A Dwarf, a rock, and a loaf of bread - Chapter One
A "Table"
Once, twice even, perhaps thrice, in a time I'd dare not to mention, there was a Dwarf.
An ordinary Dwarrow, at that, this is no tale of a hero, or some kind of rogue. This is an ordinary tale, with ordinary events, for the most-part that is, and ordinary ideas, again - for the most part.
This Dwarf had been of a rough sort, as rough as a Dwarf would normally be, in the sight of larger, or smaller, folk - "Rough sort", here meaning a Dwarrow whom preferred the company that he found in the wild, the nature, and ale, to that of another kinsman, kinsdwarrow perhaps. And, so, infact.. Our tale would make much more sense to the intellectual approach, should it begin with an explination of some field layered with a sheet of snow, and some dwarf of legendary ability roaming the lands, followed by a bear, while he would carry several weapons, a Warhammer on his back, two bearded-axes across his shoulders, diagonally in symmetry, several daggers in some leather-ruffian belt, and throwing axes attached to some form of impossible satchel.
But.
This is no tale of a hero:
Or some kind of rogue;
This is an ordinary tale...
With ordinary events;
And ordinary ideas;
… That is. For the most-part.
It, infact, began in a tavern, an inn with bedding and drinking and cursing and drinking, and laughing and drinking, all of which could be taken to account and may have happened at once. Amongst the madness, sat our Dwarf, that is - The Dwarf of this tale, alone, carrying a grimace of a face, as he gulped down some kind of liquid from a large, oaken, and clearly over-used, tankard. Perhaps a mug, depending on one's perspective.
There were several rounds of drinks affront of him, upon a table - a table of which he could scarcely fit his, rather large, legs under; Such the curse of eating, and drinking, and sitting, and repeating! The table was of a shoddy make, one that clearly had a poor craftsman, whom clearly showed no intent on making a table that could actually be called "A table", more now a thick shank of wood atop four oddly-balanced, and different-sized, "legs":
More rather... Chunks of old-wood. "Legs" would be an offence to all sane craftsmen who can tell the difference between a rotting piece of firewood, and a fine log of craft-able, changeable wood.
