Private Granite

[Kla Verun]

By the time the three men, far too large for the meager tunnel to properly accommodate, reached the wideneng end which emptied out into the Bloodvein, only Kla was keeping his composure with any success. Josef and Rudol were both pale, drenched in sweat both from the heat of the earth's embrace and the stress of confinement. When at least there was enough room to maneuver, both men found respective areas to empty their guts of breakfast and catch what stifling breath they could.

Verun gave them their moment of peace. For cocksure humans who'd been convinced this would be a simple task, they'd performed to his specifications thus far. Reprieve was reward, and they'd be no good to him in any less of a state.

The Deva himself wrapped his fingers around the old metal bars of the grate in front of him, crimson eyes dilating as he peered through the darkness and into the chamber beyond. Bloodvein was an accurate moniker for this place; Kla was almost surprised he didn't see the domed ceiling of the cave swelling and receding with breath, the stone ribcage stretching to accommodate it's new visitors, welcome or otherwise.

When this mine was in it's prime, this certainly would be considered the heart of the operation. Even now, his mind played a slow rhythmic beat against his eardrums, a heartbeat that should be here.

These dwarves, huddled around a table carved out of night... they belonged here. That much was easy enough to see. In the metaphorical anatomy of these old, weathered mines, Kla and his men were the invasive disease, slowly creeping their way toward the most vital point, readied to snuff out what little flame remained within.

"Finally, there's our marks boys." Rudol had regained himself, and knelt beside Verun with a smirk on dry and cracked lips. "Hardy lookin' bunch, but they don't see us coming, and there ain't as many as I'd worried." The sound of Josef coughing the las of his nerves free of his throat and shimmying his way to their rear echoed a bit louder than Kla would have liked, but the Dwarves were too engaged in their debate to catch the brief sound. He hoped, anyways. "What's the move, boss?" Josef muttered, certainly less enthusiastic than his partner, but with a hand on the handle of his knife nonetheless.

Kla opened his mouth to answer, but remained silent.

“Told ye not tae send folk back up! Ye think the cunts above’ll come down here ta’ talk? That bastard bitch has coin an’ killers!”

Something about the way the Dwarves spoke bothered him. Not to anger, but to pause. They had an advantageous position, the element of surprise, and a solid exit plan. Those tools should be more than enough to allow him to put this rebellion down. After all, was it not he who'd waved off the lives of a few cantankerous dwarves in the name of a job well done? So why was it her voice that now rang in the back of his head?

“How tragic... to inherit only hatred when there are so many better heirlooms... One would hope you were more of your own man than that."

Wordlessly, Kla pushes the iron grate open and emerges out into the chamber, forgoing any notion of a stealthy approach or surprise attack. Stammering, Rudol barks up at him, "H-hey, what the hell?!" The Devahni looks back, offering only a shrug before stepping further out into the open.

"You're right. The bastard does have a killer. Though if you find yourselves willing to talk, I'd find myself willing to hear you."

Lysanne wasn't going to be happy, but then it was her words than had made him reconsider.

@Lysanne Shard

 

[Lysanne Shard]

The moment Kla's voice echoed off the stone, the effect was instant. The dwarves froze. Tools dropped. Metal scraped. The talking cut off like a throat slit. Callous, big hands creeping toward weapons.

“The fuck’s this now?” Brunn stood slowly, his hand on his weapon. “You one o’ hers?” His voice was a growl. A blade the size of a cleaver thudded into the rock near Kla’s feet, thrown with enough force to crack stone. From the scaffolds above, two dwarves armed with short bows nocked arrows, string creaking. “Talk? You want to talk, eh? You think we’re negotiatin’ now, this far in?”

“Poor bastard doesn’t even know.” said the female dwarf, she did not sound angry.

“You should’ve stayed in the dark, lad.”

“Talk about what, boy?” muttered Brunn, taking a slow step forward. “ You want to sit down, draw up a contract? Maybe get us a pension? You gonna offer us a pardon? A plaque?” A low, humourless laugh passed through the dwarves. He spat. “We’ve had talks. That’s what brought us here.”

“When you crawl back up, how will you make the bitch even listen?" Asked a younger dwarf with a short beard, he spread his arms wide, voice rising. “You’ve got no weight. No power. Just the cunt's coin and a lantern.” he pointed out.

The dwarves did not charge. Not yet. They encircled, their heavy boots scraping against the rock, positioning themselves in formation. These weren’t drunken miners, these were veterans of collapses and uprisings. A voice hissed from somewhere in the shadows. "Cut ‘em off from the tunnel.”

 

[Kla Verun]

Kla froze as the blade speared the ground between his feet, muscles tensing like a drawn bow. The shroud burned beneath his skin, yearning to unfurl, wings of havoc waiting to fly.

Instead, he exhaled slowly, a sigh laced with disappointment and the faintest flicker of relief, as the dwarves closed in, a noose of iron and ash tightening around him. He should have known better. Diplomacy was a fool’s play, coming from him. His father had taught him the lesson: A man born for bloodshed has no business wearing the face of peace.

A subtle glance toward the alcove-- Josef and Rudol were gone. Fallen back or found darker shadows. Cowards, maybe. Or just smarter than him.

Perhaps Rudol had been right. This might be a mistake.

But so were the sons of stone who circled him now.

Because Kla Verun didn’t break under pressure. He cracked the earth around him.

"You lash your tongues at me in anger and desperation," he said, calm and measured. Then, a theatrical raise of his hands, a mockery of surrender. His gaze dropped briefly to the cracked stone beneath his boots. "But let’s not forget..."

His voice deepened, iron sinking into the cave’s still air.

"I was sent to silence you. And I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think I could."

Even surrounded, outnumbered by desperate hands and desperate hearts... The Magitech sewn to his back would ensure that he was not alone in death, should they break their circle and attack him. Those stones pulsed faintly, a quiet promise of violence yet to come. If they lunged... they would not lunge unscathed.

His gaze swept across the grim faces before him, the firelight catching in his eyes like embers on steel. "Maybe I don’t know the full depth of your misery. Maybe I don’t care to. But I do know this... Even if you manage to kill me, Lysanne will send another. And another after that. Until there’s no one left down here to bleed. Whether by my blade, the next, or your own slow starvation..."

He let the silence stretch, like a noose tightening.

"You've already been sentenced. What I seek to offer is a chance to escape that sentencing. Your only chance."
@Lysanne Shard

 

[Lysanne Shard]

Just as the final escape route was about to be sealed, as the ore bucket creaked above, poised to fall, and the dwarf named Brunn shifted his footing, half a second from striking, a voice cut split the chamber, like a landslide breaking loose down a mountainside.

"Hold."

Every dwarf halted.
The arrows didn’t fly. The chain-flail stilled.
Even Brunn, veins bulging at the temple, halted mid-step.

From the far end of the Bloodvein chamber, between a pair of rust-caged support beams, a dwarf stepped forward, lantern light catching in the salt-silver of her beard and the glinting rings in her ears. She wasn’t armored like a war-chief. No helm, no steel. Just a worn leather miner’s coat, darkened by years of dust and blood.

Kaella Greythane
The elected speaker of the strikers.

“Lower your weapons."
Stone shifted. Metal lowered.
A blade was pulled back.
A bowstring relaxed with a silent sigh.
One could feel how the chamber leaned backward, holding itself.

“Most men that wear The Bastard’s coin don’t ask questions." Kaella strode forward with the patience of something inevitable. Eyes like tiger iron fixed on Kla.

“We’ve buried envoys before. One wore velvet. One wore armor. Neither left with their legs. But you came quiet. So..." She nodded once toward the thick stone table. Their meeting place. "Let’s hear what you’ve got to offer.”

 

[Kla Verun]

His words fell on deaf ears, it seemed.

The dwarves weren't in the mood for negotiations, and Verun wasn't inclined to let them brandish their weapons towards him for much longer. Would the hardy little bastards put him in the ground? It was likely, he'd admit, but not without losing more of their own than they could afford.

Still, Kla was never one to bet on anybody but himself. It was lucky, then, that a voice of reason cut trough the tension before he'd laid down his wager.

"Lower your weapons."

There was no hesitation, no pause to contemplate. The blades lowered, the bows slackened at the command. Kla's hand ceased its subtle trip to the dagger on his belt; whoever had given the command had likely spared him some nasty wounds and most of his blood.

He'd try to take that into consideration.

"I haven't asked a question yet." Kla spoke as he turned to look at whom the voice came from. A woman had emerged from the far end of the chamber, and the temperament of the entire mine seemed suddenly under her command. She was far from feminine, even by dwarven standards, with wiry hairs on her jaw, a dusty old relic of a coat, and a face that bore the weight of time and experience.

A leader, if he'd ever seen one.

"But since you're so kind to offer me the chance..." Kla took a careful step toward the table, continuing only when he was certain he wouldn't be fired upon. "What would you say to the idea that I could make your departure from Bloodvein a profitable one?" Lysanne had hired him to route out the Dwarves, but now that he'd seen them, Verun wondered if perhaps he hadn't stumbled onto the solution to another of his problems.

"I want you gone, Lysanne wants you dead. So before we continue..." Verun leaned against the stone table, crossing his arms over his bare chest. "What is it that you want?"

@Lysanne Shard