Wierd disembarked from the now horribly cramped cargo compartment of Gizogin's tank, stretched, and cracked his back in 15 places. He'd always had a problem with making loud popping sounds, and being stuffed in confined postures for long periods always agitated it.
Rustling around inside, he removed one of the twisted blobs of transdimensionally damaged adamantine chain links he had salvaged when he had been forced to teleport the anchor links to get the chains free from their holdings. He wished he had pockets.
The links in the chain were quite large, and had they been made of steel or iron, the deformed blob of material would have weighed several pounds. As-is, the hunk of metal that used to be a chain fitting weighed less than 1 newton.
He had been at the tower for who knows how long-- and the journey there and back took the better part of an hour each way. He could still feel Sparrow in the back of his mind. Well, with the launch key in his backpack, there wasnt a whole lot the old ghost could do over there, with 10,000 year old relics. He deserved to have the chance to look around in that old dump.
He decided to go check the kiln.
As he approached, a crazy scene laid out before him. About 8 peasants were assembly-lining clay harvesting, brick molding, and stacking greenware, while another pressgang was dutifully unloading the massive kiln from its previous charge. All around the kiln yard, huge pots covered in a lovely light green with spots of mottled brown salt glaze sparkled beautifully in the sun, interspersed with small mountains of fired pink brick, and chunks of smashed clay sagger.
Rikod had been busy today...
He looked, and saw the old coot waving his arms around like a traffic cop directing his work crew, but the way the crew was acting was ... off... As one passed him by, he looked at the slack-jawed yokel, and saw less sparkle of intelligence than usual, replaced with a dull, sullen expression and a thousand yard stare. Either they were seriously suffering booze withdrawl, or Eric was behind it.
"accidents" my ass, he thought.
"Hey Rikod!" he said, strolling through the zombie-esque workcrew, and narrowly avoiding getting plastered with a tossed wad of fire clay getting tossed up the assembly line.
"Wierd lad!" he said jovially, before cursing at the work gang again. "No ye idjots! I said put em o're DERE!"
"What the hell's going on? This place is a few demons short of a circus!"
"What's that? I dont ken---" said Rikod confusedly, before catching that he meant the pressgangs. "Oh, ye mean all t'e workers and such?"
"Yeah. What the hell is going on?"
"I dunnoo, I came out 'ere to check on our work, and all 'ese dumbarses showed up, and said 'ey was tuh help me with making bricks and whatnot. Wouldnt go aweeh, so I been doin muh bes' tuh get shite done...."
Wierd rounded on one of the peasants slopping up clay from the claybank, as he was essentially stationary in the supply line, and demanded to know who sent him.
"...wee..are..to..help....." was the cryptic, and stilted reply.
"Taint nuh use lad!" Rikod chuckled. "NO! As is earthen warr! I SAID DIG TUH FIRECLAY! O'ER DERE!"
"I take it you've been busy..."
"I's as been directin' this rabble all damned mornin'!" Rikod spat. "Aint got me hands dirty ALL DAMNED DAY! This lot o' morons cant tell clay from slip I tells ye! And I mean at straigh' up tuh! At one o'er dere as been tryin tuh fill brick molds wit' slip e'ry time I turn me back on im! I says, 'No, ye idjot! As is a PRESS MOLD!' but does he listen? Nae!"
"maybe you should get a big stick to hit him with?"
"Is right temptin!" Rikod bellowed, "but 'en some o' dese o'hers as would be tryin some other dumbarsed thing! Like T'ose two!" Rikod pointed over to a pair of heavily muscled, but glassy-eyed morons smashing up the bits of broken sagger into clay grog. "They's been tryin to smash up pots all day long! I says "NAE! ONLY DE SAGGER BITS!" but does d'ey listen? Ocourse not!"
"Sounds like you got your hands full..." wierd mused.
"Damn straight I does! At least *ye* aint got yer head on backards taday!----NAE! NAE NAE NAE! I Said tuh put it o'er DERE! O'ER DERE!"
"I have no idea what you've got going on, and I'd probably just get in your way... I'll go see about getting wood delivered for a proper firing tonight."
"Tha's the most intelligent thin' I heard all day!" laughed Rikod. "I'll leave ye tuh it! ---NAE! Canne ye NOT HEAR ME BOY!? ONLY SAGGER BITS! ONLY SAGGER! YE GOT YE HEAD UP YER ARSE OR WHAT!?--- Sorry 'bout dat... I could sure use a drink...."
"I dunno if I can deliver MIRACLES like that just yet--- but I'll sure see about getting some wood delivered."
Rikod and wierd both laughed deep and hard over that one, before the ceramicist broke out in yet another verbal assault on the misbehaving and poorly disciplined labor gangs.
After waving each other off, wierd scooped up a brick. He needed something to show Eric in order to get him to spare some of the wood quota. Maybe the adamantine would cheer him up too. Then again, trying to cheer up a man with a weedeater shoved up his ass like Eric was impossible.