Shadowrun - Earthdawn - Lliferock

by Jak Koke

  Liferock 

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  numbing the area around the wound. The plant was rarely deadly to Name-givers, but usually caught small animals by paralyzing them to their deaths.

  By the fifth or sixth day of traveling, Celagri became extremely good at picking trails between and around the patches of Icicle Creeper, mostly from the smell of rotting carcasses. Jan had settled into the routine of the trek across country. The dwarf hated walking, and the only way he could manage was to turn each traveling day into a series of miniature adventures.

  Jan would get up and tackle the task of making breakfast, then packing up camp. Either he would pick a verbal fight with Chaiel or less often with Celagri, or he would talk about the scenery and the savage life of the local inhabitants.

  Lunch was a welcome break from Jan’s restless babble. But the afternoon hike brought more of the same.

  Chaiel seemed to enjoy the warmer weather, having given up his cloak for his indigo and green body paint. But the endless meandering through the hills and valleys seemed to take its toll on him as well. He was content to walk in silence, his hand resting on the huge hilt of his troll sword. He even hesitated to argue with Jan much anymore.

  Pabl found his mind wandering as they walked. He had dreamt of Sangolin again on the third night out from Domorpen. And once more on the fifth. It was unsettling. His dreams of Sangolin were coming more and more frequently as the days wore on and on until he could see the sea of lava and the cliffs of mist and fire even during his waking hours, and he had to concentrate on his Mynbruje pendant to force the hallucinations from his mind. The necklace brought memories of Ganwetrammus and Garen and Reid. The memories helped him forget about his dreams.

  Only Celagri seemed immune to the poisonous monotony of the landscape. Pabl noticed that she tried to keep Jan dis-This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ scarab@mindspring.com) Liferock 

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  tracted as much as she could bear, and her mood stayed high.

  She had never been through these rolling plains, and she faced the strange challenges that they offered with vigor.

  She tried on occasion to engage Chaiel in conversation, but Chaiel merely trudged ahead, ignoring her. Pabl found himself walking with them in muted silence, following Celagri’s lead and redirecting her towards their destination if her path strayed too far.

  Pabl felt a pull from Sangolin now, like a homing beacon of sorts. A sense of longing passed through him whenever he walked in exactly the right direction. Then he knew that Sangolin lay on his path ahead, waiting for him.

  As he walked, he saw the hollow in his mind as though he had been there many times — a level plateau of rock surrounded on three sides by a mountains rising above it. The fourth side opened onto a wide ledge set into the side of a cliff which dropped away into the molten sea below.

  Sangolin itself sat beneath the fallen rock — an avalanche in stasis, frozen in time. Pabl approached it, his breath quickening, his heart accelerating as he took step after careful step into the corridor. The broken rock rose on either side of him as he moved into the darkness. Then the path became a tunnel as the roof blocked out the sky. Bright white crystals glit-tered inside like huge stars in the blackness of the tunnel.

  The cavern filled Pabl’s mind. A cool breeze seemed to pass through his body, chilling his bones as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark. The drip, drip of water echoed in the enclosed space, ticking away the seconds as Pabl stared at the gray mass that was Sangolin. The force both drew him and repelled him.

  “Everything will be all right,” said a voice like churning gravel. “You cannot resist for long. And your resistance merely prolongs the pain for you.”

  Pabl looked in the direction of the voice to see a deformed This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ scarab@mindspring.com) Liferock 

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  obsidiman. His skin was white — not quartz white like Ohin Yeenar’s, but marble white. His back was bent in a permanent hunch. As the obsidiman stepped forward, his face coming out of shadow, Pabl saw that the left half of his face was sunken in, his eye socket staring vacant.

  The obsidiman placed a chunk of amber into his empty eye socket. And as Pabl watched, the amber began to glow a rich yellow-gold, highlighting the varicose veins around his nose and eye. “I can see you coming, Pabl Evr,” he said. “Sangolin sees you too. Look.” He pointed.

  The skin of the rock seemed to ripple as Pabl watched it.

  Arms and legs moving across it as though many obsidimen were trapped under a heavy blanket of gray stone. Faces and backs formed and disappeared in front of him.

  And then, he saw it. The visage of an obsidiman took shape in the rock just where he stood. He knew this obsidiman.

  His hands went up, fingers touching his own face as he looked. The same face he saw in the rock. His face.

  Sudden, intense pain exploded in his shoulder and he snapped out of the vision. Bright sky of washed-out blue made him squint to see who had hit him. He smelled the rancid tang of a rotting carcass nearby.

  “I’ve been yelling at you for the past five minutes,” Jan said.

  “Celagri too.”

  “What?” Pabl felt a warm breeze caress him, blowing away the retching odor of dead animal. He looked around to see rolling, grass-covered hills as far as he could see.

  Jan stood about a yard away, at the edge of an Icicle Creeper patch into which Pabl had wandered. Then he felt the numbing sting in his skin where the thorns had touched up and down his shins and thighs. Jan extended the end of his staff toward Pabl.

  “Come on,” he said. “Get out of there. What are you doing This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ scarab@mindspring.com) Liferock 

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  anyway?”

  Pabl pushed the staff aside and waded through the vines.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I think I’m going crazy.”

  This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ scarab@mindspring.com)  Chapter Twenty-Three 

  Sarbeneck stared up at the roof of his tent and contemplated getting out of bed. He had been staring at the dull beige canvas for nearly a half hour, drifting in and out of consciousness.

  “Hello, Sarbeneck, sir?”

  The entry flap on Sarbeneck’s right opened a crack, sending spears of sunshine into the tent. Sarbeneck squeezed his eyes closed against the light. “By the Passions, close the flap!”

  “Sir, I came to —”

  “Tell the healer I’ll get up in a few minutes. I wish he wouldn’t keep bothering me about it.”

  The dwarf who had just entered didn’t move. He just stood there, a silhouette in the dark.

  “Well, go ahead, tell him.”

  “It’s not the healer, sir. Pontin Nemish is here to see you.”

  “What does he want?”

  “He won’t say, sir. He demands to talk to you. He said he doesn’t care how hurt you are.”

  Sarbeneck sighed. “Very well, tell him I will see him here in twenty minutes. Also, please bring me some breakfast, or 171

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  whatever Sarahem has ready.”

  “As you wish.” Then the messenger was gone and Sarbeneck continued to stare at the canvas fabric of the tent’s roof. He propped himself up on an elbow and swung his legs over the side of the bed, wincing against the pain in his skin.

  Under the healer’s diligent care, Sarbeneck’s burns had mostly healed, but much residual pain still plagued him.

  It took him longer than usual to get around; even mundane tasks were painful and slow. The constant burn was more annoying than anything else. Inconvenient. Still, it hadn’t slowed the mining down very much. Sarbeneck could give orders, and his wounds had put h
im in a perpetually foul mood. As a result the work on the orichalcum mine was right on schedule despite efforts by the obsidimen to delay things.

  The obsidimen attack was more than two weeks past.

  Since then, the rock men had tried a few more things — filling the chamber with earth, taking pot shots at his Nuinouri with blizzard spheres launched from high up on the cliff face. None of them had succeeded in convincing him to halt his operation, and the mining site had been quiet for the past few days.

  There is nothing they can do now to stop the mining.

  Now, the smell of smelting metal permeated the camp day and night. It was a crisp, eye-tearing odor that Sarbeneck had come to relish. It was the smell of wealth and power.

  Sarbeneck was nearly dressed when the messenger returned with food. Sarahem had sent poached eggs and spicy sausage with rolls that were warm and soft. The food made Sarbeneck’s stomach grumble. Commend that fat ork’s soul to Garlen, he thought. The dwarf messenger set the tray on the main table, then excused himself.

  Sarbeneck straightened his pants and jacket, then sat down to satisfy his hunger. He ate slowly, savoring the delicious meal. When he was done, he cleared his palate with a glass of clean water before calling for the messenger to let This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ scarab@mindspring.com) Liferock 

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  Pontin and company in.

  What does the pretentious bastard want this time? Sarbeneck wondered, sitting back into his wicker chair.

  The tent flap drew back as Pontin swooped in, followed by his two bodyguards. Pontin’s red beard had been plaited flat and he wore a brilliant green cloak embroidered with bright blue thread. “Sarbeneck, my friend, it is good to see you. I hope you are well.”

  “I pass the days in relative peace,” Sarbeneck said. “And you?”

  “I am in excellent spirits, thank you.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  There was a short, almost awkward silence before Pontin spoke again. Then, “I have new instructions for you. There has been a slight change of plan.”

  Sarbeneck nodded for Pontin to continue.

  “How deep is the tunnel?”

  Sarbeneck thought about it for a minute. “Perhaps 140 or 150 yards into the rock now, following the orichalcum vein up at an angle. We’ve purified almost a hundred pounds of the magic metal now.”

  Pontin waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal. “The total amount of metal is unimportant really.”

  “What do you mean, unimportant? ”

  “My employers have decided to construct a temple chamber of sorts.” Pontin removed a scroll and walked over to show Sarbeneck. As he unrolled the parchment, Sarbeneck smelled fresh ink. This diagram was very recently drawn.

  “As you can see,” Pontin said, pointing to the diagram.

  “The chamber should be 150 to 200 yards into the rock, widened out so that the floor is a circle with a twenty foot diameter and hemispherical ceiling.” Pontin paused dramatically, smiling as if to himself. Then he gave a quiet chuckle. “Here’s the hard part. The walls of the chamber need to be covered This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ scarab@mindspring.com) Liferock 

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  with a lattice of purified orichalcum.”

  “What?” Sarbeneck pushed to his feet, shoving the parchment out of the way. “You want me to decorate the walls of a cave with orichalcum?”

  “Well, not all of the rock has to be covered. According to the diagram, hairline threads of orichalcum should spiral from the entrance, along the walls back to the temple chamber. Only the chamber itself need be completely latticed.” Pontin smiled, rolling up the scroll and tucking it back into its leather case. “I know it seems strange —”

  “Strange? Strange?” Sarbeneck spun to face Pontin. “It’s not only strange, Pontin, it’s downright stupid. Or insane perhaps.”

  “Please calm yourself, Sarbeneck,” Pontin said. “You will be fully compensated of course. I will pay you the current exchange rate for any purified orichalcum you have to use, plus a huge bonus when the chamber is complete.”

  Sarbeneck stepped back. “What sort of bonus?”

  “How about a half-million in silver?”

  Sarbeneck took a deep breath, then let out a long sigh. He was stunned. A half-million? At that rate, I could retire in lux-ury. He walked over to his wicker chair and gently sat down, trying to minimize the pain. He took a hard look at Pontin.

  “Let me see those plans again,” he said. “How long do I have to get this done?”

  Pontin pulled up a chair and removed the scroll from its case. “I knew you’d see the logic of my proposition.”

  This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ scarab@mindspring.com)  Chapter Twenty-Four 

  When will Sangolin call?

  He stood, staring out over the deep red sea of fire and rock. Huge stone-bergs floated in the lava, dark lumpy shapes against the scarlet glow. Tiny fire creatures took shape just at the surface, flickered in and out of the shadow of the rocks, then faded into the flames. The sight mesmerized him as he waited, with growing anticipation, for Sangolin to call.

  He sensed it then — the longing, the irresistible draw to join the others. He turned away from the heat which radiated from the sea of fire. Tendrils of cool air wisped around him as he moved toward the hollow, passing through the deserted al-cove of rock and into the tunnel. Darkness closed on him as he made his way slowly, carefully towards the beautiful rocky flesh that was Sangolin.

  His anticipation rose as he approached. His breath came quicker; his blood pounded in his chest. A burning fever possessed his head, a crisp desire to plunge himself into the merge with Sangolin.

  The surface was as he had remembered. He longed to run 175

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  his hands over the lumpy skin, the undulating mass of merged obsidimen caught in a slow motion dance through the ages.

  He reached forward to touch it, feeling a tingling at the tips of his fingers as they approached the tantalizing rock flesh.

  A sharp pain shocked through his shoulder just as he was about to brush Sangolin’s skin. Someone had hit him. He turned to see a large shape behind him, wielding a staff.

  The light in the cavern brightened as the staff came down again, aiming for his head this time. He reached up and blocked it easily with a quick jerk of his hands, then he went on the offensive, wrenching the staff away from his assailant in a smooth counter attack.

  The light grew brighter and brighter until the walls and ceiling of the cavern dissipated. The sound of dripping water gave way to the whisper of a strong breeze rushing past his ears. Sangolin disappeared behind him, as the light grew.

  Everything around him changed. Pale blue sky above, rolling grasslands below.

  “Pabl, snap out it!”

  He tossed the useless staff aside and struck at his attacker — a lightning quick pummel to the chest.

  The blow landed, sending the obsidiman flying through the air and onto his back. But the man shrank in front his eyes, changing from obsidiman to dwarf. It was Jan.

  “By Mynbruje! Pabl, look at this.”

  Jan struggled to his feet, clutching at his chest with one hand, holding something up towards Pabl in the other. “You left this back at the camp,” Jan said. The statuette looked large in the dwarf’s small hands — dull green marbled with white in places. Mynbruje?

  Garen. Reid. The names jumped into Pabl’s mind. Ganwetrammus. His liferock. Wracking pain jarred his bones just then. Ganwetrammus was in agony.

  The smell of sulfur and fire drifted in the air, but here it This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ scarab@mindspring.com) Liferock 

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  was mixed with the rich odor of the jungle nearby. The vision of Sa
ngolin disintegrated completely, giving way to a sunrise over the jungle, rolling hills of grass to the east, turning to desert rock ahead where the hills became mountains. One of the mountains belched forth black smoke. Sangolin was near there.

  I have not yet arrived.

  And as he looked in that direction his feet moved an invol-untary step. He felt the longing again.

  No. I must concentrate. “Give me the necklace,” he said.

  Jan handed the pendant to Pabl, who put it over his neck.

  Then he held the jade carving up in front of his face to examine it. Dull green stone in the shape of a stately-looking obsidiman on the surface. But as Palb concentrated, using his thread sight to scrutinizing the pattern of the statue, the shape gave way to impressions of Garen and Reid and Gvint.

  Flickers of his brotherhood.

  The little Mynbruje carving had a dense pattern with several interlocking motifs as though its primary purpose had changed drastically more than once. Pabl located a fragment which reminded him of the pattern of Ganwetrammus, then attached a thread from himself to the pattern. I should have done this weeks ago, he thought.

  When the thread looped neatly into the pendant’s pattern, Pabl felt a rush of understanding. And a connection with his liferock. Smells of home came to him — the crisp searing of the Alqarat, the humid air that signaled an approaching thunderstorm. In his head he heard the hiss of wind through the Dance of Stones, the roar of the riflev falls below the temple.

  This new connection to Ganwetrammus pulled him completely out of his trance. He forgot Sangolin, and brought his sight back to the physical world, focusing on the face of his dwarf friend who stared at him with a look of puzzlement.

  Pabl smiled. “Thank you,” he said.

  This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ scarab@mindspring.com) Liferock 