1 Granite, 1051The unmistakeable crack of the wagon’s axle as the squad of seven tired to push it echoed briefly before it was deadened by the snow cover. The flakes were falling heavily now, building on the comrades clothes and beards. The mountain was blocking the worst of the wind, but the low winter temperatures had sapped much of their strength.
“Enough! Glovegrooved! Holelance! Grab your picks! We strike the earth here!” The skinniest dwarf began barking out orders, the snow gathered on his cloak shedding as he began to sketch out diagrams in the ground. As he looked up, the other dwarves hadn’t moved, but were instead looking at him questioningly.
“Who voted you leader, Toolirons?” one of the women called out, her arms crossed across her large form. “We’re nowhere near the designated area, how do you expect to meet up with the rest of the squad?"
”We
are the squad, Treatybeach. You and I both know the others are gone. Now the wagon’s broken, it’s getting dark and we potentially have an army on our tail. If you want to make a break for it carrying your share of supplies by all means you can try, but I actually want to live to see summer." He paused for a moment, eyeing the other 5 dwarves who were locked onto the argument. With increased confidence, he continued, "We’ll work out how to get in contact with the caravans, but right now we need to focus on our short term survival. And if you’d rather be leader, go right ahead. Otherwise, get your tools off that wagon and get ready to set up your workshop."
There was a brief pause as the golden-eyed pair stared each other down before Treatybeach spat and started to gather her stuff on the wagon.
“When the main company gets here I hope you end up hauler. You’re a dozen years to early to run an outpost.”
The rest of the company began to gather their respective equipment from the wagon, and shortly the air was filled with the sounds of metal on stone and wood.