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"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?"
"Em has the highest squeal you ever heard," Raka pitches in, most unhelpfully. "This one time, Xira found a snake lookin' for fish in the shallows. It was jus' a dice snake, all harmless y'know. We thought it'd be funny to take it back with us an' put it in old lady Lentia's house. Well what we forgot was, Em was workin' at Lentia's that day-- she used ta go over there to, like, clean up an' stuff. So Em finds the thing under a pillow, and... I swear you coulda heard her across town." She gives Em a good-natured grin.
* * * * *
The day is hard, and the work is wearisome. But size and experience do have their advantages. Raka's muscles ache by the end of the day, but she can see she isn't nearly in so much pain as some of the others, particularly those for whom mining is a new experience.
When she gets a chance, she approaches Xira and Em. "Hey," she says in a low voice. "I overheard some parts of the conversation between those soldiers over there. Somethin's down there in the mine; somethin' nasty. One of those guys took a bite to the leg, an' they got armor an' everything." She looks to Xira, as she so often has, waiting for the sorceress to tell Raka what they should do about it.
The kobold isn’t the heartiest worker but he is canny. The wet bandanna keeps Brimble from inhaling too much rock dust and he knows how to pace himself. Mining is a marathon, not a sprint. He’s feeling the effort by the end of the day but he’s not dragging tail when he escorts the last laborers out.
(clean air) vs DC 10
Argatha is tired, but not weary. He works to fix up the barn until supper is called for - plugging all the holes he can find.
"That's fine, thank you," she says eventuallyand goes to ask Jalynor for more art supplies to make her own.
Xira saves her sigh and eye-roll for after the noblewoman has left. I would have done better if... Never mind. She might like an opportunity to impress those in charge, but she doesn't need one, and it goes against her pride to offer up anything that sounds like excuses.
Besides, Her Ladyship has given her an idea that might find that last piece...
As the day wears to its end, Xira slogs on. When she spots the experienced miners wearing bandanas to keep the dust out, she pulls off the scarf holding her hair away from her face and ties the dark mass back with a leather thong. A quick conjuration of water wets the cloth, then she ties the end result over her mouth and nose. Much better.
Whenever she passes townfolk not sporting such a cloth, she nudges them and points to her own. Hopefully everyone is carrying at least a handkerchief, but if not, she wagers they'll bring one tomorrow.
The work would exhaust anyone (except possibly Raka), but Xira maintains a steady pace. She's fairly certain that after dinner she'll be able to make it home for a private bath (oh blessings!) before bed.
When she gets a chance, she approaches Xira and Em. "Hey," she says in a low voice. "I overheard some parts of the conversation between those soldiers over there. Somethin's down there in the mine; somethin' nasty. One of those guys took a bite to the leg, an' they got armor an' everything."
"I heard them too," Xira breathes. "I may be able to find out more. You two keep on while I see what I can do."
She totes her latest rock out to the staging area to give the mercenaries time to get shot of the higher-ups. When she sees that they have done so, Xira approaches the group with the injured man. "Do you need help?" she asks, her tone laced with genuine concern. "I know some healing. I should be able to improve that leg at least."
"Em has the highest squeal you ever heard," Raka pitches in, most unhelpfully. "This one time, Xira found a snake lookin' for fish in the shallows. It was jus' a dice snake, all harmless y'know. We thought it'd be funny to take it back with us an' put it in old lady Lentia's house. Well what we forgot was, Em was workin' at Lentia's that day-- she used ta go over there to, like, clean up an' stuff. So Em finds the thing under a pillow, and... I swear you coulda heard her across town." She gives Em a good-natured grin.
Em flushes, wondering whether she should set fire to Raka with her eyes and deciding to be merciful instead. The public reminder that Em has been on the threadbare fringes of destitution since birth hadn't been strictly necessary, though. "Thank you, Raka," Em says slowly, having lost her tone. Em has wondered who the snake catcher was for some time. "I am glad to know that someone found my indignant squeals of dismay amusing."
Em is thinking quickly while she speaks, trying to figure out what she can propose as a counter-stake. "Though I would hypothesize the Lady Highcliff is already in possession of a perfectly developed squeal." It's a theory Em would love to put to the test, but she lacks the audacity necessary to utter such a thought out loud. Raka probably never has problems like that.
---------------------
When she gets a chance, she approaches Xira and Em. "Hey," she says in a low voice. "I overheard some parts of the conversation between those soldiers over there. Somethin's down there in the mine; somethin' nasty. One of those guys took a bite to the leg, an' they got armor an' everything." She looks to Xira, as she so often has, waiting for the sorceress to tell Raka what they should do about it.
Em also looks to Xira for guidance. "Maybe it was a snake?" She suggests to Raka, while they watch her talk to the mercenaries.
"Ah, you've discovered the conduits! Keenly spotted, Mister...?"
Sitting a little straighter Colin replies at once, "Bazalgette Ma'am, Colin Bazalgette."
"I have my own ideas, but I have yet to prove any of them. As you say, it's certainly an opportunity."
Suddenly feeling bold and not at all tired, Colin added "Some progress on that front could be made if we had access to a proper alchemical laboratory. Would also be useful for performing assays and whipping up demolition ordinance in house."
The beauty of the faux-sky not withstanding, the labor (and the few hours of sleep he got last night) catch up with Phantrel on the second day. By the time the last bell rings, he is visibly dragging.
The others seem to be faring better, however. Tiring as the work is, the developments of the day keep your minds engaged at least.
Two of the three Mousketeers young Salt Spire ladies who are on the dig overhear some hints of further trouble. Xira is bold enough to approach, offering her healing both out of compassion and the hopes of more information. The soldiers pause, glancing to Xira. A muscular and heavily-scarred woman is currently helping support the injured man and gives Xira a scrutinizing look up and down.
"Our god-botherer stopped the worst of it," she says. "Rolth's in no danger of dyin'. Though he is in danger of missin' tomorrow's pay. Knock yourself out."
Rolth snorts. "Soul of compassion, Melly. Yeh, if you've got a spot of the healing arts I won't say no, girlie." He shifts position carefully to give Xiramona access to his leg. The man was wearing steel-shod boots, which may have saved his foot from whatever 'munching' seems to have happened. The boot is mangled and his trouser's leg is soaked with blood, though it seems that Melly was telling the truth that he's had some healing already.
****
Lady Highcliff's lips twitch at the interplay between Raka and Em, but all she says aloud is, "Sadly, no, I do not need a squeal. I don't wish to be discouraging, but I really can't think of something you could offer -- at least, that Father would allow..."
****
Colin dares to drop a hint about improved equipment for himself...
...and is met with a quizzical look from the noblewoman. "--do you mean to say you haven't got such a kit? But-- why, you're clearly educated, and... --I shall see this corrected, Mr. Bazalgette! Excuse me..."
Turning on her heel, she beelines for her father and Brazali. You can't make out the words, but she does gesture Colin's way a few times, and both Lord Highcliff and Jalynor shoot unreadable glances Colin's way before returning to their conversation.
****
The nearly-complete mural, or matrix, or whatever it is, must remain unfinished as the bell rings for the end of the day. Lady Highcliff stands by it pensively, gazing down at the stone, as the tired and grimy workers file past her for the exit. To be fair, she's rather grimy herself-- that once-nice dress is smudged with rock dust, lantern oil, and other such detritus, not that she seems to notice or care.
Out in the open air, the workers turn out pockets and such to the satisfaction of the overseers-- they hadn't bothered checking anyone yesterday, but then, there'd been no question of gold then. Gear is hung up and weary laborers turn for the dinner that awaits.
Brazali and Lord Highcliff make their way further on into town but it looks like Lady Highcliff intends to join you for dinner as well. She asks the names of most of the workers she talks to, and questions such as how long they've worked for the GMC, if they're local, and so forth.
Dinner is mashed potatoes topped with a thick slurry of fried onions, ground sausage, and beans. What it lacks in presentation it makes up for in savory, salty greasiness-- probably it wouldn't taste as good as it does if not for the appetites you've worked up. At least there's plenty of it. Lady Highcliff picks at hers with somewhat less appetite than the workers.
"Is this a typical dinner?" she asks those seated nearest her. "It's certainly, um, hearty!"
Deciding to hold off making a decision on sleeping, Phantrel joins the others in the mess hall for dinner. He's exhausted but the food perks him up, at least a little bit, and is much needed after a gruelling day. Somewhat surprisingly Lady Highcliff once again decides to join the workers - perhaps she's keen to escape the gaze of her father, perhaps she's genuinely interested in knowing more of the miners, perhaps there's something else at play. It's interesting, certainly, but he's too tired and has too little information to really make a guess, though she has shown a willingness to help by providing Colin with some extra gear.
"It's only my second day, my lady" he replies, "but I would imagine so. Hearty food - and plentiful portions - are what's required after a hard day's work." Phantrel pauses a second, considering whether to say anything further. "Truth be told, the last few years here have been hard. The catch has not been what it once was and it's never been the easiest to make things grow. The soil's not the best - too much salt - though it's workable. Most folk here will generally be glad of a full stomach as that won't always have been the case every night." It's a comment designed to pull at the heartstrings, of course, but neither is it anything less than the truth.
Argatha enjoys the dinner - he's not terribly particular when it comes to food. And this stuff isn't as bad as the last place, if a touch more salty. At least they don't skimp.
vs DC 18
Utterly focused on his meal, he scarcely pays any attention on the things going on around him. He remains quiet, though he does listen in a bit.
Raka turns out every conceivable pocket she has, as instructed, upon leaving the mine-- even going so far as to lift the cuffs of her pant legs and shake out her sleeves, holding up the line a bit to do so. She wants no reason given to the overseers to suspect her of anything untoward.
At dinner, Raka eats the sloppy food with relish. Steady work for steady meals, and a little pocket money besides, is clearly not the life Lady Highcliff is accustomed to but it's about all that Salt Spire's largest native had expected out of life. "It's better'n it looks," she insists, pointing with her fork-- a gesture that might have made a few overseers gasp from the audacity if they had seen it-- at a particular morsel in Lady Highcliff's bowl. "Try that part with extra potatoes, it's good that way!"
Rolth snorts. "Soul of compassion, Melly. Yeh, if you've got a spot of the healing arts I won't say no, girlie." He shifts position carefully to give Xiramona access to his leg. The man was wearing steel-shod boots, which may have saved his foot from whatever 'munching' seems to have happened. The boot is mangled and his trouser's leg is soaked with blood, though it seems that Melly was telling the truth that he's had some healing already.
Kneeling down, Xira repeats the enchantment that healed Brimble's bruise, a gentle laying on of her left hand, raising the right, and the softest of murmurs in a strange language.
She releases the resulting energy into the injury, then nods in satisfaction. That should help.
As she looks the mercenary's leg over, Xira doesn't find much of anything else she can do. The mercs' cleric does indeed seem to have handled the worst of it.
"What happened to you?" she asks, still focused on the wound. A normal question for a healer, to ask how the how the man became injured.
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Colin blinked as Lady Highcliff went to speak to her father, he couldn't quite believe what had just happened and he wasn't at all sure this sort of attention was for the best, even though the thought of all the things he could do with a proper alchemy lab was beyond exciting. "Oh well, retreat forwards is what my Gandpa used to say..." he muttered. That worked well enough for Edwin Bazelgette until the battle of Bulger Pass, he thought, mmm on second thought maybe I shouldn't adopt that motto.
"Sadly, no, I do not need a squeal. I don't wish to be discouraging, but I really can't think of something you could offer -- at least, that Father would allow..."
Lady Highcliff, what do you desire? Freedom. Earned recognition. Control. "I might offer a poem, with as singular a focus on your person as I can manage. Were I to take up such a task, I would of course need more opportunity for observing my subject." Em shakes her head. "But I'd rather not wager something that I would gladly do for free." She continues to rack her mind, hoping to think of something soon.
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Brimble watches people and works steadily through his dinner. He doesn’t spend much time talking, having already drawn too much attention to himself. He notes Speck’s reaction... and instinctively understands it. Once the Highcliffs leave, he suspects they’ll all be paying a price for every laborer-raised issue that Alithea brings to the overseers’ attention.
Xira's spell causes the man to sigh a bit in relief as more pain eases. "Well thanks there, lass, that is better. Let me see if I can put some weight on it now... As for what happened, damn dwarf security happened. False floor-- put my leg right through it and into a vise clamp that aimed to break every bone in there. Those old buggers trapped things all to the hells."
Rolth takes a few testing steps, then nods his thanks again before heading off.
As for Em's negotiations with Lady Highcliff, her mention of poetry causes a bit of a blush in the noblewoman's cheeks. "Oh my. Well, ah, gifted as you are with words, I don't know if I need, um, an ode to myself.... But have you written any poetry about the dwarven ruins? Since you said you're interested in them too! I know, let's discuss it over dinner."
*****
Lady Highcliff looks appropriately sad at the plight of Salt Spire's food situation, as relayed by Phantrel. "I see... well, food can be one of the opportunities that we bring to the area, then! Perhaps more-- vegetables! And fruit!"
Fortunately for Raka, no overseers are here to watch her over-familiarity, and Lady Highcliff doesn't seem to take offense, even if she does eye the extra-crispy potato chunk (some might call it burnt) that Raka points out with a certain dubiousness. "If you say so...."
Turning back to Em as a diversion from the crispy potato, Lady Highcliff says, "So! Poetry about the dwarves. Perhaps my prize would you be writing an ode about their halls, their mysterious ways? You can dedicate it to me," she says with impish cheer.
"Of course, now that I have a stake in this, I certainly do want to win! So...."
The lady fusses about with a small pouch tied at her waist and retrieves a single coin from within: gold, not silver, stamped with the mint-mark of Riddleport. She stands up and clears her throat, quickly drawing the eyes of the laborers eating their fill.
"I'm sure you all saw the pattern back in the mine! We've nearly completed it-- it looks as though we are missing just one piece!" she says. "The blast can't have knocked it TOO far from its fellows. If one of you finds it and brings it to me, there is a bonus of a golden crown in it for you!"
A light wave of murmurs goes through the room-- after all, that is the price of a ten-day of labor for most of the workers. People look interested. Lady Highcliff shoots Em a slightly-smug smile at having turned the odds possibly in her favor-- or at least motivating the other workers-- and then sits back down again.
After the meal, she tags along even to the dormitory, though it seems her plans for sharing in the worker experience do not extend to actually sleeping there. She does inspect the building, though, and you all can see the work that Kubanu and Argatha have put into making it more habitable. The wind still tries to make its way past the occasional crack, but it's much better proofed against the chill gusts than the night before.
Lady Argatha still seems to think it could use improvement. As she stands in the midst of the cots and gazes around, she chafes her arms a bit. "It's not exactly... warm, is it? You don't have a heat source, just your own bodies and blankets. And no privacy to speak of..."
She shakes her head once, then smiles at the workers. "Thank you for showing me around. I'm sure I'll see you all tomorrow. Good night!"
As soon as the bar door closes after her, Kubanu lets out a sustained, heartfelt burp. "Gods! I thought she'd never leave. Those beans with dinner have been roiling in my gut for twenty minutes but I couldn't exactly belch while she was here!"
It breaks the tension of having one of your bosses 'socializing' with you, and the workers laugh. Minty once again offers his warming magics to any who would like to pay for it, but more people seem weary than the night before and many take directly to their beds. A few people stay up for a bit, gossiping about the Highcliffs in hushed voices.
"...she's not so bad, for a rich'un. At Greenwater she made 'em bring in clerics to heal folk after half the crew got some nasty jungle fever thing... bet it cost the company a pretty bit of coin."
"So what? They've got it to spare, don't they? You saw how she flashed a gold coin around like nothin'. Maybe she's 'nice', but she can afford to be. How rich do you think they are, anyway? I heard they own half of Absalom."
"I heard they own half of Cheliax. Devil-binders, all of 'em."
"Oh that's a load of tailings! They had to flee Cheliax cuz they weren't devil-worshippers. Lost all their holdings and such, had to start fresh in Absalom. That's admirable, innit?"
"Why don't you kiss Highcliff ass a little harder, Decker-- what, do you think she's listenin' outside and you'll get a cookie? Anyway they don't own half of Absalom. Just the GMC. And our gods-cursed contracts..."
"I'm not kissing anyone's ass! I'm just saying. Anyway, tomorrow I'm gonna look for that missing bit of rock and get myself proper spending gold for it, so if you want to call that ass-kissing...."
Eventually, the cold of the night wins out over the desire to gossip. Workers wrap their blankets around themselves, yawn, turn down the lanterns, and take to their beds-- at least, those with no homes of their own to go to, or those for whom home is too far a trek tonight.
Night settles over Salt Spire... the surf crashes distantly against the rocks, outside. The sounds of snoring gradually fill the barn.
Lady Highcliff looks appropriately sad at the plight of Salt Spire's food situation, as relayed by Phantrel. "I see... well, food can be one of the opportunities that we bring to the area, then! Perhaps more-- vegetables! And fruit!"
"I'm sure that would be greatly appreciated, my lady, and not just by the miners," Phantrel replies. "Growing things is actually what I spend most of my time doing," he adds, "when I'm not here, anyway." He decides that will do for the moment. He's planted a seed and it will no doubt need nurturing in order to grow and, ideally, bloom, but for now it's a decent start. The food and that sliver of optimism gives him a brief new burst of life and he decides to head home, even if his walk back up the slope is more of a drag than usual. He checks on and tends his various plants but the half-elf is bone-weary and ready to turn in for the night soon enough.
Brimble curls up beneath his blanket but listens to the chatter… most of it seems the usual baseless speculation drawn from their hopes and biases.
The real concern, to Brimble’s mind, is the dangerous game Em is playing. If she’s got an edge, she better play it with utmost care and caution. If any of the GMC brass are given cause to think Lady Highcliff has been cheated by a lowly laborer, Em and everyone else were in for a world of hurt. The kobold earned a sword for being less then genteel in his words about Alithea’s safety. Imagine Daddy’s reaction if his daughter gets hoodwinked? And that gold piece up for grabs meant that the sharper laborers would be watching Em like a hawk, just in case.
Fatigue beats concern and Brimble eventually falls asleep.
Argatha, mindful of fatigue, ignores the mumblings around him as he drifts off to sleep. He's glad the royals aren't spending the night though - they're already too much underfoot and they make him nervous. Unpredictable they are.
He was surprised that Lady Highcliff visited the dormitory, and managed to keep quiet. Once he left Colin overheard the discussion but soon he was a asleep, dreaming about strange dwarven technology and the things he might do with a proper lab. Naturally this would involve experiments to test the flammability of various substances, from slow burning to some of the more unstable concoctions he'd read about, exciting stuff!
As soon as the bar door closes after her, Kubanu lets out a sustained, heartfelt burp. "Gods! I thought she'd never leave. Those beans with dinner have been roiling in my gut for twenty minutes but I couldn't exactly belch while she was here!"
"What, y'mean the rest of us gotta put up with it now? Gonna make me go get 'er back!"
As the night winds to a close, Raka finds her bed and gladly climbs into it. The days working in the mine might be her preferred kind of work, but it's exhausting all the same. Within moments she's fast asleep, oblivious to the whispered conversations around her.
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"Most folk here will generally be glad of a full stomach as that won't always have been the case every night."
"Seconded!" Em says, having just swallowed a large spoonful. She's begged for vegetables from Phantrel before, many have. "Better this than another of Eska's Barmecidal basins of gruel. I swear I would love her dishes, if there were more on them." Em has plans to plump up, hopefully soon. She's been on the waifish edge of starvation once, and intends to round her belly as much as possible while the food is free.
"If one of you finds it and brings it to me, there is a bonus of a golden crown in it for you!"
A light wave of murmurs goes through the room-- after all, that is the price of a ten-day of labor for most of the workers. People look interested. Lady Highcliff shoots Em a slightly-smug smile at having turned the odds possibly in her favor-- or at least motivating the other workers-- and then sits back down again.
Em returns Lady Highcliff's smile with a grin of her own, feeling very alive. She wonders whether she should ask the Lady if the gold will be granted to Em, should she suddenly discover the missing piece. Deciding not to antagonize further, Em soon quits the crowded hall, braving the chill walk home while she's still filled with a fiery resolve.
------------
Back home, Em looks steadily at her hands, still feeling the spark of energy which had coiled itself through electrum wires for an age of the world, waiting for her touch. Could Xira suspect her, after her brief intimations at the start of the day? It was a troubling thought. Em's hiding spot in the latrine might go unnoticed tonight, but she should find a better one tomorrow, and closer to the mouth of the mine. They had checked everyone's pockets.
"Your hands are shaking," Cal says quietly.
"I worked hard today."
"They weren't like this yesterday, after you worked hard," he points out. Annoyingly perceptive these days. At least he's still scared of the dark.
"It's not every day I meet someone interesting."
"Aha!" He moves close, grinning at his new discovery. Em pulls him closer.
"There are only three things I know about her: I love her. I despise her. I want to be like her."
"You are very welcome." Xira answers Rolth's thanks with a smile. The smile fades as she returns to Em and Raka and gives them the news that the man's injury was caused by a dwarf-crafted trap, not some subterranean beast. Though the overheard talk about tracks and droppings would seem to indicate they have those too...
Just what have we gotten ourselves into?
Pondering what she's learned makes Xira uncharacteristically quiet and preoccupied during the evening meal. She picks at her food, only half-listening to Lady Highcliff's chatter until--
"I'm sure you all saw the pattern back in the mine! We've nearly completed it-- it looks as though we are missing just one piece!" she says. "The blast can't have knocked it TOO far from its fellows. If one of you finds it and brings it to me, there is a bonus of a golden crown in it for you!"
The gold coin collides in her head with her earlier idea to use her mystical sense to analyze the pieces of the matrix they have, then use what she learns to track down the missing chunk. Yes! Her magic could give her a decided edge in this hunt, if...
If she's willing to help Lady Highcliff at Em's expense.
She debates with herself during her walk home and all through her magically conjured shower. This is silly. Even if she loses, Em will enjoy writing the lady's requested ode. I can even give her some of the money, if I'm so determined to feel guilty in prospect. As she dries off and wraps the thick fall of her hair in a towel, she nearly has herself convinced. Why should Em mind Her Ladyship effectively paying gold for her writing? She's the one who proposed this ridiculous wager in the first place.
...
Oh.
The question that has niggled at the back of her mind all afternoon and evening finally worms its way to the front.
So why did Em come up with this bet?
Sitting on her bed, she looks at her Harrow cards in their niche for a time before shaking her head and lying down, uncertain whether she doesn't want to waste sleep time trying to wrest an answer from her wounded deck, or if she's just not that eager for an answer.
Even those of you who are not wholly worn-out by the day are happy enough to get to sleep. For those in the worker dorm, the night is more comfortable than the previous one- the attempts at improving the dorm have at least made the night’s rest warmer, which Brimble probably especially appreciates, as susceptible to cold as he is.
Morning comes. In the dorm, the workers groan themselves awake and pull on their boots. Laborers splash water on their faces. Elsewhere, Cal wishes his sister a good day and murmurs at her not to do anything foolish when trying to impress Lady Highcliff. Elsewhere, Phantrel checks his green and growing things then starts the long trek down to town. Elsewhere, Xira wakes from a dream where she is turning over card after card and finds that each of them is new, unknown, a design she has never seen before; they might as well be written in a foreign tongue…
Breakfast, or at least the communal breakfast, is a hash of shredded potatoes, onions, mushrooms, and salted ham, all fried together, and washed down with mugs of tea. The workers are bleary, many of them still recovering from the previous day, and there is less chatter than previous mornings. Halfway through breakfast, the workers can hear the sounds of a light rain starting to patter the farmhouse roof. Phantrel may or may not mind the soft drizzle that hits halfway down the mountainside and lightly dampens his hair and clothes. The sky overhead hangs grey.
Neither the Highcliffs nor Brazali make any appearance during breakfast– getting up this early is for shmucks like you. With bellies full of breakfast, you make your way down the main shaft for the third day in a row…
Carver orders you back through the blast hole and the same work as yesterday resumes. The same wearying, muscle-aching, monotonous work. Pick up rocks. Carry rocks. Put rocks in wheelbarrows… The only change is that most of the workers spends a few more seconds examining the rocks they pick up, hunting for the missing, gold-inlaid piece.
Fortunately for Em, while her fellow laborers are all looking quite hard for the missing chunk, they are looking among the rocks that are being cleared. At least for now. As the morning drags on, Brosker lets out an annoyed curse as he chucks his thirtieth piece of likely rubble into the waiting barrows.
"All the rest of it was right there in that stuff near the entrance!" the fisherman growls. "That last piece has to be somewhere!"
Kubanu wipes sweat from his brow and briefly stretches his back. "Maybe it just got pulverized into dust? From the explosion?"
Another miner shakes her head. "The rest of it's all intact, though. Wouldn't make sense. It can't just be missing. Unless..."
A silence descends... and stretches a few more beats. The laborers dart surreptitious glances around at their fellows....
The wary quiet is broken by Carver. "The hell you all doing just standing around?! I don't hear rocks being moved!"
By the time the mid-morning break gets nearer, there has been some progress made with the clearing of the first chamber, at least. The area near the golden door/wall? has been cleared of all the major pieces of rubble. There are no visible hinges, locks, handles, or other mechanisms. One thing that can be seen that couldn't until now is the presence of two braziers, or something like that, flanking the door on the interior side. They are each about three feet tall, made of dark metal, with a bowl-like concavity on top. Carver blows her whistle and gestures people to stop digging near them.
"Heads up! You all want the eggheads signing off that those are safe before you get any nearer to 'em. Take early break! Twenty minutes!"
An extended break is nothing to sneer at. Some of the laborers go on tip-toe to try and get a better peek at the objects while still staying back a 'safe' distance as the engineers go in to assess it. Others pick through the barrow piles in the hopes that the missing fragment might still turn up. Others gossip, not about the possible gold piece reward, but rather the incident with the soldiers yesterday, and what dangers might await-- though they seem more interested than actually scared, as it seems they have faith it will mostly be be the mercs facing such things. Yet others just sit, and drink water from the cistern, and gaze critically at each other with unvoiced suspicions.
Carver looks around for Colin and, on finding him, taps him brusquely on the shoulder. "Ubek said you're supposed to have this," she says, with no great grace about it, and thrusts a box with a strap towards him. "And I say that no matter what he, or Highcliff, or anyone else says, if you f*!! around with this crap in a way that hurts me or your fellow workers or the dig or even slows down work, I will see to it you have an accident. Zat clear? Also, it's GMC property, you're just gettin' to use it."
The box is solidly made, with some interesting hinges that allow it to unfold as it opens to display many small nooks with various substances inside. The shoulderstrap allows it to be worn securely, and it has latches to keep it shut when moving.
Colin's emotions swayed from jubilation to indignation in moments. He gave Carver a hard look and replied "Crystal..."
Colin wasn't normally the type to hold a grudge, but he did not appreciate being threatened. He briefly entertained a fantasy about some of the seriously nasty concoctions he could come up with, but immediately dropped that idea because if anyone suddenly got poisoning symptoms in the next month or two he'd be the prime suspect.
Besides there were far more interesting experiments this kit enabled, he'd just have to bide his time. Mines always needed explosives and as sure dawn follows night he'd get a chance to make some.
vs DC 18
Yeah... That's not right. Argatha starts to put the pieces together, and begins to worry that Specs might not have his back. Or maybe he's just greedy. Argatha shrugs.
He toils away that day, assuming they've done what they could for the 'barracks' for the time being. He'd forgotten how thick the air was in the mine, and he struggles to breathe it after a day mostly topside.
He enjoys reaching the top of the shaft with his load. Not only does he get an easier time descending, but he gets a bit of fresh air while reloading his wheelbarrow.
He does his best to keep his head down and working, though he does try to keep an eye on Specs when he sees him.
The second day definitely seems to have sapped Phantrel's energy more than the first. His body was aching - that was, he supposed, a given - but his usual lightness of step appeared to have deserted him on his early morning walk down from the wood. Grey weather and light rain seems somehow fitting for his mood.
The work remains both hard and monotonous - again, a given - but he is intrigued by how the chamber is shaping up now that it's been cleared.
He also notices that the red-headed halfling seems to be more than a little curious about Colin's new gift. He'd probably go so far to say she had a shifty look about her. When Carver calls for break, Phantrel waits for an opportunity when Specks is elsewhere to let Colin know. "Nice gear," he says quietly, placing a hand lightly on Colin's shoulder. "I'm sure the warning not to mess around with it was unnecessary. But you should keep a careful eye on it. The strawberry-blonde halfling - Specks, is it?" the half-elf inclines his head in her direction, "she was watching you open it with a shrewd gleam in her eye. I can't speak to her intent but it seemed a covetous look. I'll try and keep an eye on her, just in case she has something in mind."
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Another miner shakes her head. "The rest of it's all intact, though. Wouldn't make sense. It can't just be missing. Unless..."
A silence descends... and stretches a few more beats. The laborers dart surreptitious glances around at their fellows....
Raka puts the pieces together (heh) several moments after the other miners do-- when Carver breaks the silence and they return to the work. "You really think someone mighta stole it?" she asks Zrmlix , making the unspoken spoken. "Why not just turn it in and get the reward?" Especially if it's dwarf gold, the less time spent with it the better.
Dreams of being caught wake Em early that morning. She dons her set of clothing that has the deepest pockets, which isn't saying much, considering she has only three outfits. Apart from her dress, but there's no sense wearing that to the mines. She stuffs a few scraps of unused leather in a pocket and brings a needle and thread, planning to work on her kneepads with Xira during her lunch break. Truthfully, Em has had little time for such things in the evenings. Also, she hopes the bulge will make her insolent behavior less apparent. Otherwise there will be consequences.
Em hates consequences.
--------------
During the lunch break, Em excuses herself, saying that she'd like to see the faint mist of rain falling from the sky and breath the cool open air while she can. It's entirely true, Em does love rain, even if it does conceal her real object.
Before she moves to the surface, Em visits the latrine.
Em has been down the mine many times, and she knows a couple of side tunnels that have nooks and crevices where her little treasure might go unnoticed for years. She waits until she's alone in the main tunnel and can't hear anyone coming, then moves to a side tunnel. She hides the dwarfgold rock as best as she can somewhere no one will look, then moves quietly back towards the main tunnel, hoping the cool surface air will bring her some relief.
Rather than take an actual break outside, Brimble stretches his back against the rock wall as he hunkers down by the exit to the main shaft. He watches the eggheads closely as they experiment near the door. He’s curious about their methods… and learning from someone else’s disastrous mistakes is far better than having your own.
Elsewhere, Xira wakes from a dream where she is turning over card after card and finds that each of them is new, unknown, a design she has never seen before; they might as well be written in a foreign tongue…
In the dark before dawn, Xiramona sits up with a gasp, flicking her fingers to bring a small ball of light into existence. Eyes wild, she turns to find her deck sitting placidly unmolested in its nook. For a moment she freezes.
It was a dream, Xira. Stop being a panicked idiot.
But her jangling nerves refuse to be ignored. With an unvoiced curse, she snatches up the deck and leafs through the cards.
All present, except for the three lost. All as they were. All normal. She curls around the deck, breathing deep to slow her pounding heart, automatically shuffling to restore the cards' randomness.
It's well before the time she would normally leave, but Xira knows she'll get no more sleep if she lays back down. Instead she builds up the fire and makes herself a small cup of spiced coffee, which serves as both pick-me-up and calming restorative. She sips slowly, feeling the warmth spread through her in the chill morning.
After the last drops, she's soon dressed and ready to go, and yet she hesitates. Xira picks up her deck again, cradling it in her hands like a newborn chick. The unease caused by her dream lingers, making her strangely reluctant to leave her cards unattended.
Snorting in exasperation with her paranoia, she fans the deck and plucks a single card from it. The Juggler, the card of destiny, deities, and those who play with the fates of others.
Hm. Reassurance or threat, I wonder?
Enough. She can't let floundering make her late for work. She wraps the deck in a square of multicolored silk that shows creases from having been so used many times, then enfolds the package first in a bit of oilcloth, then in a length of gauzy linen, which she ties around her waist underneath her shirt. Decision made, she walks to the old farmhouse, her stride long.
While Xira has nothing against oat porridge, the change-up of the breakfast hash is welcome. Doubly welcome, given how little appetite she had at dinner. She eats heartily before joining the trudge down to the mine, lifting her face to feel a little rain on her cheeks.
Then it's back to work. Heft-carry-load, heft-carry-load, the tasks are not so mentally demanding that she fails to note the other workers' frustration or overhear their debate about the last piece of the matrix. And Raka has asked an excellent question. Why not turn it in?
When Carver announces a double-length break, Xira comes alert. She bristles slightly at her upbraiding of Colin, but she has to admit, if only to herself, that the half-orc may have a point.
But enough distractions. Twenty minutes should be enough time for Stage One of Xira's matrix detection scheme. She still doesn't know if she'll go through with Stage Two, but she can worry about that later.
She smiles as she walks up to the nearly-complete golden tracery, picturing what it might have looked like whole and functioning. Summoning her mystical sense, she lets her eyes follow the lines in all their impossible complexity. Show me your secrets, my friends. Sing me your songs, that I may find your little sibling.
Raka puts the pieces together (heh) several moments after the other miners do-- when Carver breaks the silence and they return to the work. "You really think someone mighta stole it?" she asks Zrmlix , making the unspoken spoken. "Why not just turn it in and get the reward?" Especially if it's dwarf gold, the less time spent with it the better.
Though Zrmlix doesn't dignify Raka's question with a response, Kubanu nods in eager agreement with her. "I can see that your height gives you a clear view of the situation! I wouldn't want to keep that stuff."
Minty shrugs. "I hear you could get twenty times what she's offering for it if you sell it in Riddleport or the like..."
Another worker makes a sharp hst-ing noise through her teeth. "Ware, idjit-- Carver's not far enough off for you to be talkin' like that."
The gnome shrugs again but noticeably quiets down.
Break comes, and the workers have a modicum of freedom. Em uses hers to first retrieve her secret... and then to make her way up the tunnel to put her knowledge of the smaller branching shafts to work for her...
Em- you realize as you go that you've acquired a shadow. A stealthy shadow, a small shadow, but one that is not quite stealthy enough. From the corner of your eye you just see the halfling woman- Specks, is it?-- with the red hair, staying about forty feet behind you and trying to use the various irregularities of the shaft wall for cover. You were lucky to spot her.
Will you call her out? Or pretend you don't see her? So far she hasn't addressed you.
*********
Brimble watches intently as the "eggheads" investigate the braziers, Carver among them (though not the closest). Zrmlix, the goblin, adjusts the various lenses on their helmet as they study the objects from multiple angles.
"Fire-rune," the goblin says, pointing with a spindly finger at an angular mark on the brazier. "Bet we clean this of soot and it's plenty-full conduit-gold to the walls, neh?"
"Feh. Prolly," Carver grunts in answer. She heaves an annoyed sigh, staring up at the starry ceiling overhead. "I bet you Her Nibs is gonna wanna see it and light it all up. Feck. Alright..."
Turning to look for a laborer, Carver sees Brimble lingering near enough to watch. "Ey! Palescale! Run on up to the inn and tell Lady Highcliff we've got two probable power sources by the door, yeah?"
**********
Xira focuses.... focuses.... her eyes slid nearly shut as she tries to read the magic of these rocks and their strange golden runes, or whatever they may be.
A glow that only she can see surrounds the pieces, in her vision. A host of shifting colors, but three predominate-- a bold, aggressive red-orange; a shifting, shimmering yellow-gold; and a bright blue. She focuses. She considers. She... has no idea what the magic in these rocks does.
Well-- not entirely true. She doesn't know precisely, but she has a vague understanding of the types of magic, at least. There are the signatures of evocation magic-- often considered the most destructive, as it deals with shaping and controlling raw energy, such as the archetypal wizard's fireball. There are also signatures of conjuration magic-- the sort that brings energy and even entities from other planes to this one. Finally, there's transmutation magic too-- the kind that turns one thing to another, such as turning a person to a newt, or in its milder form might just give someone the strength of a giant.
What bits Xira can figure out just serve to tantalize her with all she doesn't know.
"Speaking of our smaller firend, where is she?" Pahntrel mutters. "So much for keeping an eye on her, he admonishes himself. The halfling seems to have disappeared but in the general hubbub and melee of the mines people are coming and going all the time. "At least that means she's not bothering you, which is something at least," he says to Colin.
Argatha looses track of Specs during one of his runs, "Now where's that halfling gotten off to? Slippery as a fish."
He hopes that whatever the mischief, it doesn't harm anyone, but he's growing more concerned. He wonders if he should talk to someone, but who would he talk to? Brimble perhaps, but he might just send it up the food chain. And then it'd be his word against Specs that anything odd was going on.
He shrugs and keeps his tongue in his head, but keeps a watch out as he works.
He sees nothing...
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Minty shrugs. "I hear you could get twenty times what she's offering for it if you sell it in Riddleport or the like..."
"Oh." Raka returns to her work, pondering that new piece of information for several long minutes.
First of all, there's the curse to consider. If someone did steal it, in all likelihood they'd be bringing the full as-yet-unknown might of dwarven hexmagic down on their heads. After all, wasn't their own greed the reason they're no longer here to discuss it themselves?
Second, there's the more immediate issue of being caught stealing. The overseers had never said exactly what would happen to thieves, but Raka certainly doesn't envy anyone who gets caught with stolen gold.
Lastly, there's the fact that this particular bit of gold seems especially important. All the high-ups seem quite keen to complete the pattern, or mural, or mosaic, or whatever it is the lines of gold create. Raka can't help but wonder if there's something more to it. Will something happen when it's completed? Do the overseers know, or at least suspect, more than they've said? And does it have anything to do with the traps further in the mine?
It takes her some time to sort through all her thoughts on the matter. She's probably all wrong, anyway. Easier to let others do the thinking, and leave Raka to push up beams.
"I hope the piece turns up," she says finally.
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"I'm sure the warning not to mess around with it was unnecessary. But you should keep a careful eye on it. The strawberry-blonde halfling - Specks, is it? She was watching you open it with a shrewd gleam in her eye. I can't speak to her intent but it seemed a covetous look. I'll try and keep an eye on her, just in case she has something in mind."
"Oh I hadn't noticed. Thanks!" Colin replied to Phantrel, "I hope she's not planning anything foolish, many of the alchemical substances in the kit are dangerous if handled improperly..."
"You really think someone mighta stole it? Why not just turn it in and get the reward?"
While it occured to Colin that even small dwarven artefacts might be really quite valuable to the right buyer, he was certain that the only buyer within a hundred miles was Lady Highcliffe and she'd named her price. So he found himself nodding.
Minty shrugs. "I hear you could get twenty times what she's offering for it if you sell it in Riddleport or the like..."
Colin muttered, "But that means going to Riddleport, and then you're just as likely to get swindled or end up a knife in your gut."
Brimble throws Carver an acknowledging wave, then takes off on the double for whatever passes for an inn in Salt Spire. He’d been a lightning rod of late and needed to change that. There was way too much electricity in the air and he didn’t want to attract it when the bolts started coming down. So, he plays the game of being helpful but not fawning.
At the inn, he glances about hoping to spy Alithea. If that doesn’t work he asks about Lady Highcliff’s room.
Em has the benefit of a moment to think over her options. She could do what she said she was doing, and walk to the mouth of the mine for a rest. But then her pocket would be full, and who knows when she might have opportunity to empty them. And then there is the possibility of confrontation. That is likely to go poorly, since Em has proof of her crime on her very person. At best, she will be accused, turned in, and discovered.
Why have I not been turned in already? She must want the gold for herself. Many thoughts cross Em's mind in an instant, many ways she can win Specks over to her side.
Em moves slowly and visibly into a side tunnel, giving no indication she knows she's being followed. She stops just inside it's mouth and leans against a wall, then quietly takes off one shoe, pretending to find a rock inside it. If Specks creeps behind her, she might take the halfling by surprise, while still maintaining a pretext of innocence. If nothing happens, Em plans to resume her walk to the surface after a minute or so.
Brimble throws Carver an acknowledging wave, then takes off on the double for whatever passes for an inn in Salt Spire.
Brimble intends to do this, certainly. He's about halfway up the tunnel back to town when he hears low voices talking somewhere ahead. He can make out Specks' voice, at least, relatively known to him as it is.
"Oi-- towngirl. I wanna word with you. A proposal, like."
How does Brimble wish to proceed? Stealthily? Loudly to let the speakers know he's there? Some other way entirely?
****
Em has only just gotten her shoe off when the halfling appears passing by the side tunnel. Specks startles, then looks up and down the tunnel swiftly before stepping in after Em.
"Oi-- towngirl. I wanna word with you. A proposal, like," she hisses, thumbs hooked into her belt as she stares insouciantly up at Em. Em can't help but notice the halfling's hands look scarred and strong from years of labor, and that a decent-sized knife is worn in Specks' belt as well, rather close to hand.
How do you want to respond, Em?
Brimble comes to an abrupt stop then proceeds quietly. It was odd that any worker would be in the tunnels during a break. Speck’s words could be conversational… or a threat. The former wasn’t his concern. The latter, however, was a headache, would reflect badly on him as a Safety Lead, and – most importantly – was something he’d expressly warned the laborers about. Specks had mining experience and should damn well know better.
He creeps forward to see who Specks is talking with and eavesdrops on the chat to see if it is friendly or requires his swift intervention. He silently frees the sharpened pick from his belt.
”A modest proposal, I hope?” Em reties her shoe. Thoughts of violence had flashed through her mind once, but she had dismissed them. Specks had every incentive not to fight her. ”I would hate to be implicated in anything indecent.” The thoughts were a little harder to dismiss, now that their source stood ever so indifferently before her.
Brimble is as unseen and unheard as a soft spring breeze....
The halfling woman smirks a bit at Em's words. This close, Em can see that crowsfeet mark the corners of her eyes and that she is not as youthful as the freckles and general halfling features might suggest-- perhaps in her forties, rather. Who knows how many years she's spent working on digs like this one?
"Nothin' indecent, no. Let's not mince words too fine: I know what's got you scurryin' out. Saw you leavin' the latrine, heard you sayin' you just want to see the rain. Right. I been doing this work a while and there's always one like you, thinks you're too smart to get caught."
The halfling cracks her knuckles a bit. "But you don't gotta get caught. You can scamper with your prize and I won't snitch. If you do somethin' for me in turn. Don't worry. Nothin' dangerous. Just that later on this dig-- maybe today, maybe tomorrow-- you'd make a bit of a scene on my cue. Draw some eyes to you. Way I see it, you already like doin' that, what with makin' wagers with the little princess, huh?"
Putting the complicated thoughts of profit, curse-baiting, and so forth aside, Raka is happy to return to the simple world of "lift beams, move rocks."
When Zrmlix goes to go investigate the braziers-or-whatever-they-are, she is briefly at a loss, however. Left to her own devices, Raka does her best to finish bracing the beams she last had clear instructions for, then decides it's best to wait for further orders before trying to continue on her own. She stands about, taking the chance to stretch her muscles, her eyes wandering the section of intact dwarven wall nearest her, just to the sides of where the entrance hole has been blasted. The lantern lights gleam off the undoubtedly-cursed dwarf gold, making them seem to almost dance and pulse, like they're alive.
The longer she looks, the more she thinks she sees patterns in the golden lines, though anytime she tries to focus on one it slips away from her and is once again just a bunch of lines. Her mind is playing tricks on her, no doubt.
Although....
This bit, right here.... it looks like a shield. Sorta. It catches Raka's eye, for reasons she can't fully elucidate to herself. Raka traces the lines visually... again... and again...
....she catches her hand reaching out towards it-- fortunately before her fingers make contact. Yikes! Raka shakes off the strange allure of the symbol and (no doubt) quickly steps back from the hideously-cursed dwarfgold.
As Xiramona tries to assess the intricate patterns of magic that overlay the rocks-and-metal in front of her, at least to know what TYPE of magic they are, if nothing else--
--her eyes suddenly fly open, wide, staring.
That-- can't be. It's absolutely impossible.
For one moment, as she focused on the matrix, she got an unmistakable scent, a sense-memory. The smell of lavender.
Her mother used to crush and steep lavender to use as a fragrance, for herself and for the household linens.
The scent is gone now. Is her mind playing tricks on her?
Phantrel and Colin do their best to keep an eye out for Specks, but it appears she's momentarily out of sight. Little do they know Argatha is also looking for the elusive halfling.
The Mwangi-born laborer, Kubanu, nods in response to Colin's words about the odds of getting knifed in Riddleport. He soaks a bandanna in water from the cistern and mops rock dust and sweat from his face, then says, "One way or another, the greed-curse will come true for people who yield to it. This is why I am content to labor for silver and not gold. The wise man gives himself limits."
Minty scoffs. "We've got a philosopher here!"
Kubanu shakes his head. "Only a man content with simple things. You two--" he is nodding towards Phantrel and Colin, "--what do you hope for, here? Wealth? Is that the greatest thing that might be found in these tunnels, do you think?"
To Argatha he says with a wan smile, "You, I know what you work for-- the same as me. An end to our contracts. Two months to go, for myself. You?"
”What do I want?” Phantrel muses, wondering what to say. He opts for a simple version of the truth – it’s hardly sedition. ”I’m hoping for a better future. Money’s part of that, sure. It’s not everything but try telling that to someone who doesn’t have two copper bits to rub together."
He pauses a second before continuing. "What I really hope is that when the work here in Salt Spire dries up and moves on – which at some point it will – is that it doesn’t mean the money stops too. It’s been hard here of late and when things are good folk often think that’ll last forever.” He doesn’t say that short-termism is a peculiarly human vice, as that’s not entirely true or fair. But having already lived through more years than most humans are likely to see, the half-elf has seen – and, perhaps more importantly, can remember – times both good and bad so he prefers to take a longer view. ”If I can nudge a few people into investing in the future or putting something aside for those winter days when the wind rips the waves right out of the ocean, well, that’ll do me. I’m not the village boss or anything,” he adds, slightly defensively, ”but it’s my home and I’d like to see it thriving again."
"As for messing about with things you don’t understand? I’m with Kubanu – seems like a foolish idea to me,” he shrugs.
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That was too close. Raka rubs her eyes with the hands that had almost touched the alluring dwarfgold. We shouldn't be here. I really shouldn't be here.
One thing is certain, though-- there is definitely more to that gold than just shiny metal. I coulda sworn that was a shield. It looked like a shield. Brimble and Xira could sure've used a shield the other day. If Raka herself had had one, perhaps she could've prevented them from getting hurt. But so what, she tells herself. Evil folks use shields too, right? Dwarves prob'ly made shields. And anyway, it's just lines on the wall-- not even the real thing.
And yet...
Raka had never considered herself a greedy person. Stubborn, perhaps. Short-sighted, certainly. But not greedy. And yet, she had very nearly been enticed into touching the gold. Somehow, the gold itself had worked its way into her very mind. Almost like it wanted to be taken. Or like it wanted her to be the one to do it.
Convinced more than ever that the sinister metal is indeed cursed, Raka keeps her eyes to the floor and waits for Zrmlix to return.
Colin thought for a moment before replying to Kubanu, "A couple of days ago I might have agreed that finding wealth was the greatest thing we might find. But now, well I hope for more dwarven ruins. There are wonders the world has forgotten, wonders we might find."
To Argatha he says with a wan smile, "You, I know what you work for-- the same as me. An end to our contracts. Two months to go, for myself. You?"
"Yeah, I've got some time left." The way he says 'time' it's clear it's substantial, or at least is to Argatha. "I dunno what's next though. I was a farmer in my past life, and it's more or less all I know really - how to make things grow and care for the beasts. I don't want to go back to that though."
He lifts the now full wheelbarrow with a grunt, and begins to make his way up the tunnel to the entrance.
He's thoughtful as he climbs. It's true, his servitude won't last forever, and while he might not have much to show for it, he will have something. He really should plan his next steps... not something he's good at - which is why he's stuck in this mine at the moment. Maybe he can ask someone for advice on what to do.