The Earthheart - IC

Urvad had excised himself from the vehicle as one might have excised a crushed raisin from the bottom of a container of raisins which had been crushed by the bodies of several people; all of who had intermittently shuffled on and off of the box. Urvad certainly felt like a crushed raisin. There was not much space in the back of that jeep.  He stepped off and cracked his back, and limbered up his limbs a little. Checking his pockets to make sure no one had stolen from him, he followed his companions inside.

They met a female dwarf (eugh), who went on at length about strange technological things he did not fathom or really pay any attention to. Urvad briefly gave his attention when she discussed their reward. He rubbed his grubby little hands together at the mention of riches.

"I think what my friends are trying to say is--" he began, pushing his way towards the front of the gaggle, "How much is 'richly'? Do we get post-death benefits? Guaranteed admission to an afterlife of our choosing?"

Mrorgain chuckled grimly and bent her head in a slow nod. "It is true. This demon has many friends like... whatever it is you encountered, and it is uncertain whether or not they have already located some number of the code fragments. It is possible," she said slowly and deliberately, "that, having trailed our previous search parties, this enemy waited until each had located their drive before setting upon them like wolves, hrrm, like wolves taking candy from a baby, as it were." The dwarf coughed. "Yes, it is possible that this hunting party of yours may become an outright onslaught. But...

"It is our informed assumption," she continued, allowing herself to sink back into her chair "that most if not all of the four remaining drives sleep snugly in their hiding places, and for the following reason. The elf who brought back this piece here," - Mrorgain waved a hand at the glowing flash drive - "spoke much about his journey before he... Well, I'll tell you what's become of him in a moment. But from his correspondence we learned that the thing was guarded, and well. Considering the quality of the others we sent, it's doubtful that... Well, that the buffoons would have made it three steps into those abominable lairs without tripping on their own blasted insides." She set to tapping her fingers on the arm of her chair. "Our hypothesis, then, is that the enemy has followed our parties to these lairs - as it followed poor Dunlin - and that all but he have fallen not to the enemy, but to the perils that guard these drives. Perhaps the demon has succeeded in penetrating one, or two, or all of these chambers, and you will arrive to find the place quite empty. Or perhaps the demon sits and waits for you to come along and succeed, and prize the things from your fingers, or fail and be surpassed by yet another wave of heroes."

With a grimace Mrorgain looked back down at the assembled party. "For now, all we ask is that you arrive to each location in turn and retrieve the drives, if they are there. If not, return to me, and we may discuss further employment. For, if all of you share the philanthropy of Madame Kovarnis - ah, the elder - then I for one believe this job will be well worth the effort. Although, Mr. Urvad," she chuckled with a glance to the goblin, "being a stock and sturdy athiest, I can guarantee only the material glory, but there will be plenty of that. We are willing to part with the raw amount of twenty-eight million ingots to be awarded to each living party member upon the completion of their task, and an equivalent amount awarded to the families of those that, well, hrrm."

She grunted and stood up from the chair, and was shorter for it. "Now, then. You're all quite right, in that there is much more to tell you, and if you accept my offer, I shall supply you with all that we know about this enemy and about the Dark Code. We have catalogues and bestiaries, legends and diagrams. We have Dunlin's letters, so you shall have an idea of what to expect inside the drives' hiding-places. These documents and more I have organized in the back, and those that accept may browse through them on the long ride that lies before us, where I will answer any more questions that you have."

Mrorgain crossed her arms and panned her gaze around the assembled six. "But first: Every word I say puts you all in greater danger. I must not continue until I know for sure that all in this room are committed to this endeavor. There is no shame in ducking out, now, for this is as serious and perilous a matter as it gets. Furthermore, we shall personally escort you back to your homes, should you wish to - harumph - decline this offer."

"Though if I'm right," the dwarf added in a low whisper, "soon enough none of you will be safe, either way."

And so she waited, looking back and forth between two vrana, a goblin, a human, a lizardwoman, and an orc.

Partially asleep Kyra pondered the purpose of the drives and what a code that large could even mean. After a good deal of thought she finally spoke. "I don't think breaking them is a good idea." She paused for a moment to allow that to be absorbed by the others. "I don't know what's in that code, but something as important as that probably has equally powerful defensive measurements. What if destroying the drives executes the program anyway? Don't certain mages use code written on flashdrives as catalysts for magic." She took another pause. "What if this code is the literal universe and destroying any fraction of it tears apart all of space time. What I mean to say is, there's any number of reasons destroying it is a bad idea."

"Whatever it is though, I'm in." Kyra responded directly to Mrorgain.

((Eh I started typing this before Mata made his post. :P))

Rhaokin sighed, folding her arms and looking between her companions, before nodding. "Yes. I'm with you. I've come this far, and the enemy's already seen me. Returning home just puts the rest of my family in danger, and making sure nothing hurts them is the exact reason I came out here in the first place." she said, somewhat surprised that she'd be called a philanthropist. True, it probably seemed more noble than the... baser choices of the goblin, but in the end her reasons were still selfish, just with a broader sense of self. Besides, if they did do something great, and get famous... it'd definitely help her chances of becoming Queen, should the current monarch die.

She eyed Kyra's statements with tilted head though. Rhaokin couldn't technically prove any of those were wrong, and she certainly didn't know enough about magic to definitively say anything on the matter, but they seemed like silly assertions to Rhao, at least.

What an unambitious creature, this goblin. It even tried to hedge its bets. Meanwhile, the valkyrie somehow harnessed wild speculation in the name of conservatism. Well, perhaps she'd slow down the others if they went for their failsafe.

Arj'atyn sneered at the plan - go in, see what happens!, - but was nonetheless hooked. Even the exact nature of their employer was secondary to the prospect of history in the making. (And yes, she envied the Kovarnis' fiscal independence. News to her, but still. Her own freedom would be the greater in the end.)

For now, 'Atyn was pleased to have some like-minded company. She met Rhaokin's glance as it passed. She set down her tea, rising to her full and not informidable height, almost matching the orc and towering over everyone else.

She licked her lips and resealed her maw. The ignorant observer might've thought it all pink gums and no sharp teeth. "Lead."

Tythirr, nodded grimly. "At least we've got some assurance we're not out of luck from the beginning. I'm in, of course." It wasn't as though she had a lot of practical options, and she had no intent of backing out.

Mrorgain let out an age-old sigh and smiled warmly. "Ha-hrrrm. Good. Very good!"

At that moment there came stumbling noises from the next room, and in the doorway appeared a human figure flanked on either side by a gnome. Balvadere, dejected, bandaged, and leaning on a tall crutch, hobbled into the light.

He took a slow look around, nodded, and faced the ground. "Thank you," he mumbled, "that is, thank the six of you, for saving my life. I owe you a great deal."

"And a great deal will we all owe to these," grumbled Mrorgain, her cheer gone, "before this is over. I hope that's the last time you go trying to sacrifice your hide, Bally, but past experience tells me different. You must stay here and rest while I give our company the send-off."

Balvadere bit his lip and turned away, mumbling under his breath. Hennip and Drinnip scrambled around him as he shuffled back out of the room.

Mrorgain gave a quiet chuckled and beckoned the party to her feet. "Nothing against humans, but they're a little too... heroic for my tastes. Yes, but I suppose that's why I hired the poker in the first place. Ha-ha! You mustn't worry about him, after he's fit to wield a sword again, Bally'll be right as a spring fiddle. But we mustn't risk waiting here any longer!" And so with a haste to her movements Mrorgain ushered the six off into a side-hall, where she cracked open six locks on a rusty old door and pulled a briefcase from the closet within. Then, instructing the party to collect their luggage, Mrorgain led them into what looked like an oversized dumbwaiter, and soon the seven felt a light sensation in their guts as the cabin dropped deep into the earth.

~~~



With a series of rustic clangs the elevator ground to a halt and its mesh doors swung open to reveal a vast cavern, lit by swarms of yellow light which fluttered like living things on the ceiling far above. Each cluster shone like a miniature sun, but still the edges of the cave remained cloaked in shadow. A path of grey brick meandered across the smooth stone floor.

Huffing in the heavy, frigid air, Mrorgain led the group along the road to a long, squat building on the other side of the cavern, capped with a sloping roof of ancient Huginnese design. Mrorgain pointed to an ornate brass plate atop the entry porch:

Station 38
Rantan and Ryjngao
Toll Rail to Kollavik, Fraad, Horlskik

"The prospectors had a grand setup down here a few decades ago," the dwarf whispered, tapping one of the dusty concrete posts. "Before we leave, I've some provisions for you. Keep quiet, now."

Mrorgain led the way inside. Broken tile clacked underfoot like the displaced scales of some dead thing, and rubble flickered in azure light from iron braziers set into the walls. The dwarf threw upon a dusty old closet and stumbled out with her arms full of trinkets.

"I've some masks for you," she proclaimed, "should the air prove hazardous, or the lights unreliable. Here." And for each of the six she found a prospector's helmet of the proper size, complete with respiratory mask and headlight. "The batteries on those should be working. If not, I've a few AX cells."

On the group went, treading carefully through the debris, until they arrived at a dilapidated old platform. On the tracks before them sat a bulky brass engine, shaped rather like a squatting toad; connected to it was a closed-cabin train car, a metal block of minimalistic design. Mrorgain climbed into the engine cabin and set to work at the controls. "Climb in, then, and I'll be with you after a moment!"

With the flick of a switch, the lights of the car flickered on, revealing a dusty interior with hard benches of red leather. Long wooden poles sprouted from the floorboards, and the windows smelled of cold earth.

There came a pathetic sputtering - rather like the chugging of an old gas engine, seeming toy-like on such a massive vehicle - and suddenly the cabin lurched into motion. The walls rattled at every tha-THUMP of the tracks as the station passed out of view, and outside of the windows there was only blackness.

The sliding-door at the front of the cabin squeaked open, and Mrorgain thrust her head into view. "Now," she muttered, slamming the door behind her, "Take a seat, and let's begin." She produced the case from the shack and clicked it open, revealing an impressive stack of papers, files, and envelopes. The dwarf flicked through and, finding a crisp, folded map, held it out for all to see.

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"Here are marked the locations of each drive, and the routes that our agents planned to take to retrieve them. I've included charts for the local areas, as well," Mrorgain breathed, holding out a smaller stack of parchment. "For guidance when you draw closer. You can decide among yourselves which path to take first; I'll answer any questions you have about the routes."

She placed a patient hand on the stack of papers. "And we've a long ride ahead of us, so ask away - about any aspect of this endeavor - and then I'll bring out a meal, and you may rest for the long days ahead."

Tythirr stood at the back of the elevator on the way down, taking the opportunity to surreptitiously sneak a pill from her pocket. By the time they reached their destination, her hands had quit feeling shaky, and she felt much better-adjusted to the dim light than she had before.

The stacks of papers were a good sign; good to see there was a large breadth of information they'd compiled, even if not all of the pieces of the puzzle were in place. She took a seat on the bench, glancing over the map.

"Well, based on proximity, it seems the Northern Waste would be the most logical place to start. We could charter a guide to get us close... of course, we'd need some more cold-weather gear than any of us likely have with us, so that'd add a bit of time and effort to getting started, but we'd have to do that part sooner or later anyway. From there, we could either return to base or cut through Tannarin and Jehd-Az-Akhr to get to the one in the Great Ocean. Mrorgain, I can't quite tell, is there supposed to be a small island under that X, or is the drive underwater?"

"The Northern Wastes, yes..." Mrorgain slid a folder from the stack and began flipping through it. "Yes, the last communication we had from Yiming's party was the morning before their launch from Icarus City. They were to travel on a dirigible, the Dorl Whale, which... mmrm, docked at Ninfolk Isle six days later, on its regular schedule. From the crew's reports we know that Yiming and company disembarked in the Northern Wastes, but after that we know nothing."

She tapped at a small color photograph. "Yiming was a fat old sea orc, traveling with a dwarf, two humans, and a vrana guide they hired in Tannarin. Icarus City, I'd assume. What?" Mrorgain looked up at Tythirr. "Oh, yes. Yes, no island there - hrrr, that we know of, I say. The Directory sent Hilge along with the finest sinkboat and scuba crew our treasury could buy. Yes, before you go there, be sure to take a look at this -" The dwarf held up a long sheet of bullet-pointed instructions. "For diving deep, in case you cannot procure an adequate guide. We have very specific coordinates for the drive, which in all probability has sunken to the bottom of the Ababa Gape."

"Well I'm always up for a nice swim." Kyra said jokingly before getting more serious. "I think it would be to our benefit to try and find the best route to hit all the drives with the least amount of travel, unless of course our intent is to return to a location after getting a drive."

A white helmet (elongated to accommodate a beak, but a snout would do) sat in Arj'atyn's lap. Both her hands rested atop. Their long fingers tapped out a rhythm, a faint clack-clack-clack against the plastic shell. She felt reluctant to weigh in; perhaps the party's first encounter had afflicted her with a case of neophobia.

"I do not envy your other employees..." considering their fates... "but no nereid could be hired? Still. We might send automata down, remotely piloted. Get them from Kollavik." Reconstructing and learning a new anatomy could hardly be more difficult than learning to scuba-dive.

"I would not contradict, but the Northern Wastes appear out of our way. Better to secure what we can now. And avoid mountains. From the Great Ocean, we might sail - better, fly, - to, ah, Nondescriptia. Then proceed east, as plotted."

Mrorgain nodded, brow creased in thought. "An, hrrm, an interesting proposal, to be certain. Yes, I advise against the nereid, for the simple reason that I cannot trust them, nor, indeed, can I trust any being outside our own circle."

She looked up as one of the tunnel-mounted lights streaked by, lighting the cabin for a brief instant. "For it sometimes seems the earth has ears!

"Yes," continued the dwarf, clasping her meaty hands together, "I care not how you obtain this code, nor whether you deliver them together or by unit, so long as you do." Mrorgain suffered a particularly nasal cough and wiped something onto her sleeve. "If you have the skill to operate these automata, lizardwoman, then one would only need the boat and a navigator. Yes, a simple alibi that should be to concoct; you might say you're searching, perhaps, for the survivors of one of the latest wrecks. Oh! That reminds me."

She fished a few papers from the folder and revealed them to be newspaper articles:
FISHERMAN'S STORY SPARKS CONSPIRACY THEORIES
ABABA OIL SPILL: ACCIDENT OR FOUL PLAY?
ZEPPELIN LOST OVER ABABA GAPE

"I'm sure you're familiar with the, hah, legendary status of that region, but here are a few clippings to supplement Hilge's own accounts. We heard nothing of her after the dive, and their boat... Hrrrm, here is the foul bit. Balvadere found their boat, or a boat near identical to it, docked safely back in Krr-Jikh later that week. He even found the guide they had taken, who seemed to remember nothing of Hilge or of the journey."

She rapped the papers with a chuckle. "Well, that is where you shall begin, I suppose, if you chase the Great Ocean drive first. Did I say the city was Krr-Jikh? Yes, Krr-Jikh, on the Jehd-Az-Akrhr's eastern peninsula. But I do not ask you to decide now - only soon! For we shall arrive at the station tomorrow morning, and there I shall put you up with an old friend of mine, who shall stuff you with resources for your quest. Ha-ha!"

With a clap of her mighty hands Mrorgain rose to her feet, barely on eye level with the sitting companions. "But now! I shall bring food and drink, and in the back there is a privvy-stall. Peek through those folders as you will, then!" And the dwarf bustled into the engine room and came back with baskets of hot sandwiches, cheeses, flaggons of soda, and pickled meats in tupperware.

Rhao had sat mostly quietly after her outburst, carrying the beak shaped mask in her hands as they went, and letting the others talk. She did share their sentiment for where to start, north, than east, than try the other continents, simple enough.

"I could... acquire, and operate, a small remote submersible." Rhaokin piped up at the implication of the lizardfolk doing so, when she knew she was the best suited for the job. In spite of the fact that, "Though, I will confess to never having needed to... I should be able to interface it with my command rig all the same, shouldn't be too hard, I'm sure they sell this kind of thing to somebody... treasure seekers, explorers... rescue personal." she added, after Mrorgrain's implication of a cover story.

"Though, if I may suggest, we avoid being too predictable. If indeed it is our plan to... ambush, our enemy, in certain respects..." Rhao began, before unceremoniously tilting her head back, and downing the entire flagon of chilled root beer, a fairly common tendency of the Vrana, "We may wish to... arrange, for fast moving, potentially off the record movements, and strike randomly. If we start taking them in a visible order, surely our enemies will catch wind and shore up their defenses. I might suggest we feint, in that regard. Take two, indicate a pattern, then act against it where they least expect."

Arj'Atyn remained oblivious to the offense taken by the more opinionated Kovarnis, assuming her to be restating the obvious, as was common. As to the challenges posed by the local anomalies - well, they merely lent credence to the idea that a genuine magical artifact hid below, slowly being crushed and degraded.

Idly, Atyn set aside her helmet to retrieve the pickled herring. She tested its aroma, concluding that she didn't have the stomach for cooked meat tonight, and might as well save her packed jerky for the next morning. The tupperware went back in the basket. It wasn't as if Mrorgain was the first dwarf to have no sense for beastfolk fare.

"Make the false plan explicit. It will be more reliable. But first, give specifics? Nondescriptia is logically between Spike and Ocean; our alternative is to go through Ninfolk Isle and North-Lights. A clear sequence of three."

The booming voice of the dwarf woman stomping in, and with it, the pungent smells of cheese, sodas, and pickled meats had taken the orc's dreary eye-lids and lifted them with an assault on the senses. Glenn, who was once bored and grown weary from the plotting of their course (he had only wanted to know where they were going to first, but wasn't signing on to the logistics of where actually made sense), had now been lifted from his half-asleep dozing. He eyed the savory gifts with a glimmer in his eyes and made no effort to hide his salivation upon its arrival. He pressed his palms together and bowed his head to Mrorgain in thanks before retrieving the bowl of pickled herring that Arj'Atyn had placed back in the basket and popped open its lid.

The salty, fishy smell filled his nose. He pinched a fillet and slurped it down.

"Can't say I've been too interested in this talk," Glenn inserted, "but one o' our friends is a Vrana businesswoman, so she's got money. Anotha' one, is uh... okay, I can't say I know a whole lotta 'bout Arj, but her home is on the way to the one in ocean."

Glenn scooped up a couple more fillets with his fingers and relished the moment of eating them and sucking the juices off his fingertips. He swallowed those down with an audible gulp. "So we got options, and - ah - resources! We don't gotta sweat a darn thing."

Tythirr took a sandwich and started absentmindedly eating the crust off it, largely ignoring the sandwich's actual contents. She didn't care terribly about which place she went to first, so long as they had a definite plan of attack; for security purposes, they were probably going to have to return to base after each trip anyway, and if not this base, then a different one. "Don't let your guard down too much, orc, our enemies are not to be trifled with. But, if our predecessors fell to traps before even reaching their destinations, I do imagine we'll get further than they did, at the very least. We're professionals here... right? I mean, I only know two people here personally. Perhaps we should, eh, introduce ourselves, make note of what skills we've got at our disposal? If we knew a bit more about what we've got, that'd help."

She made the conscious decision to shut up there. The pills made her feel better, but even at the low dose, those were still military-grade stimulants, and they had a tendency to make her ramble.

Mrorgain listened with interest while the company began their discussion, but after several minutes politely excused herself to the engine room. Truthfully the route was not as safe as she had claimed; on several rides the past few months, boulders or fallen support posts had lain across the tracks, and only quick thinking and constant vigilance had prevented disaster. So Mrorgain watched the tunnels in front of the engine as it chugged swiftly along, listening to the chatter from the cabin.

The dwarf did not remember closing her eyes, but after a time she found herself roused from an unfortunate doze. Something had pressed through her dream. Mrorgain shot bolt upright and, eyes bulging, grabbed wildly for the lever by her right hand. She pulled hard; the train screeched in protest and slowly, too slowly, ground to a halt.

For a figure had appeared on the tracks, dark and shapeless against the blaring headlight of the engine car, but moving quickly through the tunnel. Mrorgain sat for a moment after the cabin stopped, not daring to blink or breathe. Yet after a long moment there was no sign of whatever she had seen, and she exhaled with frustration. Damned self. I must've been half asleep still.

With a curse, Mrorgain fiddled with the controls. The gears strained and the great engine spluttered, but the train did not move. The dwarf fell a fist onto the control board and sprang from her chair.

"Miss Kovarnis," she growled, red face huffing, "and anyone else who knows a thing about mechanics, come with me! Something's wrong with the car."

"Yes. Introductions," Atyn acquiesced. A break from the planning would do them all some good, disappointing though it was. A pity Mrorgain had vanished. But it was not as if the present context would impede evasiveness. The mage decided to begin.

"I am Arj'atyn." She emphasized the precise articulation of the screech-grunt/sigh. "To say it simply: my reach goes past the rest of me. In a fight, I prefer to mitigate risk." She gestured towards the corner containing her four-legged proxies, like clingy luggage which had materialized in at some point. "Our foes are... similar, in their way. Here lies my usefulness."

~~~

The train's old brakes, although inefficient in their intended role, endcapped the introductions quite suddenly. Atyn was not being addressed - she knew nothing about mine trains. Still, she'd half-twisted about in her seat to face their flustered employer, regarding the proceedings with growing concern.

“I am Glenn!" The orc announced triumphantly as he raised his mug into the air. “Glenn Mardigras Gopunk! From the mighty Gopunk family! Soon to take the reins and be named undertaker of our funeral home, and bear the mantle of our crest!”

And slammed his mug back onto the table, leaning forward and made a toothy grinned with inebriated eyes to Arj'atyn. “And I ain't be too bad wit' a barbie and rack o' ri-- hic...! and rack o' ribs either.”

It was clear as day that the orc was drunk off his rockers from the gifts that Mrorgain’s company had given them, and he had every intention if indulging himself when given the opportunity. The smell of ale was thick on his breath, and sobriety was a distant dream. Needless to say, he wasn’t in the rightest mind. But even in his stupor, there was certainly something to be said for a guileless and friendly brute such as himself. His introduction shone a mighty pride, and perhaps hinted he wasn’t as witless as he may appear if it were true he was soon to be the funeral director of his family’s business – and maybe even humble, as he failed to mention his prowess in fighting and magic as he had shown during the skirmish only previously that night.

Or perhaps he was just so intoxicated, it might be best to disregard everything he said tonight. Only time will tell.

When Mrorgain came back to share the bad news of their train car, a solemn air filled the room – or perhaps this was just in Glenn’s perception, and he let it linger just moments longer for him to break it and be the beacon that his newfound friends needed!

“Hey-ey! Turn that frown upside down!” Glenn beamed. “As it just so happens, we got ourselves an expert on this sort of thing!”

He flared his arms out, and one open hand was aimed at the Vrana mechanic. Surely, she’d know what to do. But this gesture was unintentional on Glenn’s part, and instead, he slapped the hand aimed at the Vrana onto his own chest. “Me! I sure love trains, lemme – hic! – lemme take a, uh... a good look at that car. Yeah!”

Arj'atyn deliberated upon her choice of words in reply to the undertaker's suggestion. Her countenance was presently scrunched into some sort of lippy grimace, in imitation of how humans and their ilk expressed puzzlement, disgust, and/or constipation.

Even those with a weaker olfactory sense would not, perhaps, blame her. (Those familiar with the breakdown products of alcohol might feel a sympathetic dread of next morning.)

"No."

Mrorgain let out a laugh like a foghorn, ending in another fit of choking. She stabilized her bulk against a railing. "Nnn, ha, ha, haven't you flushed a little much down your pipe, Glenn? Ha! We want this thing moving, in one piece, we do!

"But - ha, hhhhk - no matter. Harumm." Stroking her chin, she clomped from the cabin, voice echoing into the darkness that swallowed up the world outside of the car. "I'll see to it, then. Most likes a sprigget came loose, or a whatchit, you know how they are... Now then, let's just - eh?"

There followed a queer silence, where not even the beating of one's own heart could be heard, only a ringing in the ears, a noise that had always been there but was till now covered up by others. A moment passed. Perhaps there was a movement in the darkness outside, and -

CLONG. Something large butted into the cabin, rattling its rails and cracking the window; a very dwarvish curse was quick to follow.