Loss of a friend

Melvin was the first to hurl his weapons into the depths of the well.

“Easy come, easy go,” he said as they clattered off the stone sides before eventually a large splash confirmed there to be water down there.

“Easy for you yes,” grumbled Tumbor. “Those were scavenged from the dead.”

Fraevon looked to reassure the dwarf that he understood his anguish. Just as the axe had been in Tumbor’s family through the generations, so too his bow had been gifted to him by his father after the great war with the orcs.

“I cast mine, for the greater good of the quest.”

Fraevon let his bow, arrows and assorted blades slip from his hands, turning his back as they too clattered to their watery grave. Rohlen and Yulien in turn cast away there daggers, whilst Jax followed with an array of blades of his own.

All eyes were upon Tumbor, the weight of expectation bearing down upon his shoulders alone.

“Well that’s all very comendable, but I will not be following your noble actions.”

“If you do not, then we have discarded ours for nothing,” said Jax sternly.

“Then I shall leave.”

The group looked at each with concerned expressions as to the dwarf’s words, unsure as to whether this was just another of his misplaced attempts at humour, or if indeed he intended to leave. Jax took him by the arm.

“Are you sure? You will be surely missed old friend.”

“Alas I must, for the good of the quest.”

“You’re a stubborn old fool!” snapped Fraevon.

Tumbor smiled a toothy grin before nodding to each in turn. He turned his back, and began up the stairs to the surface.

“Who knows,” he called out. “We may yet meet again.”

As the feet of the dwarf left the stairs, so the door crumbled from existance exposing an opulently furnished room beyond.

Copyright: authorchrisbrown