A Land in Chaos

[Irishpsycho]

The constant echoing of picks resounded through the poorly lit tunnel. Dirt, soot and general filth covered everyone who was down under the earth in the mines, except of course the guards. Stationed regularly throughout the mines were immaculately clean guards, shining brightly from the small lamplight that was present.

Hey you! break time isn’t for another 5 hours!

The crack of whips broke the constant picking irregularly, followed by one of three things; Silence from the strong willed and fresh bodies, a shriek from those who no longer cared who heard, or a low pitched sob and a sigh from the broken. Those no longer felt the whips, but they were the quickest to get back to work. The whip slashed dangerously close to one particularly large man as it struck its target, the miner who had collapsed from exhaustion next to him.

I said to keep working! The guard was livid now, screaming at a man who could not even hear him. The guards in the mines resented being babysitters and took out their frustration on those who couldn’t fight back. WORK!!

Leave him alone, cant you see he's almost dead. A dead slave isn’t very useful.

Are you trying to tell me how to do my job? Just do you intend to do about it then, eh? Brave words from a man in shackles!

Leave him alone and let him rest today…and ill make up for him. Ill produce as much as him and myself if you agree to let him rest. Then he can have the energy to work normally tomorrow. I'm sure you would agree that I can do my job and this old mans as well.

Hmmm, normally id kill him off and whip the hell out of you for questioning me. I think ill make an exception this time though. Just know that now that you’ve helped this one you can expect you neighbors to "collapse" everyday from now on so you can let them rest as well. Ha Ha, you’ve dug yourself deeper than these mines could possibly run now boy. Well get to work if you plan on pulling double ore. Come on old one, lets go rest!

As the guard wandered off laughing cruelly, the old man looked into his benefactor's eyes and began crying. He pulled himself up and followed the guard, never taking his eyes off the man who had saved him. The large man stood staring for a second before grimacing and spat into his hands. He was covered with grime like everyone else, and had his share of scars on his back though not as many as some. Part of this was because he rarely said anything and worked tirelessly, if not energetically. Part was simply because when he was whipped, he would turn and stare into the eyes of the slave driver. Few could meet that gaze, much less face the man who stood there and took it. The ones who said nothing had to grit their teeth and breathe deep when struck, but this man simply received his blow without so much as a flickering of an eyelash. The guards were not accustomed to this behavior, and were fearful that if he cracked and went mad, it would be on them. Putting down a rebellion was all fine and good, but being the first to fall was not in their contracts. All guards avoided him right now, as he produced enough ore for three men, not just two. When the day was done the man stumbled to his cot and received his rations for the night. Bread and broth could hardly sustain someone laboring in such conditions, but it was much better than nothing. As he ate quietly, a shadow emerged from the surrounding darkness and formed into the old man from earlier.

My name is Attul, and I know not how to repay you for what you have done for me. Here you deserve this more than I. The man said producing his own nightly rations. Please do not object, from what I hear you were almost supernatural today in your work. They say the guards whisper that you are a god in disguise and they have displeased you. His laughter was cut short by a coughing fit, but it quickly ended. By what are you called young hero?

Irish Flarestrike, but my friends call me Irish.

That name seems familiar somehow, but then again everything is fading. It has been so long since I have been here that I am forgetting who I am. Before the invasion I was one of the High Council, so I was sent here among the first as an example. I have had lifelong political enemies die in my arms here, and I have seen things that should make monsters weep. You are not from here are you? No the militia would have swept you up long ago wouldn’t they? As much good as they were…I'm sorry, they tried their hardest but who could stand up to what hit us? I will let you rest now, but I am forever in your debt, and if we get out of this cursed place then I will show my gratitude to its full extent.

Irish stared after him for a while and then the food he had left. It vanished quickly before Irish lay down for the night. The dream that reoccurred every night came shortly.

The healers had been great to Irish since put in their care. Soon he would be well enough to rejoin his companions and take care of this little "threat" he had heard vague rumors of. The nurses were all very kind and helpful, and cute as well! Things were going very well for Irish, his inner demons had been purged for good, his injuries were almost healed, and things were finally turning around for him. Then the attack came. Irish awoke in the midst of it, and tried to get to his feet, but the pains came in a wave just then. When he finally could stand from where he had fallen on the floor, his head swam. Grabbing a hold of his sword he knocked the door down to see a gruesome sight. Bodies lay across the floor, some covered in blood. Directly in front of him was Tinna, his favorite nurse. She had read him stories at lights out and tucked him in with a gentle kiss on the forehead every night. He saw blood red and prepared to charge into battle before a voice stopped him.

I think not my warrior friend, look around you and decide if it's worth it

The surviving nurses and healers were all closely under guard, with blades at every throat. An attack would mean all their deaths and his as well. His sword dropped to the floor with a ring that sounded like a death toll.

They were nice enough to let him heal completely before sending him to the mines were so many already slaved. He had been there for a time already, but feared becoming like those who had been here longest. It wasn’t the work or beating or even death he feared, it was the madness. Several had gone mad already, and Irish feared that more than dying. He had been mad once, and had done things that had tainted his soul forever. An entire town was his burden, his curse, and if he went mad again he was sure there would be no miraculous recovery. His dreams were fitful as they always were.

The healers had been great to Irish since put in their care…

[Voice Vilena]

New thread here too..thanks.