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An attempt to write (also could not think of catchy name).

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sonerohi:
(( I hate transitioning to a different perspective mid-post, so each time a post ends a perspective change is probably the cause)).

     Lor Spakewheeled woke up per usual, swining his feet onto the chilly stone floor, running his hand along the grain of the mahogony bed. One of the finest beds made. ‘Grown, not made’ he remembered, for the umpteenth time since he’d won it from an elf. An elf could never hope to hold his liquor against a dwarf, especially not so heavy a drinker as Lor. Poor sap never stood a chance in the drinking contest.


 Unusually enough, however, he found an envelope snugly fit between the granite floor and the block of obsidian-on-hinges that was his door. It bore the royal insignia, the oh-so familiar diamond with an axe carved into each and every facet. Curiously enough, it bore also the name of his sister. His sister that should be dead by now. No dwarf survived in the mountains after being exiled. A whole range, some eighty mountains, in the depths of the tundra.  He dropped it onto his table and grabbed his cap. No time for letter reading when the mining corps had found a new coal vein. Coal meant smelting and smelting meant his paycheck being forged from the copper the other lads mined.

sonerohi:




Kib sighed as the snickers resonated off of the domed ceiling. Fifty feet of rock above the head did nothing to the human’s sense of humor. “We’ll give you another ten pounds of cheese for… a pair of gloves!”. More chortles from the trader’s entourage. Glovetrade was a most unfortunate name for a trader. It didn’t help when the other races brought in greenhorn traders that hadn’t learned to respect their source of fine metals and choice wines. The only way to bring out the richer flavors was a basalt tank a mile underground. Not some ‘aging process’ in a wooden barrel. But, if they didn’t want to trade… Well, he had alternatives. Like nodding towards the duo of marks dwarves behind them. Or pointing straight at the lever he could pull that would break a support and drop these traders to the core of the world and beyond. Better to let the Hammerer deal with those stupid enough to start poking fun at dwarven names. Hammerer Goldennut  and Count Shaftrub would do worse then he could think of. It was time for a drink, a nap, and a meal.

sonerohi:
It was rare to see just a single dwarf in a forgeworks, but today was a rare day. Eight forges, eight smelters, and eight furnaces, shutting down. Twenty four dwarves needing to be re-assigned, because a single mining shaft went south.

A new miner, robbed from the cradle, had a piece of flint on him. Three died outright in the mine fire. Six more died later on from the burns. Nineteen meters of coal burned out. From an accidental strike of a flint.



Aban Shorefist was the lucky dwarf who got to do the closing rights. She'd been a blacksmith and a locksmith for thirty-seven years. She got the privilege of carving her name into the last work of this forge section, and her last work. A large iron padlock with a silver veneer. She got to swing shut the large oak door, one last time. She got to lock away the love of her life for the past thirty-seven years. She cried just a little. Sixty-second birthday in three weeks. Her mom had gotten her a new set of bellows.

sonerohi:
What would his mother say to see him now? Kib was sick of himself. He'd lost his job for not trading with the humans. Without the nobility title, he had to face the justice system. He had received a long overdue hammerstrike for stealing all of the elven cloth last year to have his floor carpeted. Now he was a wreck. He'd found a gray beard in his hair! He was only 103! He'd gone out and gotten some new pants to cover up his scars from the hammer. He couldn't help but buy out most of the exotic clothing stock. He picked up a new girlfriend on a stop to the bar. Some sixty one year old dwarf. Had yet to find out if it was actually a girl. She'd just been sitting there draining keg after keg in the corner. When she'd seen the jewelry he had, she'd warmed right up to him. It was a shame he was broke. Giant cave spider cloth is not cheap, no matter how narrow it is. His brother though... He was always too busy keeping the records on check to go do anything. Infact, his brother was the clerk and that was a noble title. They looked enough alike. He'd have a beer on his credit.

sonerohi:
It was a good life when Aban could buy an ale without work. Her new boyfriend had quite the bank account and positively detered over her every whim. She felt like the new queen. Kol Spakewheeled had apparently been in exile before she made the king fall in love with her. The news that her little brother died in the minefire was devastating to her. Aban was pissed off. He was the sod who started it. Owed all her misery to him. Little prick.

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