Deephouse: Further adventures involving the employees of a mid-level adventuring corporation. New to Deephouse? Start here.
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Durgin was hastily packing his things when Yeji interrupted.
“Mr. Grimforge?” He poked his head into Durgin’s private chambers.
Durgin didn’t bother looking up. He’d upended a chest and was hurriedly stuffing his belongings into it. “I’m quit of this place, Yeji.”
The gnome took a cautious step inside. “I cannot cast aspersions upon your inclination to depart Deephouse. Nor do I seek to dissuade you of what you have quite rightly come to understand—this is a troubled place in no small amount of danger. If I may, I wish only to offer a more complete picture than the one you’ve cobbled together.”
“Don’t see as it’ll make a difference.” Durgin knelt to look under his bed for a wayward boot.
Yeji folded his hands on his plump little belly. “I should’ve taken a more active role in helping you survey the lay of things after you’d arrived. For that, I apologize. I was afraid the untarnished truth would send you running topside. Perhaps that was unavoidable, but my handling of things remains inexcusable.”
Durgin sank back on his haunches, a boot cradled in his hands. “This business with Mountainfist—the black curse. Is that a regular thing?”
“No, no—that was new, even to me.”
“Wonderful—Deephouse is still finding new lows. Guess it’s not my problem any more.” Durgin tossed the boot into the chest. “If you’re as smart as your vocabulary lets on, you should leave too.”
Yeji winced. “I’m afraid my contract is rather explicit in that regard.”
Durgin shrugged. His mind was already elsewhere.
“Blasé mentioned you had a visitor from the cartel. Eventful day. Did they bring a gift?”
“No mere gift, that.” Durgin slammed the chest shut and latched it. “I know golden shackles when I see ‘em.”
“Underearth is a place of ever-shifting alliances, of feints and shadow games. It is not, admittedly, the best arena for a dwarf to demonstrate their quality. No offense but from what I’ve seen, you exhibit the practical rigidity that appears to be ingrained in your people, as though stubbornness was a birthright.”
“I’ve had worse compliments, but not many.”
Yeji smiled thinly. “Only an observation. Here’s the compliment: Perlen sent down a copy of your resume before you hired on. I thought, perhaps, I spied a glimmer of hope nestled between the bullet points.”
“Looking for a patsy, was that it?” Durgin grasped the handle of the chest with one hand, his battleaxe with the other. He didn’t anticipate any problems getting to the lift, but he hadn’t anticipated anything that had happened since he’d signed on with TEC.
“You misunderstand me, Mr. Grimforge. And misstate your own competence.”
Durgin pulled the chest through the office and into the corridor.
Yeji followed, talking all the while. “Yes, your smithing business went under. Fate can be a cruel lady. But you exhibited great creativity and innovation in staving off the end as long as you did. You fought, Mr. Grimforge. And that is what Deephouse needs. A fighter. Someone with ambition and imagination.”
“That’s not what Deephouse needs. It needs a miracle.”
“Perhaps.” Yeji stepped in front of Durgin. “What is a miracle but effort and determination, plus a little luck?”
“Yeji—move.”
The gnome stood his ground. “For all its many faults, Deephouse offers one thing you will find nowhere else: endless opportunity. All of the wealth of Underearth, as yet untapped, waiting for someone to just stretch out a hand.”
Durgin rested a hand gently on Yeji’s shoulder. “That may be. But if it was so easy, wouldn’t someone already’ve done it?”
He pushed Yeji aside and walked away.
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