Jameson Railyard (Under New Management)

Despite the detour visiting the turtle people, and trying not to run anyone over in town as some people seem to think camping out in the middle of the road is a good idea somehow, Clive still managed to reach the trainyard with a couple minutes to spare.

He slowed to a crawl as the dwarven guards glared at his car through the slits in their dwarven plate armor. They parted and the chain-link was unlocked and opened up for him to enter and park.

Once he parked near the office he got out and looked about and admired the stark contrast between where he was now and where he was just minutes ago. From the fields and artificial hill homes of the halfling colony, to the small turtle enclave by the lake.

Now he was surrounded by the work of the dwarves as they worked night and day to transform the trainyard into something they deemed fitting. Several bunkhouses were laid at the western section of the yard. These were employee housing for the humans and others not of dwarven stock. Already there were frames in place for a couple more as workers and laborers groaned and grunted as they hauled over logs under the barking commands of their foremen and the beginnings of plans for yet more buildings the dwarves demanded like a proper forge and foundry to smelt and work the ore they found whilst digging.

From where the logs came from was plain to see as the entire face of the hill north of the yard was being changed, terraformed would be an appropriate word, Clive thought. Trees fell and were dragged away as the stumps were pulled and chopped into firewood. The topsoil was cleared and moved out of the way as men dug away at the earth until they hit stone or even bedrock. Then they would keep digging.

But they wouldn't dig to clear it away, the dwarves would take over from there and map out certain spots that they would lay claim to and begin to actually mine out a home from the stone!

These dwarven "dugouts" as the humans called them were crude and rough in shape. Some were little more than holes in the stone walls and ground. Barely more than enough to keep the wind and worst of the elements out. Once proper masonry tools were forged then they would go about properly laying claim to their stone homes.

Rough surfaces would be smoothed to a perfection that only millennia of craftsmanship could accomplish. Family clan runes would mark ownership alongside runes meant to ward off evil. Then decorative runework would be carved into the surface, retelling tales long ago or deeds made by the homeowner or their clan, or just runic figures of monsters or people.

Then came the metal inlay. All sorts of metal were used depending on the owner's preference. The Banking Clan as well as other mercantile clans preferred gold and silver as signs of wealth. Artisans and other craftsman liked brass or copper as it was the more common. Soldiers and guards liked simple bronze and sturdy iron. The dwarven rune-priests solely used a metal that Clive swore was titanium but that the dwarves insisted was mithril.

Despite being here for a short amount of time the dwarves were hard at work making the place their home, Clive thought as he clocked in and went to find Aerin to see what his assignment was for today. While they couldn't finish, or even come close to even a tenth of completion, of the new armored train they wanted. That didn't mean that he just got to sit around and twiddle his thumbs.

One of the foremen pointed a finger at the former break house that had since been given to someone they called an artificer. Clive could only dig up what he recalled from his game sessions with Jeb and Morty when he heard the name. He had to admit, if it was the same thing then he was rather excited by the idea of seeing some magitech.

Unfortunately for him, the second he entered the resting-area-turned-workshop. It exploded.

Not into smithereens or anything like that, instead he was launched several feet back and knocked flat on his sore back. Getting the wind knocked out of him as his ears rang and his vision blurred. Clive could only vaguely hear the distorted voices nearby though he had a hard time remembering who they belonged to as his mind was swimming.

He blinked and fumbled as he tried to get off his back and sit up at the least. Several workers rushed and aided him as he blinked away spots. Aerin came out of the plume of smoke cursing and quite agitated as a heavily spectacled gnome followed close on his heels.

"Please! We just need more time! The mana of this world is tricky and requires delicate care!"

"You've had weeks ta figure it out! And all you've done is cause nothin' but a racket and waste resources better spent elsewhere!" Aerin yelled as he patted soot off his clothes and putting out a small flame on his arm.

"It takes time! The pump works as intended as does the storage unit! If only you could just-" But the gnome went silent as the dwarf glared down at him.

"Yer. Time. Is. Up. Put out tha' fire, and clear out. Mah family will have no more-"

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

"Dampeners." Clive was as shocked as the other two when the word came out his mouth.

The gnome blinked his comically enlarged eyes behind his glasses.

"What?"

"Dampeners. Too much power too quickly can cause machines to overload and explode. Need something to lessen how much power it gets all at once." Clive clarified as his senses returned to him more and more. He still had an annoying ringing in his ears, and he could swear there were two gnomes instead of one. But at least he could think clearly. Sorta.

Aerin looked between the rattled Clive then back at the gnome.

"Is tha' true?"

The gnome muttered so fast that Clive wasn't sure if it was a concussion or if he was just muttering to stall for time.

"Y-y-y-yes. Some sort of inhibiter could offset the volatile output by at leas-"

"Common, Diomede!" Aerin yelled, causing Clive and the gnome both to wince.

"It should make it not explode... violently." The gnome practically whimpered.

Aerin snorted and glanced once more at Clive as he was helped to his, quite wobbly, feet.

"You're in charge o' him from now on! See ta it he doesn't send us ta tha stars!"

He glared at the nearby workers.

"And get him ta a rune-medic and get him patched up!"

The workers nodded and guided/dragged Clive away from the still smoking building as Aerin grumbled and marched away as the gnome was left behind to stare at the retreating forms of his patron and new boss.

Clive meanwhile was dragged into the office area and led past the bustling swarm of other gnomes that ran back and forth on whatever errands they were on. Muttering and scribbling as they zipped around like flies.

He was brought to the breakroom reserved for management, though it had since been repurposed into a medical room it would seem as several grey-haired dwarves walked about as they administered aid by wrapping strips of embroidered cloth around broken bones or severe cuts and bruises or other serious injuries.

One of them looked up as Clive was brought in and walked over with a satchel.

"What happened?"

"Diomede." Was the simple answer that one of them gave, though from the tired reaction of the medic it was as good as any given.

He sighed and waved them over to a sleeping bag where he was set down and propped up against the wall where the dwarf came over and began to examine him. Checking his eyes and vision, his hearing, asking him questions like his name, family. Clive didn't expect them to be quite so thorough.

Eventually the dwarf pulled out a bundle of the thick embroidered cloth and wrapped it firmly around Clive's head as he spoke in a the Dwarven Tongue in what sounded like a chant of some sorts. Once he was finished he applied some kind of alcohol on his cuts and scrapes before wrapping simple linen bandages around them before moving on to his next patient.

Clive shouldn't have been feeling as good so soon as he did. But his thoughts were already beginning to clear and his vision sharpened even as the throbbing ache in his head dulled and lessened. But not wanting to take any chances he remained, but took the time to watch the others work.

Clive recalled Aerin calling them rune-medics. He could take a guess as to why they were called that as he spotted them pulling the heavy bandages embroidered with said runes from their bags. But only for things they deemed pressing or severe enough. Simple cuts or other minor injuries were treated with basic disinfectant and simple bandages while compound fractures or other serious injuries were met with the runic bandages that faintly glowed a pale soothing light as they applied them while chanting.

Clive sat there for a long time just watching as workers were brought in. Some were screaming and thrashing with spikes of wood sticking out where they shouldn't. Some were barely moving and looked on the cusp of death as they were missing entire arms or legs and were left with nothing but bloody stumps or crusted blood coating their scalps.

The rune-medics were quick to act in these cases. Several would chant and apply the bandages firmly around the spikes before pulling them free. Many were quickly saved from fatal injuries, but Clive saw a few that still didn't quite make it. Their bodies were posed respectfully as their eyes were closed as they draped a simple white sheet over them to give the dead a measure of privacy until next of kin could claim them.

It wasn't anything new to Clive though. Working on trains was risky business even when they were stationary. There were more than a few men that worked here that lost more than a few fingers or toes even when they were careful. He wished he could say that was the worse of it. But the mine and the trainyard claimed more than a few souls over the years and it looked like that wouldn't change anytime soon.

Clive looked up as his medic walked over with bloody hands as he just got done bandaging a bad cut across someone's throat.

"How are you, manlin'?"

"Great actually. Thank you." Clive replied as the dwarf removed the bandage around his head.

He looked down at the thick runic bandage and sighed before taking it over to the sink and cleaning it as best he could before replacing it within his bag. Clive was more than a little worried about cross contamination and so asked.

"Shouldn't you dispose of that?"

The dwarf scoffed.

"Can't afford ta. Not until our runery is complete anyhow."

"Runery?"

"Aye. Our holy workshop where me and mah fellow rune-priests engrave and embroider tha sacred runes inta what's deemed fittin'!" The dwarf declared with fervor.

"Why do you need a... runery? What's so special about it?"

The dwarf snorted derisively.

"Fer starters, manlin'. It is what you would call a church! It imbues and renews tha power within runes! They may last far longer than yer weak enchantments, but even time and use wears away at them."

"What are they used for?"

The dwarf held up the bandage.

"These bandages are inscribed with tha runes o' tha Life-Giver. It is by Her power tha sickness and death are held at bay! But since we don't have a runery we can't renew it and tha effects lessen and lessen until they are no different than regular linen."

He set aside the bandages.

"Tha same fer anythin' else deemed important enough ta receive blessed runework."

"What's the difference between what you do and what I see elsewhere?" Clive asked.

The rune-medic snorted.

"Any fool can carve a rune with a rock or chisel! But what WE do is empower them! Just because you can patch yerself up doesn't make you a medic does it?"

Clive shook his head.

"Exactly! What everyone else does is little more than decorative. WE are those blessed, and knowledgeable, enough ta work actual runes o' power!"

"If they work so well, why not put them on everything? Or more than one?"

The dwarf waved away as if to dismiss the question.

"Because not everythin' is worthy o' tha runes! What good are fire protection runes on a shield if tha shield crumbles under a single blow from poor craftsmanship? What is tha point o' givin' a axe runes o' strength if tha wielder doesn't know how ta use it?"

"But then why not add more to offset those issues?"

The dwarf grumbled.

"Because tha runes don't like ta mingle, tha's why. You intertwine a fire rune and a frost rune and they'll either not work and fizzle out, time and effort wasted, or greatly weaken what they're carved on as they work against one another. You have ta have tha proper knowledge in order ta not make such a mistake tha' could cost someone their life."

"Well why can't-"

"Bah! Enough o' yer chitterin'! You sound like tha gnomes! You are well enough, now begone and stop takin' room meant fer someone else!" The dwarf declared and Clive quickly found himself dragged from the room just as quickly, if not more so, as he was brought in.

So that was how Clive found himself thrown out of a medical room. Given he wasn't at risk of passing out now and was no longer seeing double or hearing a ringing in his ears. He made to find Aerin once more and learn about what exactly it was that he would be doing by overseeing the gnome's work.