Nidor's head was swimming, not in water of course, that would be madness. He wasn't quite there yet, merely at the gates, arguing with the guard that he merely lost his invitation. No, his head was swimming with ideas, trinkets, baubles, gewgaws, all of stone, the desire to eat, drink and breathe his craft. Eating started out badly, with not unexpected results to his teeth, he had eventually settled on sprinkling rock salt onto his meals. Drinking was preposterous, magma was poor for the digestion and plumbing, a simple stone mug will have to suffice. He had attempted to accomplish the latter by placing stones into his etching acids to produce fumes, but that only served to make the leadership insist he took his break the day before and to get back to work. Meeting deadlines is fine and all, but moving the calendar forward a day and getting everyone in on it is a bit excessive he thought. He supposed that miner's lung would have to suffice, no shame in a respectable disease like that, and he had plenty of dust available.
He looked down at his desk and frowned, far too much dust, even for him he thought. "This much would require a years work of standard stonecrafting" he mused, "nearly four months with help" said another thought, the rest muttering in agreement. He nodded, the voices of stone all too familiar in his head. "Keep going!", he looked up, The calendar still said late Obsidian, but his internal dwarf clock said break time, and there isn't much in the world, voices or not, that can persuade otherwise. He took a step out of the threshold from his workspace and.. Woke up with a gasp, inhaling a mouthful of workbench dust, sputtering. "Are you alright?" someone had asked, poking their head in after a minute of coughing, "Everything was still, as if time itself had forgotten us." Nidor replied. "I meant physically you wambler headed oaf." sighed the dwarf. "I suppose so" said Nidor, "Good, maybe you should take a break", "it looks like you are way over quota anyways" said the dwarf, now leaving. Nidor looked behind himself to see a pile of crafts, two dwarves high and just as stout, "Four months" giggled the voices of stone.
He turned to his etching kit, "Perhaps we'll try marble this time." he said, shivering.
~~~
Consider that my passive aggressive nudge to the not dead, just taking one nap in a ditch, being declared this and that, Story-fort.
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Topic: ☼Blazegate,☼ One down, many to go [43.05] (Read 10179 times)