Deephouse: Further adventures involving the employees of a mid-level adventuring corporation. New to Deephouse? Start here.
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The orc was called Zhok ‘Elf Splitter.’
Durgin handed Zhok a mug of mead and settled into an armchair flanking the hearth. “So… did you have to kill a bunch of elves to earn that name?”
Zhok paused with the mug halfway to his mouth. “Who said anything about killin’?”
“Oh. Oh.”
Zhok drained the mug in a single gulp.
Durgin tried—and failed—to follow suit. He wiped a hand across his damp beard.
“I work for Chief Gruzo’Mal,” Zhok said. “He sends his regards, and this.” He lifted the bowler from his lap. A plainly wrapped package sat underneath. An envelope was bound to the package with green ribbon.
Zhok held it out to him. “C’mon, take it. Otherwise, you risk insulting my boss.”
Durgin accepted the package gingerly. It was surprisingly light. “Please offer your boss my gratitude.”
“I’m to wait until you read the letter, so I can bring back your reply.”
Durgin slipped the envelope free. The green seal bore the mark of a single eye.
Mr. Grimforge—
Congratulations on your appointment. Deephouse plays a vital role in Underearth. I rest easy knowing it is in your capable hands.
Your appointment comes during an unsettled time. Certain assurances had been made by your predecessor regarding the flow of goods to the surface. I would sleep easier knowing our business could continue unimpeded.
As a token of my esteem, I’ve sent a gift. And a pledge: I’ll help repair the abandoned tracks. You’ll need them if you want to pull serious weight out of the mines.
Yours in friendship,
Chief Kog ‘Blind Eye’ Gruzo’Mal
Durgin reread the letter. “What sort of goods are you moving to the surface?”
Zhok twirled the bowler loosely in his hand. “Better for you if you don’t know.”
“I won’t agree to anything without details.”
“That’s your call, gov. But you’re all alone down here. The going’ll be easier if you have friends.”
Durgin hesitated for just a second, a final breath before the plunge. “Then the answer’s no.”
Zhok’s fingers squeezed the bowler’s brim, bringing it to a halt. “No?”
“Aye. No disrespect to your boss, but I won’t be bullied into making decisions without knowing all sides of it.”
Zhok leaned toward Durgin. “You should reconsider. Underearth is dangerous. People have a habit of disappearing. Whole crews, even.”
Durgin returned the stare. Say one thing for insolvency, it prepares a dwarf for appearing comfortable in uncomfortable situations. He held out the package.
“Keep it,” Zhok stood and placed the bowler on his head. “It was a gift.”
He left.
It was several minutes before Durgin’s pulse stopped racing.
He considered leaving the package unopened. Just stuffing it in a drawer and trying to forget about it. But curiosity got the better of him.
“By all the gods...”
Nestled within folds of green velvet was a mithril locket.
Durgin lifted it by its silver chain and gently cupped it in his palm. It was slightly warm to the touch and cast a soft glow. Shaped to resemble a diamond, each facet etched with dwarven runes. He was no arcanist but had seen symbols like these in his smithing days. He thought they granted some sort of protection and, perhaps, safe passage.
He set it back in the box and closed the lid.
This was no mere gift. It was a kingly treasure. An ancient artifact. And it would not come cheap.
He could feel invisible strings winding around his limbs. The cartel meant to have his help, one way or another.
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