[Moving this over from old forum for continuation]
ruummbmblllleeeee
"Ach! That's done it."
She looked down, disgusted at the disaster that had occurred. These constant shakes and earth tremors were taking their toll on her writing--this time for the worst. She slumped into the stone chair, looking at the spilled pot of ink, its contents slowly spreading like a black sea over the pamphlets she had been copying. Stacks of finished pamphlets lay piled and bound next to the low writing table. As the black ink spread, it spilled over the edge of the desk, dripping onto one of the stacks. She halfheartedly kicked it out of the way, papers fluttering about.
"Can't believe e's makin' me copy all these meself."
Her frown grew troubled as she looked at one of the fresh copies. She'd wanted to have them scribed off, but no one would take the work. Times were not well, and with the rise in cults and spreading earth tremors, everyone was tense, wrapped up in their own thoughts, and more worried about making themselves secure than taking up any more work. The dwarves could hear it especially--as though the rock itself was crying out with heartache.
Shaking her head, she stood and walked to the pantry, pulling down some rags and setting about cleaning up the mess, occasionally steadying herself against another tremor.
The only warning she had was the clink of plated gauntlets against the door frame. Tensing, she slipped the dagger from its sheath on her desk, only to relax at who she saw as she turned.
"You are almost done?" The voice was slightly lisped, but deep. And as usual, slightly curt--always business. It took her a moment to translate the phrase before she replied in kind.
"Yes; this should be the last three stacks."
"Good. You were able to contact someone?"
"Ehlina says that she will lend her support." The dwarf paused. "She thinks you're probably mad."
"It matters not, so long as there is help."
The figure turned, leaving the shadowed doorway and receding back into the darkness. She watched him go, wondering why she continued to work in the employ of this fellow. She'd known him for years, occasionally acting as a courier between the Horde and the Alliance on his behalf, being one of the few who'd taken the time to learn gutterspeak. The language was vaguely similar to the human's common if you took the time to work out the subtleties.
She looked back at the pamphlets, shaking her head. Even with her reservations, she always ended up returning to the reason she did stay. He brought the one thing that was missing in these potential end times.
Hope.
Bending down to gather up the scattered pamphlets on the floor, she muttered, "Let us hope that there is more help coming. We'll need it."
ruummbmblllleeeee
"Ach! That's done it."
She looked down, disgusted at the disaster that had occurred. These constant shakes and earth tremors were taking their toll on her writing--this time for the worst. She slumped into the stone chair, looking at the spilled pot of ink, its contents slowly spreading like a black sea over the pamphlets she had been copying. Stacks of finished pamphlets lay piled and bound next to the low writing table. As the black ink spread, it spilled over the edge of the desk, dripping onto one of the stacks. She halfheartedly kicked it out of the way, papers fluttering about.
"Can't believe e's makin' me copy all these meself."
Her frown grew troubled as she looked at one of the fresh copies. She'd wanted to have them scribed off, but no one would take the work. Times were not well, and with the rise in cults and spreading earth tremors, everyone was tense, wrapped up in their own thoughts, and more worried about making themselves secure than taking up any more work. The dwarves could hear it especially--as though the rock itself was crying out with heartache.
Shaking her head, she stood and walked to the pantry, pulling down some rags and setting about cleaning up the mess, occasionally steadying herself against another tremor.
The only warning she had was the clink of plated gauntlets against the door frame. Tensing, she slipped the dagger from its sheath on her desk, only to relax at who she saw as she turned.
"You are almost done?" The voice was slightly lisped, but deep. And as usual, slightly curt--always business. It took her a moment to translate the phrase before she replied in kind.
"Yes; this should be the last three stacks."
"Good. You were able to contact someone?"
"Ehlina says that she will lend her support." The dwarf paused. "She thinks you're probably mad."
"It matters not, so long as there is help."
The figure turned, leaving the shadowed doorway and receding back into the darkness. She watched him go, wondering why she continued to work in the employ of this fellow. She'd known him for years, occasionally acting as a courier between the Horde and the Alliance on his behalf, being one of the few who'd taken the time to learn gutterspeak. The language was vaguely similar to the human's common if you took the time to work out the subtleties.
She looked back at the pamphlets, shaking her head. Even with her reservations, she always ended up returning to the reason she did stay. He brought the one thing that was missing in these potential end times.
Hope.
Bending down to gather up the scattered pamphlets on the floor, she muttered, "Let us hope that there is more help coming. We'll need it."
