Once the fluorescent moss on the ceiling had stored up enough nutrients, it began to glow faintly. Countless insects lying in wait started gathering the dew, rich in various trace elements.
Clang! Clang!
As a gray dwarf, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes and yawning, struck a large iron barrel atop the only halfway decent building in Zelandia, it signaled the start of another day in the city.
A cacophony of noise began to shatter the stillness of this land of sin.
"Ah! Damn thief! You in front! Stop that damn Goblin!"
"Freshly butchered Myconid! Plant the leftover leg in the ground and it'll grow back!"
"Mining party forming! No accidents in three months! Any miners interested, sign up quick!"
"Pfft! Drow bitch! Where are you throwing that chamber pot?"
"Salted fish! Four for one ore! Guga!"
As a result, a long line formed in front of the salted-fish stall. It included almost every race in the Underdark, and some had started waiting before the fluorescent moss even began to glow.
Most of those early arrivals were frail Halflings and former human slaves. They had little physical strength to rely on, so they got there early to buy the cheapest, most honest salted fish Zelandia had seen in two years with a basket of standard-weight ore. Then they headed to the Golden Miner Brotherhood, run by the gray dwarves, to register for the mines and begin another mining shift in the new light cycle.
Everyone had to pay one basket of standard-weight ore each day as rent. The rest could be used to pay for goods and services.
Here, food and all kinds of ore were the most popular forms of currency. Well, women's services might count too—but they weren't worth much in a place like this. After all, supply and demand determined a commodity's value, and every so often, more Drow who had lost a struggle for power and been forced into exile arrived here.
Whether this was fortunate or unfortunate, the rules the gray dwarves had established after arriving were undoubtedly more orderly than those of the chaotic era when Goblins ran rampant. But that was only by comparison.
During the daytime, in plain sight, no one would do anything indecent to force these female Drow. And unless they attacked in a group or resorted to underhanded tricks, they might not even be a match for these once-genius Drow matrons.
But in this land of sin, where food was scarce, even the strongest had to eat. The dwarf enforcers, who had suffered plenty at the hands of the Drow, especially liked keeping an eye on newcomers.
If they caught one of them stealing or robbing, they'd administer justice at once, then whip the offender with all the "dignity and fairness" they could muster before tossing her into the mine. Unless she paid enough ore to cover the fine, she wouldn't be allowed back into Zelandia.
The Drow, accustomed to lives of luxury, were clearly not built for strength or endurance. Some simply chose to disappear into the mines. Most, though, had to pay the price of survival with the only currency they had.
At first, most of them weren't used to servicing other races. After all, in Gershon City, where females held most of the power, they'd always been the ones taking the lead and enjoying themselves in bed. But once they adjusted to a passive life, their lascivious nature often helped them get by fairly well here.
There were even rumors of one exceptionally gifted Drow who, despite falling into such dire straits, had never abandoned her faith in the Spider Queen. She was preparing to persuade every male in Zelandia, build an army of lovers, and counterattack Gershon City.
This epic, grandiose plan became a joke every newcomer to Zelandia was bound to hear. Some busybody even carried it to Gershon City, where the idle priests of the Spider Queen passed it on to her.
What happened next was even more astonishing. During a post-coital prayer, the ambitious Drow received Divine Favor from the Spider Queen Lolth.
No one knew what the Divine Favor did, and the Drow never told anyone. They only knew that after she received it, her progress in the great work of persuasion increased day by day. Every creature she persuaded had to give her technique a thumbs-up, even while weak and exhausted.
For instance, three Orcs who had just been persuaded by another Drow emerged lazily from a foul-smelling cavern. They traded for four salted fish at the Koutao Fishman's stall to settle their stomachs, then joined the Halflings and humans already lined up, ready to start their day's work.
Since everyone paid the same tax, mining was easy work for these strong Orcs. After filling their bellies, they still had enough ore left over to help out the wayward Drow technicians in exchange for services that left them feeling good in both body and spirit.
That was why the residents of Zelandia generally saw Orcs as a bunch of brown-skinned brutes who did nothing all day but eat, drink, fuck, sleep, and work.
But setting aside those prejudices—and the sore feelings they got when the Orcs beat them up—most of the time, people rather liked being around those straightforward big guys.
After all, in the perilous mines, a strong, honest mining partner was far more reliable than a scheming bastard who smiled to your face and swung a pickaxe at your back.
Some miners who often worked with the Orcs saw their core partners arrive. They sprang up from the ground and ran over, greeting the Orc big brothers while eagerly chewing their salted fish. They were ready to get straight to work once they'd finished lining up, then return laden with ore after dark and join the Orcs in their shared pursuits, rewarding themselves for all their hard work.
It was an ordinary day for the miners of Zelandia.
But this time, something was different.
Tiger Bronzebeard, who handled registration for the miners' brotherhood, was an old Dwarf who had worked here for more than thirty years. His scarred arms were bare above the waist, and he wore an heirloom half-armor. It had clearly been worn down and warped in many places over the years, but the old Dwarf had polished it until it gleamed. Below, he wore fur trousers smeared with mine dust and a pair of high-top combat boots. Compared to the miners around him, who looked no better dressed than beggars, Tiger Bronzebeard looked like an underground king.
At that moment, he was wielding kingly authority. Faced with thousands of people in a long line stretching deep into the market, Tiger remained completely unruffled. Standing on a rusty anvil, he raised an iron hammer and slammed it down on the Raw Iron Ore in front of him, sending sparks flying. Then he bellowed, "Same as always: two hundred pounds of iron ore for mining tax. The remaining hundred pounds will get you three loaves of black bread. Check the price board for everything else! Don't crowd—one at a time!"
Everyone who lived here knew the rules by now. They had lined up early and walked up to Old Tiger one by one, like livestock waiting for him to choose them.
"You, you, and you—take a pickaxe and get down to work. Wait! You! No!"
The miners Tiger pointed out breathed a sigh of relief. Those with tools could head straight down into the mines. Those without had to register at the tool pile nearby; the rental fee would be deducted when they returned.
One of the miners Tiger had rejected was an Orc.
The Orc's expression went from confusion, to bafflement, to understanding, and finally to despair. The whole process took five seconds. Then he let out a roar like a bellow:
"Why? What do you mean, I can't? Look at these arms! I can do the work of three men on my own!" The bull-strong Orc swung his bear-paw arms and pounded his iron-anvil chest, making a sound like distant thunder.
"Exactly! The three of us have worked here for over ten years! Why can't we all of a sudden? Tiger, you owe us an explanation!"
That shout immediately drew everyone's attention.
Old Tiger wiped the spittle off his face and pointed at the Orc. "You don't even know you're sick? What if I let you down into the mines and you brutes, with nothing in your heads but eating, drinking, fucking, sleeping, and working, went after my livestock? Sick livestock spread disease like wildfire. If you all die, who's going to work for me? Get out of here. Here, I'm in a good mood today—take a loaf of black bread and go!"
"No! I can work! I need ore to buy food. I have eight children to feed!" The Orc protested vehemently, unable to accept it.
"Talking to brainless Orcs is such a pain. Drag him away!" Old Tiger frowned and signaled to the enforcers behind him.
With a dull thud, an Ogre standing behind Old Tiger kicked the Orc flying. The other two Orcs naturally flew into a rage and swung their arms to fight back. More dwarf enforcers piled in, and the outcome was never in doubt.
The dull thuds of blows quickly rang out one after another.
As the three Orcs were about to be dragged away, the spectators—never ones to miss a bit of excitement—gave them sympathetic looks and prepared to get back in line. Then, from the nearby fish stall, came a roar even more indignant than the Orc's earlier bellow:
"Salted fish?! I told you to get me more ore, and you're still selling salted fish here? And four for one ore, at that! What a waste! Why not pickle yourselves while you're at it?"
Since the commotion involved the fish stall that had served everyone, every eye turned toward it. A Gnoll, more exasperated than angry, had lifted the wide-eyed, bewildered Koutao Fishman over his head and was shaking him nonstop. The poor fish was about to be shaken into flakes.
The connection was down, so this came out a little late. Recommendation Tickets, please!
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