Buried with work

[Zerith]

(Closed)

As a child, Zerith has always dreamed of being a knight. The stories were what convinced him, heroic tales of how the brave knight stands up for the innocent, fighting the odds until good prevails and he lives happily ever after. Of course other variations included monsters, princesses and other twists into the plot. But in every story the knight shined as brightly as star and had the courage to go up against anything. To a child the image of the knight in shining armor was the ultimate example of heroism. Though now as the halberdier saw himself, he never did accomplish that dream. He probably never would either.

In the real world he had become a mercenary, taking any job offered to him that interested him just so he could continue survive until he found the next job. It had its moments though, giving Zerith brief experiences of what it was like to be a hero and one or two exciting adventures. Yet as he looked down at the note he carried to his next job, he didn’t look forward to starting and he had a good reason to as well. Afterall, what did he know about mining? For all he knew he was just going be spending the next few days digging in caves and covering himself with dirt. Even the thought if working in the mines wasn’t appealing. Still, he accepted the job and that also meant he had to finish it.

The main dig site was just as he expected. Numerous buildings were scattered throughout the site, and the large number of workers that were all busy doing their jobs didn’t help the halberdier find his place at all. All the noise from the commotion made Zeirth wonder why anyone would chose to do this for a profession. Either way, all the other miners took pride in what they did. The entrance to the tunnel was a large cave seemed to be the busiest part of the dig site. Groups of workers pushed carts down the sets of track that lead into the belly of the Jagged Mountains.

It took a quite a bit of time and a few wrong turns until the halberdier found the building he was supposed to enter in order to meet the curator of some museum. When he finally entered her office, he was relieved to see that she was exactly what he expected. An older woman, probably somewhere in her thirties sat behind a large oak desk and was currently looking over some paperwork. Her brown hair was tied in a ponytail and her brown eyes stared intensely from behind a delicate pair of glasses. She must have been really focused on her reading for her not to hear the stranger enter. It wasn’t until the mercenary cleared his throat that the woman realized someone had arrived and looked up to see just who was disturbing her. A moment of silence passed between the two of them as the halberdier struggled to find the right words to say. Suddenly his right hand reached forward and placed the note he carried on the curator’s desk before he introduced himself. “I’m Zerith Dracosius. I believe you were supposed to be notified that I was coming?’

“Dracosius? Yes, you’re one of the mercenaries that accepted the job back in Radasanth correct?”

“I’m sorry, what was that? Did you just say ‘one of the mercenar-“

“Before you ask any questions,” Alania interrupted, “let me explain what your going to be hired to do. You see, those tunnels are a part of Corone’s history. So my job is to turn those tunnels into a museum that will be dedicated to the Corone that emerged from out of them. The problem is with the large number of collapsed tunnels that are said to lead to where our ancestors hid during the Demon War. In the process, we have lost quite a few of our worker. So that is why I decided to make a notice to try and get some mercenaries for me. Your job is simple, you’re just to go with a group miners deep into the tunnels and help them find any artifacts you can possibly manage to get your fingers on.”

“That sounds fine,” Zerith answered. “I have no problem with doing what you ask. I do have one question though, what do you mean by ‘mercenaries?”

“What? Did you honestly think I would hire only one person to do such a job? No, I hired a couple of you. In fact, the other one should be entering my office anytime now. Now what did you say your name was again? Zerith Dracosius? It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m Alania Lawrance and I must say I’m really grateful for having you come all the way here to work for me.”

Alania’s introduction was cut short though when the door suddenly opened and the other mercenary entered. While the curator smiled and introduced herself to second person that would be working for her, Zerith’s eyes widened. He recognized that face, especially the hair. Yet he still couldn’t believe who was standing in front of him.

“You have to be kidding me…”

[Rheawien]

“Bad news,” Rheawien said, walking into Alania’s office and taking off a pair of bulky gloves covered with soot. Though why she even used the gloves, the half-elf was uncertain. She was working in the tunnels for several hours now and most of her alabaster skin was as grimy as if she dug through a heap of coal. Her scant clothing helped little in keeping the filth off of her, a set of tight shorts and a sleeveless tank top barely covering her private parts. There were even streaks of black across her frowned visage. Only her boots seemed unaffected by the dirt, their black color in perfect tune with the crud. Rhea dropped the gloves on the desk, barely noticing that there was another person present beside the curator.

“The entire west section is collapsed. There is no way through that way. Believe me, I tried to squeeze through,” the white-haired – now gray-haired due to the soot – woman said, approaching Alania’s desk and lowering her eyes to the incomplete map. “The only way is to the east and whatever lies there. Maybe we find a path that circles around and gets us back in the main shaft.”

“I feared as much,” the brown-haired curator said with a half-wistful tone. Rheawien didn’t know much about Alania, but two things became apparent soon after she came to the miner’s camp a couple of days ago. First and foremost, the woman was as straight as an arrow, so the half-elf’s charms had no effect on her. And second, this research meant everything to her. Archeology was something she dedicated her life to, sacrificing her personal life for this search for the past. Two out of three passages that led deeper into the tunnels were impassable. Alania could only pray that the uncharted eastern ones were in better shape.

Rhea wasn’t so sentimental about this entire ordeal though. Corone was not her land of birth – though it was her homeland for quite some time now – and some ancient tunnels that held memorabilia of the times past were just holes in really big rocks to her. She was here because the money was good and because, regardless of how chauvinist men usually were, male miners didn’t mind having a woman around as long as she pulled her share of the load. Combined with her rather bitter demeanor and curt, almost mannish behavior, Rheawien fit into the crowd more then some men ever would. And that was an extremely good thing. Rhea’s coffers were running dangerously low before she found a flyer for this job, the draped thing barely holding on in one of the information columns in Radasanth slums, and if she screwed this one up, chances were she would be living off the products of the wilderness for a while. Luckily, Alania accepted her readily – even saying that, despite the nature of the work, there ought to be more women in this line of work – and the half-elf made an effort not to betray that trust.

“The east tunnels are frivolous. They say only the dwarves knew the entire layout and they kept it in their heads. Unfortunately, heads don’t last for two thousand years, even if they belong to dwarves,” the brunette said, gazing at the empty portion of the map where the east tunnels should’ve been. “Nobody knows what’s down there. But that’s why I plan to send several swords down with the miners. And speaking of swords, this is Zerith Dracosius. He will accompany you.”

The intention to send swords elicited a cryptic expression on Rheawien’s face, but the mention of a familiar name snapped her out of the reverie of underground monsters and cold voids of blackness. Only when she turned her head and connected the name with the face, the white-haired woman realized why the name Zerith had a certain ring to it. “Zerith?” she said, turning to face the young man. “Well, I’ll be damned. Fancy meeting you here. What, you grew tired of rescuing helpless maidens and damsels in distress?”

Though there was a tinge of bitterness in her jest, Rhea’s tone was mostly good-natured. Zerith was an old acquaintance, maybe even a friend, a do-gooder kid that once aided her in a lost battle for the fortress in south Scara Brae. Memories of their companionship were ones of blood and death and mud of the battlefield, and as such not the kind she liked to retrieve from the archives of her mind. But he was there and she was too, and it seemed that their renewed alliance was mandatory.

“You two know each other I assume?” Alania asked, not terribly interested, but asking out of courtesy.

“Our paths crossed once before.” She paused, recollecting their more recent meeting in the first round of the Cell tournament and the final face-off between them in which they both perished. “Well, twice maybe,” she added with a smirk, turning away from him only to pick up her gear from one of the lockers. She spoke as she donned it on her curvy figure. “I hope you hold no grudge against what happened in that cage. It was, after all, just a contest. Here, we have a real job to do.” Rheawien finished with tying her hair in a messy ponytail, then turned to face the two once again.

“So, you ready to do some digging?”

[Zerith]

“Cute, Rheawien. Very Cute,” the halberdier replied at the half-elf’s first comment. He smirked, “Since you asked though, I honestly haven’t rescued many damsels in distress in my lifetime. Though there was this one time, in Scara Brae. I did save this one woman while we fought in a battle outside of a fortress. I just jumped in behind her and took a blow that would have hit her in the back. Other than that one, I can’t really recall any others.”

Oh he knew Rheawien. The first time the two of them crossed paths was back when Zerith was a wet behind the ears youth that probably got in a bit too far over his head. It was in Scara Brae, where the both of them agreed to help fight off a brigade and defend the fortress. Although most of the trainee’s that were assigned to the fortress died in the battle. Reinforcements arrived and Zerith did manage to win his first major victory. Rheawien was the only one of the group that traveled with him that actually stood beside him for the entire ordeal. Of course, that was back when she was a dark-haired woman.

The next time the two met wasn’t exactly on friendly terms. Both had entered the Cell tournament and fate just happened to place them in the same chamber. She probably thought he was a joke, just the same youth from the fortress while she had increased her skill and changed her hair colour. Who would’ve thought the two of them would be the ones going head to head while the other six, dead combatants lay scattered around the arena. Even more surprising was the outcome, when the boy Rheawien remembered took her own sword and ran her through just before she severed his spine into three pieces. Now after that, was she finally acknowledging him as more than just a kid?

“Good, so you the both of you know each other,” Alania said uninterested. “That’ll save us the trouble of having you two get acquainted. You two will be going through the eastern tunnels with a small group of miners. I highly doubt we’ll need more swords to accompany you. The two of you should be just fine.”

“Fair enough,” Zeirth replied. “But when we go down, I at least want to have a copy of that map with us so we can chart some of the tunnels.”

“I think I can arrange for you two to be given a copy. Just don’t be at each other’s throats while you’re both down there. It’s like the woman said, you have a job to do.”

“You won’t have to worry about that. It was just a contest.” The halberdier answered before turning his head to look as his old friend. “Though you can thank me for helping you with the stitched-lipped woman later. Right now I’m asking you to help me get whatever tools we’ll need for when we head into those mountains. So I’ll be ready for digging whenever you are.”

[Rheawien]

“Oh, the pup is a big dog now, even has the bite to boot. Interesting...” Rheawien thought, studiously observing Zerith as he responded with the same subtle amount of scorn she offered moments ago. He might’ve been a wide-eyed boy when she first met him, a wannabe hero that foolishly sought battles just so he could build some sort of reputation, but there was a different air around him now. It was more uncouth, more rigid, like he finally started to learn the lessons life offered. Life had a tendency of doing that, she knew, grabbing that tiny inner child that still hid somewhere in you and ripping it right through your throat. Hopefully, there wouldn’t be some sad story behind this growing up process. Rhea had her fill of those. Letho once told her that everybody had a sad story nowadays, and half-elf had to concur after hearing more then a fair number of them.

What she didn’t concur with, however, was Zerith’s confident statement about what unfolded in the cage. The young halberdier maybe had some influence on the outcome of the battle with the strangely resilient woman, but the fact of the matter was that Rheawien could’ve taken her down without his help. And she wasn’t reluctant to make the truth clear.

“I had that bitch on the ropes long before you showed up,” she said, remembering Witchblade and the frantic battle that ended with a draw that left a sour taste in the mouth of many. “But yeah, let’s not get into that discussion.”

“I’ll have the miners assemble at the entrance to the main shaft,” Alania interjected, resolved to stop the exchange before it escalated into a heated argument. “Try to get as deep as far as possible, but if it becomes too risky, get out. No item is worth a man’s life.” Somehow, Rhea doubted that the curator was completely honest when she said that. Alania maybe was a rather good person, but she was walking that thin line where her job started to blur into the region of obsession. And obsessed people seldom cared about lives of a several simpletons. Cause justified the means after all, and some lives were expendable.

With a nod of approval, Rheawien led the way out of the cottage and into the mining site. The place itself wasn’t as busy as an anthill, but it was pretty damn close all the way down to the dirt that seemed unavoidable. Archeologists filtered it through sieves, the wind threw it spitefully into faces of all that walked against its direction, miners hauled it out of the main shaft in hand-carts and trolleys, it clung to clothes and skin and hair. And they didn’t even step into the mines yet. The bitchy woman got used to it during the past few days, but she still found it appropriate to stop by one of the barrels and wash her face. Cool water tricked from her face down her long neck, washing some of the grime and smudging the rest before it disappeared between her breasts and moistened her top a bit.

“Don’t get mistaken, Zerith. We won’t be doing any mining. If she wanted us to mine, we would be carrying picks instead of swords. There’s something other then just rocks in those tunnels,” she said to her companion as she finished the superficial removal of her filth. “Hopefully, we won’t run into it.”

The weather outside was rather mild, with gusts of sharp wind slicing down the mountain side and bringing a chilly bite in tow, but Rheawien was a child of the north. To her, the clear sky and the heat of the white sun was almost unbearable. There would be a different atmosphere within the tunnels, she knew, the hollow, cool and stuffy one that made you yearn for the sun’s face, but right now the climate was irking her despite her scandalously scant clothing. She was much more attuned to the types of winds that threw snowflakes in her face instead of dust particles. More because of this mild irritation and less because her curiosity was getting the better of her, she decided to keep herself distracted with conversation.

“So, what have you been up to lately? I reckon mercenary work isn’t too rewarding if you applied to work in this dust heap.”

[Zerith]

“Now that’s the Rheawien I remember from the Cell. You go on and keep telling yourself you had everything under control when it came to that woman. I’m not going to tell anyone what really happened,” Zerith thought as Rheawien claimed he didn’t help in any way. The truth was he did, regardless if she was aware of it or not. She probably wouldn’t have known anyways, since Zerith poisoned the woman they talked about while he fought her on his own. It had a lot to do with luck really, it was coincidence that the dagger he snatch his opponent was covered in Canen Darkflight’s blood. Thankfully, the halberdier remembered about the poisonous quality the black liquid held and immediately used his knowledge to his advantage. It was only after he poisoned the scary woman that Rheawien fought her, so it was no surprise to watch Rheawien come out on top. It saved him the trouble and left the two of them to finish of the round. Oh, what a match that was.

Alania quickly interjected, telling the two hired swords to turn back and head out of the mines if things got too risky for them. Zerith smiled at the words, thinking that the curator really did care about their lives. Perhaps he misjudged her when he assumed she was a workaholic. Maybe hidden within her was a part of her that valued the number of lives more than the amount of work accomplished. If she really was like that, maybe working for her wasn’t such a bad thing.

Without a warning or saying farewell to her employer, Rheawien led the way out of the cottage and through the mining site. It was then the halberdier realized just how dirty the workplace was, but the weather didn’t help at all. Even as he walked against the wind he could feel the dirt against his face. He didn’t understand how people could deal with this daily and not feel filthy. Didn’t they care about what they were practically covering themselves in? Only one this was certain, that by the time this job was over, Zerith would be covered in just as much dirt as they were. So until then he’d have to deal with it.

To his relief the half-elf lead him to a barrel of water and demonstrated what their purpose was. He couldn’t help but watch as the water splashed into her face and eventually trail down into her cleavage. His mind travelled back to recall the brief time they spent together in Valeena Lake, how the even then the water did the same thing it did now. Even Rheawien looked the same except for the change of hair colour. She still managed to keep her body in the same shape and for the first time Zerith wondered just how old the half-elf really was. Eventually while his mind become lost in both coming up with an estimate and looking at her lack of clothing, he was pushed back into reality when his companion began talking as she finished cleaning herself.

Leaning his halberd against the barrel, Zerith cupped his hands together and gathered a handful of water. “If there is anything down there…” he said as he began washing his face, “…it’s probably quite deep in there. I doubt we’ll run into it, but I guess there is always that slight chance we will. I only hope we’ll be able to handle it in case we find it. Or if it finds us.”

Suddenly a gust of cold wind came across Zerith and he found himself being asked a question by his companion. “Lately? I guess you can say that after Scara Brae and the fortress, I’ve been finding myself getting into more and more fight and battles. One time it was against some brainwashed villages and some demons, while another time I had to secure a horse breeding and take care of some pain in the ass guards. Combine odd experiences like that with the occasional tournament like the Cell and you pretty much have my life recently. But to answer your question, yes, things haven’t been too rewarding recently. I’ve learned that life as a mercenary has that basic rule, if you want to eat you have to work.”

Just as he finished cleaning the dirt of himself one of the workers came running up to him, clutching a roll of parchment in his hand. “Hey, you’re Mr. Zerith right?” the short, scrawny man asked as he came to a stop and tried to catch his breath. “Miss Lawrance said to give this to you. She said it’s what you asked for, whatever that is.” After he finished the man held the item out in his hand, waiting for the halberdier to take it from him so he could get back to whatever he was told to do.

“Really? Thanks,” Zerith replied as he grabbed the parchment and unrolled it. Sure enough, it was the copy of the map he requested, complete up until the areas they were uncharted. Unfortunately that included most of the east section, the area they were exploring. “Anyways,” he said as he rolled the map back up and turned to Rheawien. “So what have you been up to? Any stories of exciting adventurers or is life treating the you same as me and you’re here for the same reason?”

[Rheawien]

Zerith’s story wasn’t sad as much as it was hackneyed. His résumé was a collection of the same old stories that every mercenary could tell, a jigsaw with the same pieces that in the end gave the one and the same image of a weathered sword-for-hire. The only difference was the manner in which it was composed. Some started off easy, from the edges, taking simple tasks and working their way up the ladder. Zerith wasn’t one of those. He liked to start from the tougher parts, like the sky or the grass where all pieces looked the same, so the defense of the overwhelmed fortress was his initiation into the ruthless world of selling his sword prowess for gold currency. From there, it was the same old protocol, swinging the blade for those who couldn’t do it on their own, protecting those that couldn’t protect themselves even if their life depended on it. It wasn’t the most honest work a person could do, but it got you from one day to the next.

When he threw the ball in her court and asked the same question, though, Rheawien didn’t have an answer ready. That was the risk in conversing with people; chances were you would be asked of issues you didn’t want to elaborate on. “Let’s see. I got involved with the Scourge, cost a man that I loved his life, got into the Brotherhood, let myself become a bitch for a thief named Sarah who dumped me shortly after turning me into her pet, witnessed the Sanctuary fall, escaped to Fallien only to nearly get eaten by a flock of harpies, kicked your ass in the Cell and I still have two thousand and five hundred gold pieces of debt to repay to the shylocks. Did I forget anything? Oh yeah, I’m in dire need of a woman that would do me silly.”

Sure, she could dictate that short summary to Zerith, but it was bound not only to raise a storm of questions, but also a brow or two. And what she didn’t want right now, when she was diving into the unknown, was to have a pair of inquiring eyes peering at her back. Not that she intended to disclose that much to anyone anyways. There were some events that still evaded her attempts to figure out both them and their repercussions.

“Me? I just enjoy being dirty,” Rhea said in a cryptic tone, offering a wink and a minute smirk to the young halberdier. It wasn’t meant to look teasing – though, in all truth, it might’ve looked that way given her posture and attire – but rather a playful jest that would give her enough time to form a better answer. Propping her back against the wooden construct that supported the entrance to the main shaft, Rheawien folded her arms in front of her before she spoke again.

“I’ve been around, I guess, scouring the troubled places, fishing for some work. Half the time I got turned down because I didn’t have the necessary equipment, if you know what I mean.” She gestured towards his crotch with her eyes, hoping he would get the message without further explanation. “Yeah, I guess no matter how much you beat some people, you can’t break their prejudices. I reckon I got this job only because the person in charge didn’t have a pendulum hanging between her legs.”

The half-elf figured it was enough bitterness for one claptrap, but for a long while now such disposition came to her naturally, almost uncontrollably. Even when she tried to be nice – which wasn’t very often – her inclination tended to tip the scales towards the darker side of her, hardening both her facial features and her words. Perhaps it was unfair to Zerith to find himself on the far end of such a rant, but Rheawien that stood before him now was nothing like the black-haired lass he met back in Scara Brae. This new Rhea - improved in some aspects, deteriorated in others – was a bitch with a sharp tongue that needed a slap every once in a while. From a female hand, she hoped.

Luckily for both of them, the remainder of the excavation team arrived shortly after she finished, nine miners just as dirty as she was. Most of them sported shineless pieces of dented metal that they probably thought of as protection helmets. The bulkiest three had picks resting on their shoulders, two had what looked like shovels, another two had long metal screw augers and the last two had naught but a pair of square leather cases. One of the muscled trio, seemingly a foreman, stepped forward, his physique scarcely hidden beneath the soiled sleeveless shirt. He was relatively young though, barely in his thirties Rheawien predicted, and if it weren’t for the grime on his face, he would’ve been quite handsome as well in a rather mundane, homely way.

“You two the ones in charge of protection?” he asked. The bitchy half-elf wanted to retort in her usual manner, telling the man that they actually just liked to play around with swords on mining sites, but opted against it. It was hardly the best way to get acquainted. A courteous nod seemed like a better solution. “We have one general rule. Whatever moves down there, me and my crew ain’t touching it.”

Rheawien couldn’t take a pass on this opening, her lips curling mischievously as words came out sooner then she could stifle them. “Ah, don’t tell me such a big guy is afraid of what creeps through the shadows.”

The man wasn’t terribly amused. “We’re paid to dig. You’re paid to deal with the shadows.”

“So they don’t grow them big and dumb here?” Rhea added, this time her jape completely in good will as she fished a strange looking polished stone from the pocket of her tight shorts. And even as her hand wrapped around the item, pearly light squeezed through the fingers, making it shine like a hand-sized star. “Well, no time like now to dig in.”

[Zerith]

“What the hell got into her?” Zerith wondered. He never knew her to be so bitter to everything. He remembered her being cold, almost treating the halberdier harshly back in Scara Brae. Even then, her attitude was more like she didn’t agree with what a young boy thought, even if he was the leader of the group. Now, she didn’t seem to look at him like a child anymore. Instead she treated him like an adult, but still one that couldn’t be trusted. Combined with her ‘opinion’ on why work hasn’t been well for her and why she landed this job. Zerith had a small understanding as to why.

“Well it’s not exactly my choice as to what gender I was born as. If anything, I guess you can blame it on my father’s manly sperm. Though it’s not your fault your father lacked in that department. Otherwise I’d hate to see you as a man and act like this,” he told himself. Shortly after that thought the rest of the team arrived. Nine miners, all looked similar due to the fact that he couldn’t see what made them unique because those traits were buried in dirt. One spoke in a rather bitter tone and made Zerith question if the man had something against mercenaries. Clearly the fact that both the halberdier and Rheawien were there to keep him alive meant little if anything at all.

To Zerith’s amusement, The half-elf was quick to come up with a remark that made the halberdier laugh softly. The miner didn’t seem to get the joke, he face clearly expressed the fact that he was unimpressed. “Right, then let’s just go in there and get the job done. The sooner we get in there the better. I don’t like this whole idea of going through the east tunnels.”

“What? It’s not like the mines are haunted.” The halberdier replied.

“I know they’re not haunted!” the miner shot back. “But there are worse things in there. Things that won’t like us going in there at all.”

“Whatever,” Zerith answered. “If those ‘things’ don’t want us going in. Then why don’t you tell them to clear the western tunnels. It’ll save us the entire trip.”

“Bloodly hell!” the worker shouted. “You should be taking everything I’m saying seriously! It’s the truth!”

Rolling his eyes, the halberdier replied, “I’m not saying you’re lying. I’m just saying that if anything is down there, my friend and I will be able to take care of it. So do us a favor and do your job without constantly bitching to us about those ‘things’. If you just let us do our job you won’t have to piss your pants while we’re down there. Get a hold of yourself, you’re older than I am for crying out loud.”

After he finished with the miner, Zerith took the initiative and started head into the mine. At the rate the miners were going at the group wouldn’t actually enter the mine for another hour or so. So the halberdier figured they’d need someone to remind them which way the mine actually was. “Come on Rheawien,” he called back. “We might as well take the lead, otherwise those guys won’t take a single step forward.”

[Rheawien]

“Now, that’s a great way to win their trust, loudmouth,” Rheawien thought after the exchange between Zerith and the leading miner was done. It was perhaps a rather cynical thought, but that didn’t prevent it from being absolutely correct. There was a difference in being a leader and playing a leader, and her halberd-wielding companion was still too green to be the former. Leadership was almost like a game, and communication with others was directly reflected on the scale that tipped the morale this way and that. Zerith’s little righteous speech tipped the scales alright, but in a wrong direction. Not that Rhea was an expert at socializing either, but at least she had her womanly aspects to soften the hard words. A sway of the hips, a mischievous grin and the frowns were gradually being turned upside down.

“Ah, these young adventurers nowadays. Always so eager to walk down the devil’s gullet,” the white-haired woman said to the nine with a mysterious smirk, trying to break some of the ice that seemed to frost the relationships in the camaraderie from the get-go. She wasn’t prone on doing this usually – she liked that kind of ice, it made people talk less and work more – but Zerith’s words had quite a lot of garlic for the rest to digest. These were ordinary men, simpletons and honest working folk that did their shifts and went back home to their families. Unlike a pair of adventurers that went where the wind blew, they had something to lose if some devilry jumped at them from the shadows and pulled them into the abyss. So while Rheawien wasn’t a terribly sentimental person, the jab that the young merc took at the miners was a bit too much even for her to walk over. There was a time for bitter jests and rants, and there was a time for compromise. And Zerith still had to learn when to use which.

The main shaft was wide enough for at least half-a-dozen people to walk abreast, but the air was still stuffy and earthy somehow, carrying the scent of age-old dust on wings of stale air. There were others miners to be seen here, dirty people going by their job and not paying much mind to the group that ventured below the fluttering tongues of the low-burning torches. Here, the light that Rhea’s stone seemed redundant, but once the group made several turns that directed their route eastwards, the ivory light was the van of their little party that invaded the darkness.

In the beginning, the eastern tunnels were no different then the others. They twisted and turned and narrowed and widened, uneven and disproportionate. They did their best to jot down their plan on the provided map, but the further they went, the more questionable was the correctness of their map. Once they had to squeeze by a boulder that caved in during the centuries of tectonic movement within the Jagged Mountains and several times Garland and his miners had to clear the road with their apparatus. “These are just the approach tunnels,” the bulky miner said during one of these stops, wiping off the grimy sweat off his brow as the other two used their picks on another cave in. “If we manage to get through them, we’re bound to strike the real passages made by the dwarves.”

Fortunately – or unfortunately, depending on the point of view – these approach tunnels were in pretty good condition, taking them deeper into the unexplored territory via passages that soon became just wide enough for a them to walk in single file. Even though Zerith was the unofficial leader of this little excavation, it was Rheawien that went first mostly because the light of her enchanted stone shone brighter then any torch that the party had in possession. The air was becoming sticky now, heavy on their lungs, making every inhale a burden as they walked though what was probably a nightmare of each and every claustrophobic person. It became even more so when they struck a dead end, the way barricaded with what seemed like no cave-in she ever saw. Instead, it looked like more like a rustic wall made of relatively square stones. Though definitely hand made, it was obviously as ancient as the tunnels, and with some difficulty, the miners managed to remove the stones from the path.

“Ladies first,” the half-elf said as she pushed through the narrow, freshly-made passage and the alabaster light of her stone fell on what awaited beyond. And what awaited made her summon her companion. “Zertih, I think we might have a problem.”

The fissure that opened up before them was like a gapping, abysmal maw, stretching leftwards indefinitely. To the right, it struck a vertical wall of the cave. And directly in front of them, a remnant of dwarven architecture was standing, slanted and as form looking as an old man’s tooth. The bridge might’ve been a magnificent piece of stonework once upon a time, what with its intricate details carved in granite and the tiles that might’ve been polished once. Nowadays, the floor was as perforated with deadly holes like a piece of maggoty wood and there was a tear in the middle of it that was at least fifteen paces wide. The whole construction was hanging on thin metal bars, the rusty metallic ropes grounded into both the ceiling and the cave wall, but even to somebody as light-footed as Rheawien the whole thing looked ready to collapse at any time.

“It’s not miners we need,” she commented. “It’s bridge builders.”