Moments of Miners

Date: 2/4/2013 at 2:47
From: Anonymous
To : Everyone
Subj: Moments of Miners

Yashar stood silently in the midst of the hurricane of men and wondered not for the first time why anyone would live in such a cold, gray place. Glancing back as the crack of a wooden practice dummy rent in twain by the hands of a massive troll distracted his thoughts of home, the Keshian did have to lift his furrowed brows as he acknowledged that there were some good things about these Northmen.

Above the din of the training men, a trilling whistle sounded almost as if a tropical bird had found its way over the icy walls of Sar-Sargoth. Lifting a silk-wrapped hand, Yashar beckoned towards the entry to the barracks and turned a studiously distracted face away from the grubby street-boy who squirmed past the ranks of moredhel swordsman. Nodding as the urchin whispered to him in a hissed, unusually guttural dialect of Keshian, his only reaction was a widening of his eyes and a smirk as it was whispered that the Keshian Ambassador's own life was threatened multiple times that day by his allies ambassador, Malapardis.

"Already the alliance falters because of the spoiled demands of the north," Yashar mused as Praetor Rhiarinn's entry sent the boy scurrying away. Letting his grin remain on his face, the Keshian spread his arms wide and swept into a bow as he demurred, "Ah, Madame Palaver, so lovely to see you!"

A number of headaches and meetings that week, Rhiarinn would still be handling the various effects of the North's alliance with the yet-unseen Keshians. If it was not a furious noble here, it was a lost and bewildered novice wondering who Licka was and if she'd seen a donkey today. At the moment though, it was a band of dirty, off-key miners who were making Rhiarinn seriously consider sharpening her blade upon a small set of ribs.

Watching the spindly-limbed creatures shove commodities from the forts into the shop's shelves, she did feel a slight lessening of concerns as the city's stocks of iron and steel began to swell once more. As the little men merrily hi-ho'ed their way back out of the city, she settled finally to rest with a bemused smile.


"Oi! Will one of you useless lot go get the damn gate!" Taevi Matawa's hand curled into a muscled fist and splashed into the perfumed waters of Krondor's bath house as his annoyed cry seemed to rumble through the city loud enough to shake the tiles loose from the walls. "I'm in the bloody Baths!"

The following silence as all of Krondor mentally processed (read: shuddered at) the Baron's very visual exclamation was eventually broken by the softest of feminine giggles and a sigh from the Baron himself as he sunk back beneath the suds.

"What do you mean you brought silk? Who mines for silk?" asked yet another Baron of Krondor, holding a long length of elegantly woven material and shaking it as if it were one of his cadets who happened to do something unforgivable, like allow his brother to grace the city's ears with tales of his hygienic follies with the city.

"Well, sir, your fort is particularly ill-placed to mine for much, but the nobles in the countryside had donations to the cause," rasped one of the dwarven miners, holding up his own length of lovely white lace. Raelyr had the grace to at least use his silk-free hand to slap to his face as he stood back and let the miners fill the shop. His face was still covered and jaw still clenched with the trials of the day as the Sheriff of Krondor's voice quipped over the sound of the miner's humming and trudging out of the shop. "Huh, well, I guess it's off to work they go," Nemi noted, eliciting one more groan from the Baron.


Even in the stressed eyes of the eledhel were the miner's songs and offerings met with relief and amusement. Though smelling of sweat and blood and the stink of goblins and trolls, Naftali stood tall as ever as he looked upon the dirt-crusted faces of the miners as they set before him stacks of wood and steel. Things his people were craving almost more than peace at the moment.

"They're sort of charming with their singing," purred a voice hiding in the eaves behind Naftali. Glancing back, he frowned and nodded to the woman in the shadows. Pale enough her skin shone like snow even in the darkness of the forest, Arianai swayed forward and turned a slow, languid smile upon the generous team of miners, turning each man into a blushing boy for an instant.

As the men finally left to return to their forts and gather more for their people's war, Arianai and Naftali watched and listened to their song fading into the night. "Lyrical, really, their singing," she noted, turning to curve her rose-red lips into an amused smile. "I think I like them."

Penned by my hand on the 28th of Dzanin, in the year 41.