With every strike, the ground roared in pain. With every breath, the air trembled in anticipation. Where sweat fell, it burned holes in the rock next to my feet.
As I triggered abilities through well-trained muscle memory, my pick became a tool that obliterated the endless wall of stone in front of me. The rock and minerals turning to shards, sucked into the pouch on my left thigh. The ore and coal pulled from the stone had the same fate, but found their home in the pouch on my right.
This was my life: every foot of ground cleared, every pathway made, every trench created was the truth of my life. My purpose here and now is to mine and quarry. I am a machine made from muscle and blood, honed through over two decades of growth.
Repeating this mantra through my head, I kept working through my tasks. Despite the protest, or silent gawking, of the elements around me I had no plans to stop.
Today was the seventh day of my shift and the last before the three day rest.
My plan was to earn every inch, even pound, every ton of ore I could for my employers before the day ended so my rest would remain peaceful and uninterrupted. This was my way, and this would continue to be my way.
Vague memories of my childhood living in the city ran across my eyelids sometimes, but ever since apprenticing age this was my life.
It was what we all expected: as we turned from kids to teens, we’d start to learn our roles and jobs in society. The work we’d do and value we’d contribute to society. For me? It was hard labor. But it was also good labor.
I suppose it helped that I had always known what was in store for me… Strong back, wide shoulders, more muscle than my peers, and the soft golden shine of my skin. The small golden horns poking out of my skull, right next to my temples, were the final nail in that coffin.
No, no. An Orellan child would never work anywhere else but the mines, a smithy, or the accursed pits. And the pits weren’t any place for a well-behaved Orellan boy.
Our race isn’t proud, nor greedy, and certainly not wise. We’re a people who enjoy labor, using the tough skin and supreme strength gifted to us naturally. Some might complain we’d maybe rather use it for an honest wage instead of the shackles we wea, but those thoughts are for others to whisper over the fires at night. Me? I’m content with my lot in life.
As I paused my work to stretch for a moment, my eyes brushed across the prompt from the Scribe I still had open. Seeing it, I couldn’t help but smile.
Some felt resentful of the Scribe and its gifts, and blamed it for the shackles we wore. But me? I suppose I enjoy flirting with it, chasing the “achievements” and “feats” it offers.
At this point I’ve probably spent more time with it than my fellow workers… hmm. Something to think about. But, at least I’m not talking to myself! Anyway.
I suppose I’m fine with the Scribe and my relationship to it. I mean, it’s thanks to the Scribe I am where I am today. Being the top miner in our group and having the highest level among us didn’t come from thin air. No, I was willing to play the Scribe’s games.
Others content themselves with boredom, or the music of their pick hitting stone, but me? I find solace in every quest I go on for the Scribe. This many weeks beneath the surface, that power is all that keeps us alive from the monsters and other hazards down here. It’s foolish not to grasp what we can.
Without my levels, would I have survived the encounters I’ve had? Probably not. The Skittergrasps and Rocksouls were among the most minor threats down here. Every level is more resilience, more strength, and the ability to work faster and for longer. That’s what matters.
That prompt… It’s the pending culmination of over two decades of my work. An achievement series I’ve finally almost completed.
Achievement progress: Dedication to the deep stone (25/25)
1. 64,811 / 50,000 hours toiling under the surface. Requirements met
2. 999,107 / 1,000,000 pounds of ore mined by hand.
Reading the numbers, I could taste how close I was. The final reward for the series would be mine next week, and hopefully it would be worth the blood I’d spent on it. Whether it was an ability, or maybe a spell! Or… anything that made life safer down here would be great.
I know I’ll miss working towards it every day, but any good goal can be achieved some day. I’ll just have to find something new to work towards.
Knowing I wouldn’t hit it today, I dismissed it and found my eyes running across my status before I could stop them.
Name Mavoroe Clanless Race Orellan Class None (Bound Slave) Level 67
Body Advancement: Tier 2 3rd stage (★★★☆) - Seeking, Mythril, Blind Class Refinement: None N/A
Abilities [Brace], [Sprint], [Parry], [Earth Sense], [Dark Vision], [Burdened], [Flora Sense], [Water Sense], [Ore Song], [Static Stride], [Mountain Shatter], [Thousand Second Breath], [Analyze Integrity], [Reduce Noise], [Scurry], [Tunneling Gaze] Spells N/A
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My eyes lingered on “Bound Slave” as they always did, blinding me. The constant reminder that I'm a slave for the kingdom. Classless, unable to earn the favor of the gods, and having to earn our abilities.
Having a class meant someone was their own person under the eyes of the gods. By this divine decree slaves could not be given classes, forcing us to earn everything through our blood. Never to be given the abilities or strength of the classes fit for the work we do.
That was why we, the Orellan, were slaves after all. Our high natural body advancement and good growth, even without classes, made us perfect. A race with the blood of gods and dragons, dragged through the mud by Humans and Ritters because we were strong and they were weak.
Taking a deep breath, I steadied myself.
I knew… I knew it was something to be proud of. To serve our kingdom.
But sometimes… it was hard to feel happy that we were property. That we were bound to their service.
It’s what I was born into, but it wasn't the path I chose. It wasn't a life I had a say in.
But at the same time our labor… My labor? Well, it puts swords in hands. It helped us win battles. And my brothers and sisters on the surface? Their labor put food in bellies. All part of the cycle that keeps everything running.
We give the kingdom its life. And… Is there a more honorable calling than that? A more noble profession?
And all of that aside, this is my home now anyway. The deep stone… It suits me.
Turning my eyes away from my cursed status I took a breath. Running my fingers along my right bicep, I felt a smile slowly creep back on my face.
Those years of work built these arms.
Looking at my hands, I felt my smile growing.
Because those years built these hands.
Clenching my hands into fists, I felt my energy flooding my muscles again.
Because those years built these fists, which have kept me alive until today.
Picking up my pick, I let the voice of my calling enter my ears once again.
There’s still work to be done today.
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Work finished? Check. Tools in their bag and slung over my shoulder? Check. Work area looking structurally stable? Eh, about as much as usual.
The worst part of my work day was always making sure the roof or walls weren’t about to collapse as soon as I walked away. Having an ability that stabilizes the ‘ground’ near me sounds great in theory for mining underground, but one too many of my cave-ins started from not checking an area before moving on.
Using my [Dark Vision] ability, I squinted at the stone around me as I slowly made my way towards our base. Given my habit of chasing down veins in strange places, the path to my current work site was haggard and untread by boots besides mine.
After getting lost once or twice on my own routes when I was young, a solution had to be found to that problem. Activating my [Flora Sense] ability, one of the random abilities I had earned from an achievement chain, I headed towards the first cluster of spores I had placed to direct myself.
Clever tricks to navigating helped keep beasts and disgruntled new miners at bay. All of the other seniors knew by now to keep to themselves, but fresh meat coming from the cities? They never know when to leave better alone.
These spores were basically a foolproof solution. Despite being ‘rare,’ they were everywhere in these caves. Hard to notice by sight because of the darkness, no strong scent, and not desirable by most of the monsters.
And, due to them spreading everywhere, one had to know the rough path they wanted and look for the trail to be able to navigate by them.
But that wasn’t the only trick in my book.
Walking out of the dark path I had been traversing, the ground opened up in front of my feet and plunged into softly-glowing darkness.
Looking up the vertical shaft, I couldn’t help but smile. The lightly-glowing seagrass covering the walls made this one of the prettiest places in these mines, and my favorite place to lay entrances to my various mining sites.
Any fool stumbling in here would either turn back, or fall to their deaths.
Grabbing onto the side of the tunnel I was in, I placed my feet against the stone and flung myself up in the air a dozen or so feet towards the opposing wall. Once my feet caught on the ledge there, I turned to my right and leapt towards an opening another dozen feet above myself.
Feeling the air through my hair as I shot towards the opening, I braced my hands and pushed off the ceiling of the tunnel before I hit it and landed in a crouch. Standing up, I looked back down at the shaft and smiled.
The best part about the mines? My skills in climbing houses and jumping from rooftops never ceased to be useful.
If the other miners wanted to figure out my tricks… well, if they managed to do it I might not take it out on them too harshly. Maybe. Can’t let all these young ones with hot blood and weak skin rise to the top, it’d be chaos!
As I raced down the halls, scaled walls, and leaped over rifts in the darkness I found myself growing closer and closer towards base. This part was always smooth sailing, but the part that wasn’t would be coming up fast.
As I took another right turn, I stopped and held an ear against the nearest wall. Hearing nothing moving in the stone, I slowly crept forward.
Being the kind of person I was, the main defense I had against people wanting my work sites was simple and deadly: every day I traversed through part of the hazard zones. Whether we admitted it or not, all of the seniors did this. The safe routes were where everyone else worked.
Step by step, foot by foot, I made my way through that darkness and … nothing happened. Reaching the end of the hazard zone, and the bulwark our ‘employers’ installed, I walked through and soon found myself joining the flow of workers towards base.
Running up to and clapping one of the talented youth on the back, I smiled down at him. “Meet quota this week, kiddo?”
Looking up at me, he rolled his eyes “Sure did, Mav.”
Typical kid behavior. Shaking my head as I felt my smile grow wider, I hurried down the pathway to talk to another one of the brats. I wanted them to feel welcomed, but they probably just felt patronized. Eh, too bad.
For now, the work was done. Soon? I’d be back to claim my prize.