Footsteps in the SnowNuke stood in the entrance, silent, petting one of the dogs. The arctic wind blew across the makeshift fortress, howling in the same manner as a wolf would.
There was no sound, only the dull clicks of a pick against the rock face. Rex was hard at work, the only miner. Progress was slow, it had taken weeks to dig out a sizable entry. The several guard dogs were huddled in the corner, trying desperately to keep warm. Mother Nature was merciless. Her hands gripped Paperscale by the throat, strangling the dwarves of hope. Even the seemingly unstoppable feud between Dariush and Blackburn had grinded to a halt. Perhaps it was the lack of heat. Perhaps it was the lack of a future. Most of the dwarves already realized this was no expedition; it was a deathtrap.
Suddenly, one of the dogs got up. It's canine ears moved from side to side, picking up vibrations. The dog slowly lowered its head and started on a unsure growl, it's brethren starting to follow its actions. A single shimmer of light appeared in the distance, them two. Nuke called the others to the entryway, Bayar pushed himself to the front of the dwarven group, his huge hand curved around his eyes, trying to make out what it was approaching. Surely Paperscale could not have attracted any sort of goblin party, and kobolds were rare in this region. Elves were too weak to survive in such conditions, and the only civilization of Man to brave the most northern part of Nitom were the Pinelathered clan.
Then, the sound of footsteps in the snow, and black silhouettes in the distance;
short silhouettes.
Harford muttered something to himself...
Damnit. Migrants.____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Not much time to get anything done. The trade depot is up, and Rex is working away at the main hall. It took forever, so long that there was a migrant wave! Disregard the genders for now, I will just play them as your preferred gender.
Anglewyrm
LupusAter
Randall
Uzurk