Bricks, glass, trees
(Must... Resist... urge to... Dwarf...)
Ah, that fresh mountain air. It was glorious, almost always a cold tinge to it, gave it a little bite. What better air for a dwarf to breathe? Not like those elves, who live far below, hugging their damned trees.
I swear, I don't know why we tolerate them. Sure, they buy our metals, but they insist we 'refrain from harming the forests' in order to make the bed we sleep on. When we ask them how we are supposed to make beds without wood, they say that they can use some new age, elven hippy, magic to grow the wood out of the tree without killing it. We ask them to teach us that then. "No." They say. "You are too lowly and fierce to properly control such powers." So now we have to try and keep all woodcutting a secret, lest the tree-huggers get upset. "Eh, bugger 'em! What'll they do? Cry from up in their treetops, where they live like apes! Pathetic! Ridiculous! Bloody pes-"
In my anger, I shattered the rock mug of ale in my hands and a mournful sigh escaped me at the loss of my booze. I got up from the floor and dusted myself off, before heading back into the halls of Mountainhome to get some more of the sweet nectar. It would help my mood none, if I didn't go get a new full mug. The sound of my footsteps echoed as I made my way through the halls. That's what happens when everything is made huge and made of rock. Everything we dwarves make is strong. Our homes are made of the toughest bricks, good enough to toss at a goblin and knock the blighter's lights out, our chairs are made of rock, our doors are made of iron, our swords made of steel. Everything we make is strong! Perhaps the only thing that isn't, is our windows. You can only do so much with glass. We don't even use those all that much anyway. What use is a window when your house is built into a mountain?
I had reached the large iron door to the storage room. I pressed my calloused hands against it and pushed with all my strength, I was feeling more than a little thirsty after the walk, I could practically hear the keg calling out my name. The hinges cried out as the door swung open, and my it's cries were echoed by myself as a terrible sight revealed itself to me. It was horrible. Ghastly. Despicable. A pool of clashing colours was on the floor, with bits of soaked wood scattered amongst it. In red on the walls, there was but a single word. "Treekillers". What had they done? Why would they go this far? The heavy stench of alcohol had filled the room. They left nothing untouched. The rum, gone. The wine, destroyed. The ale, obliterated. I had to make sure this remained a secret, and was fixed ever so quietly. If anyone was to find out...
"MY GOD! THE BOOZE IS GONE!" The horrified howl came from right behind me, I don't know when he walked up, I hadn't heard his steps. Maybe I was in too much shock. Before I could even turn around, I felt something heavy smash over my head, and the world flashed before my eyes, my body fell to the floor, which greeted my with open arms.
I don't know how long it took for me to wake up. It could have been minutes, maybe hours, possibly days. All I know is what greeted me when my eyes opened and I picked myself up off the ground. There was nothing but bodies, countless bodies. They were strewn about all over the place. The floor ran with a deep red which was no longer just spilled wine. There was a cold, deathly chill to the air. I didn't know what to feel at that point. Sadness, I suppose. Confusion too. Not about what had happened, that was obvious. The same thing that always happens when a large amount of dwarves discover their precious ale had been taken from them. They rioted. I was confused as to why the elves would do something like this over trees... Do they really mean more than people to them, or are we just not people to them? It didn't really matter. It was done. I slowly trudged my way outside, hugging the walls as I walked. The world has a habit of refusing to stay still when you take a blow to the head.
Once I was outside, I was greeted by those who had also somehow survived. One of whom was our king. He stood out like a sore thumb. Dressed in the finest clothes, encrusted with precious gems and adorned with the finest jewelry, yet even he, in all his noble regality, looked like a mess. His face was bruised, his cheeks were cut, an arm was missing. Oddly, despite that, he still looked as proud as ever, like it didn't faze him at all. I approached him slowly and asked the one thing I could at such a time.
"How many did we lose?"
His reply had a strange coldness to it, not the dead, unfeeling kind. No, the kind which betrays a man trying to hide how he feels, because he needs to be strong for those around him
[size=78%].[/size]"Far too many... Yet we can recover from this. That's what we do."
I let out a long sigh, then breathed back in and steeled myself for the task ahead of us. Ah, that fresh mountain air.
(Sorry if this isn't particularly good. Those words made me want to write something DF inspired and I kept going with it until I found an ending I liked. Lemme know what ya think)
Dusk, Sun, and Shower
Topic: Creative Writing (Read 3358 times)