Grounded

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Solo, unless you convincingly weave your character into Yvonne's youth. Request permission before doing so and explain how that might be possible.

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A naive pair of eyes dared to peer down into the unplumbed depths of the borehole. Vertical, cylindrical; the diameter as wide as a crater but no meteorite had smashed to smithereens the snow caps above, outside. No meteor had roared through the yawning cavern expanse or exploded upon the heart of the mountain below, yet here was a hole which wounded Mother Nature herself. The culprit; dwarf craft. Their unearthing of the earth seemed to fall away into endlessness, a bottomless open pit mine of which a girl would eventually discover the bottom, should she fall… or jump.

Dwarven digging was steady and as ageless as the race themselves. Their hunger for workable ore and precious gemstones was insatiable. Their thirst for gold and wealth unquenchable. If she fell there was a slim chance she could grab onto one of many pulleys, ore buckets or metal cables carrying the containers aloft. Most likely they would be out of reach, the window of opportunity too narrow and she would plummet forever until she didn’t. Those brooding eyes of youthful silver turned away, twice the thought as she looked elsewhere.

Hovering over the borehole were suspension bridges of solid steel, each of these connecting steel platforms supported by metal columns and rigid pillars. Situated on one of these platforms were refineries which converted the raw ore floating up toward them into usable metals. Adjoining them on another nearby terrace were the waste processing factories which controlled the overburden, slags, tailings and useless rock left over after ore extraction. A third steel platform - linked to the first - housed buildings intended to shape refined ore into ingots and cut gemstones into jewels. The fourth and final suspended platform was a docking station, a landing pad for an air ship which transported valuable goods between locations of importance within the cavernous city.

One of those locations happened to be the blacksmithing district, settled on the rock below. Here the greatest dwarven smiths plied their renowned trade - a cacophony of clinking hammers, blazing furnaces, red-hot implements bathing in cooling water with a harsh sear and rising steam. The smithies and workshops billowed smoke from their chimneys, hazing the air which drifted toward the wide-open cave entrance and out to the surface world. Here the greatest armour and weapons Althanas had ever known were forged, tempered and enchanted throughout the creation process.

Nearer the cavernous entrance the armoury presented itself for any unwanted tourists who considered themselves worthy to bear and wield dwarven arms and armour. The positioning of the many mercantile buildings was intentional, to keep guests relatively outside of the inner workings of Kachuck’s busy expanse. Dwarves didn’t like unfamiliar company, whether they were dark elven, goblin or orc - drakari or fae or human it didn’t matter. High elves could potentially be killed on sight, the brooding girl had witnessed it before. No, reputation preceded the visitor and spoke for them or else their bribes would need to be twice as convincing, lest one was turned back empty handed.

Deeper in the vast cave city flowed a rushing white river of mountain water, originating from an underground waterfall that thundered over jagged outcroppings and smoothed out as it streamed through the industrial district. Water wheels lapped up the subterranean river’s current and turned the gears of power throughout the underground city. Machinery workshops, papermakers and cloth manufacturers, food distribution centres and cold storage buildings could all turn to the water wheels and lend their appreciation for the hydro-power energy supply directed their way.

A darker part of the cave was the residential area proper and dwarven homes half-circled the circumference in a loosely crescent-organized formation. That said the moody girl didn’t live in that rich region of Kachuck. The crescent district was reserved for their dark elven superiors and dwarves who had proved themselves in their slanted eyes - it was left for blacksmiths, inventors and warriors who wore a proud clan name, pockets brimming with gold and could tell equally rich stories of their family history. She would probably never have the honour of living there, with who she was and those she was born to.

Her name was Yvonne Mythrilmantle, descendant of a clan with a beautiful name but that was where the perks ended. The Mythrilmantle clan had long ago fallen into disgrace and obscurity, unworthy of opportunity to redeem themselves in the eyes of the great clans. Her home was close to the outskirts of the city, among the slums of the deep dark. Her mother owned a functional establishment there which provided many services - a place to drown sorrows, a place to rest one’s head and a place to satisfy carnal desires. Despite their presence in the slums and most of their clientele lacking coin they scraped by with blood, sweat and tears.

She didn’t wish to be there today. It was her birthday and she planned to have a good time.

Yvonne should have been tending the bar while her mother Mera and the girls worked. She should have been pouring drinks and devising cocktails for the same regular jerks that frequented their establishment. Her outing was costing them coin which they needed, no doubt in her mind, but this young daughter had served drinks for jerks every night for the past seven hundred and twenty nine nights. If she worked tonight it would have made it two years straight and she wasn’t about to let that happen. She needed a break, this one time. There wasn’t meant to be any rest for the wicked, yet here she rested with another plan in mind altogether.

The little rebel perched precariously in shadows black enough to eclipse her skin. She remained motionless amid the darkness, hiding; not wishing to be found and not wanting to turn back. When faced with change, a new challenge or direction she could be hesitant much like her fellow dwarves, but once she’d made her mind up she wouldn’t back down. Her decision had been made and she would follow it through for better or worse. Finding herself in big trouble when she returned home was a certainty already, so what was she to do but see it through? If she was dead-set on doing something wrong, might as well do it right.

A grizzly grey haired and bearded dwarf waddled closer and closer to Yvonne’s hiding place. His biceps and triceps bulged, the veins protruding from them pulsing as he walked. For a squat little man he had tree trunks for arms but disproportionate legs. They say a picture is worth a thousand words and one glance at this dwarf unravelled his life story. He’d been a miner all of his life - it was what he knew, what he was good at, his calling. He probably had a more productive relationship with his pickaxe than his wife. Equipped with mining gear and packs on his back, a mining hat with a lantern attached - he was well prepared to descend down the borehole and into the mine shaft depths.

The steam-powered elevator was activated from two locations; one lever was here inside the elevator which the grizzled dwarf lowered himself. He needed to signal another dwarf way up in an operations booth on the platform, give him the all clear in order to lower both levers and begin the descent. With a gaseous exhale of steam the elevator gradually fell, vertical; down, down into the mining pit where he belonged. She too would be along for the ride, not in the elevator-carousel per se. She was perched precariously on top of it, on the roof.

Children weren’t allowed in where the adults worked you see. They wouldn’t let her explore down here - not even if she asked nicely - so the only option left to her was sneaking her way in. The heights of darkness were left above, leather boots were revealed as factory lights illuminated them. The black skin of her little legs shined like the night sky under the bright light, crouched down to steady her balance. A blue cotton dress graced her knees and leather gloves adorned her stabilizing hands, a built-in clock to let her know how late she was to her duties. Spy-glass goggles were strapped to her head, letting her capture a much closer look from a distance. The light shimmered through her black hair and ponytail, the glow exposing all.

Yvonne was a dark elf and dwarf both. Her mother was dwarven and her Mythrilmantle name was bestowed by her. In the minds of some that meant the clan name didn’t belong to her at all. If it didn’t then was her first name also to be questioned? Her father had left no mark on her life, not present at the time of her birth. For all she knew he wasn’t even aware she’d been born. She was burdened with no grudge for him, no thoughts of how he was, what his life was like or if their paths would ever cross. She had nothing for him at all, much as he had nothing for her. She was empty of him, and so any name he may have chosen for her had been left unspoken.

The half-and-halfling was progressing well, descending down the borehole elevator and smiling over her own cleverness. Her silver eyes gleamed as they turned upward to glance at the dwarf in the operations booth. He glanced back.

It took a moment for it all to register in his quagmire brain, slack-jawed and eyes fixed on her.

Stupor supplanted every other emotion the dwarven lift operator experienced. Who knew the flurry of thoughts that raced through his noggin. Confusion; how did a child get up on top of the elevator without him knowing? Despair; would he lose his job over this mistake? Fear; how could he live with himself if she fell into the borehole on his watch? How did a routine change of personnel as shifts ended and started turn out so horribly wrong? He’d lowered the lever more times than he could count to, without consequence. A lapse in concentration during his mind-numbing job could happen to anyone, right?

A cheeky smile taunted the dwarf in the booth from below.

“Shite, shite, shite!” he hollered, his shouts muffled by glass. He pulled the lever back up to return the elevator to the original floor. Of course nothing happened - a change in direction required mutual cooperation from the passenger. He thumped the window pane with his clenched fists, again and again, trying to get the miner’s attention.

“Flip tha switch, Dudgrug! Flip tha switch!” the operator cried out, but at this distance his words would be difficult to understand.

“Skip tha ditch? I can’t skip tha ditch ye flippin’ stick twiddler! We sprung a leak remember? I got ta plug tha fuggin’ hole up!” Dudgrug shouted back, his voice nearer and clearer to Yvonne’s elven ears.

The lift continued its descent and the hybrid child fell further and further away. She pulled faces at him silently; pretended she had an underbite, crossed her eyes, stuck her thumbs in her ears and flapped her palms around like a genuine brat out of hell.

“Dudgrug! There be a girl above ye! Flip tha switch, ye moss-bearded mole!” the frustrated lever-puller yelled.

“A girl that loves me? Hey! I heard that! Don’t ye make me come back up there Ungrot, ye stone-fondling pixie!” the cranky miner shouted right back.

“Ye, that be what I want! Get yer rubble-buttocks back up here!” Ungrot roared. “For crying out loud!” It was no use. The elevator was too far gone. A minor had made their way into the mine and it would come down on his head. How would he explain his way out of this one. What would he tell his family once he got the sack?

A light bulb lit up in his head. This operations box had a megaphone installed and in place for occasions such as these. He’d never needed to use it before so he hadn’t thought of it until now! There was no time! Get on the blower and tell Dudgrug what for!

Ungrot tried. His voice filled his ears but something seemed wrong. He spoke into the device but his voice hadn’t been projected for all to hear. Why, what could be wrong with it? It hadn’t been used…

Upon closer examination he found the snipped wiring. That wily scallywag! Not one but two steps ahead. What would his next move be? Report the incident? Pretend he saw nothing? The defeated dwarf sat down in his chair, unscrewed a bottle of home brew from his secret stash and took a few long chugs, weighing his options.