Lords of Chaos
Billbom turned on his heal. His rugged face twisted and flushed with anger. “This place is a waste of fucking time” he said to no one in particular. The truth was he was right. This vein was all played out. And the miners were a serious lot. The troupe assembled hear could do some serious work if put to it in the right place.
Billbom was pissed but he was also under contract to the organizer of this “fiasco.” so he turned his irritation and attention to the one thing in his control, the rock and stone in his path. With each swing of his pick chunks of rock flew and shattered.
The other miners knew better than to get near the Billbom when he was in this state. You could lose an eye when he went “whirling dervish” on you.
So most just looked away, and so by the time Riplemal looked up from his work of digging and took note of Billbom’s mood and progress his mouth went dry. As his dwarven eyes focused on what the outraged dwarf was doing he felt the bottom drop from his stomach as a flush of adrenaline pumped into his blood. Billbom was working through a granite section. A granite spine that was holding up the entire section of rock above them and he was about too…
Riplemal turned and charged the bigger dwarf. Launching himself onto Billbom’s arm his goal was to stop that swing and the likely occurance of Billbom cutting free the last support holding the rock above from coming down upon them. Only Billbom had already began his stroke and the weight of his fellow did not even substantially slow his muscled swing. The pick dug deep into the wall pulling free a huge section of granite.
Just as the peace fell free they both knew that their end was near. As the remaining granite structure croaked under the weight above. The Dwarves of the mining group could feel the pressure even before it collapsed down on them. The pressure of thousands of pounds of rock piled upon flesh and bone.
In all, six were lost in the cave in. Even as the survivors and rescuers cleared the ruble from the dead bodies it was clear what had happened. There next to the body of Billbom sat the telltale section of the granite support. It was clear that Billbom was at fault. His family would be the ones to bare the costs of the rescue, the costs of the mining company, and compensate the families of the dead for their losses. The material cost was one thing. The true cost came in the loss of honor at the reports of the crazed Billbom going berserk and bringing down the stone. The anger taking over for sense and leading to tragedy. It was the highest cost by far.
Gliffbom looked upon the scene with all the others. It would bankrupt and ruin his family. His father would dead by seppuku by morning. Even Gliffbom, the youngest brother of the family would have his honor stripped away. As he picked up the broken body of his guilty sibling, he knew that it was too late to save face. Head down Gliffbom returned to his family’s dwellings and to the family burial grounds.
A few days latter Gliffbom walked amongst the empty corridors of the old mines. This would be the last trip through his childhood playground. Tomorrow he was heading out above. His task, leave the islands of the Tohongo Shogunate, go among the other races and make a name and fortune for himself and thus restore his family’s honor. If he returned with a fortune, do honorable deeds of record, and restore his family. It was all that was left to the young Dwarf. The climb back to the position of honor was so much more grueling than the fall down from it.
Even as he walked his head hung low Gliffbom promised himself that he would never resort to acts of Anger or Frustrations. He would follow the way. He would never lose control and act with dishonor.
He had always been told he was no Billbom when it came to mining, fighting, or building a reputation. It was only now that Gliffbom could begin to see that he was also better than Billbom in so many ways. Ways that he just now was learning to understand.
With each step his Dwarven stubbornness confirmed his decision to rise above his remorse and disappointment. By the time he stepped on to the ship headed abroad he wore a blank stare and a flat smile. Grim determination where his only trusted assets.
He had very little to call his own. The leather hauberk and cap, his short blade, a prized book of military poems, and a trusty knife he’d had since youth.