Grounded

[Yvonne]

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.