The thought reminded Rhival'lur that he should've been working. Working the mines, working the infirmary, working anything. He paced about as he talked, drawing a few sick and weary glances from the recovering patients. Rhiv could walk and talk in tandem – he could hang onto this just a little longer.
"Is jus' the firs' one ah've made. Still whittle some now'anthen, buh the guards'r bit smarter than they's were. Least mine are."
Franklyn smiled upat Rhiv. "Thank you. I do my best."
He watched as the big guy pulled out what looked like a totem of some kind, a well made animal figurine. He handled it gently, turning it over in his hands and studying it. It wasn't a creature he knew.
His smile faded a bit as Rhiv described the reaction to his whittling, and he responded with an empathetic nod. "They can be brutal over seemingly nothing." He handed the carving back to Rhiv.
"Guards see what they want to see. It's… something I try to take advantage of." Franklyn knew Rhival'lur by reputation. The quiet man was thought a little odd by the guards, and they'd been extra cruel to him as a result. "But don't let them stop you."
……………….
Drekar nods at the gnome.
"Apologies. Didn' realize I was mufflin my steps like tha'. I tend t' hide in these tunnels to avoid people. Name's Drekar. Dragonkin from way yonder west, a refugee who's taken up residence up 'ere in the mountains. Been 'ere for a while, but I stay outta the camp mostly; I sleep down in the caves," he tells the gnome before holding his hand out awkwardly for the man to shake.
Rixtus shook Drekar's hand, though it was akin to a child shaking a giant's paw. "Rixtus. I've seen you around. Mines are big enough and tunnels long enough you may not have seen me before though." The refugee story was a common one, unfortunately. Many folks came from places worse than the Queen's Mines, and some came without realizing how bad things were here.
Either way, once they got here, they were press-ganged into the mines and stuck working for the Crown. Rixtus hoped that for Drekar, this was somehow an improvement.
"Where ya headed? This tunnel back to camp has a couple of pretty surly guards posted at the checkpoint. They'll be in the moods to cause trouble, and one of them is a Lobano." The huge wolfmen were almost universally feared, though Drekar was big and strong enough, he might be able to handle it. Still, getting into a serious fight with a guard was never a good idea. "I was just taking these two around through one of the other tunnels, if you'd like to join us- if that's your destination, of course."
Drekar nods slightly.
"Quite possibly," he replies.
At the gnomes last words, the Dragonkin's eyes glint slightly.
"Lobano, you say? Did he have a decently well made sword and a nasty scar on his righ' cheek?" the Dragonkin inquires.
Despite his tendency to avoid conflict, there was one man that he would always seek out to fight, and that was one of the few Lobano guards in the mines.
A nasty looking man with a nastier attitude, the guard was on Drekar's hitlist for one reason and one reason alone. An insult to his family's honor. It was common knowledge that if one wanted to live life with their bones in the same places as before, you never insulted a Dragonkins honor or their family's honor.
And Drekars intentions were being made clear just through the way the normally placid Dragonkin rogue was now holding himself. He fully intended to start a brawl with the guard.
And very little could stop him.
Rixtus knew immediately who Drekar meant. "Ah, Dhibo. I'm guessing you've got a grudge to settle with him, huh?" He watched the Dragonkin's reaction, nodding slowly. "Well, this one isn't him. Some new guy with a glaive of some sort. I mean, you're welcome to pick a fight with another one if you want, just let us get put of this tunnel before you cause trouble."
The Dragonkin seems to settle down a bit.
"Alrigh'. I have no interes' in conflic' beyond wit' Dhibo. The other guards are no' my problem," Drekar sighs.
He starts walking with the group, near the back, staying mostly out of the conversations playing out, but listening in despite this.
Rixtus nodded. He looked Drekar over, thinking the Dragonkin would be a good ally to have. "If, uh… if you're looking for him to maybe have an unfortunate accident one day… I might be able to help."
Drekar blinks at Rixtus and then gives the slightest hint of a smile.
"Maybe after we ge' ou' of this hellhole," he replies. Though the Dragonkin didn't need the help, he understood that the guard was widely disliked by most, not just him - he wouldn't deny others the chance at the man for his own goals.
He pats the gnome on the shoulder and then falls silent once more.
His smile faded a bit as Rhiv described the reaction to his whittling, and he responded with an empathetic nod. "They can be brutal over seemingly nothing." He handed the carving back to Rhiv.
"Guards see what they want to see. It's… something I try to take advantage of." Franklyn knew Rhival'lur by reputation. The quiet man was thought a little odd by the guards, and they'd been extra cruel to him as a result. "But don't let them stop you."
"Aye. Mighty nice ayouse sayin' that, Frank…" No, it was way too early for nicknames. "…lyn. Ah try not to take it too personal – half of thems ain't too terrible. Relatively, ah'least."
Rhival'lur sighed, returning the whittled figurine to his pocket.
"Speakin' of," he added a bit grimly, "Ah'm s'posed to be onna shift t'night. Y'appen to know what th'time is?"
Rhival'lur sighed, returning the whittled figurine to his pocket.
"Speakin' of," he added a bit grimly, "Ah'm s'posed to be onna shift t'night. Y'appen to know what th'time is?"
Franklyn smiled. "You're a decent guy, Rhival'lur."
His face fell again when Rhiv mentioned the night shift. It was notoriously more dangerous than the day shifts. "It's roughly half an hour before sunset. I checked a bit ago."
His face fell again when Rhiv mentioned the night shift. It was notoriously more dangerous than the day shifts. "It's roughly half an hour before sunset. I checked a bit ago."
"Ah. Shite."
Rhival'lur blanched a bit at his own language.
"Sorry, lad. Jus' irks my anam is all."
He cracked his neck and his back, and he rolled his shoulders. A dull ache of dread settled in the pit of his stomach, echoing like the peals of the belltowers back home. And then another pang of guilty rage rippled through him at the memory.
"S'awful for the psyche, bein' 'ere. Least I'm not 'alf sleep like I am inna mornin's." He was grumbling to nobody in particular, freting over a few herb jars on a shelf. He'd organized them a few minutes ago, but his hands were fidgety now.
