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The Rhyot Break - Chapter One: Endless White
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<blockquote data-quote="97mg" data-source="post: 7479638" data-attributes="member: 6799460"><p>The Korrud stationed near the summit of Halst Peak surely hate this cursed place, but not as passionately as you. Short and tough, stern and heartless, the foreign dwarves operate The Rhyot Break with razor-sharp discipline and precision. Their dark skin is laden with symbols from a foul and faraway land; runes, glyphs and other marks. You might assume some have simple meanings, such as rank, victories and failures. All the non-native demihumans here bare one such well-inked scar in common. A cross to the left cheek. A once respected member of your team, Desqoth, from time to time would whisper and share a few theories as to its origins.</p><p></p><p><span style="color: #008000"><em>“What kind of soldier, winning a war and taking a large territory with ease, would end up here? Here, where a touch of the sun dare not ease one’s perpetual chills? Here, where there is no glory, challenge or respite? I’ll tell you. They are those not unlike us. The guards are little more than slaves themselves! But their despising of this place dare not equal our own.”</em></span></p><p></p><p>Desqoth spent much of his time pondering on possibilities, searching for reasons, as though distracting himself from reality by analysing it, one detail after another.</p><p></p><p><span style="color: #008000"><em>“How did they come to know so much? One of the three, one of the three…”</em></span></p><p></p><p>He was a human man in his middle years, long of face and with golden brown bottomless eyes, brow always furrowed in contemplation. The crow’s feet beneath his orbits, the shadowy pits below, the wrinkles across his forehead like a three-layered horizon... over-thinking and physical exertion had led him to appear older than he truly was. A kind hearted soul. A man who would divide his tasteless slave rations with any greater in need. A worker who would let a colleague briefly rest during rare moments unwatched, plowing his chisel harder, deeper, ensuring no punishment would be dished out for a day’s yield under-par. A man who had toiled here longer than any others in this team. Somehow, through some miracle, after all his turmoil, Deqoth still cared.</p><p><em><span style="color: #008000"></span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: #008000">“We must be strong. Stay together. Wait for an opportunity. When you finish caring, that’s when you truly die. The body... is merely a vessel.”</span></em></p><p></p><p>In this slave’s case, the truth of death was quite something else.</p><p></p><p>Although opportunities to witness the schedule and organisation of The Korrud’s mining venture have been rare, you have through your extended stay managed to put quite a few pieces together.</p><p></p><p>Your team has worked three mine sites, rotated weekly like the winding of an evil tinker’s clock. Beside each lies a long ragged hut of poorly nailed highland pine, half-dug into mountainous ice where furs line the floor, and a stone hearth quietly sits to one end. When you meet yield targets, chipping precious blue stones from ice and stone as hard as glass, sometimes you are rewarded with fire. A few lengths of sodden timber and a flint and steel on loan. Now those are nights to cherish. Thawed bones. Warm light. Hot yet tasteless food. The Korrud reward you with little more than basic necessity. Nothing is taken for granted anymore.</p><p></p><p>At least the rotation through the mines has provided a method to count the days, and a change of view. Each site came with its own risks.</p><p></p><p><span style="color: #008000"><em>“One of three.”</em></span></p><p></p><p>You used to think Deqoth was thinking about the mines as he said this. In hindsight you expect he might have been troubled by something deeper.</p><p></p><p>Mine One as it is unflatteringly called, lies to the east. Small and open pit in style, the site benefits from accessibility. You leap down into a three yard deep hole, dig out recently fallen snow with shovels, and chip away with basic hand-tools. Thankfully, the walls protect its occupants well from the prevailing easterly wind. A luxury the six guards above do not partake of. Then again, they are layered in leather and an abundance of high quality fur that you could only dream of. Crossbows ready. The glint of sun off shining steel by their sides. They watch, smirk, point and taunt you as you dig. </p><p></p><p><span style="color: #FF0000"><strong>“More!”</strong></span> they yell in the common tongue. <span style="color: #FF0000">“The buckets fill or you do,”</span> they threaten with bolts aimed purposefully at your heads.</p><p></p><p>Pales are loaded with wonderous blue aquamarine, like frozen chunks of a wild luminescent sea. Pales are hoisted above. Pales are carried close to a pile near a large timber building known simply as the collection point. Then you do it again.</p><p></p><p><em><span style="color: #008000">“That building is where they sort the finds, and probably where the bastards rest,”</span></em> Deqoth once considered. <em><span style="color: #008000">“And there is a slope beyond, carved into the ice and ending at a great dark hole… if only we could sneak there and look.”</span></em> Alas, none of your eyes have seen it up close.</p><p></p><p>Mine Three is much the same, a similar story though more expansive in size, out to the west. Mine Two is the point of difference. A double-edged place where risk is rewarded... but not always. A shaft cut straight into a vertical rise, the entrance is via slippery ladder of dizzying height. The upward journey is your only time unchained like animals. Once inside, under the eyes of guards back and front, you can finally work away from the winds, the snow, the rain, and the burning reflections of a sun refracted by a land blanketed in white.</p><p></p><p>Above Mine Two the scree begins. Concealed beneath snow and ice, large boulders of misshapen rock lie layered and precariously scattered in waiting. The Isle of Solov, with it's history of creation born via the anger of volcanics and faults, always seems to find new ways to exert a natural authority, a reminder that all are none other than temporary citizens in a world untold years old.</p><p></p><p>A year ago, stationed at Mine Two, was where Deqoth’s “one of three,” took on new meanings. The guards pointed for him to ascend the ladder first. Half way up, and for a moment a shadow breached upon the sun. A small point of darkness grew further up the slope, fragments of ice fluttering around it like swarms of springtime bees. All looked up in horror as it fell. A great chunk of dislodged rock tumbling, smashing against Deqoth and smearing him like aged jam across the wall of frost…</p><p></p><p><span style="color: #FF0000">“Up! Repair the ladder!”</span> The Korrud couldn’t let one man’s poor luck soil their objectives.</p><p></p><p>Loss resonated through your group like a miserable funeral song for a time. Such hopelessness. Such an unfitting fate for a man so strong of heart. But the death wouldn’t be for nothing. In the coming months it began to strengthen you, give you purpose, push you to bide your time and find a way out.</p><p></p><p>Like Deqoth, your group began to take note of things. Things that might be important later. Like that the guards outnumber you by at least three to one. Facts that spoke of these mine’s importance and value. Each night three guards circle your hut at all hours. Once a month, all the forces here seem to become edgy and concerned. They speak in whispers in their foreign tongue. They increase yields and push you ever closer to exhaustion for several days. The stone tower at the site’s centre is never unmanned. A shadow always lurks within and at night, a single flame always burns. Sometimes you have seen footprints leading out of camp a way. </p><p></p><p>If only you had paid more attention to Deqoth’s ramblings and thoughts, as it is only from time to time that new memories of his words strike your soul. They come and go like waking dreams, small snippets of a past that your pain has tried so desperately to bury. But still his ghost speaks to you.</p><p></p><p>In the hut beside the open scar of Mine Three, it is day three of seven at this site, then you will be moved to Mine One yet again. Unless that woman’s kindly face isn’t some torturous dream sent to mock you in the dead of night.</p><p></p><p>No, she is real. The cold skin-scraping touch of the shackles against your ankles has gone. In the dim light of her torch, she kneels at a companion’s feet, poking at the lock with graceful, patient, and expert precision.</p><p></p><p><em>Click.</em></p><p></p><p>A narrow face of soft skin, reddened by the cold. Eyes of amber, bright and alert. Even largely concealed beneath her pure white furs, she is striking as she beams to yet another of you with a smile drenched in hope.</p><p></p><p>Staring, dumbfounded, you can only look on as she moves to the last bunk. It is there that you can’t deny a change in her expression. A soft sigh. A look to the fur-covered floor. A long moment of silence as though something within her quietly breaks. A glistening jewel, a tear drips down her rosy face as she stands and whispers.</p><p></p><p><span style="color: #0000FF">“You are free. Free of The Korrud who enslave you. But not free of nature’s threat beyond these walls. Come with me friends, if in numbers you wish to survive. I offer shelter and rest a day’s walk from here. We can talk more later, once safely out of here. Or make your own path. Go and do as you must. You owe me no debts and your wills are your own.”</span></p><p></p><p><em>To be continued...</em></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="97mg, post: 7479638, member: 6799460"] The Korrud stationed near the summit of Halst Peak surely hate this cursed place, but not as passionately as you. Short and tough, stern and heartless, the foreign dwarves operate The Rhyot Break with razor-sharp discipline and precision. Their dark skin is laden with symbols from a foul and faraway land; runes, glyphs and other marks. You might assume some have simple meanings, such as rank, victories and failures. All the non-native demihumans here bare one such well-inked scar in common. A cross to the left cheek. A once respected member of your team, Desqoth, from time to time would whisper and share a few theories as to its origins. [COLOR="#008000"][I]“What kind of soldier, winning a war and taking a large territory with ease, would end up here? Here, where a touch of the sun dare not ease one’s perpetual chills? Here, where there is no glory, challenge or respite? I’ll tell you. They are those not unlike us. The guards are little more than slaves themselves! But their despising of this place dare not equal our own.”[/I][/COLOR] Desqoth spent much of his time pondering on possibilities, searching for reasons, as though distracting himself from reality by analysing it, one detail after another. [COLOR="#008000"][I]“How did they come to know so much? One of the three, one of the three…”[/I][/COLOR] He was a human man in his middle years, long of face and with golden brown bottomless eyes, brow always furrowed in contemplation. The crow’s feet beneath his orbits, the shadowy pits below, the wrinkles across his forehead like a three-layered horizon... over-thinking and physical exertion had led him to appear older than he truly was. A kind hearted soul. A man who would divide his tasteless slave rations with any greater in need. A worker who would let a colleague briefly rest during rare moments unwatched, plowing his chisel harder, deeper, ensuring no punishment would be dished out for a day’s yield under-par. A man who had toiled here longer than any others in this team. Somehow, through some miracle, after all his turmoil, Deqoth still cared. [I][COLOR="#008000"] “We must be strong. Stay together. Wait for an opportunity. When you finish caring, that’s when you truly die. The body... is merely a vessel.”[/COLOR][/I] In this slave’s case, the truth of death was quite something else. Although opportunities to witness the schedule and organisation of The Korrud’s mining venture have been rare, you have through your extended stay managed to put quite a few pieces together. Your team has worked three mine sites, rotated weekly like the winding of an evil tinker’s clock. Beside each lies a long ragged hut of poorly nailed highland pine, half-dug into mountainous ice where furs line the floor, and a stone hearth quietly sits to one end. When you meet yield targets, chipping precious blue stones from ice and stone as hard as glass, sometimes you are rewarded with fire. A few lengths of sodden timber and a flint and steel on loan. Now those are nights to cherish. Thawed bones. Warm light. Hot yet tasteless food. The Korrud reward you with little more than basic necessity. Nothing is taken for granted anymore. At least the rotation through the mines has provided a method to count the days, and a change of view. Each site came with its own risks. [COLOR="#008000"][I]“One of three.”[/I][/COLOR] You used to think Deqoth was thinking about the mines as he said this. In hindsight you expect he might have been troubled by something deeper. Mine One as it is unflatteringly called, lies to the east. Small and open pit in style, the site benefits from accessibility. You leap down into a three yard deep hole, dig out recently fallen snow with shovels, and chip away with basic hand-tools. Thankfully, the walls protect its occupants well from the prevailing easterly wind. A luxury the six guards above do not partake of. Then again, they are layered in leather and an abundance of high quality fur that you could only dream of. Crossbows ready. The glint of sun off shining steel by their sides. They watch, smirk, point and taunt you as you dig. [COLOR="#FF0000"][B]“More!”[/B][/COLOR] they yell in the common tongue. [COLOR="#FF0000"]“The buckets fill or you do,”[/COLOR] they threaten with bolts aimed purposefully at your heads. Pales are loaded with wonderous blue aquamarine, like frozen chunks of a wild luminescent sea. Pales are hoisted above. Pales are carried close to a pile near a large timber building known simply as the collection point. Then you do it again. [I][COLOR="#008000"]“That building is where they sort the finds, and probably where the bastards rest,”[/COLOR][/I] Deqoth once considered. [I][COLOR="#008000"]“And there is a slope beyond, carved into the ice and ending at a great dark hole… if only we could sneak there and look.”[/COLOR][/I] Alas, none of your eyes have seen it up close. Mine Three is much the same, a similar story though more expansive in size, out to the west. Mine Two is the point of difference. A double-edged place where risk is rewarded... but not always. A shaft cut straight into a vertical rise, the entrance is via slippery ladder of dizzying height. The upward journey is your only time unchained like animals. Once inside, under the eyes of guards back and front, you can finally work away from the winds, the snow, the rain, and the burning reflections of a sun refracted by a land blanketed in white. Above Mine Two the scree begins. Concealed beneath snow and ice, large boulders of misshapen rock lie layered and precariously scattered in waiting. The Isle of Solov, with it's history of creation born via the anger of volcanics and faults, always seems to find new ways to exert a natural authority, a reminder that all are none other than temporary citizens in a world untold years old. A year ago, stationed at Mine Two, was where Deqoth’s “one of three,” took on new meanings. The guards pointed for him to ascend the ladder first. Half way up, and for a moment a shadow breached upon the sun. A small point of darkness grew further up the slope, fragments of ice fluttering around it like swarms of springtime bees. All looked up in horror as it fell. A great chunk of dislodged rock tumbling, smashing against Deqoth and smearing him like aged jam across the wall of frost… [COLOR="#FF0000"]“Up! Repair the ladder!”[/COLOR] The Korrud couldn’t let one man’s poor luck soil their objectives. Loss resonated through your group like a miserable funeral song for a time. Such hopelessness. Such an unfitting fate for a man so strong of heart. But the death wouldn’t be for nothing. In the coming months it began to strengthen you, give you purpose, push you to bide your time and find a way out. Like Deqoth, your group began to take note of things. Things that might be important later. Like that the guards outnumber you by at least three to one. Facts that spoke of these mine’s importance and value. Each night three guards circle your hut at all hours. Once a month, all the forces here seem to become edgy and concerned. They speak in whispers in their foreign tongue. They increase yields and push you ever closer to exhaustion for several days. The stone tower at the site’s centre is never unmanned. A shadow always lurks within and at night, a single flame always burns. Sometimes you have seen footprints leading out of camp a way. If only you had paid more attention to Deqoth’s ramblings and thoughts, as it is only from time to time that new memories of his words strike your soul. They come and go like waking dreams, small snippets of a past that your pain has tried so desperately to bury. But still his ghost speaks to you. In the hut beside the open scar of Mine Three, it is day three of seven at this site, then you will be moved to Mine One yet again. Unless that woman’s kindly face isn’t some torturous dream sent to mock you in the dead of night. No, she is real. The cold skin-scraping touch of the shackles against your ankles has gone. In the dim light of her torch, she kneels at a companion’s feet, poking at the lock with graceful, patient, and expert precision. [I]Click.[/I] A narrow face of soft skin, reddened by the cold. Eyes of amber, bright and alert. Even largely concealed beneath her pure white furs, she is striking as she beams to yet another of you with a smile drenched in hope. Staring, dumbfounded, you can only look on as she moves to the last bunk. It is there that you can’t deny a change in her expression. A soft sigh. A look to the fur-covered floor. A long moment of silence as though something within her quietly breaks. A glistening jewel, a tear drips down her rosy face as she stands and whispers. [COLOR="#0000FF"]“You are free. Free of The Korrud who enslave you. But not free of nature’s threat beyond these walls. Come with me friends, if in numbers you wish to survive. I offer shelter and rest a day’s walk from here. We can talk more later, once safely out of here. Or make your own path. Go and do as you must. You owe me no debts and your wills are your own.”[/COLOR] [I]To be continued...[/I] [/QUOTE]
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