Interlude – Of Something Typical That Becomes The Seed Of An Adventure
The sharp sound of metal echoes through the tunnel today, as it does every day.
Down and down they go, deeper and deeper into the ground, seeking the metal they desire.
Human and dwarf miners, diggers of all races, break the rocks with pickaxes, tunneling deeper below the mountain.
Treasure is what they seek: gold and silver and jewels sleeping beneath the earth. It’s not so farfetched to imagine they could become rich as lords overnight.
“Just about makes me feel like an adventurer,” someone jokes, and the men all laugh boisterously.
“Hope we don’t see no monsters down here.”
“It ain’t monsters who live this far down. Be more worried about Dark Gods and the like.”
Another chorus of laughter. They can’t forget the battle five years earlier; the best they can do is laugh it off.
What is life but an accumulation of days, after all? And can you really call it living if you don’t enjoy those days?
Maybe you didn’t find anything yesterday, but there’s always today. If today doesn’t work out, there’s tomorrow. And then the day after that.
The men knew well that the discovery of a vein of gold demands an accumulation of days.
Furthermore, finding gold is not the end of the matter. Next comes the digging. The delightful work of digging out the gold awaits you.
The miners have no time for gloom; in a way, they bear a burden of their own.
Think about it: without them, the nobles’ sparkling jewelry or the coins that change hands in the marketplace wouldn’t exist.
We are the ones who support the kingdom. It’s an encouraging thought in even the most grueling of endeavors.
There are those working so they can send money home, while others labor to repay the debt for some crime they committed. Others save their money, harboring a foolish dream of becoming adventurers; others still are earning something to support them on the road.
Not that anyone cares a whit about where these people come from or why. The only question is whether they do a good day’s work, and they all know it. Be you a criminal or the third son of a noble, in the hole, it doesn’t matter, as long as you can dig.
“Right, boys, how about we call it a day?”
“You said it!”
They dig from dawn till dusk, not that one can tell time down below. A great bell booms out from above; that’s how they know it’s the end of the workday.
There’s a general hubbub as everyone works their way out of the mine, tools laid across shoulders.
“Hrm?” one miner mutters, his pickax dug into the face of the wall.
“Somethin’ the matter?”
“Wait up. It’s stuck on something…”
He pulls as hard as he can. When he frees the ax, however, the end is missing.
In its place is a viscous black ooze, one thread of it still hanging down to the earth.
The miner looks at it vacantly. An instant later, the black goop explodes.
It covers the miner from head to toe; he struggles but can say nothing as it suffocates him.
“Ngah! Wh-what the—!”
“What happened? What’s going on?!”
The shouting attracts other miners who had almost been out of the pit.
Maybe it would have been better if they had kept going and not turned around. Although who knows if that would have been the wiser choice?
The first thing they notice as they get back into the mine is the stomach-turning stench of burning flesh. The black liquid is eating through the covered miner, steaming as it goes. The unfortunate victim literally melts away before their eyes, until he’s nothing more than a gleaming skeleton.
“This… This might be a man-eating Blob! I’ve heard about them!”
“Run! It’s dangerous!”
Some of the men cling to their pickaxes, the source of their livelihoods, as they flee; others simply cast them aside.
The black goop keeps bubbling up out of the ground, crawling after them.
How many will it claim before they reach the surface…?
The dice of Fate and Chance are utterly without mercy.
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