Print

Please login or register.
1 Hour 1 Day 1 Week 1 Month Forever
Login with username, password and session length

[90908]

Hello foolish mortals! I come to you with evidence of my gloriously glorious glory in the form of writing. I have here documented the mind of a dwarf in the thrall of a Fey Mood. I will, if requested, do the various others moods and the states thereof. So, please, if you want to see more say so!

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________
They stare at me. They wonder what I am doing. They wish to know why I must have these things. They do not know. They will not know. The Masters will is ultimate. It flows in my bones and veins, it comprises my innermost thoughts and emotions. I am the Master's will.

Must build. Need more stone.

I see it now. I understand. I have seen others like me. Others that have been gifted by Arm-... no. His name must not be said. He is Master. Master is great. Build build build build build build. I need glass. They needed glass too. They know. The others do not know. They won't know until He gifts them with his will and inspiration.

I need a workshop. I shall make it. What He wants, more then anything. A women is in front of me know, calling me husband and telling me to stop. She does not matter. I need privacy.

I must build. I am in the workshop now. There is no light. I do not need light. He is made of darkness. He is Master. Master is all. I take my materials and place them on the table. The want is growing, the need. I move my hands as they shake, slowly and methodically. I grab a Chisel, and carve.

I am building. Master is pleased.

I can hear the others. The unknowing. They knock upon the door, pleading with me. I can hear a child's cry. Why can they not see his will? It is clear. It is all that is and shall be.

My hands dance now and my tools sing. I can hear a distant drum, endlessly playing across nothingness. I can feel it coming. I feel closer to Him then ever before. My masterpiece has almost been completed. My hand scratches itself against my tools. Blood pours down. It does not matter. My hands still and my need wanes.

I am finished. And He is pleased.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________
When he came out, he held with him a crown, hewn out of stone and with glass protruding outward. Wondrous and beautiful, the crown was a masterpiece, and he was praised (much as those before him) and lavished with gifts. Meanwhile, a single dwarven women cries in her room with a bed for two placed in the middle. Such is the effect of gods and demons. Such is the way of worlds.