A Record of Ash & Ruin: The Grieving Lands

Book 1: Chapter 22: Dangerous Conditions

The people of the New Empire say that the best slaves are those who are born into slavery, they have known nothing else besides the discipline of the whip and the benevolence of a master. These chattels will often work much harder and are one of the pillars of a well-run house. For surely iron and steel may rust but the threat of punishment once learned is until death.

- The Fanciful Travels by Beron de Laney 376 A.C

It seemed I had only just closed my eyes when a cruel steel-capped boot kicked me in the stomach, hitting for about six points of damage. It was one of my minders, a narrow-eyed and spiteful-looking man clad in a motley collection of rust-speckled chain and leathers. He had evidently tried to wake me before, and this was his second kick. Perhaps there was a disadvantage to the Pain Nullification skill after all.

To avoid further harassment, I got to my feet as quickly as my sleep-starved body allowed me. Like a child used to the cane, I followed the group as quickly as possible out of the building. The distant sound of industry that had pervaded the area around the mines had quietened significantly after the initial quake. The disappearance of the sound of clanging metal and belching bellows lent a certain solemn atmosphere to our morning gathering. As our minders grouped us into passable rows, another small rumble of the earth threatened to shatter the serenity of the morning. A scared slave screamed in an octave higher than usual.

After a crack of the whip had reduced the vocal slave to a curled gibbering wreck on the floor, a group of rough-looking individuals of various races and skin color, perhaps a dozen strong, entered the assembly grounds. Some were tall and muscular, like meaty slabs that had discovered the fine art of walking on two legs. Others were whipcord thin, lean, agile-sure of step, and quick of movement. A few dwarves were scattered about their number, dour and stout, with bushy eyebrows and long beards of various colors.

Most interesting of all was what I recognized as an orc, who hulked over the rest of the group. An olive green bestial being of layered muscles and sharp jutting tusks that rose from an extended underbite. On his sloped scarred head, a single topknot of purple hair completed the fierce appearance. Fists the size of small boulders clenched and relaxed repeatedly at his side, a sign of barely restrained animalistic fury.

Most of them had bodies scarred with the loving kiss of the whip, and eyes hard and unforgiving as cruel winter. Some had the demeanor of those who had been victims of great cruelty, and in suffering those cruelties wanted to pass them on tenfold to the weaker and more vulnerable. And all bore a thick iron slave collar almost identical to my own.

Kidu and I were herded off to join this new group, long sticks from our watchers guiding our way with a few savage flicks, which led Kidu to snarl at them. This in turn caused the wildman to a sharp high pitched yelp, as the magic of his collar worked to send great waves of lightning agony to its host, neutralizing a perceived threat to its masters. As I miraculously supported the massive man who was still spasming with pain, we both somehow made it over to the new group. Upon joining them we were met with calculating stares that seemed to be judging if we were to be part of their pack or just new prey.

Surprisingly an uncollared Durhit also joined our party. Dwarven expertise with stone, a valuable commodity in our next venture, I figured.

Now separated from the main group of slaves, our wolf pack of troublemakers was addressed by the Overseer Degei himself, who was flanked by his usual burly guards. Unlike the previous occasion, the guards seemed tense, scanning our motley crew of individuals with practiced gazes, searching for any threats against their master. I lowered my eyes to not draw attention, which evoked a few snickers from the hardened crowd around me.

“The recent shakings of the earth have caused a collapse in one of the portside shafts near a particularly valuable vein of ore,” Overseer Degei began suddenly in a voice that contradicted his small size.

“You will work under the guidance of this dwarf,” he nodded in Durhit’s direction before continuing, “Should the shaft be cleared of fallen debris and the way open once more for industry, in good time all here will be allowed a turn with a female of your choice from our breeding stock. And two days of rest. Should we fall behind, you will be left to the kind ministrations of our most experienced flesh-sculptors with no food for a week.” He finished the last with an aplomb only those granted the mantle of authority for many years could marshal.

It was to be the carrot and the stick, then. My new group began to make their way to the mines, some with avid lust on their features. Most horrifying of all was the orc, who looked like a wild beast in heat as he greedily picked up a mining pick and shovel in each of his giant hands. As I made to grab a familiar pickaxe, Durhit placed a hand gently on my shoulder and shook his head. He gave me a shovel and a large sturdy-looking wicker basket to place around my shoulders.

“Dangerous work this, you’ll be wanting to stay back as far as possible. Might not be improving your chances by much, but they will be improved nonetheless,” he spoke in his sage gravelly voice.

Grudgingly I took his advice and placed the basket about my shoulders, giving my thanks before catching up with the rest of the group. A group of four mean-looking guards, who carried an assortment of intimidating blunt and bladed weapons, was our escort to the mines.

As we got closer and entered the dank passage, Durhit made his way to the front of the group. Our escorts placed themselves at the entrance, exchanging worried glances at each other as they counted out our numbers on an abacus as we set foot in the mine’s gaping maw. Near the entrance were scattered abandoned tools and various detritus from slaves and their minders who had abandoned their posts when the earthquake hit. We ventured deeper into the mines and took the furthest left tunnel. As we continued further down we saw that some wooden beams supporting the ceiling were askew, and in some places even broken or toppled with great slabs of rock and earthen debris half blocking our way. This all served to cast a worrying pall over the group. No one wanted to be trapped under hundreds of tonnes of earth and rock.

Durhit ordered supports to be laid at various locations. Under his and some of the other dwarves' directions, our team efficiently placed lumber to temporarily buttress the ceiling and help prevent a future cave-in. Another small tremor rattled the mines, causing a light dusting of rock powder to fall from the ceiling in the dim blue unnatural glow. Everyone’s apprehension took to the forefront of their thoughts. Even the orc paused, sniffing the air for a moment as fear and lust warred across his porcine features.

“Just a little shake, nothing to worry about. The faster we get this done the faster we can get out of this cursed hole,” one of the dwarves said to encourage the rest of the group.

“That’s what your sire said to your dam, you stunty bastard!” one of the gigantic human meat slabs replied, which earned him a hard look from the other dwarves. It appeared that the dwarves were sensitive about their height. The others however laughed at the jibe, breaking the sudden tension in the air as we went back to work.

I tried to force out of my mind the fact that above my head were several metric tonnes of earth and rock. Never had I been particularly comfortable in confined spaces, but that sudden quake had tested my nerve, and a part of me felt close to breaking. Nothing in my skillset or arsenal of spells could aid in the sudden and random event of a cave-in.