Rojvol Kavka
Rojvol Kavka was standing atop the Mason's Guild guildhouse, largest and tallest building still standing in the cavern. He tried to make a parallel between the immeasurably immense mass of rock that cut them away from the outside world, and some ancient great beast, and to liken himself to a hero of yore. The hero was always fearless, always true, always brave, and always won over the best, be it by some sort of wise ruse or perhaps some magical sword. He wished he could be such a hero, but what he faced was not some abstractly absurd creature, but a very real and very bad situation without some easy, powerful solution. His magical sword were people, streaming in and out of the mining pits and adits that pocked the cave in, in vain hope of getting through the mass before the supplies ran out.
From up here, one could see the supply situation going from bad to worse already. The mining effort had preferential supply rights, and as such the miners were the only group in the city with abundant amount of torches. Mining in dark was even greater madness than mining in unstable rock. The rest of the city was noticeably more dim. The lamp oil was running out, and as such, only third of the city lamps were lit at all times, until substitute would be found. Some part of the city were lit by jars full of glow-worms, found in the nearby caves, or by dry torches made from certain kind of lichen that grew in the dark, but it was poor substitute for actual fuel.
The food, building materials, medical supplies... whatever item you could name, it was all imported from the surface. The city was rich in mineral resources, iron, nickel and sulphur and petrified wood, but everything else was imported from the outside. Unless they figured out something soon,the dwindling supplies would collapse the so far orderly morale of the cityfolk, and would be replaced by fear induced madness and chaos.
"Sir, the Council has gathered, and is waiting for you downstairs," the adjutant, walking up the stairs to the guildhall's tower, said.
"How do they look?" Rojvol asked back, needlessly.
"Afraid as everyone else, I think," the adjutant answered.
The Guild of Masons generously offered their guildhall for the Conservatory Council to use, assuming their Guildmaster would have a seat at the council. Everyone saw it as a small price to pay in order to secure access the most respectable, and coincidentally, most defensible building still standing. The council counted eight members, and was seated around a round table in the guild's grand hall. The Guildmaster of the Mason's Guild, Patrician of the city, First among Miners, Master of the Mint, Captain of the now-ruined Palace Guard, Vendrick Rahman, a notorious smuggler, Rojvol himself and Ivaar Bel. Ivaar was nowhere to be seen.
"You said the Council was gathered," Rojvol whispered to the adjutant.
"The Patrician thinks there is enough of the Council present," the man whispered back.
Thrice damned fool. We do this enough many times, and the toy soldier will decide to use us as a scapegoats next problem shows up, Rojvol thought. He had his own opinion of Ivaar, but he kept the common folk in fold when the coins were counted. The people trusted him, and not the Patrician, who provided useless as a tin can opener on a pick axe.
Rojvol reached the table, nodded in greeting and seated himself. The adjutant added some of Rojvol's ledges to the pile already present on the table. "Very well then. Since the Council has gathered, we might go with the weekly report and prognosis on the supply situation and progress of the miners..."
Through the first minutes, it was clear as day the situation was just as bad as last week. Rojvol was grateful that the Prior of the Abbey of the Stone and Salt was not allowed to join the council. The fool thought fervent prayer, fasting and self-flagellation was solution to every problem. Rojvol decided to leave the monks to what they did best. Truth was, since the Abbey decided to fast en-mass, it saved food for those who were of actual use to the effort. Rojvol saw the self-flagellation as a nice bonus.
Some time into the meeting, Rojvol's slipped into a trance of despair, staring down at a ledger containing numbers that showed how quickly was the city's fruit and vegetable deteriorating. The Guildmaster and First of the Miners were arguing about how to proceed with the mining, and Patrician was trying to stab Vendrick with his eyes. Rojvol hoped for a miracle.