[Center]Forged in fire, Part I[/center]
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Morgan and Jack moved from the mansion to the mines, boarding the train to do so. The train ride had been most uneventful, only an hour on the mechanical beast as it spewed black smoke into the air, turning the coal into raw momentum. The train was almost empty, not a lot of people were traversing the island in the dead of night. As the train arrived, punctual as always, the two men embarked towards the mines.The air was thick with smog and in the distance one could hear the sound of the refineries that turned the excellent coal of the island into fuel for the factories. As well as the many workshops using the metals imported from the rest of the blue to create arms, tools and other useful items en masse. The factory district was at it’s core the single most important place on Sunstrider. Which made the shares Sunstone held in the mining companies, as well as the factories all the more important.

 Leaving the station Morgan and Jack lit each up a smoke. Morgan opened his cigarette case, adorned by his family crest in gold,and picked out a handrolled cigarette which he pressed against his lips and lit with a flick of his thumb, his nail catching fire as discreetly as possible.  Jack finished packing his pipe as he produced matches from his pocket, lighting it by rubbing it against his facial hair as he nursed the pipe before taking deep puffs of tobacco. The duo came across a couple of patrols of Striders as well as a small unit of Marines. 14 men in total between the two groups. They noticed a spat held between the two enforcement bodies about jurisdiction. They were out of Solstone so therefore the Baron had no stake in this match. 

“THIS IS CLEARLY MARINE TERRITORY”

“LIKE HELL IT IS, BEAT COP. THIS IS OUR SOIL. STRIDER SOIL.”

“OH YEAH?! WHO YOU CALLING A COP, HUH?! WE’RE MARINES. SOLDIERS, GOD DAMNIT!”

“YEAH, SOLDIERS. THIS SURE AIN’T A WARZONE NOW IS IT, IDIOT. GO FETCH A BONE FOR YOUR WORLD GOVERNMENT MASTERS!”

“YOU WANT ME TO MAKE IT INTO A WARZONE, YOU LITTLE SUN-RASH PISSPOT?!”

As Morgan and Jack walked past, they could hear a brawl erupting behind the two units. The two had little love for either Marine or Strider so they ignored the on goings. However, if even the law enforcement stationed out here couldn’t keep peace between themselves, what hope would the opposing union miners have?

Arriving at the locale of the mine, a foreman noticed their approach and rushed at the two. He was a short and portly man with large cheeks and buck teeth. He was clad in a locomotive-driver's hat that was too big for him, the hat almost as tall as himself at roughly 4 feet, the hat drooping into a semi-circle, like a waxing moon, as he waddled up to the two men.

“Oi! Is it da Baron I spot?!” The man bellowed out and Morgan nodded

“If it ain’t my favorite foreman. How are you doing, Smokey?” The man shook his head
“Not good, not good at all lad. Mine’s a mess. The damn triad’s shut us down nice and proper, they have. Well, we shut ourselves down, but it’s because of their foul stenching tactics. They’re squeezing us for every penny we have. And I fear they’re setting up raiders to steal our shipments when they are supposed to leave the district.”

“That’s a… Stern alligation, Smokey.” Jack interjected. Smokey nodded in agreement as he continued pleading his case to the Baron and the former Ashbringer.

“Aye. But what else can one think when the damn trains heading to Sunstone get jacked, but the ones heading to the triad’s turf remain untouched? Six hijacks in two weeks. Our weekly production is down to a quarter of its normal amount. The stockpiles in our fine city will run empty in a week. We took to striking in order to enforce the triad to send guards onto all trains, as it’s their negotiated responsibility to secure the goods going in both directions, as per section 7B of the trade agreement and the most recent negotiations held two years ago. I have the paper here with me somewhere” He said, tapping the pockets of his overalls till he eventually found a paper, his soot-stained hands had left many prints all over the document.

“I know the paragraph well, Smokey. I wrote it.” Morgan confirmed as Smokey shook his head, coal falling out of his hat. “It gets worse, sir. There are men hired to fight our workers, beating up anyone who doesn’t get back to work. They come here every morning and beat the few our our men who show up, at this rate we won’t be able to return to production for weeks before our men have a chance to recover.”

“The triad is sending goons here?” Jack questioned, and Smokey nodded - and shook his head.

“Yes and no. They are pirates, who we are sure are affiliated with the Triad.”

Morgan rubbed his fingers over the bridge of his nose. This sure wasn’t gonna be fun.