>>5270972While Scite mouths off, you play along and try to cajole him into revealing more about the Leadkeepers.
Scite is apparently in charge of some sort of grinding machine, which he mentions has been on the fritz lately. You ask him what’s wrong with it, and he says everything. The millstone breaks down twice a week because the coal dust messes with the control glyphs, his coworkers are incompetent idiots who need a babysitter to walk them through pressing a big red button, and the foreman has been on his ass about the quality of his coal powder, which is somehow not good enough despite being 99% pure anthracite. The Elders had better appreciate his contribution to the cause, because there sure as shit ain’t any appreciation here.
You ask if Scite lives in the mine. He snorts derisively. Yeah, he was made here, but he certainly doesn’t want to stick around this crusty old hole any longer than he has to. This place is a temporary outpost anyway, since the Elders need to stretch their charcoal supplies with coal dust now that someone took over their wood operation. And anyone with basic knowledge of crepitology knows it won’t be sustainable.
Off-handedly, you remark that Scite and his coworkers sure are big, at least for you. Scite laughs it off and says he’s just built different. You ask if he could elaborate, and he just says that mine workers need to be stronger than scouts and diplomats, who are more your size.
You ask about his relation to the owner of the gun shop in town. Scite doesn’t know her personally, but she’s definitely a sister. People like the gun hag allow the lowly grunts like him to access the myriad comforts of greater surface civilization: TV, microwave meals, and instant coffee (one of your people’s greatest inventions, he adds).
He doesn’t know much about the Architechium. They’re right bastards, for one. And they butt heads with the Leadkeepers at every turn. But he doesn’t pay attention to politics.
(1/2)
