Khariss Sevrath
02-07-07, 07:16 PM
The Moharin Mines: the pride of Alerar.
Well, not exactly. The mines of Moharin paled in comparison to the Dwarven establishment of Kachuck. But the Dwarves were notoriously xenophobic. If the man’s scheme failed for any reason, he would probably either be shot or beheaded on the spot. While the Dark Elven miners were nowhere near their Dwarven counterparts in terms of skill, they still had what the man sought: gunpowder.
Even so, there were still many places that had easier access to the potent explosive. Warehouses and armories in Ettermire would assuredly have it in excess. The Aleranian capital, however, would be a freaking zoo at that point. Affairs were never friendly between Alerar and Raiaera, and the relationship showed every sign of approaching another spike. Also, the queen had just been assassinated. That always had a tendency of heightening security and awareness of crime for awhile.
After some careful consideration, Khariss concluded that Moharin was the easiest target for some recreational theft. And that was what brought the Entrepreneur to the edge of the Salvic border. The mountain air was calm but bitingly cold. The night was dark, but the gaping maw of the mine in front of him was darker.
The criminal, dressed entirely in black, rapped a few sharp orders to the small, similarly-clad troop he had brought along with him. “Gurd, you stay here. If anyone approaches, find us,” he commanded. The big man nodded, and Khariss’s gaze shifted to the other two men. “You two, come with me. Be quiet with that cart. I’ll light a torch when we get away from the entrance. We don’t want anybody to see the light from outside.”
The two men in question grunted in assent before bending down to grab the handles of the small, rickety wooden cart. With a final nod to the man he had called Gurd, Khariss disappeared into the darkness, followed by the trundling cart-bearers. The watchman gazed after them until he could see them no more, and then turned his eyes to the world around him.
The operation had begun.
Well, not exactly. The mines of Moharin paled in comparison to the Dwarven establishment of Kachuck. But the Dwarves were notoriously xenophobic. If the man’s scheme failed for any reason, he would probably either be shot or beheaded on the spot. While the Dark Elven miners were nowhere near their Dwarven counterparts in terms of skill, they still had what the man sought: gunpowder.
Even so, there were still many places that had easier access to the potent explosive. Warehouses and armories in Ettermire would assuredly have it in excess. The Aleranian capital, however, would be a freaking zoo at that point. Affairs were never friendly between Alerar and Raiaera, and the relationship showed every sign of approaching another spike. Also, the queen had just been assassinated. That always had a tendency of heightening security and awareness of crime for awhile.
After some careful consideration, Khariss concluded that Moharin was the easiest target for some recreational theft. And that was what brought the Entrepreneur to the edge of the Salvic border. The mountain air was calm but bitingly cold. The night was dark, but the gaping maw of the mine in front of him was darker.
The criminal, dressed entirely in black, rapped a few sharp orders to the small, similarly-clad troop he had brought along with him. “Gurd, you stay here. If anyone approaches, find us,” he commanded. The big man nodded, and Khariss’s gaze shifted to the other two men. “You two, come with me. Be quiet with that cart. I’ll light a torch when we get away from the entrance. We don’t want anybody to see the light from outside.”
The two men in question grunted in assent before bending down to grab the handles of the small, rickety wooden cart. With a final nod to the man he had called Gurd, Khariss disappeared into the darkness, followed by the trundling cart-bearers. The watchman gazed after them until he could see them no more, and then turned his eyes to the world around him.
The operation had begun.