Prelude: No Rest for the Weary

[DoomulusPrime]

The following is the prelude for Drumlin Fossilbreaker, Dwarven Elementalist.

Minbazoram: 6072, SC - Necropolis

The tombs beneath Minbazoram are a dizzying honeycomb of played-out mines and derelict access tunnels. Ancient beyond compare, these halls were once the source of the Empire's riches, thick with rich metal veins and glittering gemstones that could buy entire human kingdoms. As time rolled on, the riches dried up, and the throngs of workers and prospectors who once walked and lived in these tunnels went with it. These days, all that remains is a city of the dead beneath the city of the living. It is the final home of paupers, beggars, merchants and kings, a place where the extravagance of one's lodgings denotes their affluence in life. Such displays of affluence are merely affectations to the caretakers of the Necropolis, however.

They are all well aware that everything within belongs to the Earth.

'œGuess whose turn it is?'

The dim light in the Scholars' Enclave, within the Order of Earth provides just enough light for you to see a familiar face standing in front of you. You look up from your writing desk, your attention dragged unceremoniously away from Ivorix's Treatise on Igneous Deposits in the Western Ankidirast, to the perpetually-grinning figure of your Mentor, Gul Stouthand. Ever since you graduated from Senior Apprentice to Initiate of Earth, you have wondered whether he is simply optimistic by nature, or gains some perverse enjoyment out of being almost annoyingly chipper when sending someone off to do something horribly dangerous. Given by what he is holding in one of his hands, you're inclined to expect the latter.

A simple wooden staff, affixed with a small metal loop at the top, from which in turn hangs a simple, yet finely-crafted Hooded Lantern is what Gul carries, and you immediately recognize it at the tool of office that denotes a Tomb Caretaker. A Tomb Caretaker being an Initiate of Earth with the responsibility of walking the winding pathways of the Necropolis for a night and ensuring that the tombs remain undefaced, that no one is using the tombs for inappropriate reasons, and, well, anything else that simply shouldn't be happening in a hallowed graveyard.

'œUndead, for example,' you recall Gul saying is a previous explanation of the Initiate's duties. 'œ'¦among other things. But we haven't had undead down here for hundreds of years, so you should be fine!'

Of course, Gul always thinks his students 'œwill be fine'. He thought young Armuk would be fine when he sent her in to plot out a new support scheme for a series of run-down mines in the distant stronghold of Ktolot, and she ended up having both her legs broken in a cave-in'¦

'œWell?' Gul breaks your train of thought about the exact level of safety that this bit of work will likely involve in reality, 'œGet to it! The sooner you're done, the sooner you can get back to the fire.' He holds the staff out for you to take, sweeping an arm towards the main door that leads to the tomb's cold, cold halls'¦

[Vardaen]

Drumlin doesn't look up at first, he knows that the always chipper mentor is going to send him on some foolish task, while tradition, still seems unnessicary these days. He allows himself the few moments it takes to finish reading his page before slipping in a long spider silk cord, the bookmark, into the binding between the pages before he closes the book with a thud. Then looking up he nods to Stouthand, "Keep the ale cold for me." Standing the younger dwarf takes the staff with the lantern on the top and clears his throat to hide the fear that is creaping up in his chest.

Drumlin puts on a good front most of the time, able to hide behind his intelligence, and a stack of books in the library, but deep down at heart this Elementalist is a coward; so much so that something as harmless as a bird can send him into a panic attack. "I must get my things..." he moves past Gul to a small alcove where those using the chamber hang cloaks and bags and such and collects a small pack of his things. It seems he's come prepaired, suspecting it was his turn in the rotation for annoying dangerous missions being handed out by Stouthand.

With a sigh and a shiver up his spine, a strange sense of foreboding coming over him, Drumlin Fossilbreaker moves to the door, pushes them open and head down into the tomb's cold, cold halls...

[DoomulusPrime]

Master Stouthand practically beams with admiration as Drumlin stoically takes up the lantern-staff and sets out into the Necropolis. Gul has always liked Drumlin; a mixed blessing to be sure. Dwarves of his level of genius do not come terribly often, even amongst the naturally-gifted folk within the halls of Minbazoram, and "to see one who has suffered so much come so far under his tutelage," as he so frequently, and publicly (as well as embarrasingly at times) sighed to himself, was something that brought him joy. The problem is, the other thing that frequently brought Gul joy, was to challenge Drumlin above and beyond the other apprentices.

"I will be here when you finish your rounds, Drumlin," Gul responds as the doors of the Enclave slowly shut behind Drumlin. The massive, stonewrought doors close with an uncannily soft and final "click" - and with it, almost all the light shining within the tunnels is once again, banished.

The black begins swimming with soft blue lights, eddies and whorls outlining the borders of the rough-hewn halls, as Drumlin's Infravision takes over where his mundane surface-senses fail. The only source of heat standing out is Drumlin himself. The lantern, unlit, awaits. It is a symbol of office, and need not be lit as the Caretaker walks the Necropolis tunnels.

It is a quarter-hour's walk to the unguarded Common Tombs - the primary location the Caretakers are concerned with. It occurs to Drumlin, as well, that the lift to the Stronghold Proper is a half-hour in the other direction. Sometimes when it is beyond quiet, you can hear the life, festivities, and ale flowing in the city above through the Tomb ceilings...

[Vardaen]

Druming his fingers on the staff the appentice grunts once and stands taller. He seeks to test me, because he knows of my exceptional abilities, the dwarf thinks to himself as he takes the first step toward the unguarded commons on his task at hand. His family has never truely accepted him, a bastard son of a rogue noble, the stigma has stayed with him regardless of his accomplishments; except in Master Southand's eyes. He almost thinks of Stouthand as a father, since his own was never around, and if it wasn't for Stouthand Drumlin would have remained at home, beaten by his mother, picked on by his siblings, and relegated to some mindnumbing quarry work.

So with as strong of a step as he can muster he travels down the halls, the lantern unlit, toward's his goal.

[DoomulusPrime]

Drumlin knows the way through the tombs as well as any dwarf can - they are impossible to map, but his studies and work have sent him down here before. He has never gone alone, however.

The tunnels play themselves out predictably before his eyes, the stray heat eddies dimly illuminating the sides of the corridors. Soon enough, small stuctures appear - sarcophagi, dating back thousands of years, their engravings miraculously still fresh. Each one, visible as they are to infravision due to the subtle heat shifts that they cause in the air that moves across them, tells a long, winding story over its surface about the life and achievements of the soul within, but Drumlin is not concerned with the dead that lie peacefully.

Eventually, the corridors widen, leaving Drumlin alone in a sea of darkness, the only source of bearings being the occasional tomb and the trace heat from his own footsteps. The commoner tombs are an immense cavern, silent and un-navigable in darkness unless one knows the way. Most often it is the very presence of light that indicates a trespasser, for who but someone who has spent decades in these halls would be able to wander them blindly?

Crossing from tomb to tomb in the darkness, exhaling a faint amount of warm air to reveal the engraved names on each tombstone in turn, Drumlin makes use of the secret, stepping-stone sequence to reach his location; the Memorial Commons. Eventually he reaches the outer moat of the complex. The water, freezing cold, is a black void, illuminated by the pale ghost-lights of the many small, pale cave fish that swim mindlessly within.

As he locates the single, thin footbridge to take him into the commons, he sees something amiss - a point of light, like a single star, in the distance beyond the range of his Infravision. It stands there, stationary and shadowless - most likely within the Memorial Commons, judging distance as if it were a torch or lantern. The Order of Earth leads all processions here in darkness, but the owners of the light could be any number of things.

With harsh light in front of him and comforting dark behind, Drumlin has to make a decision on what to do...

[Vardaen]

"Hello, what is this?" The dwarf considers simply turning around and returning home after patroling the safer locations behind him again. His heart tells him to turn around, but his duty tells him to move forward.

Duty wins out, at least for the time being. Picking his way forward slowly and carefully the Elementalist crosses the bridge mindfull of the light and the effect it has on his vision. For the moment its just a hot spot on his field of vision, when it gets bigger and begins to interfere he will have to adjust his sight. Not letting go of his own lamp and pole, the warden stalks forward with great causion.

[DoomulusPrime]

Within the confines of the decorative moat and bridges, inside the Memorial Commons, lies the tombs of the greater merchant families of old. For every tomb whose wrought stone door remains open, there is yet another hall whose door has been sealed shut for all time - the sign of fallen clans, whose members were lost in plague, war, or dishonor in years past - a place where the whole of their family line may lay together forever in peace.

The distant light grows as Drumlin approaches hesitantly, slowly growing from a distant star to an almost painfully-bright sun in the center of his vision. The Elementalist's vision instinctively starts to shift, as he continues, the heat-shaped colors washing out into the dull, weakly-illuminated grays of the tomb complex. Feeling his way forward as his eyes adjust, Drumlin nearly stumbles over as he feels and hears a soft "crunch" under his right foot.

A long-dead skull, beard still hanging in wispy strings from its decrepit chin, lays shattered under Drumlin's heel. A thick, grey liquid slowly pools around his boot from the shattered brainpan, as Drumlin notices the rest of the bones. A thin trail of frail, shattered remnants wends its way toward the light - a torch, he can now tell, wedged in a chipped-out portion of flagstone mortar.

Beyond, Drumlin can see the door from which the string of bones emerges. It lies wide open. The inscription on the tomb indicates it is from the Iceseeker Clan, a family of dwarves well-known for their heroism in braving the summits of the Minbazoram Chain. There will likely be questions asked about this, and the Order of Earth should be able to provide the answers. In the back of Drumlin's mind, it registers that a key part of this would involve living to tell the tale...

[Vardaen]

Drumlin steps off the skull and shakes his boot to get some of bone covered goo clear of it. "Toughen up Drumlin..." He inhales and sets himself to wanting to make his mentor proud. He has put such faith and trust in Drumlin that alone pushes him forward, but he marks the escape path none the less, ready to flee if he must.

He considers using his Pass without Trace to slip in leaving no tracks, but will save that for the retreat to prevent tracking. He slips up to the door, and peers inside, trying to be silent, watching and gazing inside hoping to not be seen for the moment. He tries to control his breathing.

[DoomulusPrime]

The narrow doorway of the tomb lays open, a strange draft moving through it, almost as if the building itself was breathing slowly. Beyond the door lies further tunnels, stretching down further wherein the dead of the clan is laid to rest. The moving air smells of the embalming herbs the Dwarves commonly use to mummify their dead. Drumlin, feeling exposed from the light, quickly heads up to the door, trying to breathe as quietly as possible. He grits his teeth, trying to ignore his heartbeat pounding at his temples.

The tomb has been violated! Bits and pieces of the fallen are strewn about, their burial shrouds cast aside. Most of the niches have been rifled through, and some of the bodies are gone entirely. Beyond the entrance hall, around a corner and down the stairs within the tomb, Drumlin can see a soft, flickering light coming from below...

The sound of boots scraping on stone outside interrupts Drumlin's investigation. Judging by the sound, whoever it is is coming up quickly. The nearby torch is useless, penetrating the dark only for a few feet...

[Vardaen]

Drumlin's heart is druming in his chest as he gazes into the tomb, "I must report this..." he spots the flicking soft glow of light from further down in the tomb. "Graverobbers, still here..." Sallowing hard the dwarf Elementalist is steeling himself to investigate when there is a noise behind him like feet dragging on the ground. "Wha?" He spins and thinks quickly, grabbing the torch off the wall and waving it about in front of him, "Wh-who-who goes there!?" He pushes the torch out infront of him to try and have it light up more of the passage.