Of all the other races I find the dwarves closest to us the race of true n. Though slightly longer lived they are not as eternal as the elves, yet for all of that, they have always seed to to be more solid, more grounded in the now. What truly brings us close is our love for the fruit of the deep ground, the sparkle of gems, and the lure of gold. It is through mutual greed that we find common parlance.
- Attributed to Duchess Jessalyn the Unifier of the Lost Duchy circa 240 AC
I gripped my mining pick in my hands, its solid weight comforting to . Attacking the guards now would be foolish, I needed more information before I could make a move. Gripping the handle harder, I trudged on vowing that I would soday be free.
Slowly we descended down the gaping maw of the mineshaft, the air cooler as we proceeded further. Wooden solid support beams held up the shaft at regular ten-ter intervals, and echoes of our footsteps and clanking chains could be heard down the passage. A dull blue light shone from the ceiling of the shaft, an opal-colored gem emitting soft pulsing light. My curiosity got the better of and I decided to cast Identify on it.
Zajasite Lightstone
Durability 187/240
Despite the drain to my Mana, I noticed that I didn’t feel so debilitated and sluggish as the last ti I had pushed myself magically. My curiosity sated for the mont, I noticed that none of the other slaves even cast a glance upwards in its direction as we passed. This must be sothing common in this world, I concluded with a ntal shrug.
After another ten minutes of our descent, I could hear the sound of mining picks striking stone, mixed with voices exhorting slaves to greater effort. We found ourselves at a fork in the mine system, and the guards divided us again, my group funneling down into the right-hand passage.
As we continued down the right fork I began to hear the clinking sound of tal hitting rock echoing up the shaft. Suddenly, there was a small tremor and fine rock dust fell from the ceiling. A light pattering of soft alabaster snow graced the slaves in front of as the whole line paused. After the tremors stopped we continued further down, urged on by a cracking whip. A feeling of sudden claustrophobia ca over before I forcefully pushed the feeling back down through raw ntal will.
The clinking sounds were stronger now and soon afterward we passed mining slaves on either side of the shaft, chipping away at the soft white rock under the supervision of another group of guards. Their mining tools rising and falling, up and down in a steady cadence. So of the older slaves shoveled what looked like raw rough tal ore into large wicker baskets, which when full were hoisted onto their backs with straps around their shoulders like primitive backpacks.
A man spoke up to the slaves, calling a stop to their shift, his features difficult to discern in the soft blue light. He was unshackled except for an iron collar gilt with gold trim around his neck. A preferred slave, or foreman, I thought to myself. Three-quarters of the slaves then grabbed the wicker baskets laden with precious ore and made their way back up where we ca. The man with the gilded iron collar barked out orders for the remaining workers to instruct us in our duties, confirming that they understood with a stern questioning look. One of the slaves was a little slow in his reply and the whip cracked out close to him, but not striking, more for intimidation than for inflicting pain.
Those that remained ca over then. A burly man who was shorter than I, squat and heavily muscled, slowly demonstrated how to use a pick to . Grabbing it with hands wide apart, rolling it across his shoulders, then bringing his hands together as he struck the white rock. Looking closely at my ntor, I could see that he was indeed very wide, but there was not an inch of fat about his impressive physique. A long braided beard of indeterminate color fell down to near his waist, tied at the end with what looked like a small disc of tal that followed the movents of his body.
“Now do,” my ntor said slowly, as if instructing a child in the rough guttural language of the Children, gesturing for to follow his actions.
I gripped my tool as he did, and brought it down against the rock, cutting deep. The wide man grunted in confirmation. We worked together then, striking almost in rhythm with one another. My stamina was gradually depleting as I toiled away, though I noticed I was not sweating as much as I used to when I had exerted myself to this degree in my previous life.
After an hour or two I lost track of ti in the soft blue darkness of the mines. I saw a boy going down the line passing a ladle of water for us to drink. Though the water was stale with a distinct coppery aftertaste, when it was finally my turn I greedily slurped on it like it was sweet ambrosia. When I had finished, the boy in a surprising turn of events whispered a thank you to before hurrying down the line to give another worker his fill of the water.
The foreman barked in a surprisingly shrill voice that echoed down through the darkness. “Break now! For only two turns of the glass!” he exclaid before drinking from a small hip flask at his waist that drew stares of envy from the other slaves.
I took this as an invitation to sit down on the cool rock floor, laying my tool by my side, my hands chafing from the strenuous activity. My stamina had recovered a little, and I looked at the dwarf who had now worked a double shift. I decided to speak to him.
“Would you…” I drew another shallow breath, “mind telling your na?” I asked nervously in the darkness.
“Manner’s be to introduce yourself before asking for soone’s na,” he replied brusquely, eyes pointedly avoiding before he sighed through gritted teeth.
“Though I reckon manner’s be different in the lands of n. Na’s Durhit Coal of the Beacon Mountains. Your own?” He spoke the last with a raised inflection, still refusing to make eye contact with .
‘The lands of n?’ I wonder what he ant by that. I was caught a little off guard before forcing myself to think about his question. My subconscious mind was almost able to grasp my old na, but then hit a dead end when I focused on it. Grasping at straws, I rembered my moniker in this world.
“Gilgash of Uruk,” I said haltingly. The unfamiliarity of my new na was a strange taste to my tongue.
“Never heard of an Uruk,” he raised a bushy eyebrow in either feigned surprise or suspicion. “Sounds too foreign for my liking, you're from far away from here little manling? Across the seas perhaps?”
“Farther than you could ever imagine. Across a sea of stars,” I replied, trying my best to sound mysterious and poetic. His face contorted at this, attempting to make sense of my words before we were interrupted.
“Back to work, dogs!” The words lacked anger, more said out of rote.
Lines repeated so many tis they had lost most of their bite. The crack of the whip that soon followed however did not.
We continued our work in silence. My stamina grew very low and my arms felt like lead weights when I was granted a notification for my forced efforts. I wasn’t too thrilled by gaining the Mining skill, but an increase in Strength was always welco.
You have learned Mining
You have gained 1 Strength
The foreman called for the end of our shift in an almost high soprano, and our group began to gather the ore in the wicker baskets before starting our march out of the mines. At the previous fork, we t the other group and ford a long line up the shaft, our footsteps echoing in the soft blue darkness. We continued upwards and finally reached the entrance, the cool night air a balm for our exhaustion. The sound of the forges and the slters had grown sowhat dimr than during the day but had not stilled completely. A slave stumbled at the entrance, exhaustion finally taking him, but he was helped along by his fellows. A show of a blossoming camaraderie from the shared forced labor. My first shift as a slave had been completed.
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