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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Idabrius" data-source="post: 4299670" data-attributes="member: 67832">Deepmine: Campaign Entry by Matt Dougherty The Reminiscing of Elias, Master Tinker of CantorhillChapter the Eighth: In Which I Entered the Kingdom of DeepmineIt was the 8th of Maimakterion in 2214 by the Years of Kings when I got my first view of the lands of fallen Rwd-Parcham. The caravan-master told me that in the night we had come around the southern edge of the woods, and were now some week’s journey southeast of the Singing Vale, or would be if we were going that way. As the dawn burned away the mist that hung over the land, I beheld a long series of rising and falling hills, covered in places with tumbled rock and in others with hardy, low shrubs with woody stems and thick heather that was now falling into its winter grey.Our purpose was to travel through as much of the kingdom as we could, trading Cantorhill goods for the minerals and metals that the people of this place took from the earth, until the beginning of autumn. We would have to turn back, then, for the wild storms that had wracked this place for as long as anyone can remember are always the worst closest to the month of Gamelion, when Rwd-Parcham fell.The caravan guards had tried to frighten me with tales of the storms while we were traveling, telling me of how there were winds so strong that they’d lift a fully-laden donkey off the ground, and hail that would flay the flesh from your bones. Worse, there were ripples of sorcery in the storms that could do just about anything to a man caught in them. The lucky ones would survive with bone spurs where their eyes used to be or blasphemous symbols seared into their flesh. The unlucky ones died screaming as their blood turned to poison or their flesh melted into swamp water.I don’t know how true their stories were, but they frightened me nevertheless. What man wouldn’t be frightened of the storms? I had heard that the people of Deepmine lived in the shafts of their mines, covering the entrances over with roofs of hide and carving their houses into the rock itself. They would stock up food for the autumn not leave the shelter of their underground towns from Posedon through Anthesterion. Then they would begin the winter mining season, hauling ore all through the biting winter and trading it to those few caravans who made the journey in the snow. Back in Cantorhill, it was known that the winter was the best time to buy metal, because the Deepminers are always desperate to sell in order to buy enough food to make it through to spring. One harvest can’t store up enough food for both the storm-season and the winter, after all.As the light increased, the caravan master pointed out one of those towns to me not eight miles distant. It looked barely like a town at all: a mud-colored dome no taller at its top than the temple of Veana in Cantorhill, nestled in the leeward side of a bald hill and surrounded by patches of farmland. Broadshield, it was called, for it is thought lucky in Deepmine to give a town a name that signifies protection or refuge.Less than ten miles to the south of Broadshield rose slender, gently curving walls and towers made of white stone tinged with a delicate pink like the first streaks of dawn. It was an old Eladrin city, its walls shattered and many of its towers cast down, but still looking like a flower that had grown there rather than the work of mortal hands. As we rode on, I marveled at how these buildings with their almost translucent walls could withstand the same storms that forced the people of Deepmine to huddle underground and buy seed from us each year so that they could replant fields poisoned and torn to shreds by foul rains.I was pulled out of my reverie by the hoofbeats of one of our scouts returning. He checked his horse and said to the caravan master, “Demon market on the move, coming this way.”“Veana’s blessed staff!” swore the caravan master, “This early?” Then he turned and shouted at us all to come to a halt, and at the guards to keep their weapons ready and visible. Trembling, for you must remember that I was only a newly-minted tinker then and quite young, I asked one of the ox-cart drivers what a demon market was.“Tiefling scum live in the hills around here. Paella knows how they make it through the storm season, but when it’s quiet they roam from town to town selling the hides of their oxen, trinkets they steal from the ruins, and anything else they can get their blackened little hands on. Trouble is, they’ve got writs from the king in Haven that give them the right to stick their noses into our business during their trade season and make sure we aren’t carrying any goods that are their purview to sell. If they think you’re well-armed, they’ll ask for a little coin as an ‘import duty’ and make some noise about any spices or luxuries you have. If they think they can manage to bully you, they’ll confiscate some of your goods and maybe rough you up.”“Isn’t that bad for trade?” said I.“When you’re a caravan-master, you have to expect a little robbery, legal or otherwise, somewhere along the way, boy. The question is whether you get enough coin back to make it worth your while. Some say the king doesn’t dare rescind their writs. Others that he’s been bewitched and won’t. Me, I think that he keeps the tieflings around because he doesn’t like that his kingdom is dependant on merchants like us to survive, and wants to stick a thumb in our eyes once in a while.”One of the guards cried out a warning, and over the next rise in the road I could see a tattered red and gold banner with a black serpent winding across it. About a score of men and women on horses came up over the rise, all of them armed with good but motley gear. As they approached closer, I could see that they were all tieflings, marked with the deformities of their kind. One of them, a broad-chested man with angular features and a flame-red beard that moved and crackled of its own accord, rode forward from the rest, and pulled his horse up short in front of our caravan-master, who stood with his arms crossed.“I am Dom Isore la Grave, master of the Market of the Black Serpent. By the writ and seal of King Julyenn, I have the first right to trade in the area of Broadshield, Leeward, and Cradle. Do you dispute this?”“No, Dom,” said our caravan master, “I do not. With apologies, I thought that you would not begin your trade until the end of Maimakterion, and did not think I would be intruding.”“The King’s Magisters predict that this will be an early and harsh storm season,” said the tiefling. He looked around at the caravan with eyes like guttering coals. “Tell me, friend, what goods are you selling?”“Seeds, cloth, grain, wine, and hides, mostly,” was the reply.“Mostly,” Said the tiefling, and his grin was terrible. He looked over the caravan again, and I felt his eyes weigh heavily on me. “I see there is a tinker among you. Come here, boy.” Well, I can tell you that I felt my stomach sink right quick, but I came rattling up there with my pack anyway.“Yes, your lordship?” says I.“Tell me, tinker, do you sell any herbs, philters, unguents, or potions?”“I have some cooking spices, your lordship, and sheepsalve that’s good for wounds on man or beast.”“I see. And what services do you provide?”“I mend pots and clothes and sharpen blades, your lordship.”“So,” he leaned close to me, and I could smell brimstone on his breath, “You don’t sell any strange oddments you might have happened to pick up on your way, or tell fortunes, or cure ailments?”“No, your lordship,” I said, and was proud to hear my voice steady, what with him glaring at me with his horse and his sharp sword and just slightly pointed teeth.“Good,” he said, and looked at the caravan master, “Hides are within my purview, sir, and I’ll take a duty for them. Three barrels of wine.”I slunk back to the caravan while the master and the tiefling dickered over what was and wasn’t a fair duty. We were underway within the hour, and by nightfall had set up near Broadshield. The greasy smell of its cookfires hung over the entire area, and the people were ragged but proud. I did a lot of trade in tool-sharpening over the next few days, and we sold much grain and seed. We didn’t see that particular demon market again on that trip, but I tell you truly that the tieflings are a plague and a nuisance upon the already troubled land of Deepmine.</blockquote>

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