TheWanderer
I roam around, around, around
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- Yesterday 11:18 PM
- Messages
- 928
Seeking Female Leads for any of the following:
"Pour your Dwarf one more round
Pick each other off the ground
Let another chorus sound
Pour your Dwarf another round."
Gori sang low, under his breath, in the nervous manner with which he sang. He didn't know why he did it, but something about the sudden silence around him made him very nervous. The Mead Hall, once so full of life, was deathly quiet. Would it ever hear such a tune again?
Gori put his burly arms to the door, pushing it wide open on quiet hinges. His mouth was parched but he knew he had to save his waterskin. His journey lay ahead and it would be long and arduous. Would he ever feel that fine taste of Fire Mead coursing down his throat once more? Sure, he had a flask of it tucked into his cloak, but that was for a special occasion. What that occasion was, he did not know yet.
His rough, course hands slid over the perfectly smooth wall until they found on the slightest of depressions. He pressed a stubby finger against it and the seemless door swung open. The air was stale behind it. But it was as the King had said it would be. He peered into the darkness, the light behind him showing the floor at a gradual rise. To the surface it led.
A new sense of fear crept under his skin as the doorway behind him closed. No sense letting the others find this way to the surface. He shouldered the satchel that hung across his shoulder, resting it against his him and out of the way. His fingers curled around the haft of his axe, its blade chipped and warn from what felt like days of battle.
His heart hammered with every step forward, the mine shaft gradually spiraling upwards. And then he came across the blockage. His broad shoulders, sinewy with muscle, propelled his axe in overhead swings. The blade bit deep into the wood and soon he was through it. The King had been right about this too.
The minecart track was wider, far wider than a Dwarven Rail. He followed it ever upwards, a steady trickle of water off to one side running down into the Deep. And there was light at the end of the tunnel. A light that burned like a million suns. Fresh air whipped at his face, and then he could feel it. The heat of the sun on his face. He squinted his eyes against its brightness, basking in its warmth unlike anything he had ever felt before.
It was only then, once his eyes adjusted, that he realized something was wrong. There was no noise coming from the town below him. The buildings were strange, clearly not Dwarven built. But they were run down, caved in in places. The town was empty, abandoned. It had been a thousand years since a Dwarf had visited the surface. Much had changed.
"Hullo?" He called out. His voice reverbated against the carved rock walls of the mountainside. Only the flutter of wings signaled had heard him.
Gori shouldered his axe. His voice rose a little louder, to combat the growing feeling of loneliness, and the uncomfortable way the sky made him feel. Even the greatest of caverns hadn't been so...so open. Even raised, his voice sounded barely louder than a whisper as there were no stone walls to bring it back to him.
"Oh, we'd be alright if the wind's in our sails
Oh, we'd be alright if the wind's in our sails
Oh, we'd be alright if the wind's in our sails
And we'll all hang on behind."
He sat comfortable at the prow of the ship, feeling the wind caressing his head as the ship picked up some speed. He watched as the crew, singing in unison, heaved on the ropes. He watched the sails steadily rise up and up the masts, starting to billow as they caught the wind.
"And we'll roll the old chariot along
We'll roll the old chariot along
We'll roll the old chariot along
And we'll all hang on behind."
There was a certain tune to the shanty, even without the aid of musical instruments the deep bass of the mens voices was quite pleasing to the ear. The ship gradually picked up speed as more and more sail caught the wind. After nearly a week languishing in the doldrums, the surface of the ocean like a sheet of glass it was so still, it was a welcome - and much needed break. Fresh water and food was starting to become a concern. Another week, at best, before they'd be in real trouble. Sooner than that, most likely - the oppressive heat they had been experiencing was draining everyone.
"Oh, we'd be alright if we make it 'round the horn
We'd be alright if we make it 'round the horn
We'd be alright if we make it 'round the horn
And we'll all hang on behind..."
The calm before the storm, as they used to say. The week-long doldrum had given way to a stead, strong breeze that propelled the ship through the glass-smooth water like a knife through butter. It had lifted the heat and lifted their spirits. He had retired to his cabin, writing in his journal by candlelight before calling it a night;. He awoke with a start, dumped from his bunk by a sudden and harsh movement of the ship. Staggering to his feet, he made his way down the hallway. Water poured down through an open hatch and he felt his stomach lurch with the movement of the ship. He was barely able to stand on his feet. Crewmates rushed about, securing things down that had come loose. All hands were on deck as well, wrestling with those same lines and sails he had watched hours before.
Thunder shattered the sky with lightning bolts, revealing in a flash of light waves towering over the ship, tipped white with rage. Rain pelted down on the deck, indistinguishable from the constant spray as the ship crashed through wave after wave. A sickening crunch snapped the mainmast in half, bringing several sailors down into waterway deaths. One lost soul came crashing down onto the deck, limbs shattered into bloody gore. He saw the man moaning in pain even as a wave washed him overboard, wiping all traces of him from the deck.
Struggling against the storm, he could do nothing but lash himself onto the railing at the side of the deck. If the ship went down, he didn't want to be trapped below decks. But he didn't want to be washed over deck either. The waves soon pounded his body into darkness.
The sound of chirping birds brought him back to his senses. His throat was raw with salt. His body felt like he had been beaten bloody - which was very much the case. The warmth of the sun beat down on him and he felt the coarse sand beneath his hands. Groaning, he opened his eyes, squinting them against the sudden brightness. He sat up, felt dizzy, and heaved up what felt like an oceans worth of salt water, further burning his throat. It did make the pit in his stomach feel better. Debris was strewn along the beach and a few bodies floated face down in the surf.
Where the fuck was he?
"Pour your Dwarf one more round
Pick each other off the ground
Let another chorus sound
Pour your Dwarf another round."
Gori sang low, under his breath, in the nervous manner with which he sang. He didn't know why he did it, but something about the sudden silence around him made him very nervous. The Mead Hall, once so full of life, was deathly quiet. Would it ever hear such a tune again?
"Draw another draught for me
Drink 'til I'm too blind to see
This one's done, pray, get me three!
Draw another draught for me."
Drink 'til I'm too blind to see
This one's done, pray, get me three!
Draw another draught for me."
Gori put his burly arms to the door, pushing it wide open on quiet hinges. His mouth was parched but he knew he had to save his waterskin. His journey lay ahead and it would be long and arduous. Would he ever feel that fine taste of Fire Mead coursing down his throat once more? Sure, he had a flask of it tucked into his cloak, but that was for a special occasion. What that occasion was, he did not know yet.
"Cheers to the brewer, for his brew
Without this mead we cannot do
Drink until the cask is through
Cheers to the brewer, for his brew."
Without this mead we cannot do
Drink until the cask is through
Cheers to the brewer, for his brew."
His rough, course hands slid over the perfectly smooth wall until they found on the slightest of depressions. He pressed a stubby finger against it and the seemless door swung open. The air was stale behind it. But it was as the King had said it would be. He peered into the darkness, the light behind him showing the floor at a gradual rise. To the surface it led.
"Cheers to the barmaid, she's a saint
It's wondrous how she stands the straint
Catch me lass, I'm gonna faint
Cheers to the barmaid, she's a saint."
It's wondrous how she stands the straint
Catch me lass, I'm gonna faint
Cheers to the barmaid, she's a saint."
A new sense of fear crept under his skin as the doorway behind him closed. No sense letting the others find this way to the surface. He shouldered the satchel that hung across his shoulder, resting it against his him and out of the way. His fingers curled around the haft of his axe, its blade chipped and warn from what felt like days of battle.
"Dance unto the drummer's beat
Drink with everyone you meet
Your head'll dance without your feet
Dance unto the drummer's beat."
Drink with everyone you meet
Your head'll dance without your feet
Dance unto the drummer's beat."
His heart hammered with every step forward, the mine shaft gradually spiraling upwards. And then he came across the blockage. His broad shoulders, sinewy with muscle, propelled his axe in overhead swings. The blade bit deep into the wood and soon he was through it. The King had been right about this too.
"Here's to the lad upon my knee
Heaven bound I soon will be
It ain't sin because it's free
Here's to the lad upon my knee."
Heaven bound I soon will be
It ain't sin because it's free
Here's to the lad upon my knee."
The minecart track was wider, far wider than a Dwarven Rail. He followed it ever upwards, a steady trickle of water off to one side running down into the Deep. And there was light at the end of the tunnel. A light that burned like a million suns. Fresh air whipped at his face, and then he could feel it. The heat of the sun on his face. He squinted his eyes against its brightness, basking in its warmth unlike anything he had ever felt before.
It was only then, once his eyes adjusted, that he realized something was wrong. There was no noise coming from the town below him. The buildings were strange, clearly not Dwarven built. But they were run down, caved in in places. The town was empty, abandoned. It had been a thousand years since a Dwarf had visited the surface. Much had changed.
"Hullo?" He called out. His voice reverbated against the carved rock walls of the mountainside. Only the flutter of wings signaled had heard him.
"Here's to the lords and to the crown
Here's to the lady in the lowcut gown
A shame it's not just a little more down
Here's to the lords and to the crown."
Here's to the lady in the lowcut gown
A shame it's not just a little more down
Here's to the lords and to the crown."
Gori shouldered his axe. His voice rose a little louder, to combat the growing feeling of loneliness, and the uncomfortable way the sky made him feel. Even the greatest of caverns hadn't been so...so open. Even raised, his voice sounded barely louder than a whisper as there were no stone walls to bring it back to him.
Oh, we'd be alright if the wind's in our sails
Oh, we'd be alright if the wind's in our sails
And we'll all hang on behind."
He sat comfortable at the prow of the ship, feeling the wind caressing his head as the ship picked up some speed. He watched as the crew, singing in unison, heaved on the ropes. He watched the sails steadily rise up and up the masts, starting to billow as they caught the wind.
"And we'll roll the old chariot along
We'll roll the old chariot along
We'll roll the old chariot along
And we'll all hang on behind."
There was a certain tune to the shanty, even without the aid of musical instruments the deep bass of the mens voices was quite pleasing to the ear. The ship gradually picked up speed as more and more sail caught the wind. After nearly a week languishing in the doldrums, the surface of the ocean like a sheet of glass it was so still, it was a welcome - and much needed break. Fresh water and food was starting to become a concern. Another week, at best, before they'd be in real trouble. Sooner than that, most likely - the oppressive heat they had been experiencing was draining everyone.
"Oh, we'd be alright if we make it 'round the horn
We'd be alright if we make it 'round the horn
We'd be alright if we make it 'round the horn
And we'll all hang on behind..."
The calm before the storm, as they used to say. The week-long doldrum had given way to a stead, strong breeze that propelled the ship through the glass-smooth water like a knife through butter. It had lifted the heat and lifted their spirits. He had retired to his cabin, writing in his journal by candlelight before calling it a night;. He awoke with a start, dumped from his bunk by a sudden and harsh movement of the ship. Staggering to his feet, he made his way down the hallway. Water poured down through an open hatch and he felt his stomach lurch with the movement of the ship. He was barely able to stand on his feet. Crewmates rushed about, securing things down that had come loose. All hands were on deck as well, wrestling with those same lines and sails he had watched hours before.
Thunder shattered the sky with lightning bolts, revealing in a flash of light waves towering over the ship, tipped white with rage. Rain pelted down on the deck, indistinguishable from the constant spray as the ship crashed through wave after wave. A sickening crunch snapped the mainmast in half, bringing several sailors down into waterway deaths. One lost soul came crashing down onto the deck, limbs shattered into bloody gore. He saw the man moaning in pain even as a wave washed him overboard, wiping all traces of him from the deck.
Struggling against the storm, he could do nothing but lash himself onto the railing at the side of the deck. If the ship went down, he didn't want to be trapped below decks. But he didn't want to be washed over deck either. The waves soon pounded his body into darkness.
The sound of chirping birds brought him back to his senses. His throat was raw with salt. His body felt like he had been beaten bloody - which was very much the case. The warmth of the sun beat down on him and he felt the coarse sand beneath his hands. Groaning, he opened his eyes, squinting them against the sudden brightness. He sat up, felt dizzy, and heaved up what felt like an oceans worth of salt water, further burning his throat. It did make the pit in his stomach feel better. Debris was strewn along the beach and a few bodies floated face down in the surf.
Where the fuck was he?
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