Amdirlain’s PoV - Material Plane - Qil Tris - Year 4370 (Local calendar)
Upon being resummoned back to Qil Tris, Amdiralin advised Sarah about Ebusuku''s request. Sarah clapped and gave Amdirlain a grin. "Since the demand notices are in for the magical tuition, we could go to one of their cities. Time to get that beard out."
Amdirlain''s shoulders dropped, and her tail circled her legs just under her knees. "All so mean to me."
"Getting you to branch out," declared Sarah.
Reappearing back at their place, Amdirlain heard Kadaklan chilling in the living room, listening to the receiver playing an orchestral production. Quickly arrayed across Amdirlain''s bed were the rugged clothing and a collection of equipment Sarah had put together to match the local dwarves.
"I still should have let you lead this," said Sarah.
"Nope, it''s your turn to have the fun," rebuffed Amdirlain. "They''re likely going to look at me like I''m a simple-minded child."
“Among most dwarves, yes, because you have zero crafting skills,” agreed Sarah.
"I have leatherworking," protested Amdirlain.
"Basic leatherworking, which puts you on the level of bad finger painting," observed Sarah.
Amdirlain spread her hands helplessly. "Can I help it? It''s not like I don''t have lots of other options?"
"Maybe when you have more time, you can learn what it is to work with your hands," suggested Sarah.
"What''s the fascination? You sound like Mal talking about a DIY project."
Sarah gave her a look of disbelief. "It''s about overcoming the limits of your skills and the materials you''re working with."
"My material range is broader," objected Amdirlain.
"I think that is part of your problem with subtlety. You don’t have to resolve an issue without magic or even a single element. Since you can now whip up things, you go for that option," noted Sarah.
Amdirlain twitched her ears. "Oh, I''m the only one with that issue?"
"You''re not, but..."
Her words trailing off had Amdirlain scowling. "I don''t have to resolve their issues. I have to handle my own."
Spreading her hands, Sarah shrugged. "I didn''t say that you have to handle anything for them. We''re information gathering. Now, are you going to get changed or what?"
Looking between Sarah and the stack of gear on the bed, Amdirlain shooed her from the room.
"I''m worried you won''t know where all the equipment goes," protested Sarah.
Amdirlain muttered. "I''m pretty sure I can figure it out."
Sarah laughed and headed for the door. "Okay, I''ll leave you to your bedroom fumbling. Though I wouldn’t be too worried, the peak of the dwarves in this world has long passed. The places I’ve checked so far have been in decline, with many old enchantments holding things together."
When the bedroom door shut, Amdirlain groaned. "Did Ori have a thing about not being short? Or do I have an issue with facial hair? Unlikely, I''ve just spent years as a Catfolk."
"Fur isn''t a beard," called Sarah.
"Big ears," groused Amdirlain, and she envisaged the form to take.
As her flesh shifted, the shadow vines adjusted smoothly. Losing thirty-four centimetres in height changed the room''s perspective. Her build broadened, gaining solid muscles and heavy bones. Amdirlain retracted the shadow vines and started to get dressed, only to stop and stare in surprise at the battered and scarred arm she''d extended. The heavy scars showed where manacles had cut into her wrist for decades and were simply the most prominent among thousands of nicks, cuts, and whip marks present. The generic dwarven form she''d envisaged warped under the pressure of soul memories, ones that promised a flood on the edge of exploding forth, already leaking enough to add scars.
The time she''d spent mining Adamantine in the Abyss echoed a shining link between her awareness and the buried memories, and she turned the key to beckon it. Her gender changed, and her posture stooped, giving her a body broken by centuries of toil and abuse. With the first memory that struck, a battered pickaxe swung in their hands while other nearby kin worked to clear the kilograms of oreless rock every strike brought forth.
The surrounding kinfolk worked desperately to earn food for their imprisoned loved ones; shortfalls in meeting the quota reduced the hostages'' food, not the workers''. The smaller number of hostages meant that even a few kilograms short in the day''s work meant the hostage group would receive no food at all. The continuing elusive shift in the vein promised starvation to the current group.
The traces of the mithril in the rock they dug mocked and teased at them, but they hadn’t recovered the vein when their shift ended. Trudging back through the tunnel, eyes traced over the braces work crews had put in behind them, and memories of the centuries of tunnels they''d constructed raced through their awareness.
The illusion at the end of the food hall showed the hostages lined up around an empty table, their features drawn and their eyes hollow after what would be the sixteenth day without food. Even their hardy dwarven bodies were failing; tonight, the water was also missing.
"New hostages will shortly be isolated. If your reduced output continues, we will bring in another clan to assist, increasing the quota. Your clan will be added to the list of those who caused others to suffer this fate."
They knew the last threat was hollow as the other clans would respect the centuries they''d laboured to keep others free. Yet for another clan to endure this further darkened the distress caused by recent days. The Elf''s arrogant tone and the smell of their food being brought out stirred rage within the youngest waiting in line. It had been too long since the last outburst, and the clan''s younger workers thought they could do better and turned on a supervisor. The security wards reacted and punished everyone, magical whips beating them bloody until everyone was on the ground. The magical servitors then force-fed them food to restore their bodies and seal the injuries.
The pain Amdirlain had experienced and put herself through attuned her awareness to the dormant memories within her soul. Centuries of experience in the mine and the refinery bubbled and foamed to the fore, engineering details of massive blast furnaces and fans to ensure airflow, clearing tunnel seeps, and refining purification issues among thousands of other details that arose. Memories of a family were there but laden with even more pain, fragments of a shattered wedding day for someone amongst the thousands dying when their clan was seized, working in the mines and furnaces, or starved to death.
The years of agony she''d endured formed a highway for memories to sync from the lifetime of slavery she now remembered. The vein had been found again the next day, and decades of labour continued, only for chaos to finally shatter the mines. They never knew what events led to the rebellion that freed them after centuries. During the escape, death came calling, lying on a war-torn hillside, watching the sun rise through a gaze covered by heavy cataracts with a grandson''s mauled body held in their arms.
Amdirlain’s Willpower and Mental Hardening strained, but the centuries of lifetime flashing before her eyes didn''t sweep her under, though not all stayed with her.
"Years of trying to get anything unrelated to Ori to surface, and I get that by switching form," breathed Amdirlain as her mind raced about, considering what had stuck.
[Memory sync outcome:
Mining [Ap] (5) -> Mining [M] (77)
Mental Hardening [M] (6->20)
Knowledge: Engineering unlocked
Engineering (1) -> [M] (6)
Knowledge: Metallurgy unlocked
Metallurgy (1) -> [M] (1)]
Yeah, thanks for the quantification, Gideon. Numbers mean little against that foulness. Anyone who thinks slavery is a good idea should endure it first.
Sarah tapped on the door. "Amdirlain, what happened?"
"Just an ugly lifetime," grumbled Amdirlain, changing her form from the age-worn patriarch to the young maiden she''d intended to take on and started to get dressed.
"There are lifetimes that aren''t unpleasant in your Soul," offered Sarah. "You may need to attune yourself to happier places."
Amdirlain grunted. "Well, I now know how much some dwarves would laugh at the mining gathering challenges I''ve set up in my demi-planes. Do you remember Clan Mithrilblood?"
"Fuck,” spat Sarah. “Why did you get that one? You''ve experienced better lifetimes as a Dwarf. I worry about you trending towards pain so much, Amdirlain. You should stop drinking those potions and at least try to put your feet on a different path."
"Were you in the mines?" whispered Amdirlain.
Clearing her throat, Sarah grunted. "I died early during your lifetime and was reborn within the mine. If you didn''t get enough to recognise me, that''s for the best. Isa was there as well."
"You died early?"
"During the clan''s selection," replied Sarah, her gaze dark with anger before her lips twisted in an enigmatic smile. "I missed by this much."
"I''m sorry you went through that nightmare," said Amdirlain.
"I''m sorry either of us went through that nightmare, bloody elves," grumbled Sarah.
Amdirlain huffed. "They weren''t a good example of elves, I''ll give you that. Bastards on the scale of the gold elves Ori put down."
"No, they weren''t quite that bad," allows Sarah. "The gold elves were far worse from the details Ori gave me. They were on a sadist binge during all-out genocide conquests from their xenophobic urges. Are you going to get dressed or not?"
"Be with you in a minute," replied Amdirlain, and she focused on getting equipment harnesses sorted out.
When she stomped out into the living room, she adjusted the tool belts Sarah had provided, the layout and contents of her kit now reflecting a Miner instead of an apprentice crafter. Her black beard had the suitable braids for a maiden, and a long braid ran down her back beneath her coat.
"You can ask them their approach for dealing with wet shafts," quipped Sarah. Her auburn beard and hair scratched against the lingering pain from the memories.
"I''m not touching that," muttered Amdirlain. "Plus, I won''t be asking questions; I''ll listen. We''re only going physically to get this bet settled."
Sarah smiled sceptically. "Yeah, because we won''t be doing anything to help them."
"I didn''t say I wouldn''t be adding training complexes eventually, just that I wasn''t planning to wander about the place at this point."
Kadaklan looked her over and nodded. "You look very sturdy, but I''m not sure why you''re going as males."
"We’re both maidens," laughed Sarah.
"But you''ve got beards?" questioned Kadaklan, looking between them as his ears twitched in confusion.
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Sarah nodded. "Yet we had fur."
Kadaklan opened his mouth to protest but stopped to shrug helplessly instead. "I still have too much to do here establishing the teachers before we leave. I won''t be able to open a location to help dwarves as well."
"It''ll spread to them, or it won''t," replied Amdirlain, and they teleported away.
The mountain entrance they picked was located in a steep ravine, far from any of the Catfolk cities. What trail marks the surveyors had found pointed off in the direction of a smaller dwarven settlement. When they appeared a distance away to trudge to their destination, the wind from the northern polar circle had them frost-coated in seconds. A notification soon after had Amdirlain chuckling.
[Cold [GR] (1->2)]
Bowing her head into the wind, Amdirlain pulled her jacket tighter. "Seems I should have dressed warmer."
Sarah looked at her in disbelief before she snorted in surprise. "You don''t have enough cold resistance?"
"I have more now," muttered Amdirlain.
"Let''s pick up the pace before anything freezes off," instructed Sarah. “We need to broaden out your resistance work.”
"I’ll just put a resistance Spell on," said Amdirlain.
Sarah grunted. "A song. The local dwarves might wonder."
Putting it in place, she kept walking, and her body restored the layers of skin the cold had so quickly blackened.
Resonance made the sixteen-metre-wide door clear, but visually, it blended seamlessly with the ravine''s face. Following the clues, Sarah pulled a hammer from her pack and raised it to the ancient ward''s keystone. The enchantments reacted to the runes within the hammer. As the door cracked, it yawned wider by the moment.
Slipping through the gap as soon as it was wide enough, the pair pulled the door closed behind them against the wind''s suction. As they worked, a gong echoed within the sizeable chamber they had been allowed into—a space for a pair of well-armed platoons to muster.
When the gate''s locks clicked back into place, a smooth baritone came from a murder hole above. "What is a pair of lasses doing traipsing the over ways amid a storm?"
"We got lost through a magic rift and stumbled on your way signs," rumbled Sarah, her eyes twinkling in amusement. "The walk was brisk."
"A brisk walk indeed; you''ll be freezing bits off. I’m Darlran of Clan Silvermount. What clan are you from, lasses?"
"Clan Mithrilblood," Sarah replied, varying from the name they''d planned to use. "We''re sure we''re a long way from home. I barely recognised your script and was unsure of the underway around these parts."
"That''s not a name I''ve heard before. I''ll get the Captain to meet you at the inner gate," replied the guard. "We won''t keep you waiting long."
"That''s fine; being out of the wind is good," reassured Sarah.
The room''s enchantments checked them repeatedly before a hatch opened in the door, and a rumbling baritone echoed in. "Captain Dalphan of Clan Silvermount."
"Sarlan and Amdain of Clan Mithrilblood," replied Sarah.
"Well, we know no clan by that name. You could be telling the truth or a pair of runaways that have cooked up a wild tale. In either case, we reserve the issuing of guest rights for now. If you wish to come in, it''ll be under the accords and standards of merchants. Know that you''ll be accountable for any trespass, knowingly or unknowingly, made," declared Dalphan. "Is that agreeable?"
Sarah pretended to scowl for a moment. "Might we read the local rules by which the standards apply? Hard to give proper agreement to something I''ve never heard of before now."
"A sensible request, and you''ll be allowed into the guard area to do so. You''ll need to give an agreement before going further unless I find a good reason to grant you guest right. You presented your hammer to the ward key. Has your companion anything to prove her craft?"
“I never claimed one, but still,” said Amdirlain, and she drew the pickaxe from her pack and presented it to the ward’s keystone by the inner door.
"A Master Miner?! I intend no offence, lass, but that is a surprise. You don''t look like you''ve got the years under your belt. You can both come in, but I''ll need you to provide proof before we can recognise your presence even under the merchant''s accords."
"No offence taken; I''ll answer whatever questions I can to your guild. Hopefully, our teachings are similar enough to find common ground," replied Amdirlain. "If nothing else, I''m not afraid of hard work if you need willing hands while we plan our travels home."
"I''ve no idea how the keystones would have recognised either of you if our ways weren''t similar enough," replied Dalphan.
"Good crafts always carry true," replied Sarah.
Dalphan grunted. "Ain''t that true, Sarlan Mithrilblood. Your hammer is fine Artificer work; you must be quite proud that your family entrusted you with such a legacy."
Sarah and Amdirlain glanced at each other.
‘Legacy?’ questioned Amdirlain. ‘The insides of this place sound empty for being the edge of their city.’
‘Everything smells old and faded,’ replied Sarah.
He slid the hatch back in place, and the door opened with a clacking of bolts sliding back. The door that opened was intended only for foot traffic or a loaded mule. Amdirlain allowed Sarah to go in first and followed on her heels. The chamber beyond was a split-level space, a wide upper section sitting above the gate and a lower area some twenty metres across and the same deep. Doors off to one side held bunk rooms currently occupied by sleeping guards.
Including the Captain, the guards were a group thirty strong, all clad in ancient mithril chainmail, surcoats with a frost-coated mountain icon, and a mix of sturdy cloth and leather. They’d spread between tables and chairs in a circle around an aged brazier. They were all stocky with broad shoulders and armed with axes or hammers close at hand, through a selection of heavy crossbows sat in racks in the room''s upper section.
Various earth-hued hair tones poked out from between helms, and their eyes ranged from muddy brown to bright agates. None of them carried the modern-sounding classes she''d heard among the Catfolk. Instead, fighters, scouts, and similar were the norm, with a dozen low-level artificers between those awake and those in the barracks.
Okay, on a different tech scale. Sarah''s been keeping her discoveries close to her chest.
"Why don''t you lasses join me by the fire?" said Dalphan, his dark gaze gleaming with curiosity. "The post''s Loremaster was off shift but will join us soon. I''ll get the manual of rules and accords."
Sarah and Amdirlain set their heavy packs down near a pair of vacant stools by the battered, unenchanted brazier, its warmth an isolated puddle in the room''s coldness. The other guards gave them nods in greeting but didn''t offer nor enquire about their names. When Dalphan returned, he sat a heavy text with parchment pages and a stone cover on a stool beside Sarah.
"How long were you lasses walking?"
"A few hours, that''s all," replied Sarah. "The wind through the ravine kept some script stones along the path clear; otherwise, I might have missed them."
"Were you travelling somewhere?"
Sarah gave their prepared story of new masters looking to travel between clans before deciding where to settle. Her references to other clan names and settlements had the Captain''s brows climbing. While Sarah spoke, Amdirlain leafed through the rules with a translation Spell in effect so she didn''t have to learn their tongue as well.
"I''ve not heard of any of those names; not knowing one clan is strange enough," said Dalphan as Sarah''s tale progressed.
"As I told Darlran when he asked, we came through a magical rift. We''d not even seen a clear sky to tell if our stars looked close to the same as yours. We could be from a far distant part of the world."
"I might have to get you to repeat some of those clan names; I only heard the last clearly," said an approaching dwarven female. Though dressed in the same uniform as the rest, her theme carried the hum of Wizard, Alchemist, Sage, and Fighter. Like the other guards, she didn''t possess a Prestige Class, and her levels weren''t even in the thirties.
"Loremaster Eileen, this is Sarlan and Amdain Mithrilblood," said Dalphan.
"Sar and Am are fine to use," offered Sarah after they''d exchanged greetings.
The Loremaster was a middle-aged dwarf without a trace of white in her beard. She considered the pair with a smug, self-assured attitude rather than the captain''s curiosity. That she didn’t possess the Prestige Class that Amdirlain had expected from the title was a cause for concern given what Amdirlain had already read of their protocols.
"I think I can remember your name, Sarlan of Clan Mithrilblood," replied Eileen reprovingly. "If that is your name. Now, why don''t you tell me this tale of yours."
"It is a name birth earnt me, and I''m happy to repeat the account of our journey," replied Sarah, her tone firm. "Calling it a tale implies it''s a pure invention."
"It would, wouldn''t it," agreed Eileen. "As the duty Loremaster, it''s my responsibility to determine the credentials of anyone unknown passing through. I’ve not recognised any name you’ve mentioned so far."
Sarah huffed. "If we''re so far from home that you don''t recognise our names, what is the process?"
"You carry the master hammer of a weaponsmith and an artificer''s hammer. Why don''t we start with some simple questions about those crafts?"
"Fine," huffed Sarah. "But first, to correct the Captain’s assumption, it’s not a legacy hammer; I made it. Also, I''ll need to ask a few of mine before you ask your questions. I need to determine more about this situation since you don''t have the markings of either craft about you. You could be looking to dig out craft secrets. What''s the local punishment for that?"
"It isn''t permitted," noted Amdirlain, and she turned back to an early page she''d read. "All craft accreditation must be by a guild member of the correct rank or higher."
"You want us to agree to your accord in ways your Loremaster won''t adhere to?" Sarah growled, and she looked at Dalphan. “We also did not claim any qualifications. Your ward’s keystones recognised them. We would have talked to the guild if we needed a job.”
"You''re not in the city proper yet," countered Eileen."We can hold you under suspicion of being imposters and thieves trying to steal."
Dalphan looked like he''d bitten into something sour but held his tongue, his gaze fixed on Eileen.
"Steal what? Mithril armour whose enchantments feel thousands of years old and fading? Why would we be imposters to a clan you don''t know about if we were not born to it? Be right stupid to claim it," snapped Sarah.
Eileen smiled. "From your mouth comes some truth, at least."
"I can prove my Skill with an anvil. Can you prove your title is more than a proclamation? I''ll not answer any questions that your rules don''t even allow between yourselves," stated Sarah.
“You’d dare insult me in our halls?” huffed Eileen. “You’re coming in like a pair of thieving tramps.”
Sarah pointed in the direction of the ravine’s mouth."Your script stones said your lands start ten kilometres down that path. Either your rules hold to both of us, or my rules alone bind me. If it’s the second, I''m becoming inclined to take payment for your insults. Every clan and place I named is known to Clan Mithrilblood, and your ignorance doesn’t brush that aside. Decide the side of trouble you want to stand on because you''re in the wrong to ask by both our laws."
The other guards sat up and listened to the conversation, but none reached for weapons.
Amdirlain wanted to groan, recognising the button that Eileen had pushed.
Huffing at her response, Eileen growled. "I can ask simple questions about your craft that any Dwarf would know."
"Nope," snapped Sarah. "You can’t even decide what hole of trouble you’re standing in. That isn''t happening, given the wording of your law. I''m an accredited Master Smith, and you’ve not the smell of any sort of smith about you. Someone who might not pass the apprentice test won''t get to ask me questions. Bring a guild smith here or ask questions outside my crafts."
"But-"
Sarah held up a hand and turned to the Captain. "Is she a smith within any guild?"
"Not to my knowledge," replied Dalphan.
"Then I won''t even tell her the name of a hammer or a technique since I don''t know what your guilds consider secrets," rebuffed Sara. "I’ll not have them consider me in violation of local guild law."
"I can''t answer any mining questions either after seeing that law in your books," added Amdirlain.
Sarah nodded and gave Eileen a vicious smile. "Does your city maintain guilds of our crafts?"
Eileen spat. "We do. I can send for ranking members, but we''ll arrest you if you cannot pass their examination. The charge will be attempting to impersonate or as an accomplice to an imposter."
''Why do you get to be greeted by the nice people, and I get the arse hats?'' questioned Sarah mentally.
Amdirlain mentally gave Eileen the middle finger. ''No, the first time at Duskstone the guard was an arse hat to me.''
''True,'' acknowledged Sarah, ''But you were a Succubus.''
With a dismissive snort directed to Eileen, Sarah turned to the Captain and moderated her tone. "Everything here is old, Captain. Do you have no new artificer work that comes your way?"
Dalphan jumped at the offered conversation gambit. "The guild members are normally busy maintaining the inner city. We''re just an outer gate that sees little traffic. The garrison''s primary duty is to keep the critters clear of the primary passage to the city."
Drawing a stylus from her belt, Sarah traced draconic runes on the brazier’s rim, undeterred by the heat from the charcoal. Each rune she completed sank into the metal, and its glow soon faded from sight. Finishing up, Sarah tucked the stylus away and activated the series. The activation obliterated the cold''s grip on the chamber as the brazier’s warmth stretched into the barracks on either side.
Sarah gave the brazier’s rim a comforting pat. "It''s old steel, but it''ll still support a heat amplification for decades."
"You can sink them into metal?" gasped a nearby guard, who’d watched her work with wide-eyed interest.
"There''s a trick to it; I''ll speak to the Artificers'' Guild," replied Sarah. “You seem far too surprised for that to be a good thing.”
Dalphan was already on his feet. "I''ll send you through to the inner city."
Eileen spluttered, but Dalphan cut her off and returned his attention to Sarah. "I''ve seen evidence of your qualifications. Master Sarlan of Clan Mithrilblood. Do you speak for your kin’s qualification?"
"I do," replied Sarah.
"Then I''ll assign two escorts to get you to the Guildhall. Your rank far exceeds mine or the Loremaster''s," declared Dalphan.
"I protest," growled Eileen.
“Loremaster Eileen. Whatever complaint you want to file can go to the clan elders. I declare the Master Artificer has satisfied me of her proficiency and vouched for her kin. As such, I’ve no reason not to accept her word and grant full guest rights within," said Dalphan, and he moved over to the table to write them a letter.
With Sarah still wanting to swat Eileen down, Amdirlain rose and swept up her pack. Patting Sarah''s shoulder, she moved closer to Dalphan, and Sarah moved to follow her, leaving Eileen behind.
"I''ll not stand for this," protested Eileen.
Sarah turned and gave her a toothy smile. "If you''d like, I could help you sit for it. The speed at which that occurs is entirely up to you."
While she was trying to provoke Eileen, the Captain detailed two guards who collected packs and went ahead through the rear doors. They were brothers with a fifty-year age difference. Both had black hair, beards poking under their helmets, and heavy leathers underneath their mithril chainmail. As the pair led them in silence, Amdirlain tried to ignore the hissing fury they''d left behind.