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« on: September 11, 2012, 04:30:04 am »
I dabble with writing sometimes. I know I'm not the best at it, but I got the urge to write tonight, and this community is going to pay for it.
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Fortress Mengoshur, known affectionately as Lashedcircles by it's occupants, sat in the dying sunlight of late afternoon. The grand entrance, composed of two wide bridges, was the only thing to betray the presence of a thriving fortress beneath the unremarkable grassy hill. The chill autumn wind whistled through the empty skulls of goblin thieves in the pits below the bridges- piled quite high by now. Inside the fort, Dwarves gathered in the raucous dining halls or trudged off to bed coated in a layer of grime earned by a hard day's work in the caverns. Everywhere there was hustle and bustle, except for one lonely and mostly ignored section of the fort. Located at the end of a long southward corridor, it was a single room just large enough for three beds with room to walk in between them. In the light of a torch affixed to the wall, a prone figure lay in the middle bed, tossing about uneasily until he at last tossed the covers off, coming awake. He touched a hand to his sweat-covered forehead and ran it down his face, down the long orange beard that had grown scraggly and unkempt in the time he had lain here. It had been some time in the spring when he was first dragged here, though he had lost all track of time since then. It had been maddening at first to simply lay in bed all day, but he had come to find it relaxing listening to the sounds of the fort- a murmur of conversation here, a door slamming shut there. Footsteps resounded on the floor outside and drew closer. Anticipating a meal, his stomach grumbled in excitement. The room's single door swung open but unfortunately, it was the chief medical Dwarf- Kol Idorerith. A rather scrawny specimen, the doctor was nearing his 100th year, his snow white beard arranged in double braids. "Good afternoon!" The old Dwarf bellowed, stepping over to the foot of the bed. A scroll was nailed to the foot of the bed and the doctor bent over, producing a pair of glasses from his pocket. He consulted the information on it "You are.....Urist Ingishmeb?"
"Yes, sir" The bedridden Dwarf replied, "And I, uh...I'm pretty sure I've been your only patient this year". The doctor straightened up and glanced at Urist with a warm look upon his wrinkled face, "The first one ever, actually. I came here a fisherdwarf". Urist's mouth hung open until the old Dwarf shrugged, "I've been winging it". He then cleared his throat and replaced his glasses into his shirt, "Anyway, the overseer wanted me to have a talk with you since you've been laid up here so long". The doctor produced a small metal box and opened it, stepping around to sit on one of the unoccupied beds. He pulled a lump of dark matter from it with a strong scent and casually tossed it into his mouth. "What's that?" Urist asked, nodding toward the box. "Tobacco" Kol replied, "But it's not supposed to be here, so don't go running your mouth. I NEED it". The Doc's eyeball twitched a bit.
"Anyway" Kol continued, getting back on track, "The overseer wants you out of bed and back to work. Malingering is not YET a punishable offence, but...if it was, the hammerer would have busted your head like a grape by now".
"I'm not malingering!" Urist said with a sigh, "I just...I'm scared" The doctor stared at him, "I see...You suppose you have PTSD? I'm seriously asking. Your guess is as good as mine". Urist shook his head, "I...I'm just worried. What if this is all a dream?" He gestured toward the roof, "What if I really died in that siege, and death is too horrible for me to comprehend so my brain has made up this fantasy world? Stuff like that keeps me up at night, doc" Kol paused to think, then sighed, "Son, let me tell you something. My wife has been exchanging spores with our neighbor for the past two years. My dog ate one of my socks, and choked to death in the process. My daughter went crazy, stripped herself naked, and choked a cat to death in the middle of the dining room. And just this morning, my dear mother got trolled". Urist raised an eyebrow, "Somebody made fun of her?"
Kol shook his head, "No, she got trolled to death. As in, a troll was dropped on her from fifty-five urists up". The elderly Dwarf's countenance sunk a bit, and a tear welled up in his eye. His gaze shifted to the space above Urist's bed and he grinned suddenly upon seeing an engraving of a group of Dwarves. He pointed at it, "I knew that guy on the left, Ha! He's a riot at parties"
Smiling, Kol turned his attention back to Urist, "The point is, if this is all some fantasy world, you're doing a pretty crappy job at it. Why don't you imagine me the baron, or at least imagine me having better luck?" A moment passed in silence before Urist spoke, "I...I suppose you're right. Wow! I think you gave me a new lease on life, Doc!". Kol lifted a finger, "There's just one tiny little change to your work schedule. The overseer's not too happy you've been resting all this time. I mean, you only lost a toe. One of your squadmates lost an arm, and he was training in the barracks the next day, so you've been reassigned to something called the Fun Project. Evidently it involves mining". Urist sat up and hopped out of bed, "Ha! I always wanted to be a miner. To heck with this military nonsense" He slapped the elder Dwarf on the shoulder, "Thanks a ton, doc!" Urist trotted happily out of the room, looking forward to an exciting new career.
