Trust-not-the-devils Bortiz spat in the air and watched it freeze. The frozen glob arced down the slope, and shattered on a rock with a sharp 'plick'-ing sound.
Spit freeze was one of the most popular pastimes in Fimble, competing with a select few others such as 'snot freeze,' 'getting your foot unstuck from the ice,' and 'surviving the night on three logs and a prayer.'
If you were really unfortunate and it got very cold, as it often did on days ending in a -y, you might find yourself having to play the less-popular and very unpleasant sport of 'piss freeze.' That one only had to be explained once to outsiders before they usually nodded, smiled in that way that very horrified people did, and got the hell out of Fimble as soon as possible.
Getting the hell out of Fimble had once been one of the most popular pastimes in Fimble as well, but... well, things had changed recently.
“Cold one tonight,” Khankiller Rogon said, trudging down the path and nodding to Bortiz as he went. “Need to borrow my sheep again Tinty?”
A lot of people from outside Fimble often said that 'borrowing' sheep was the top favorite pastime in Fimble. This statement was often made with a knowing look, and a dirty chuckle after the word 'borrowing'.
This was an insinuation that often led to a pastime that would be the most fun one in Fimble if it were more common, which was the pastime of throwing dirty-minded liars off mountains and watching them try to bounce when they hit the ground. Except the people who said that about Fimble were smart enough not to come to Fimble and say it, so the fact of the matter was that the pastime was pretty rare. Which was a pity because people who got bounced off the ground from a mountain might have money or stuff that they wouldn't need after they were spread across the bottom of the gorge, and that some enterprising young Fimble-ite might put to a better purpose. Like playing 'get the hell out of Fimble now that you can afford to do so.'
“I think I'm good,” Trust-not-the-devils Bortiz told Khankiller Rogan. “Got a nice shell of ice around my shack this morning. Should hold all the heat inside, I'll make do with what I got.”
The truth of the matter was that the reason people in Fimble brought sheep inside and slept with them was because they were fuzzy and warm. There weren't any squicky shenanigans that happened with said sheep, especially when you were shuddering from cold and trying to survive the long dark winter of thursday evening.
Besides, spit wasn't the only bodily fluid that froze in the frigid climate.
And THAT lovely thought was yet another tally that kept “Getting the hell out of Fimble” as the number one most favorite pastime in Fimble.
“Alright Tinty,” Rogon nodded, his braided beard crackling and losing an icicle as he shook. “You change your mind, I'm your shepherd.”
Trust-not-the-devils Bortiz really, really hated being called Tinty, but when you were in a place where death was ever-present, and sometimes really, really fast, he could accept the shortening of his name now and again.
So he let it go. And once Rogan was down the path, Bortiz resumed his upward trudge.
He had one job in Fimble. A lot of pastimes, but only one job. And only one job. Bortiz was a Miner. That was what he liked doing, that was his lot in life, and he had no aspirations to be anything else.
Especially after the coup, a few years ago. That had validated his life choices, and it was kind of satisfying to be right for once.
It was rare that Bortiz felt satisfied. So he held onto that, while the cold wind blew and he shivered under his fur coats. He'd only brought four layers today, and he was kicking himself for that now.
Still, Bortiz knew that he wouldn't be up here for long. A quick check, and then he'd be able to retreat back to the inn for the rest of the day. He was already looking forward to engaging in Fimble's second-most popular pastime!
It was a good dream. A noble dream.
A dream that shattered like frozen spit on the rocks as he hauled himself up to the hard-to-reach ledge above the trail, and stared at a blue, steaming hunk of rock and ice and crystal.
Damn it.
Now he was actually going to have to work.
Bortiz tugged on a third layer of gloves over the two he hand on already, took a few deep breaths, and dug his pick out of its sheath. The leather crinkled as the metal stuck for a second, and the Miner held his breath. If it tore then he'd be days trading for material to repair it. He couldn't afford that right now, nobody in Fimble could really.
But after a few seconds, the leather pulled free from the cold, cold metal and Bortiz sighed in relief. Immediately the vapor of his breath froze and pattered to the ground, but he was used to that and took no notice as he gripped the handle of the pick and moved up next to the node.
A breath.
Two.
Then he lifted the pick high over his head, focused on the weakest-looking part of the node, and brought it down with all his might—
“Oh my golly, what are you doing there?”
Trust-not-the-devils Bortiz screamed, jumped sideways, tumbled to the ground, chipped a hunk of rock from the lump that flew past him and almost took his eye out as it went, and ended up in a heap on the ice. With a sudden, horrible feeling he realized that he was sliding, sliding on that ledge, heading toward the edge with an increasing momentum...
...only to be caught by small, strong hands as a blue-skinned woman smiled down at him, reassuringly. “None of that now!” she said, pulling him back by his ankles until he was on firmer ground.
LUCK+1
It took Bortiz a moment to collect himself. He'd come that close to death.
But eventually his nerves calmed. Just another day in Fimble, more or less.
Except there was a blue lady now. Why was there a blue lady?
“I think perhaps you are lost?” Bortiz said, finding his tongue, finally. Something was off about her, moreso than her skin color, which wasn't too far out of the range of oddness. The village occasionally saw snow elves passing through, and some of them were blue or bluish. So it wasn't her skin. Or her strength, either. You had to be strong to get up here in the first place.
“Oh no, I am right where I should be,” She smiled and tossed her white ponytail back with a quick motion of her head, as the wind tried to tease it loose.
And Bortiz realized what was off about her.
She wasn't wearing a hat. Or a hood. Or anything to cover her scalp. Her hair, by rights, should be an ice sculpture now. But it wasn't.
“It is strange to see such magic up here,” Trust-not-the-devils Bortiz said, easing to his feet and taking his pick in his hand, holding it casually, as casually as he could. “You must be a skilled spellcaster.”
“What do you mean?”
It was either a spell or she was some kind of devil. “Are you not cold?” He asked, looking her up and down.
She was wearing furs. But it looked like only a single layer, if he was any judge of the matter. And there was no hat.
“Oh yes. Ah, did you mean that my spellcasting kept me warm?”
“Something of the sort.”
“If that is so, then the answer is yes, definitely.” She grinned, widely. “I have great elemental powers.”
Bortiz felt relief. He didn't fancy his odds going up against a devil with just a mining pick. He'd left his big knife back at home... though to be honest he didn't fancy the odds with the big knife much more. He was much comfier with an angry mob behind him. There was something comforting about the warmth of torches at your back and sides, and the hot air from a whole lot of your friends yelling at the devil who needed burning.
“Are you sure you are well?” She asked. “You are doing very much staring, oh yes.”
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“Sorry. We get few visitors. Especially great elemental mages.” He coughed, and eyed the node. “I have to do a little work here. It'll be a few hours.”
“What, for that thing?”
“That thing is harder than iron,” Bortiz said, sighing. “And there are more like it up the path. If this node is here, then the others are up, too.”
“Nodes? Up?”
“It was different in my father's day,” Bortiz shrugged. “When you mined you had to dig out big holes in the earth, and hunt the veins of metal and crystal where it lay in the darkness.”
“Yes, that is how mining works, is it not?”
“It is not.” Bortiz sighed. “Once every week or two THAT—” he pointed at the node, “appears somewhere on this ledge or near it. It sits there, until I whack it enough times with THIS—” he hefted the pick. “And then it falls apart into crystals that I must gather for the tallyman. And after I have done that, I must go higher up the mountain and do that for the rest of the nodes that are somewhere up there. All while hoping that the creatures of the mountain are not nearby. It takes hours, and I am sorry, but I must start now if I wish to finish before death.”
“Before death? You will die here if you are not fast?”
“I would say before nightfall, but it and death are one and the same, really,” Bortiz shrugged.
“Perhaps I can help you, oh beleaguered Miner!”
Bortiz wasn't sure whether 'bee laggard' was an insult or a compliment. But she was smiling.
“Well, if you shared some of your elemental magic with me, it sure would help,” he nodded. “If you can keep me warm I'll move faster. And if I move faster then I can finish quicker, and be back to the village before things get bad.”
“Hm... it is not so much warmth, that I can grant you, but I can keep the wind from chilling you. Is that perhaps enough of an aid?”
“Anything's something,” Bortiz said. Then he squinted. “This ah, this wouldn't cost me anything, right? No obligations to my firstborn? No getting to chop off my head later, as payment?”
“What? No! Merely the goodness of my heart, effendi!” Her grin was whiter than the surrounding snow.
“Then sure, I guess,” he said, keeping an eye on her warily.
“Manipulate Air,” she snapped her fingers and the wind stopped.
Mostly.
He could still hear it, high against the peak, and see flakes blow almost horizontally on the higher plateaus. But around himself, at least, the wind was silent.
Oddly enough, her hair was still twisting, still constantly in motion. Maybe she let it affect her, slightly? It was magic, and he didn't understand it, and he decided to not ask.
It was a little less cold with the wind off him, and Bortiz set to attacking the node with his pick. Time after time he brought the metal ringing down on the rock and ice, watching slight flecks knock loose.
And then, with a dramatic tone and a sudden motion, the entire node collapsed into a heap of glittering crystal.
Your Mining skill is now level 74!
“Gemsifter,” Bortiz muttered, as he knelt down and started poking through the shards.
The woman crouched down next to him. Weirdly near. There was an odd sweet and spicy smell this close, and he stared at her uneasily, before shaking his head and resuming his sifting.
“Now what are you doing?” she asked.
“Getting the most crystal I can out of this. The more I give the Tallyman the less he bothers me.”
“The Tallyman?”
“Yeah, he's new. Gets too worked up about things.” Bortiz gathered up the shards that looked promising and slipped them into his pouch before they could freeze to the icy ground. “Okay. Now I have to find the next node.”
“I'll help you look,” she said, and floated up into the air.
Bortiz was glad she had told him she was a spellcaster. That was a spirit trick all right! Or worse, a devil trick.
Midway up the slope, though, it occurred to him that she hadn't said anything when she floated up. Just sort of did it.
That might be a devil thing. He didn't know. The whole situation was sketchy, and beyond his control. But he figured that if she had malice in mind she would strike before he was done.
It also occurred to him that he couldn't push her off the mountain if things got bad, which was his usual way of dealing with troublesome things. She'd just fly back.
Like she did now, zooming back through the dull iron sky to touch down near him. “I have found one!”
“Oh yeah? Lead on.”
He followed her upslope. She had to circle back a few times when she went too far ahead, and he watched her mouth shift and set with what looked like impatience. A silent snow swirled down from above as they went, as the storm he'd been smelling for days finally struck.
The storm wasn't as much of a concern right now as she was, however.
Why is she doing this? Bortiz wondered.
But she led him to what was definitely the second node in his routine, and he set to mining it with a grunt.
It was easier with the wind off him.
However, as he mined, he caught a sound off to the right, where the slope dipped, and the northward path wound down from the higher plateau.
PER+1
Just a sound, just a scraping like feet picking their way across icy stone. Large feet. With very large claws.
“I think we've got trouble!” Trust-not-the-devils Bortiz whispered to the woman. “Something large is coming. Get ready to run... ah, fly, I guess.”
“Oh? How can you tell?” she looked around, innocently.
“Can't you hear it?”
“No,” she said, louder, her voice rising. “I definitely can not hear anyone SNEAKING UP ON US WHO SHOULD KNOCK IT OFF IMMEDIATELY!”
Her voice echoed from the high peaks.
Bortiz froze.
The wind itself seemed to pause.
“See?” the woman said, grinning. Her smile almost seemed wider than her mouth. “Nothing there—”
An enormous, dark shape lunged at her.
Bortiz staggered back, gripped his pick, readied to try and save her...
...and a smaller, leaner, but just-as-dark shape crashed into the first one, carried it right over the blue-skinned woman's head, and over the edge of the cliff nearby.
“Gah!” Bortiz said, pointing with a trembling hand. “Th-th-th... look out!”
“Hm? Oh.” The woman headed over to the ledge and squinted over it. “No worry. Manipulate Air. There! Now I will keep it from coming back over the edge.”
“There's two of them!”
“Really?” she frowned. “Are you certain? I see only one enemy down there.”
“Well... no, not really,” Bortiz confessed. His eyes could have been playing tricks on him. It had all happened so fast, after all.
“Then don't worry about it! Tap fast, and I shall see about finding more nodes once you are done.”
The woman was true to her word, and she did just that. With her help, and without having to deal with the cold wind that sapped his strength, he was finished well before nightfall.
She followed him on the path back to the village, settling to the ground and walking as they drew nearer. “It looks much different from this angle,” she chattered as they went.
“I am Trust-not-the-devils Bortiz, by the way. Who are you?” he asked, remembering that he didn't even know her name.
“Oh, of course! Golly, I forgot to tell you. I am... ah... Atoppa Stone.”
“Well met, then,” Bortiz said, holding the door to the inn open for her. “May all the kingdoms of the world forget about you.”
“Excuse me?” she said, glancing back as she moved inside.
“It is a proper Fimble blessing, milady!” Innkeeper Ramuz boomed from his place behind the bar. “Many come here to be forgotten. Especially by kings, and other troublesome things.”
“Ah!” Atoppa's eyes lit up as she looked the burly, bronze-skinned man up and down and offered a too-big grin. “Blessings to you and your house, oh honorable hostelier!”
“And to thee, oh wise wanderer of the wastes! What brings you to my humble house?”
“Hardly humble oh honorable hostelier, but a peaceful palace amongst perilous peaks, most pluperfect and prosperous!”
“I don't understand what is going on,” Bortiz said, looking from one to another, getting more confused by the second.
Ramuz stroked his braided beard. “Shall we pause this contest for the sake of politeness to my patron?”
“Absolutely, auspicous alliterator!”
“Ooh, good one!” Ramuz smiled. “I'll explain later, Bortiz. The usual?”
Now things were back on firmer ground. “Yes please! And one for her.” Bortiz stabbed a gloved finger at his new friend.
She hadn't tried to kill him, and in Fimble that was a pretty sturdy foundation for friendship.
“So,” he asked, as the pair of them sat down at the rickety table next to the fireplace, and he felt his outer layers of fur thaw and start to lose stiffness, “why are you here?”
“I am here to spread the good word,” she said, smiling, and her eyes taking on the light of fervor. “Tell me, have you heard of our lady Anjuuta, and the great black dragon who is her prophet on Generica?”