The armed guards hustle you (excluding Crockus and the sick man) and the other slaves out of the door in a line. Outside the cell door, a large hall hewn from solid rock. Shadows cast by the several torches flicker across the walls, and in the guttering light you can discern other iron doors set on both sides of the hall. You have little time for speculation, however, as one of the guards shouts a command, reinforced by the crack of a cat-o'-nine-tails, and you are marched along the corridor and away from your cell.
In the dim and shifting light, it is difficult to get an accurate sense for the space you travel through. The guards drive you along a curving corridor that intersects with a larger, straight one in which your footsteps echo slightly and crunch on chips of stone. In this space, you can make out the sounds of other people--grunts, cries, feet both bare and booted over gravel and rock--as well as, perhaps, the squeal of iron on iron.
You are marched further, across an array of trolley rails built into the floor, and down other corridors, some with rails and some without, all rough-hewn and strewn with stone chips. (Those of you wandering barefoot will likely scrape and cut your feet.)
Eventually, you are called to a halt at the intersection of several corridors. Several other guards loiter about, and lanterns are hung on pegs hammered into the stone walls. There is a wooden cart big enough to carry two or three people, resting on rusted rails near one guard. The one you know as Haran steps forward to speak with the cart guard.
"New recruits again."
The other guard chuckles. "Alright, you lot. C'mere and grab yer tools. And don't try anything or you'll end up like 'im." He tosses his head to his left somewhat. Behind him, in the space between two lanterns, a spear has been planted in a pile of small rocks. Impaled upon it, a man's tar-coated, open-mouthed visage leers at you. The guard laughs. "Right. First up!"
At his word, one of the other guards shoves the first of your line, a thin, dazed man, over to Haran, who grabs a pick-axe from the nearby trolley and shoves it into the slave's arms. The man holds the tool vacantly until Haran gives him another push in the direction of one of the corridors (where other guards wait) and growls "Over there. Use it on the wall at the end."
The guards repeat the procedure with roughly half of you, while the rest are told to fill the trolleys with what the pick-axes cull. Shortly [unless you wish to intervene in any of this somehow], you are shuffling down the corridor to do your work.
Meanwhile, the authoritative guard at the cell stands in the doorway, staring at Crockus expectantly.
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Arana keeps his eyes open and his mouth shut.
The guard at the cell speaks to Crockus again. "If you don't come with me, you won't be able to help him."
The prisoners that surround the rest of you file forward into the tunnels with their tools. A command is issued to the lead ones, and they begin to chip away at specific areas of stone. The others follow suit.
Crockus casts a last glance at the man in need of his attention and wearily follows the guard, reassured by his last words. Even if they don't want me to help him, I have the key and will come back for him, he thinks...
[sorry for the delay in post, as D said, just moved and no easy internet access]
Number Seventeen Mouth picks up a pick and starts chipping away, probably with more energy than most of the other slaves there. At length, she starts working more and more closely to one who seems very tired.
She whispers, "Hey, save your strength. I'll do this for you, and make you look good. Just give me a swallow of your food when we're done." If the tired one agrees, she sets to work over a larger area, picking lustily (if weakly) at the stone for the whole time there. Even if others take a break, she'll keep working, unless food is involved.
If the opportunity presents itself, 17 will ask a nearby slave, "so what do they have us mining for, anyway?"
Seeing Crockus' concern, the guard sighs. "Bring him if you must. But be quick. And try nothing funny." Perhaps his hand strays slightly toward his sword hilt. Perhaps Crockus merely imagines it.
Number Seventeen Mouth easily locates a slave willing to let her do work for him. Arana notices that this slave gets some jealous looks from others nearby.
Getting others to talk proves more difficult. The first slave Seventeen asks does not respond. Her pick rises and falls in a lethargic rhythm, as if she is asleep. When Seventeen presses further, the slave turns her head and stares with blank, dreamless eyes before returning to her work.
It is ultimately the slave whose work Seventeen took over who replies. "Ore," he says. "Iron, I heard one guard say." He grunts as he heaves his pick against the bare rock again.
Arana, eyes open and mouth closed, observes. Some slaves pick and chip at rock. Some slaves pile stones into a wheeled cart. Those that do not work fast enough are whipped, as are those who tire and those who talk too much. Despite this, there is some conversation among slaves, and a few veterans strike up a rhythmic song that seems to help them and others around them keep a steady pace. The guards also chat occasionally. From their talk, Arana verifies the speculation about iron.
*koff koff*
If and when Crockus comes back, Seventeen will shiver and shudder (and stare intently at him if there's light) until the guards leave, and at that point ask him, "See anything interesting?"
Otherwise, over the next few days or weeks, Number Seventeen Mouth will rotate through tired slaves, doing extra work in exchange for extra food. If she notices (with her whopping Perception + Awareness pool of 4) that some slaves appear to be just acting at being exhausted, she'll simply raise the going rate in food; otherwise, she won't mind.
Depending on how much time passes, she might have an "episode." Just let me know, O Keeper of Time.
Assuming Crockus collects the sick man, the authoritative guard steers them at swordpoint through a maze of hewn tunnels and halts at a door that, it soon becomes clear, opens into a sort of series of storerooms. "Here. Mostly dried staples, but you'll find a few simple herbs in this one here," he says, unlocking an oak door. "Rags are there." He gestures to a pile. "When you need water, we'll go to the kitchen." He gestures to a door past the storerooms, and then crosses his arms and watches, expectantly. [V, you can roll Intelligence + Medicine to find what Crockus needs and treat the formerly raving man.]
In the depths of the mine, Number Seventeen Mouth flails with marginal effectiveness at the rock walls, chipping small bits of stone away until one of the guards grunts and gestures and another slave hurries over to instruct her.
Arana observes several things as he works. Some of the slaves seem to move only when instructed, and once instructed, work with dazed, relentless monotony. A couple of the others are so starved or beaten that they can barely stand, and are ignored by the guards, but others seem in decent shape. [For more details, David, roll Perception + Awareness.]
Mina simply hefts a pick and goes to work [unless Jen says otherwise], finding the activity a painful relief to journey-sore muscles.
After awhile, another batch of slaves are brought in and added to the group. These seem leaner, grimier, and more muscled than most of your initial fellows. You are allowed a short break in which you are given water from a jug. After, you are hustled back to work. [We will see in a bit whether Crockus and/or the mysterious ill man are present for this moment.]
[You have until Wednesday to post your replies. After then, the story will carry on.]
Mina keeps her eyes peeled and watches the guards closely, trying to mentally measure each one. Which ones are sadists? Which are simply doing their job? What do they want, and who might give good information?
If one of the guards seems like an easy mark (what would be the role to tell this, perception/awareness or perception/socialize?), she might approach him to talk.
Crockus casts an expert eye around the crappy stuff that's lying around... Ghee they really don't know how to take care of people here! He makes a mental note of everything there is, looking around more than he needs to heal the mysterious raving ill man. If he sees any tools that might be useful in attempts at escaping (namely to fight as he already has a bunch of keys) he will try and steal one. If he thinks he is seen in the process, he'll just put the object back down. Even if he doesn't need water to heal the mysterious raving ill man, he'll ask to be shown the room with the water so he knows more of the layout of the place and of what might be available.
Arrived there, if he needs water he'll use it [nb I'm no doctor, only my character is, so I personally have no clue how he cures the mysterious raving ill man or indeed what the hell is wrong with him...] for the medication, if not he'll just give some to the mysterious raving ill man to pretend it's been useful. Then of course he'll actually give him the stuff that will cure him.
The whole while Crockus has been eyeing the guard to see if he can ascertain whether he'll be nice or cruel, stupid or intelligent, bribeable or otherwise. Accordingly, he'll decide on what to say to him when he's cured the mysterious raving ill man -- who drastically needs a name!!
By paying attention and occasionally pretending to take breaks, Mina is able to observe the behavior of some of the guards. A couple are lazy, a couple are disciplined. One
particularly burly guard leers when he catches Mina glancing his way. Most are, if not efficient, serious about their work. A few seem to take pleasure in berating or whipping
idle slaves, whether due to love of power or love of violence. She is able, too, to maneuver herself closer to one that seems a little more lax about his work and has even
exchanged a few words with some of the veteran slaves around.
After examining the ill man, Crockus realizes that many of his symptoms are the result of severe exposure, and looking around, he is able to find a few herbs and materials to
treat dehydration, salt defecit, and related effects and help get nutrients into the man's body and help him recover quickly. However, Crockus also discovers an elaborate,
infected wound on the man's chest. It has crusted yellow and black and seeps viscous liquid, and the flesh around it is swollen red. In all probability, it's contributing to his delirium, if not causing it outright. The storerooms have some antiseptic herbs (sage, for instance, in the locked room) and some herbs that treat fever, plus some rags that are clean enough, so with some time and care, Crockus should be able to cure the infection, but it'll require skill and patience.
As for the guard, he is better outfitted than the other guards, which would make sense for a superior officer or someone who had money to buy his own equipment. He carries
himself well, moving in a relaxed and confident manner. His sword he holds like an old friend. He watches Crockus without malice and with some interest, and also seems to keep an eye on the surroundings. He does not seem too slow or stupid, and when he speaks, it is without meanness or cruelty, but also without obvious love. He is patient while Crockus tends to the delirious man, and willing to let him move about with relative freedom, though he does not once turn his back.
Crockus treats the ailing man and reports to the guard: "He will need this kind of attention everyday if we don't want the wound to continue festering. The wound is infected and could infect other people so it is important I should treat him. I will need daily access to these herbs, clean rags and to the fresh water. Are there other people who could need such cares as I can give?"
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