A Record of Ash & Ruin: The Grieving Lands

Book 1: Chapter 15: The Master Dwarf

Book 1: Chapter 15: The Master Dwarf

Of all the other races I find the dwarves closest to us the race of true men. Though slightly longer lived they are not as eternal as the elves, yet for all of that, they have always seemed to me 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 me. 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 someday 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-meter 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 me 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 time I had pushed myself magically. My curiosity sated for the moment, I noticed that none of the other slaves even cast a glance upwards in its direction as we passed. This must be something common in this world, I concluded with a mental 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 metal 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 me as the whole line paused. After the tremors stopped we continued further down, urged on by a cracking whip. A feeling of sudden claustrophobia came over me before I forcefully pushed the feeling back down through raw mental 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. Some of the older slaves shoveled what looked like raw rough metal 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 came. 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 came over then. A burly man who was shorter than I, squat and heavily muscled, slowly demonstrated how to use a pick to me. 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 mentor, 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 metal that followed the movements of his body.

“Now do,” my mentor said slowly, as if instructing a child in the rough guttural language of the Children, gesturing for me 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 time 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 me 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 exclaimed 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 me your name?” I asked nervously in the darkness.

“Manner’s be to introduce yourself before asking for someone’s name,” he replied brusquely, eyes pointedly avoiding me before he sighed through gritted teeth.

“Though I reckon manner’s be different in the lands of men. Name’s Durhit Coal of the Beacon Mountains. Your own?” He spoke the last with a raised inflection, still refusing to make eye contact with me.

‘The lands of men?’ I wonder what he meant 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 name, but then hit a dead end when I focused on it. Grasping at straws, I remembered my moniker in this world.

“Gilgamesh of Uruk,” I said haltingly. The unfamiliarity of my new name 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 times 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 welcome.

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 met the other group and formed 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 smelters had grown somewhat dimmer 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.