as the team was moving and loading barrows close by.” He gambles that sharing the credit might stave off some trouble. ”Moving rock is the priority but the Quartermaster and Shift Lead made it clear we should protect what artifacts we can.” Realizing he’s overstayed his welcome, he adjusts his helmet. ”Well, I’m glad to learn what this was, Miss. Thanks for that. I’ll be about my tasks now.” He turns and quickly scurries back into the mine.
"Porphyritic granite with embedments of worked quartz, themselves connected to internal wiring of probable electrum for purposes of illumination."
Once Lady Highcliff had finished speaking, Colin piped up, "You mention electrum wiring, while reassembling the section that got blown up, I noticed tiny frayed wires at the edges, thin and fine as hair. If you look closely they're embedded in all the golden lines. I'd need a proper lab to determine what they're made of but the purpose seems clear, it seems to be an energy distribution network. Remarkable! If such a feat could be recreated... Well I dare say there's an opportunity here."
He grabs a sandwich and makes a point of sitting down beside Raka. He takes a bite of his sammy then stares at it – trying to figure out what the meat is – before continuing to chew on it slowly. He glances around to make sure there are no higher-ups in earshot then bumps the big woman’s elbow to draw her attention. He says quietly, ”Thanks for jumpin’ in there with Carver. I appreciate it, I really do… but don’t do that again. Don’t put yourself in the way of a landslide for me. That said, if you need a favor, you got one coming.”
Raka shrugs. "I stick up for my friends," she says simply, as though it's a complete explanation and nothing further needs to be said on the matter. "Can't promise not to." She does appear somewhat flattered by Brimble's appreciation, however.
* * * * *
Raka can't help but be just as curious about the "star" as anyone. "Huh." She looks up at the ceiling far above their heads. "They look so small from down here." Lady Highcliff had used lots of words to describe the device, and none of them were 'gold.' "They musta had lots of this stuff, if all they used it for was decoration. That, or they didn't think it was valuable... which, I guess, amounts to the same thing."
Back in the barn the ceiling is not made of stars. Just wood, with shingles atop it, and gaps in plenty. Ubek had just waved Argatha off distractedly when he'd broached returning to the barn, which Argatha had assumed meant 'yes, go ahead'. Kubanu looks up when he comes back in. ”Here I thought you'd all abandoned me," the Mwangi man says. "Anything interesting going on with Brazali and them? Here, if you hold this piece of canvas up I can nail it in place.”
”Sure thing Kubanu.” Argatha goes and does as he’s told, holding the blanket firmly in place. He then continues, ”Yeah, all the bosses are freaking out, so it’s hard on everyone. So much suffering 'cause someone has a 'lord' in front of their name.” He shakes his head.
”The dig is fascinating though. They blew through the wall and into the cave beyond. The whole thing is covered in, like gold paint or something. Not like all the same either, there’s patterns - lines and circles and such. It’s quite complicated. I overheard some say there’s a purpose to it, but it could just be art too. I dunno. We wasn’t allowed to touch the gold pieces ‘cause they were still magical or something and would hurt us. So I wore my gloves.”
When his conversation with the Mwangi Man completes, he moves off to find other holes, particularly at the right height for rats.
He spends the rest of the day plugging holes as he finds them, though he seems to miss a lot.
"I'm certainly open to hearing your terms, miss-- do you know, I failed to get your name? Wherever are my manners-- Father will despair!"
"Name?" Em can't avoid frowning momentarily. "Em." She wishes she could curtsey gracefully after such an introduction, but for now, Em will settle for changing the subject. Quickly. "If you can't complete the array, then I request assistance hosting a social event. A dance. Not a ball, I'm afraid, of the kind you might be familiar with. But all the socialites of Salt Spire will be there." Em pauses for a moment, one of the few tells that she's being sarcastic. "I have it on good authority that a certain Kobold will be witnessed in action, with whom you are already acquainted."
"I am well aware that the price of my victory is steep, and I will think you not at all unjust if your own terms are equally so. Though I cannot help but wonder what one such as myself has, which you lack?"
"Really need better light to see it clearly, but look at the edge of this bit where the golden part is. Does that look like hair, or tiny wire or something to you? Peculiar..."
Examining the bits of fray where the lines have broken with the rock, Xiramona shares the alchemist's excitement. "Yes, I do see! So strange, isn't it, that the dwarves didn't just use simple gold paint for this, or even metal inlay." Her eyes roam the 'giant jig puzzle' that they've made such headway in assembling. "All that interconnection -- Colin! Could it be that the dwarves had a purpose for this beyond just decoration?"
Xira's bright eyes widen slightly when Lady Highcliff asks to join them. Standard traveler lore cautions that the nobility should be avoided unless you're reading their cards, performing for them or otherwise coaxing coin out of them. Still, the young woman has shown enough politeness to those 'below her station' that Xira decides to give her the benefit of the doubt, with a nod and a smile thrown in gratis.
"...oh! may it's luster never dim - recalls to my mind many blazing sunsets on drowsy summer nights, many fair dreams of honeybees gathering nectar in southern flower-fields, so that I can scarcely stop that ardent gush of praise which bursts from my quivering lips."
”Doc, check her before we head back in. It’s not a case of pink puffers but she’s sounding like the air wasn’t as clean as it oughta be.”
A hint of pride slips into Xira's smile at Em's poetic enthusiasm and Lady Highcliff's surprised response. At Brimble's diagnosis, she laughs and lets the pride touch her voice. "No need for concern, Sir Brimble! That's Em's gift for words showing. She's had a love affair with language practically as far back as I can remember."
Camaraderie aside, Xira wonders if mentioning their non-mining skills to what seems to be a receptive member of the higher-ups might in time lead to other tasks and perhaps higher pay. Eventually. Maybe.
Probably not in a year's time though. Ah well...
She hasn't much to add to the discussion of dwarven craft and religion, though she listens intently as she eats, taking note of Brimble's and Lady Highcliff's discomfiture at the mention of the Feldspar dig. When Her Ladyship asks about their accommodations, Xira tacks an addendum on to Brimble's description. "I got the sense that those in charge were limited by what was available, milady. In an area like this, most large buildings are going to be barns, and the sturdy, intact barns are already in use by their owners." Like Brimble, Xira doesn't care all that much for the fortunes of the GMC higher-ups, but also like Brimble, she knows that higher-ups put in a foul temper by censure from their boss or his daughter would not be good for any of those on ground level, or underground level in their case.
Xira ascends the scaffold with her parchment and pencils thinking This is more like it! Some time later, she scowls at the end result of her efforts. The sketch isn't horrible; anyone looking at it can recognize the diagram and follow its lines, but the wobble here and there, the spots where she had to scrape charcoal from parchment ... clearly she doesn't do her best work after a draining morning of stone-lugging.
Ah well.
And then there's that missing bit. She's starting to feel quite peeved about that.
"Got an interestin' find here."
Brimble's words yank her attention from drawing to drama as he lugs a very prettily-decorated stone from the tunnel. When Ubek hustles over her teeth clench. She can't hear the quartermaster's words to the kobold, but she suspects she knows the gist.
When Lady Highcliff approaches the rock, Xira takes advantage of all eyes and ears being on the noblewoman to climb down from her perch, set her work and gear on one of the tables, and approach the group watching. Her Ladyship's mutter and gesture startle her into flicking out her mystical sense almost on reflex.
"I noticed tiny frayed wires at the edges, thin and fine as hair. If you look closely they're embedded in all the golden lines. I'd need a proper lab to determine what they're made of but the purpose seems clear, it seems to be an energy distribution network. Remarkable! If such a feat could be recreated... Well I dare say there's an opportunity here."
Colin's words nearly take her breath away. Xira's jaw drops as she turns to stare at their nearly-finished puzzle. Could it really be some kind of monumentally intricate irrigation system, but for energy instead of water? Remarkable seems a vast understatement.
Argatha works through the day, content enough to be making a difference in their sleeping quarters...
********
Brimble does his best to escape further supervisor displeasure by scampering back to the dwarven side of things...
Lady Highcliff smiles brightly at Colin. "Ah, you've discovered the conduits! Keenly spotted, Mister...? There are many theories as to what they might have carried-- energy, yes, certainly. But just as the blood in our veins is itself a vehicle for various nutrients, perhaps the energy also carried additions? I have my own ideas, but I have yet to prove any of them. As you say, it's certainly an opportunity."
Raka's contribution to the discussion earns another, gentler smile from the lady. "We think they had very advanced methods for extracting gold from promising ore and slag. It probably resulted in a high enough yield that they could use it for many more purposes than just coinage-- though it's not only decorative. There was function here. Valuable to them, yes-- in the same way that steel is to us-- a tool!"
She speaks with great confidence, then realizes that her father is giving her a certain look from over the rim of a glass of water. Sheepishly, Alithea amends, "...But much of this is conjecture, I must admit. Anyway!"
The chatter continues through lunch, and at Xira's careful quasi-defense of the barn, the lady shrugs. "Oh, well, yes, I suppose there are limitations, but no reason we can't make it as comfortable as possible, under the circumstances, I should think."
She is eager to see Xira's completed sketch after the meal, though when faced with it she hesitates politely in a similar way to how she had with Argatha's sculpture. "That's fine, thank you," she says eventually and goes to ask Jalynor for more art supplies to make her own.
Em's wager brings her up a bit, green eyes wide a moment at the idea of a dance, in Salt Spire. The lady blurts a tiny laugh, then covers her mouth with her hand, her eyes crinkling with humor. "I see! Well, my goodness, that certainly sounds like it could be-- exciting! Though as you say, we'd have to figure out the counter-wager for if I win, Miss Em."
Em is subjected to an assessing gaze, as if Lady Highcliff were trying to peer into her soul and judge what she might have to offer. (Or is she judging more than that? Could she possibly suspect that Em's assurance with the wager is born of anything in particular....?)
If so, it doesn't show on her face. After a moment she smiles cheerfully. "Alright, if I win, I get dispensation over your contract with the GMC and can assign you to tasks as I please!"
Lord Highcliff looks over sharply at this. "Alithea. That sort of thing is not for you to decide. They labor for the Consortium, not for you personally. Unless you're planning to pay that girl's wages?"
The daughter sighs. "Yes, father. Sorry. Well, Miss Em, I don't know what gifts or possessions you might have other than your penchant for the poetic. Have you found any interesting dwarven items, or secrets, over the years that you might put up as your stake?"
***
Xira's use of a small cantrip to check for magic gives her a resounding mental ping of yes, like many ripples in a pond coming her way. She wishes she had the time to try and study them. Although...
...she would wager that Alithea's muttering had the same effect. Too bad she isn't privy to whatever Lady Highcliff learned, and doesn't have the privilege of staring at the rock for long minutes as the noblewoman did.
***
The afternoon drags on towards evening. If you had thought you were tired yesterday, day 2 is even worse, with all the soreness of the day before catching up and the labor more arduous if possible. Making your way over the rougher rubble means watching your step, all day long, to try not to twist an ankle, and the dust from the explosion that has settled in a fine powder on the ground sometimes makes it slippery. Shifting rock also kicks up more dust, and more than a few laborers suffer coughing fits throughout the day. The more experienced miners can be seen to use moistened bandannas over their mouths and noses to help filter the airborne dust.
At least the workers are making progress. The area before the golden Door/Wall is clearer than at the start of the day- you can even see the actual floor in places, instead of just a jumble of shattered stone.
Throughout the day, the engineers and mercenaries have gone deeper into the darkness of the far end of the hall, their helmet lamps receding away and then presumably turning some distant corner as you lose sight of the bobbing lights. They return hours later, after the afternoon break. They look tired and dusty, and one man is injured-- limping along with the help of his fellows. The nobles and the supervisors intercept them to debrief whatever they encountered, speaking quietly enough that you cannot easily overhear.
"...security measures still active..."
"...nearly lost Rolth to a rigged floor, he's lucky he just got his leg munched..."
"...signs of animal life-- droppings and tracks..."
"...intact barriers..."
Slightly surprised, but not unhappy, at Lady Highcliff's decision to sit with the workers, Phantrel is content to watch and listen. The others seem to have the conversation in hand so he feels there's no need for additional social lubrication and there's interesting information to pick up.
By the end of the day he's glad of not overworking his jaw given how much the rest of him hurts. He feels exhausted and the trip home feels further away than it did last night. Perhaps he'll sleep in the bunkhouse tonight, but perhaps he'll get a third, or a fourth, wind once they're back out in the fresh air. Looking at the assorted workers coming and going, exhaustion and a layer of grime seem to be something in common to all of them.