01-13-2017, 10:06 PM
Three dwarves, killers all, stood at the entryway to the ruin the astronomer and his guard had moved into the evening before.
Sheron-bhar Stronghold crouched down to examine the prints marring the snow, his tufted brown beard and helm shielding him from the worst of the cold. At his side was his trusty axe. Unlike the multifunctional tool that a fair share of dwarven travellers used, with a pickaxe on one end to be used for impromptu prospecting and a fearsome battle axe on the other, his was mainly just a battle axe used for bashing heads in. It had stuck by him for many seasons and many headless shoulders in many, many battles, and he doubted it would stray from his side for many years yet.
Behind him were his two accomplices, Keldic Berylstern and Brennon “Quarry-digger” Yadrisson. The journey had been rife with danger and hardship, and sneaking past the giant’s camp had been no easy task, but they had done it seemingly through sheer willpower and dwarfish gumption alone. After a short meal of biscuits and crackers that morning (which they made sure to drop into their coffee so they could skim the weevil larvae off the top when the little buggers floated up), they were all a little weary and ready to get the murder part of their operation over with.
Keldic, however, was the only one of their party to voice his concerns out loud. Loudly.
“It’s jus’ maddening!” he griped, chainmail clinking noisily as he slumped onto one of the fallen pillars.
“What’s it now?” sighed Brennon. He was seated beside the disgruntled Keldic in the ruin’s shadow, busily polishing an axe blade that was bigger than his head and mail-clad shoulders combined.
“My clothes are all wet— soaked to the skin, I am. Just look at me— I’m going to die of cold!”
One grubby fingernail tracing around a wide canine print, Sheron-bhar shook his head sadly and glanced upward. Over his head was the intricately carved stone ceiling of the barrow, a whole host of geometric and circular shapes hidden beneath trembling shadow. Icicles plinked musically against one another directly above him, shimmering whenever the light trickled along their length.
“Oh, no, you shouldn’t fret about that just yet,” Brennon said, grinning like a loon behind the gleaming blade of his axe, still working at it with a ratty old wisp of a cloth. “You’ll outlive us all, I wager. The whiny ones always do.”
Sheron-bhar didn’t even need to look up to picture the expression on Keldic’s face.
Sheron-bhar Stronghold crouched down to examine the prints marring the snow, his tufted brown beard and helm shielding him from the worst of the cold. At his side was his trusty axe. Unlike the multifunctional tool that a fair share of dwarven travellers used, with a pickaxe on one end to be used for impromptu prospecting and a fearsome battle axe on the other, his was mainly just a battle axe used for bashing heads in. It had stuck by him for many seasons and many headless shoulders in many, many battles, and he doubted it would stray from his side for many years yet.
Behind him were his two accomplices, Keldic Berylstern and Brennon “Quarry-digger” Yadrisson. The journey had been rife with danger and hardship, and sneaking past the giant’s camp had been no easy task, but they had done it seemingly through sheer willpower and dwarfish gumption alone. After a short meal of biscuits and crackers that morning (which they made sure to drop into their coffee so they could skim the weevil larvae off the top when the little buggers floated up), they were all a little weary and ready to get the murder part of their operation over with.
Keldic, however, was the only one of their party to voice his concerns out loud. Loudly.
“It’s jus’ maddening!” he griped, chainmail clinking noisily as he slumped onto one of the fallen pillars.
“What’s it now?” sighed Brennon. He was seated beside the disgruntled Keldic in the ruin’s shadow, busily polishing an axe blade that was bigger than his head and mail-clad shoulders combined.
“My clothes are all wet— soaked to the skin, I am. Just look at me— I’m going to die of cold!”
One grubby fingernail tracing around a wide canine print, Sheron-bhar shook his head sadly and glanced upward. Over his head was the intricately carved stone ceiling of the barrow, a whole host of geometric and circular shapes hidden beneath trembling shadow. Icicles plinked musically against one another directly above him, shimmering whenever the light trickled along their length.
“Oh, no, you shouldn’t fret about that just yet,” Brennon said, grinning like a loon behind the gleaming blade of his axe, still working at it with a ratty old wisp of a cloth. “You’ll outlive us all, I wager. The whiny ones always do.”
Sheron-bhar didn’t even need to look up to picture the expression on Keldic’s face.
Quote:15,579/40,000. Unless we actually need less than that?
Just a quick post, I'll have another up tomorrow/possibly the next day.
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Gamzee Makara Wrote:S’aight. After all, dogs have a tendency to motherfuckin’ bite.