Save the Ale


 * Halagh Communal Caverns


 * A series of graduated tiers, like giant steps, have been carved to form a descending path from the great bowl that indents Halagh Peak, winding, twisting and narrowing before finally opening into a great cavernous belly within the mountain peak. Here, the denizens of Halagh's primary city dwell in communal caverns spoking off from a chamber so massive that it actually spawns its own weather.


 * Thin wisps of what might be fog or cloud tendrils drift among the stalactites that densely populate the ceiling of the main cavern.


 * Iron catwalks crisscross the chamber, intersecting with a great metal support spindle in the center of the communal caverns. The catwalks provide access both to the hive-like domiciles of the Halaghi and to the great chambers that house the steam generators and coal-powered turbines that provide life-supporting warmth to the underground city.

Hal'gwynt makes his way out of the bode caverns, picking something out of his teeth with a polished iron toothpick.

Hal'ligg struts along, chest puffed out, and gives a wave to Hal'gwynt. "Cheerful earlydark, Hal'gwynt! Need any patchifying?"

Hal'gwynt laughs. "Not me, nah," he says. "Ye're struttish. Wha'for?"

Hal'ligg pumps a miniscule fist in the air. "My magniferous patchifying fixed up a guy after a pipe burst," he says proudly. "If it weren't for me, we'd have a face free man walking around, you know."

Hal'gwynt laughs. "Aye, well, we've needed a good patchupper 'round here," he says. "All the pipes a'burstin' an' stuff."

"Ah-ha!" the patchupper bursts out suddenly. "It /isn't/ just me!"

Hal'gwynt blinks. "What ain't?" he asks. "You have too much bamboozale?"

"I could have some bamboozale, actually," Hal'ligg notes. "Explodicated pipes. They don't just happen around me." He smiles brightly.

Hal'gwynt blinks again. "Nah, they happen everywhere," he says, with absolute certainty. "Up above, down below, everywhere inbetween. An' I'm workin' on the ale, yeah."

Hal'ligg nods thougtfully. "They just like explodicating around me," he says. "Thought it's because I..." He trails off. "Bamboozale? You have some?"

Hal'gwynt shakes his head. "M'brewifier ain't done yet," he says. "Workin' on it though. Soon enough, bamboozale. An' then we can throw a party."

Hal'ligg grins, then thumps his chest. "I'm a patchupper, but my dad was a facture. What are you still needing for it?"

"Th'food," Hal'gwynt laughs. "An' maybe some music."

Hal'ligg considers this a long moment. "... I'm no good with lichen. It's too boring. You'd have to ask someone else."

"Food takes goats," says Gwynt simply.

Hal'ligg nods slowly. "Goats! I can try and get them," he says. "I have a goatnatcher I'm trying to build... It's not going very quickly, though."

"All the buildin' takes a while," Hal'gwynt nods. "But then y'get yer own goatnatcher, an' yer own goats, an' it's all good."

Hal'ligg blinks thoughtfully. "What did I need?" he asks no one in particular. "I can't remember. I'll have to look."

Hal'gwynt hmms. "Torch, bench, drill...pipes, tank fer fuel, engine, crook t'catch th' goat with," he says. "Not a *whole* lot."

Hal'ligg hmms, then nods, seeming to decide. "Let's see what I have left!" he says. "I know it's a lot." Without another word, he ambles off toward the bode cavern, bumping into a woman walking in the other direction, without seeming to notice.


 * Hal'ligg's Bode Cavern


 * An eight foot by eight foot by five foot alcove cut into the rock of the mountain. It is equipped with a simple brown wool sleeping mat, and three shelves cut into the rock for personal effects.

Hal'ligg putters into the bode caren, looking around. "Right!" he says cheerfully. "I was needing to make the torch." He leans over, picking up the fuel tank and pipes. "Then a hammer..."

Hal'gwynt leans against the doorway, watching with a grin. "Fun t'make stuff go, innit?" he asks. "Not as much fun as flyin', o'course, but fun."

Hal'ligg frowns, furrowing his brow. "Just gotta pay attention to it, is all," he says, before blinking slowly. "I wonder if I can add a kablamstick to the goatnatcher! It'll make them a lot easier to bring to the butchery platform."

"It's gettin' all the pebbles outta the meat after, that's why it ain't done that way," says Hal'gwynt. "Goatnatcher, ye just get goat. Not goat an' rock."

The patchupper considers this a long moment, before saying, "Let's try anyways! You know how to make a kablamstick?"

"Y'need the Samophlange fer that," Gwynt points out. "Long way off, that."

Hal'ligg frowns. "Ahh, right," he says. "Never mind that, then. I'll have to find a way to explodify the goats later." He pulls his materials up, then turns away. "The extractory!"

Hal'gwynt chuckles. "Ye're a right busy burok, you are," he says.


 * North Bode Cavern


 * This is the northernmost of the four residential caverns of Halagh. It is a fair-sized cavern, its walls pock-marked by hundreds of rectangular alcoves cut into it, up to ten high. Sturdy, metal-reinforced wooden scaffolding has been anchored to the rock, resulting in a multitude of catwalks and steep stairways which allow access to the bode caverns.

"Busy," Hal'ligg agrees. "You know how many injurificated people show up here every day? They should be looking to the pipes better." The blond patchupper is walking through, carrying a pipe and fuel tank.

Hal'gwynt is tagging along, apparently out of boredom and curiosity, that volatile mix. "Plenty," he says. "Needs a good steam manager, aye."

Hal'emrys wanders in through the bode cavern, possibly heading to his own, though he does stop as he notices the fuel tank and the pipe.

"A good steam manager," Hal'ligg agrees. "And maybe... maybe..." He furrows his brow. "Never mind that! Need a goatnatcher, now. And a butchery platform."

"Y'do need that fer trition bars, yeah," Gwynt nods, watching the burok with a bit of surprise. "Didn't think y'were a partyer."

Hal'emrys tilts his head. "You mentioned a steam manager?" he queries the burok, rubbing his mittened hands together. "What are you making?"

Hal'ligg looks over to Hal'emrys. "A goatnatcher!" he says cheerfully. "Then a butchery platform. Then goggles and turbs." He pauses, considering Hal'emrys before shuffling torward him. "And it's you, the spiderscared one. Then I need to find a way to patchify your head."

Hal'gwynt snickers at that, but doesn't say anything - seems the Halaghi's attention has been caught by something rather more gruesome. And he's not the only one. There's a kind of ripple of sound - hushed silence followed by murmurings of concern, coming from the central spire stair.

Hal'emrys rubs his head. "Ah, probably does need it," he says to 'Ligg. "I'm a steam manager by trade but..." he pauses and looks at Gwynt and then up at the stair as well.

"I meant patch up the..." Ligg trails off, then gets up on his tiptoes, looking for the spire stair. "Huh. Something's wrong?"

Hal'gwynt follows the others as they peer, but it's clear enough when two Halaghi, both sporting bright red scalding burns, carry a third along on a rendered stretcher, heading for a bode. "Fault in the line," the one in front says to the overly curious. "Wouldn't go to Two-South now. Floodified - burn the hairs off a stepper."

Hal'emrys blinks, frowns. "That's not good at all," he says, rubbing his beard, and already looking towards the south.

Hal'ligg raises his hand. "Patcherupper here!" he calls out, tucking the pipe and fuel box away. "Bring the injurified to me, and I'll have a look at them." He starts running over to the man on the stretcher, for that bode.

The crowd parts willingly for the burok - though with quite a bit of curiosity - and the Halaghi holding the front half of the stretcher nods to Hal'ligg. "He'd be appreciatative, sir," he says. "Want us to hold it steady, take him to his bode, or yours, or set him down here?"

Hal'gwynt hmmms, frowning down at the body. "Caught th'blast head on, din't he," he says. "Big burst."

Hal'emrys adjusts his goggles as he looks at him, and then shakes his head, moving slowly towards the south. "So it would seem, aye," he murmurs. Curiosity killed the...Em?

Hal'ligg frowns, looking over the injured man, before shaking his head and pointing to a bode cavern. "Bring him to my bode," he says, deadly serious now that there's work to be done. "My kit is there."

"Yessir," says the lead stretcher-carrier, and the three Halaghi move to follow the burok to his bode. The one on the stretcher is barely responsive, clearly shocked. The crowd, now that it seems care will happen, start to disperse - but one tugs on the second carrier-stretcher's getup.

"What about the pipes?" he asks. "Are they still live?"

"Yeah," grumbles the stretcher-carrier. "The emergency valve's past the steam burst, we can't depressurify the pipe."


 * Hal'ligg's Bode Cavern


 * An eight foot by eight foot by five foot alcove cut into the rock of the mountain. It is equipped with a simple brown wool sleeping mat, and three shelves cut into the rock for personal effects.

Hal'emrys decides that today isn't the best day to go attempt the wildly stupid, and decides to see if the others are all right, following after them.

Hal'ligg squats down next to the patient, looking him over, before starting to undress the patient. "Need to get the clothes off first," he says. "If we let it insulify him, it'll just make the burns worse. Can't soak him, either. He'd drown."

The two stretcher-carriers take up a kind of solemn guard position on either side of Hal'ligg's bode door, frowning down at their barely-breathing comrade. "Just do what you have to," says the leader of the two. "We were taking him back to his bode to sealify him in it. Didn't know we had a patchupper here."

Hal'gwynt - curious as ever, and utterly immune to things like Glares of Doom - peers around the solemn guards to watch. At least he isn't Making Comments.

Grabbing his healer's kit, Hal'ligg pulls out a bit of gauze, starting to dry off the burned area. "Do we have any cold water?" he asks. "No icified water, just cold. We need to dousify the fires under his skin."

Hal'emrys just crosses his arms, tilting his head slightly.

"It's *your* bode," the stretcher carrier points out, a bit unnerved. "Don't you know?"

Hal'gwynt just chuckles a bit, and opts to get out of the way of the doorway. Meanwhile, the Halaghi on the stretcher seems to be fading fast.

Hal'ligg grumbles, then walks off to the side, looking around before getting some cold water, which he uses to pour slowly over the victim. "Would be better if I could submergify him," he says as he starts to dry the wounds again. "But this will have to do."

Hal'emrys looks at the fading Halaghi, removes his goggles to de-steam them.

It's rather tense and silent in the bode, as Hal'ligg works to keep the injured Halaghi alive. But - the Halaghi, battered as he is, does not sink into death. As the burns are treated, he seems insted to slip from shock to consciousness. "MMm....mmm..." But the words aren't being very comprehensible, today.

Hal'gwynt blinks down as the Halaghi seems not to be dying after all. "Huh." Well, it might be praise. Maybe.

"No speech for you," Hal'ligg tells his patient, giving him a pat on an unburned area before applying an ointment. "But you'll live. You'll be scarrified and uglificated, but you'll live."

Hal'emrys gives Ligg an odd look at that, but shrugs to himself and looks at the patient.

That seems to be what the other two needed to hear, and the tense silence fades into relieved chuckling. "Ah, well, when you look like a goat's tail to start with, steam prettifies you," says the second stretcher-carrier. "But we have to coolify that cavern. The burst section's halfway to the Barkeepery, all the bamboozale's gonna go sour."

Hal'gwynt blinks at that. "Why didn't ya say?" he says. "You gotta go, Em, the *ale's* gonna go sour."

Hal'ligg turns, looking over to Em and Gwynt, before nodding. "Yes! Protect the bar."

Hal'emrys blinks. "Scuze, sir, Gwynt," he says, looking alarmed, and heads out as fast as he can go.


 * Halagh Lower South Catwalk


 * A gridwork iron catwalk extends from the great support spindle that towers within the communal caverns, stretching south over the steamy lower levels and beneath the crisscrossing lines of higher catwalks that give the appearance, when seen from below, of a sloppily designed spider's web.


 * Plumes of white steam hiss from relief valves in feeder pipes that deliver the life-giving warmth throughout the cavern city. The valves themselves actually serve a purpose in the local ecology: a glowing blue fungus thrives in patches around those relief valves, providing a valuable source of illumination for the inhabitants.

As the halaghi climb the catwalks, it's fairly clear where the problem lies - indeed, it would be nearly impossible to miss it. Over the catwalk leading to the corridor of the Barkeepery, one of the relief valves has completely *blown* - fountaining scalding hot steam over the catwalk at noticeably high pressure, and making it impossible for any halaghi to pass. Those halaghi without tools or skills to fix the problem are doing the wise and sane thing and keeping away. Those caught in the initial blast, or perhaps injured in the attempts to repair it, are on a lower catwalk - being carefully hauled away.

Those Halaghi keeping away, however, would seem to exclude Hal'ligg, and he stumps forward a few steps, looking down at the patients below. "Cold water!" he shouts. "Dunk them in cold water, and I'll be right down!"

Hal'emrys looks up at the pipes with the eye of a practiced steam manager. "If they'll clear a way, I'll see if I can get that fixered up, and strengthened, aye."

Hal'gwynt grins. "Leave the clearin' to me," he says, and then the little Halaghi bellows - in a basso profundo that vibrates the catwalks - "EVERYBODY MOVE!"

And...they do. Possibly out of sheer shock, of course, but a way is cleared for Hal'emrys to get to the burst valve. Hal'gwynt's content to trot along behind, in the happy knowledge that the route to his favorite bar will soon be secure.

Down below, of course, the shout startles but has little effect, and Hal'ligg has a bit of rough going to get to where he can be helpful.

Em, being a professional, has no problems maneuvering to get into place, tools out and ready from a pouch beneath his get-up. "Watch out," he bawls down below. "This is going to spray a little bit more!" The tools are out and he's soon very busy.

Hal'ligg frowns, and starts backing off, looking for another way down to the lower level. He finds a ladder, and starts heading down. "Slowify yourselves!" he calls. "I'm gonna come patch them up!"

At first, Hal'emrys goes up there alone. It's a bad break, the steam's *very* hot and dangerous, and nobody wants to take the risk. But after Em's had a chance to get to work, a few other halaghi come forward to help him, following his lead, and soon enough the breach is patched and the valve is closed again. The catwalk below the break gleams as if it were brand new, powerwashed as it's been by such explosive force and hot water. One of the managers comes up to Em afterward, offering his hand. "Thanks for being first," he says simply.

Down below, once people see Hal'ligg is a patchupper and a burok, a way starts being cleared and he's led to those too injured to walk out under their own power. A few factures tentatively step forward, to be used as gofers or whatever the patchupper might need.

Hal'ligg sits on the lower catwalk, directing the gofers back and forth as he steps forward, tending to the injuries. "Get their clothes off the burns. And cold water. Cold water, no ice."

Hal'emrys continues to work frantically, allowing his fellow workers and workeresses help him out with the fixing of the pipe. "Just a bit of thick-n-stick to reinforcicate this here, and let's see if we can't get things checked up and down, so it doesn't happen again, aye folks?"

Hal'gwynt just watches as the work finishes, the manager who offered Em his hand lowering it with a bit of a harrumph before going back to work. "An' ale for everybody at the end o' the road," he says.

Down below, Hal'ligg's got his work cut out for him. Two he manages to stabilize enough that their friends can take them back to their bodes for rest. One he patches up so well the Halaghi goes home under his own power, and the fourth...well, no one's perfect. The wrong salve was apparently applied, as Hal'ligg's last patient starts *hopping*. Up and down, like he's just stepped in chili sauce, or itching powder.

"Ehhh hehe. Sorry about that," the patchupper says sheepishly. "Well, if you wash that off, and just, well, keep it dry, it shouldn't be too bad? The rest of you, you'll be up and well soon enough, though! Here, let me help you, I can patch this, really."

Hal'emrys hops down, wiping sweat off of his forehead. "Phew," he says. "Ale, aye, that's the point."

As the danger is dealt with, and the wounded treated...well, life goes back to normal, as it always does. The crowds disperse, the mess is cleaned up - well, except where the pipes did that anyway - and the volunteers who made it all happen....start eyeing the now-open path to the Barkeepery, and the possibility of a really good drink.

Hal'gwynt just tags along, because - hey. Beer. Beer is good. Beer is life. Or something.

Hal'ligg chases after his patient. "Oh, come on! I can patchify you really well! And maybe fix that scar for you. Do you have any head problems that need patching, like Em?"

The itching-powder doused, steam-scalded Halaghi isn't going to wait for further treatment. A bath calls. Like, right now, it seems. A bath, quite possibly, on the other side of the city.

Hal'emrys heads towards the barkeepery. Oh yes. Much ale to be had.

Hal'ligg shrugs, gives up, and heads to the barkeepery.