Nights at the Round Table

Workin' the 'ol Dwarven mine to survive

The boss is a slave driver, to bad it's you

Callebain is a difficult place to earn a living. You either have a fair skill, or you work the menial for your fungus. You lot are of the latter. You all met at one of Callebain’s grittier taverns and drank what little money you had away. Together you’ve gone into the mines to keep food on your plates.

The South district is too cluttered and fought over. The West a warren of dangerous atrocities. The North is well traveled and safe, but too competitive as well. The East has been supposedly mined out, haunted and heavily patrolled by Modron looking to keep the fringes in-tact. You know there’s still riches to be had. Haunted? Pffff! Modron, you’d rather wrestle one of them than the trolls that wander the West.

So, you spend your remaining coin on a set of mining picks, shovels, wheelbarrows and head into the mines. You go deep into the far reaches, hoping to find anything at all of value. Settling on a mine after days of searching, you just decide to dig and see what happens.

Within a day you find a vein of quartz! A sure sign that silver or gold is in the vicinity. Renewed you continue to dig the hard rock,.

Your efforts are soon rewarded with a thin vein of silver. Suddenly this is viable work and you all throw your backs into it. A profit is in sight!

At first you barely notice the sound. The pick slams into the silver bearing granite and a ringing thump echos back. Soon it’s hard to miss.

Ping… pong…

Ping… pong…

It’s intriguing, but doesn’t seem dangerous.

Then one night you’re all awoken from the midst of sleep. You sit in the remaining light of dying embers of your campfire suddenly not the least bit sleepy. You realize that you’ve all awoken, but no one knows why…at first.

Then you hear it…

pong… ping…

Moments go by, each of you holding your breath.

Pong… Ping…

Something, or someone, is at your silver! You’re sure of it!

POng… PIng…

Who ever is digging is hitting the stone harder and harder with each stroke. Concern, greed, fear, pride and excitement kaleidoscope through your thoughts as you quietly pickup your gear.

PONg… PINg…

Collectively, and quietly, you vote. Whomever it is you won’t allow them to steal your silver…

PONG

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