Nyxpera

The 28th of Mounichion

The Year 4631 in the Era of Mortals

By the time the sun kissed the horizon, Lyssa’s forehead was ready to kiss the olive wood of her desk. Yet another day spent, as she had spent many before it, working through the rising tides of parchment and planning that Theodorous stacked atop her workspace. The mousy man’s desk, sitting near the front door, was stacked even higher than her own. How they had enough parchment to keep wasting, she had no idea, but there was clearly no end in sight. Theodorous was similarly bent over his work, his eyes, obscured though they were by a pair of spectacles, were glassy and tired. Lyssa dropped her gaze back to the page she’d been reading, a detailed projection of their food situation.

Much of the packed rations brought from Ship’s Shape had been consumed. The massive packs, once filled to the brim of their prestigious inventories, now sat empty and abandoned, waiting to be used once more. As it was, with the average food yield brought in by the hunters, they had perhaps four months of reliable food left. Six, if they started rationing immediately. It was going to take at least eight months for the farmers to produce their first crops, but Lyssa hoped that the gaiamancers would be able to accelerate that timeline. Though she had little experience with growing food, the gaiamancers of Dawnwood had been able to grow things extraordinarily quickly, years of progress taking only days.

Theodorous had accomplished his task of showing the farmers where to grow their crops, but they had run into the issue of the village’s only gaiamancers being too busy to help with the process. Odelia, by far the most experienced gaiamancer, was busy training her healers in biomancy and the medical arts. The only other, Helwan, had gone off with Arche and Tess to Ship’s Shape in order to wrap up whatever business the satyr had left unfinished in the town. Without the help of those two and without any other gaiamancers, they were bound to run into trouble. Theodorous had searched his records time and time again, but none of the villagers had declared any skillsets that might have been able to get them out of their current predicament.

After food came the issue of infrastructure. Wooden structures were all fine and good—preferable even, in her mind—but it was not enough. Though a part of her wished to replicate the tree-top abodes of Dawnwood, such an architectural feat was simply not feasible for Myriatos. Even if she was able to make up for the sheer lack of elven wood-singers, there were not enough trees in the valley to use. Myriatos would be forced to move into the Sylv itself, where it would be much more difficult to see threats approach, not to mention the hassle of convincing the loam-dwellers to live in the trees, away from the threats of the forest floor.

No, in order to build lasting structures, they would need stone and metal. To procure those, they would need to enlist the help of the true ground-folk among Myriatos’s denizens: the dwarves. There had been loose plans to get Arche’s help with those negotiations before he left, but his injury put those plans to rest. She would not entertain the idea of using him in that state. His efforts were better spent on recovery. As it was, she still had reservations about letting him go wandering the Sylv without her to watch over him. In the end, it was his choice to go and her obligation to stay, though she still cursed the circumstances that drove them apart. She had a duty now not to one human, but to an entire village. To that end, she would need to negotiate with the dwarves personally.

Lyssa had very little interaction with the dwarven population of Myriatos. Most of it had occurred when she sold off the treasure she and Arche had found, and when they had spoken out during the night of her election. They had been suspicious of her in that first meeting, probably believing that she had stolen the trinkets rather than found them, but they had still supported her when Callias was exiled. Without Arche, Lyssa was almost at a loss as to how to approach them. She had put off the meeting because she had no idea what she was going to say, but that excuse wasn’t going to hold up much longer.

The village needed more buildings. The insula was finished and most of the villagers had already moved inside. It was a start, but it wasn’t nearly enough. They needed a smithy, a workshop, a storehouse, stores, granaries, a guardhouse, a hunting hall, and more. There were many things to make Myriatos a real town, as evidenced by Lyssa’s quest.

Settling Down I

You have established a settlement in the middle of the Sylv. You must grow your settlement and take care of your people, else you may find that your new neighbors will simply kill you and move in.

Objectives

· Recruit a population of 100 (204/100)

· Build 5 structures (2/5)

· Secure 2 natural resources (0/2)

Rewards

· Village Level I

· 10,000 Experience

WARNING: Failure to achieve these objectives before Village Morale reaches -500 may result in a coup!

As it stood, Myriatos was sitting at Hamlet Level Five and its available growth was harshly stunted as a result. Lyssa had spent much of the last few weeks studying what upgrades and infrastructure were available and found that most required the village level itself to be higher before they could hope to construct them. There were caveats and loopholes, Theodorous had informed her, but not ones that were easily exploitable. It was better, they had agreed, to focus on the buildings that were available to them now and worry about future improvements when they were no longer struggling for resources and infrastructure.

It was to that end that the dwarves were necessary and why Lyssa had to speak with them. Without Arche—who was apparently an honorary dwarf due to their strange customs regarding drunken games—she had to settle for another to help her negotiate.

“It’s nearly time, Theo,” Lyssa said, rising from the desk.

Theodorous peered up at her from his stack of papers, then glanced to the window, watching the last rays of sun from the day disappear behind the trees.

“So it is. Shall I do the talking?”

“The majority of it, I think. Hopefully we can talk them into agreeing.”

“We can’t afford them not to. Let’s hope we can be convincing.”

Theodorous had set up the meeting on her behalf. He did most of the interfacing with the villagers, actually. That was a point that needed to change, Lyssa knew, but it wasn’t easy. She had long neglected growing her Charisma, instead favoring more practical attributes like Dexterity, Agility, and Perception. Lyssa wouldn’t call that focus a mistake, but it made it difficult to be a leader. She was supposed to unite the people of Myriatos, but she didn’t even understand them. That, too, would have to change.

Lyssa led the way out of the village hall, Theodorous walking a step behind and to the left. Elpida fell into step on her right, making the steward jump.

“You could at least offer some sort of greeting before you do that,” he hissed.

“That would defeat the purpose,” Elpida replied.

“What purpose could you possibly get out of doing that?”

“Surprising you.”

Theodorous harrumphed and turned his attention forward. Lyssa glanced sideways at Elpida, trying to be the reproachful leader, but the effect was undercut by the upward twist that crept around the corners of her mouth.

“I take it you’re joining us, then?” she asked.

“Of course.”

Lyssa left it at that, wandering through the now empty field. When the villagers had moved into the insula, they had removed their tents from the area outside, making the village feel much smaller than it had just a few short days ago. The only other structures in the village were the hall, the fence marking off the guards’ training area, and the large, healers’ tent.

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Some of the villagers sat on the grass or chatted amongst themselves, but most had turned in to the insula. It was a step up from living in the tents, but each insula was only designed to house a hundred people, which constituted about half the village. They could overpopulate it but only by half its capacity, leaving fifty people to live out of their tents. They’d traded one morale problem for another. While they waited for more resources, Lyssa had instructed the builders to begin work on another insula, next to the first. It was expected to be finished within two weeks, at their current rate. Perhaps faster, depending on how quickly the related skills of the helpers improved. That would remove the constant morale drain that overcrowding provided.

The dwarves gathered outside the insula, facing Mount Hyperion as they engaged in a muttered conversation amongst themselves, speaking in the grinding, clicking tones of their own language. Lyssa couldn’t understand a word of it. It felt antithetical to the flowing language of the elves, which ran together like a breeze.

One of the dwarves noticed their approach and said something to the others. They all stopped and faced her.

“Greetings, friends,” Theodorous began, stepping forward.

“Scribe,” one of the dwarves answered, a burly red-headed fellow. “We were glad to receive your message, even if it was a bit sparse on the details. What business do you wish with us?”

“A business that will be beneficial for all parties, I should think,” Theodorous said. “I have come here with Archousa Lyssa to negotiate a mining contract. May we speak to someone with the authority to negotiate on your behalf?”

“And what makes you think I don’t have the authority to do so?” the red-headed dwarf scowled deeply.

“Because the dwarf in charge is never the first to speak to an outsider,” Theodorous replied, keeping a warm smile on his face.

Tension lay thick on the air. The dwarves didn’t move, so Lyssa didn’t move either. Her fingers twitched, longing to hold her bow. Finally, a dwarf with raven-black hair broke the silence with a laugh.

“You have studied our culture well, human. My name is Grimmolt Sidergrothia. I am patriarch, here, and I would know your name.”

“Theodorous Apostolakis, at your service.”

“Hail and well met. And you, Archousa, you travel with the human, Arche, do you not?”

“I do.”

“A shame what happened to him. He has the heart of a dwarf, that one. I had hoped he would be present tonight.”

“Arche has traveled to Ship’s Shape along with the delegation. It is our belief that someone there will be able to heal him.”

Grimmolt nodded.

“Good. A good lad, that. Doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t quite know how to hold his liquor, but the head of rock, that one.”

Lyssa blinked at the phrase and the ghost of a smile crept across her face. “Yes, I often think the same.”

Grimmolt laughed again and beckoned them forward.

“Come, let us discuss these matters not as strangers, but as friends. A drink mellows all negotiations.”

At the dwarf’s gesture, several of his kinsmen produced barrels and cups, which they quickly tapped and poured. Soon, everyone had a drink in hand, even Elpida, who stayed out of the conversation, frostily eyeing any dwarf who wandered too near.

“First, a toast,” Grimmolt said. “There are many things that could be toasted but, tonight, I think we should drink to Myriatos. That we are still standing here is a testament in its own right.”

The dwarves all raised their glasses, chanting “Myriatos” before downing their drinks in one. Lyssa raised her own glass to her lips and drank, tasting the burn of an alcohol harsher than any wine. She couldn’t keep the grimace from spreading across her face, even as Grimmolt laughed.

“I thought our felsbier might be a bit too strong for one of you fair-folk.”

Lyssa knocked back the rest of the drink and held her cup out for a refill.

“What it lacks in taste, it makes up for in effect,” she replied. “But we have business to attend to.”

“Indeed,” Grimmolt said, throwing back a second drink. “In truth, I already know what it is you have come to request.”

“Do you, now?”

“You want me and my kinsmen to mine the mountain for you. To uncover its rock and metals for the village.”

“You have deduced well, Lord Sidergrothia,” Theodorous said, inclining his head respectfully.

Grimmolt turned and looked at the human.

“You have honored us with your knowledge of our culture, scribe. But now I am conversing with the Archousa.”

Theodorous bowed his head and stepped back as Grimmolt turned his attention to Lyssa.

“The dwarves’ love of mining and metallurgy is widely known, even to the isolated elf havens,” Lyssa said. “Are such rumors inaccurate?”

“My people are hypogeal, Archousa,” Grimmolt said, stroking his beard. “As yours are arboreal. To say we love mining ore is to say that you love growing trees.”

“I understand,” Lyssa said slowly, though she wasn’t sure she did. “Your clan is no longer underground.”

“And you are no longer in your ‘isolated elf haven.’ We have all made decisions that have led us here.”

“Then you have given your answer?”

“I have given no such thing. Tell me, Archousa, what do you know of my people? Have you ever met dwarves before?”

“I have heard tell of dwarves. My father told many stories of other races, before my people enclosed themselves within the forest. I have never met one before I came to Myriatos, as is true with most other races.”

“Regale us with your knowledge, then.”

Lyssa took a sip of her drink before answering.

“The dwarves are a proud and greedy race. They accumulate wealth, are slow to trust outsiders, and have a memory that extends well past their own lives. A grudge held against another can last generations, long after the offending parties are dead. They value gold above all else and hold a deep respect for tradition and family.”

Grimmolt nodded along, looking not the least offended, even as Theodorous gasped audibly.

“Then I see our carefully crafted reputations have preceded us.”

“You want others to perceive you that way?”

“When knowing is half the battle, elf, ignorance becomes a blade in your opponent’s back. There is a kernel of truth behind every rumor, but never the full story.”

“Then what do I have wrong?”

“None of it. But you do not have it exactly right either. Let me tell you what I know of your wood elves.”

Lyssa gestured for him to continue.

“Yours are a timeless people. For reasons long lost to the minds of others, you have sequestered yourselves away from the rest of Tartarus. It takes your people years to make a decision because you have little concept of time. You surround yourself with nature, the only thing more timeless than you, and you do not care for outsiders because you fear any change that does not take place over centuries.”

“I think I understand your position.”

“We are more than our perceptions, Archousa.”

“And yet, by your own admission, you have not refused us.”

“Nor have I accepted. I am still thinking it over. But please, give me your offer.”

“The village needs stone and metal. The mountain is guaranteed to have both in large supply. For Myriatos to survive, someone needs to cultivate the resources necessary. I am willing to pay a fair wage for the labor, the specifics of which I will allow Theodorous to handle. I am also willing to allow laborers to keep a percentage of precious gems that are found.”

Grimmolt took a steady pull from his cup.

“That is a surprising offer to hear from an elf. From what I know of your people, most would have expected us to do the work for little to no recompense, simply the knowledge that the work would have benefitted the village.”

“We are more than our perceptions, master dwarf.”

“Yes, but every word allows me to know you better. Tell me, what securities would you emplace? I have fourteen kinsfolk with me. There is no telling what creatures have inhabited the mountain. I will not put my people’s lives at risk without taking proper precautions.”

“What precautions are proper, in your mind?”

“Two guards per dwarf.”

“I cannot provide you that. We have only thirty-four guards, not to mention Captain Gigator. Myriatos would be undefended.”

“Then what would you offer my people? Money cannot be spent by dead hands.”

“Each area will be scouted prior to work. Once it is determined to be safe, a contingent of six guards will accompany your dwarves to provide security.”

“Six guards might prove effective against a boar, but I would bet none have faced a monster of the underground. Ten guards, at least. Experienced.”

“Eight,” Lyssa countered. “Hand-trained by Gigator.”

“Very well. If we are to accept your terms, I have three conditions.”

“I am listening.”

“The first: we will need the proper buildings to make use of the resources. A smithy and a refinery. Build these for us and we will work the treasures of the ground to their fullest extent.”

“That is simple enough.”

“For the second, rumor has it that you’re building a school of magic.”

Lyssa blinked in surprise.

“I am hoping to. I did not think that word of that was out yet.”

“It is, in the right circles. I would hold you to that promise. Further, I want you to give my kinsmen guaranteed entry, free of any charge.”

“Very well. And the third?”

“I want full access over the mine. None shall enter without my authority, save be it by yours.”

“The mine will belong to Myriatos,” Lyssa said. “But if having administrative control over it is what you wish, then I will relinquish that responsibility to you. Know that if I find that you are abusing your position, I will have you removed, and it will not take me years to come to that decision.”

Grimmolt smiled.

“Archousa, we have a deal.”