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The Forges of the Mountain King Chapter 1- Bottom's Up!
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<blockquote data-quote="Goonalan" data-source="post: 5567924" data-attributes="member: 16069"><p>The Gaffer's pace never lets up- he never falters, nor does he turn to look back at the six that tramp behind him, all his sense are focussed forward- to the path, the walls, the tunnels. He scans and searches every inch of the way looking for... anything, a clue that something is amiss- danger.</p><p></p><p>Through passages large and small, down seemingly endless tunnels that twist and turn and head back upon themselves, inclines, declines- stepped passages, narrow passes that skirt and circle larger caverns.</p><p></p><p>The Gaffer radiates alertness.</p><p></p><p>Here and there are chambers full of glowing fungi or phosphorescent mosses, through which the passing parties shadows stalk the walls like hulking giants- bowed in reflection, the weight of the stone overhead pressing down upon them.</p><p></p><p>The lit chambers however are few and far between, mostly the journey is through a grey dark that seems to fog the vision, to create shapes and signs before the eyes.</p><p></p><p>For Dwarves that have never left their Halls before the Underdark is a haunting place, a place in which religion can be found or, as easily, lost. It never changes and yet is different at every turn. It is a dangerous, cruel and unforgiving stone-scape which is at the same time stunningly, elegantly crafted, as if by mad gods, or sorrowful demons.</p><p></p><p>The Gaffer drinks in every last drop of his surroundings, and presses on.</p><p></p><p>And on.</p><p></p><p>And on.</p><p></p><p>Until, without warning, he suddenly stops in a clear low-ceilinged chamber, a little way ahead of his followers. In short order- in less than five minutes, he has established a very basic camp- a single glowing coal soon smokes, then smoulders. Minutes later a black mushroom pottage thickened with Dwarf bread, bubbles and simmers. Fresh, crystal clear and ice-cold water is set out- seven cups- each made of silver, each slightly smaller than the one before.</p><p></p><p>The Gaffer sits cross-legged, having removed his hood, bandanna and goggles, his green eyes twinkle, and most suspicious of all, he smiles.</p><p></p><p>In a calm voice, almost tender, he states- “eat, drink, talk- we are safe here”. He begins to pass around thin stone bowls for the meal.</p><p></p><p><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40504969@N08/5740514042/" target="_blank"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2612/5740514042_a8b5fc4b6c_z.jpg" alt="" class="fr-fic fr-dii fr-draggable " style="" /></a></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Goonalan, post: 5567924, member: 16069"] The Gaffer's pace never lets up- he never falters, nor does he turn to look back at the six that tramp behind him, all his sense are focussed forward- to the path, the walls, the tunnels. He scans and searches every inch of the way looking for... anything, a clue that something is amiss- danger. Through passages large and small, down seemingly endless tunnels that twist and turn and head back upon themselves, inclines, declines- stepped passages, narrow passes that skirt and circle larger caverns. The Gaffer radiates alertness. Here and there are chambers full of glowing fungi or phosphorescent mosses, through which the passing parties shadows stalk the walls like hulking giants- bowed in reflection, the weight of the stone overhead pressing down upon them. The lit chambers however are few and far between, mostly the journey is through a grey dark that seems to fog the vision, to create shapes and signs before the eyes. For Dwarves that have never left their Halls before the Underdark is a haunting place, a place in which religion can be found or, as easily, lost. It never changes and yet is different at every turn. It is a dangerous, cruel and unforgiving stone-scape which is at the same time stunningly, elegantly crafted, as if by mad gods, or sorrowful demons. The Gaffer drinks in every last drop of his surroundings, and presses on. And on. And on. Until, without warning, he suddenly stops in a clear low-ceilinged chamber, a little way ahead of his followers. In short order- in less than five minutes, he has established a very basic camp- a single glowing coal soon smokes, then smoulders. Minutes later a black mushroom pottage thickened with Dwarf bread, bubbles and simmers. Fresh, crystal clear and ice-cold water is set out- seven cups- each made of silver, each slightly smaller than the one before. The Gaffer sits cross-legged, having removed his hood, bandanna and goggles, his green eyes twinkle, and most suspicious of all, he smiles. In a calm voice, almost tender, he states- “eat, drink, talk- we are safe here”. He begins to pass around thin stone bowls for the meal. [url=http://www.flickr.com/photos/40504969@N08/5740514042/][img]http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2612/5740514042_a8b5fc4b6c_z.jpg[/img][/url] [/QUOTE]
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