Deep below the surface of Port Noth, the mines were claustrophobic and smelt of metal and sweat. The undisturbed sound of heavy banging rang out along the narrow tunnels. Dwarves swung their pickaxes in a daze of fatigue and made noises of pain with each hit. They knew what they were looking for and knew very well that all they were getting was stone instead.
It required little magic to manipulate a set of people to do what you want, with a better chance of them performing to their most inhumane ability. The council of Port Noth had found out about the rare and precious minerals beneath their city. Emphasis on rare, as they had only found a miniscule amount, and were hungry for more. They would do whatever was possible to get their collective hands on it, after all, they weren't the ones who had to find and extract it themselves.
Clyde felt sweat beading and dripping off his forehead. His muscles were aching, but he had no intention of stopping. It was a strange feeling. He felt himself off in another place, thinking of his cellar, of Wilhelm, of the love he carried for the extensions of himself, his creations. He was what he would deem an inventor, a constructor of living things. Existing in all kinds of mechanical fauna were what Clyde saw as his entire life's purpose. But below the ground, in the mines, he was a tool, and an ineffective tool at that. Because in his other place, he held the knowledge of where he had been hoarding the same minerals his uncontrollable corpse was tirelessly searching for. That is how he knew exactly what was going on, and felt safe in the knowledge that they could not see into his mind. As long as he kept working, he knew he was successful in protecting what he held so close.
That would've all been just fine if it wasn't for his physical body growing weaker and weaker. The drive he felt continued on. It hurt like hell, the burning through every cell in his body. A maddeningly soft, spell-like tingling head-to-toe. He felt on the edge of collapse consistently, the view of nothing but stone and the pickaxe in his heavy hands. The echoing clanking had already gone past the point of being so loud and so repetitive that it would make any man's brains bleed out of his ears, or at least felt of it. He was in all forms of agony. Then suddenly, his body froze to a stop, and he felt a large tsunami sized wave of relief rush over his whole being, and fell to the ground in exhaustion.
He was still there, now more than he had been while off in his other place. The men around him either stood shakily rubbing their heads, or slowly picked themselves off the floor, as they too had fallen over. He felt the pain even more now, properly being in his body. It felt as heavy as a stack of obsidian bricks.
He struggled to his feet and braced himself on the surrounding walls. Clyde was a dwarf, as it was only dwarfs who were to work in the mines, the tunnels being too small to fit anyone taller. He was stocky and had a large build. Due to his broad shoulders, he would often feel uncomfortable with the stone walls brushing up against his arms. He and his fellow workers made their way sluggishly through the rocky corridors in single-file, the tunnels opening up wider where they met other tunnels, more and more tired dwarfs flowing desperately to an exit. They all shared the same pain of mind and body, but only Clyde had the twinkling feeling of hope inside him, of something to keep safe, a reason to be strong.
Everything had been dark, their eyes had adjusted to the darkness. There was only the faint orange glow emitted from hanging lanterns down the tunnels. They were not met with light at the exit of the mines, but came out into a wide cavity in the earth, wooden buildings were gathered up and around the hole. This was the underground town of Ottswald. Looking up, the hole continued ascending, thousands of crammed wooden structures clutching to each other. Bridges, that looked on the verge of collapse, went across the gaping cavern, dwarfs wondering around in all places the eye could see.
