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Old 11-01-2006, 12:36 PM   #243
Durelin
Estelo dagnir, Melo ring
 
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Join Date: Oct 2002
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Durelin is battling Black Riders on Weathertop.Durelin is battling Black Riders on Weathertop.
Vrór

Vrór was pleased that his idea was received well by the others, and he was enthusiastic to start working on it immediately. He was surprised at how willing the slaves were to do such hard work, as they worked diligently and did not object to following his direction, for which he was very thankful. After his embarrassing slip with the woman, Shae, when he had used the word ‘slave’ to describe them aloud, he was very conscious of how he treated them, and for that he felt guilty, too. They had worked doing very strenuous labor under horrible conditions all, most, or at least for several years of their life, and it showed. He could not think of these people as lesser than any other people, but that he continually reminded himself of his embarrassment with Shae placed ideas otherwise back into his head, even if he did not agree with them.

He used what little wood he could find, mostly scraps from small, dead trees, and he tied thick, strong bunches of bramble together to replace sturdier wood, all to use for tunnel supports. The digging was slower than he would have liked, but they had to be careful. They had to dig at just the right angle… Vrór’s entire body was sticky from sweat, and not just from the heat: he did not have time for calculations, and he understood the dangers involved. If anyone above ground got within just a few feet of where the tunnel was in process, he would snap at them with a loud growl, and then would have to quickly apologize, and blame it on his nerves – which was the truth. At one point the boy they had rescued from the pit in the slavers camp, Kwell, approached the tunnel, but luckily for him someone else caught him before Vrór could shout him.

The one-armed man, Khamir, who apparently had been the one to ask for Elessar’s aid in the first place, came up to him at one point, and asked what he could do. The Dwarf was a little shocked, and could not answer him for a moment. He was not accustomed to this sort of dedication, particularly from a man who held some sort of leadership in this group. At least, Vrór assumed that because he had been the one to request assistance, he was the closest to a leader as there could be in this group. Khamir seemed embarrassed when the Dwarf did not answer right away, and before Vrór could say anything, the man said that he understood he might be of little help with only one arm.

“No, no, of course not,” the Dwarf assured him, his brain working quickly to think of something for the man to do. He decided that having him pass water to those already in the tunnel was the best thing, and he explained that it was because he already had enough people working in the tunnels. Khamir seemed to understand that was not the only reason behind his simple job. Still, he was diligent. He sat with Vrór at the opening of the tunnel, the Dwarf directing and the man there to run errands, largely fetching water as had been prescribed. Vrór made sure that the required supports got passed down through the tunnel, and Khamir volunteered to find more materials to act as support while the Dwarf helped place them properly. It was a slow process, and it only slowed further as they got further along. Everyone’s nerves were stretched practically to the limit, but even worse conditions were not foreign to the former slaves.

Having someone with him did little to calm Vrór’s nerves, though. His thoughts kept lingering on the idea of the tunnel collapsing on the workers, and he ran over and over in his head whether or not he had judged an angle properly, or if he had estimated the thickness of the ceiling as close as he should have. Were those really enough supports? Could those even be called supports? He was not sure – he knew a number of his kinsman that would be absolutely horrified by the job that was being done, but the idea wasn’t for it to be a good tunnel, and the best materials certainly were not available. No excuse could settle his mind or his stomach, though. He was able to push only one thought to the back of his mind: the worry of when and how exactly he was going to have to remove those makeshift supports. This tunnel could not fail in at least slowing down the slavers and throwing them into confusion, hopefully injuring or killing a few. But he would not risk taking those supports out ahead of time…and he would never ask anyone to remove them. It would have to be done himself, and Vrór knew when. He gripped the hammer that hung at his belt, and thought about his life, his work, with little regret.

Last edited by Durelin; 11-02-2006 at 06:25 PM.
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