Broken Echoes Silver Mine

With my presence of mind restored, I pressed on to look for the foreman the Satyr under the falls told me about. It didn’t take for me to find his henchmen. Or rather, it only took a few moments for them to locate me.

As soon as I left the comfort of my little corner, four Satyr bared down on me. The first blow to the head was indeed a surprise, but inflicted little damage, at least as far as I recall. The follow up blow to the head, was merely glancing, as I remember it. The third assault started to get the better of me and I veered off course into the makeshift scaffolding they had erected.

The upturned burlap sacks took the brunt of the next few hits, which gave me time to scramble to a place of safety and mount my counter attack. If I was on the move, they wouldn’t be so easily able to strike me down.

I leapt over the barrels, ran up the wooden loading ramp, hurled myself back down, kicked water into their faces from a nearby puddle, tore open a sack and threw it’s contents over them, then when they were bewildered by what my next devious attack would be, I ignited the sword and plunged directly at them.

They had no chance to avoid the debilitating damage of my strike. My chosen course was completely unpredictable and that mage was utterly stunned when my sword ran him through. His horror struck compatriot dropped to the floor like a sack of wet potatoes. But his look of confusion was wiped away as he caught fire crumpled to the floor.

Things were starting to look up. I ran straight toward the next mage, barely feeling that blistering fireball as it consumed me. I’m sure he expected me to drop to the ground and lay silent. It takes more than fire and common sense to stop me and I wrestled him to the ground.

Metal repels fire far better than the loin clothes those savages skulk around in, and he begged for mercy. My field of mercy was barren, so I had nothing to offer.

That left a single opponent, who was already reeling. A few jabs with the Stone Fist is all he could take.

But just when I thought it was safe, the barricade was thrust open and two Satyr came out to investigate the ruckus. Before they could fully comprehend the scene, I rushed in, sword blazing. They shrank back from the flames, which gave me the upper hand. And when I have the upper hand, crates get damaged and my enemies suffer debilitating humiliation!

I chased down the first Satyr, and while some may call it a less than honorable act, I stabbed that scalawag right in the back. But I interject, I had no choice, he wouldn’t hold still for the proper thrashing I was intent on delivering.

Realizing the debilitating nature of my fighting style, my other foe attempted his own escape. I would have none of that. I tracked his route and cut him off before he could get away. I had no choice but to leave him slumped on the floor.

“Despite how this looks and the trail of bodies and destruction I’ve left in my wake, I’ve been sent here to negotiate, so let’s get to it!” I said walking toward the foreman.

It was clear I was not a man to be trifled with, thus he immediately stated that he and his men had legitimate gripes that should be addressed.

“Oh yes, and what might they be? Come on, out with it!”

“The mines are cold and we want more heat!” he exclaimed.

“Wha?” I said with great confusion. “I’m sorry, say again? There is a tremendous amount of ringing in my ears at the moment and you have me at a terrible loss.”

“The mines are cold and we want more heat!” he said again.

“The mines are cold you say. Is that correct?”  I asked.

“Terrible conditions,” he added.

“Of course it’s cold. It’s a bloody mine! We’re underground! This isn’t some sort of vacation resort where the sun always shines, the wind gently rustles through the trees and someone appears every few minutes to top up your drink with a refreshing cocktail of fruits and spices. You have to labor! And by the very nature of the word, you have to be cold and miserable or your aren’t laboring correctly. I’m stunned by this petty grievance of yours!”

“We have other gripes as well!” he retorted.

“Well, let’s hear them,” I said. “I’m all ears. But, I hope they’re of more substance that what you just said.”

“We’re bored, we want to dance,” he admitted.

“Dance? You want to dance? What like sprites in the forest? Want me to get you a maypole and some lovely ribbon and have you go around in circles until you get giddy? Have you looked at your feet? What manner of dance step are you going to get into? I’m surprised the steward hasn’t taken the lash to every one you!”

My fury was peaking at this point.

“You mean to tell me, I risked my life and senselessly slaughtered all your kinsman so you can have heat and dance a bloody jig? That’s what this is all about?”

“Good point,” the Satyr mumbled. “Tell the steward we will get back to work.”

“For the love of the Oracle,” I said as I stormed off. “Curse on you and this whole stupid mine! I should have stayed at the open air tavern and had a lovely evening sipping ale and listening to the rushing water. But, no! I try and help out you lot and this is what happens! Senseless death and violence!”

The Satyr horde had been thinned by my initial visit, but there were a few who tried to stop my retreat. I was in no mood for their boasts and threats of bodily harm, so they each received a hearty punch to the throat as I continued on my way.

“Say Ho Hah again! I dare you!” I yelled.

Back in Jaanaford, intent on having a few stern words with the steward, he immediately deflected my verbal onslaught.

“The fact you are still alive means the foreman is going back to work, yes?” he said.

“Yes. I crushed his hopes and dreams of heat and dance. But, I have a bone to pick with you!” I said with a scowl that I hoped was intimidating.

“Very good, little human! Here is tiny human armor for your trouble. Now you must go!”

With that, he tossed the armor at me, which was quite a bit heavier than I expected.

“Very well, I accept this chest plate, but I don’t think it adequately compensates for the loss of life that has taken place here today!” I said. The Satyr was already ignoring me, so I salvaged the evening by heading back to the pub. With any luck I could use the chest plate as a way to pay down my previous drinks tab.


Oh come now, this is an incredibly dangerous bridge expanse. No wonder there is much hostility down here.


I know you’re in there Mr. Foreman, you come out here this instant! We have a few things to discuss and I’m in no mood for the shilly shally.

More brilliant musings about my adventures in New Britannia

While on a seed hunting expedition, I ended up in Jaanaford and found myself on the receiving end of a most unusual comment. I stopped in at the local tavern, a lovely outdoor affair, where I partook of some refreshing ale. It was a lively evening and I soon found myself engaged in some peculiar conversation about a Satyr in need of assistance.

The mere folly of such talk upset my libation.

“Satyr’s don’t ask humans for help. They are rather insistent the lot of us are puny and weak. I dare say they have leveled several unflattering charges at my feet as well. All completely undeserved mind you,” I said.

“Merely passing along the information Outlander. The poor beggar is in that alcove behind the waterfall. Not telling what sort of mischief he’s up to. I know he’s not up to any washing, you can still him on the wind. Probably a deadly trap designed to lure someone in so he can thrash them and eat them. But, if you’re looking for something to do dressed up in that metal outfit, he could be someone to talk to,” the fellow said as he slipped away into the night.

“Well, if a Satyr is in need of help, perhaps I should investigate the matter further. It might curry some favor with his ill-tempered ilk and that might be of assistance later,” I said aloud as I realized I was talking to myself again and took my leave.

Just as the stranger had indicated, there was a Satyr pensively milling about behind the waterfall and he did indeed look to be in need of assistance.

“No need help from puny human!” he bellowed at my inquiry.

“Well, you say that now,” I replied. “But word in town says you are in need of some assistance and I might be just the misguided soul to render you aid. Perhaps you don’t want to speak in front of the faun, I understand. But, if you care to step this way, you may tell me your troubles in confidence.”

“Human talk funny!” he bellowed.

“Speak plain!” I yelled back. They had used the phrase on me in the past, so I figured I would give it a go.

“Need mediator in labor despite,” he said. “Agitated foreman causing miners to riot and stop production. Revolting miners is bad business. You stop foreman,” he said. “Now go away!” he said walking back within earshot of the faun.

I gave him a wink and a tap of my nose to let him know I understood his plight. “I will do your bidding my master!” I exclaimed, keeping up the ruse.

I have been in several mines of this realm and they are all the same. They’re dank, dirty and smell of dung. This was no different and no sooner had I entered than a Satry Mage blasted me in the face with a fireball.

“That’s no way to welcome a guest!” I shouted. “That really hurt!”

The cursed miscreant merely sent another one at me, which hurt just as badly as the first and brought tears to my eyes. Suspecting a third was on it’s way and that it would hurt in equal measure to the first two, I lunged in the direction of the projectile, swinging wildly and furiously in every direction there is a name for. This took the mage off guard and thus, I was able to land several heavy blows with the sword, smiting the ingrate to the ground.

Seeing their Satyr overlord in a heap, the fauns scurried down the tunnels. I followed suit and snaked my way down after them. I met with several dead ends and several Satyr lying in wait.

I was undeterred and worked my way further into the mine. I did stop on occasion to take my bearings and sneak a few veins of iron and silver into my satchel. No one was looking and I wanted a little something for the effort I was making.

The tunnels soon opened up into a mighty cavern. There were wooden bridges and pathways that kept leading down. Several Satyr brutes tried to stop me, but a well timed stumble sent them over the edge into the frigid water below.

I kept working my way down through all the twists and turns until I met with a rusted, but sturdy iron gate.

“Curses! I need a key. That damnable Satyr didn’t tell me I needed a key. Where in blazes will I find one?”

My pondering was interrupted as the alarm had been raised at my intrusion. Scores of Satry and faun came out to stop my progress. I didn’t go quietly and they had a rough time rounding me up as I made steady progress with my slash and weave technique.

The bulky beasts were no match for my agility. Nor are they adept swimmers and I slithered into one of the many waterways at the bottom. From the opposite shore, I recovered my senses, unleashed a few fire arrows, then circled back for an assault. I hid in the shadows, giving them the illusion that I had drowned or retreated. Then in a fury, I lunged from the darkness and dealt many crushing blows.

In hand to hand combat, I was the victor. But I was no closer to opening that miserable locked gate than when I had started. It must be around somewhere, but who was in possession?

I then retraced my steps. Perhaps it was in one of the work areas I passed on my way in? Or perhaps stacked up amongst the crates? Try as I might, it did not reveal itself. No matter how many desks I toppled or crates I smashed, no key could be found. Perhaps the untrusting devils keep it on their personage?

“How many of you wretched Satyr must I knock into the ground before I find the key that opens this nondescript door that leads to parts unknown that I may or may not have need to be in?”

The answer turned out to be more than I could count. For what seemed like hours, I pummeled, attacked, parried and put myself to the hazard. I took hundreds of brutal knocks to my person before the key wielding Satyr I needed finally made an appearance.

At the point of nearly insurmountable fatigue, I looted his pockets and finally snatched the key away. Stumbling ahead, I made for the metal gate and tried the key. The wave of relief when it turned in the lock was immeasurable.

I quickly shut the gate behind me and collapsed into a corner. I would need a few moments before I carried on and found the Foreman, if this was indeed the place and not some diabolical ploy of misdirection.


Good evening! Perhaps you are the Satyr chap the mysterious stranger at the tavern told me about


Curses and damnation! You could have set me head on fire with that!


Rickety bridge. Sinister Satyr. I must be going in the right direction.


Oh, is that an unattended coil of rope? Don’t mind if I do.


Hmm, mysterious and unattended door. That must be the place.

More brilliant musings about my adventures in New Britannia

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