Foreman Fhard was as happy as a Dwarf can be. The Ducal decree in his pocket had placed him in charge of the Cordorian rebuilding activities, allowed him to press random people into service, and made it possible to confiscate any materials needed to complete the project. The fact that it earned him a nice sum of gold was a nice bonus, of course.

He had ordered stones and cement from the Prince in Brogdenstein, pine was cut to size in Guldorand and the harbour in Wharftown imported Forrstakkr marble and oak. Transporting all these materials to Cordor proved to be a bit of a fuss, though. Most of the oxes and mules had been killed in the catastrophe so he had to make do with the two-legged version.

"Oi! You there!", he shouted to a hulking half-ork on the Temple Square, "Your generous offer fer help has been accepted! I am happy yer doing this fer the honour, of course! Good man, we need more like you!"

The half-ork looked at him with a flabberghasted look on his face.

"Me no doing helping, stunty! You buzz off or Grubor kills you dead!"

This was the part of the job that made Fhard very happy. He hated almost any race with passion, and orkspawn were no exception. He made a sign to a near-by Cordorian Guard and showed Grubor his decree.

"This paper says that you WILL help me, greenface. If you don’t I will have you thrown in jail for a long time. In case you wonder… you don’t get any money for it, and you just have to do mind-numbing manual work. Cordor will thank you for it, of course. O, and from now on I will call you ‘Mule’. Objections?"

He smiled and waited for the half-orks reaction. Jail or mule.. he didn’t care that much. There were enough adventurers around to carry half the Abyss to Celestia, and he didn’t mind to draft all of them. Yes, Foreman Fhard was as happy as a Dwarf can be.

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Say 'no' to JSBF!

*Ree mumbled softly, yet another day she had seen this bloody dwarf exerting, with glee, the chaining of yet more free souls. She sighed, inwardly muttering a litany of curses.

She had been growing tired of the world of late. Everything seemed to be growing more and more irritable, save things of scale. Strange pains and odd sensations. Nightmares, and dreams carrying her attitude from pleasant to confrontational.

She eyed the dwarf many a times as he walked through Cordor, writ in hand. The Duke deserved death, death for violating his own silly rules. But how could it be done? This is mere slavery, under a differing name.

No one seemed to care, no one..seemed to realize it. She thought back to the day how she had liberated another of the 'green skins'..from the grasp of the dwarf, under the guise of romantic interlude..a dinner date. How could one continue this action? The city was in shambles, people were hurt. The Duke was using this to his advantage. Free labor, and harming people.

She was no cleric of Tyr, no no. But this was wrong, she saw it, and knew it. But the boiling of the blood in her veins seemed to keep her from being able to act. *

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Dwagin [Duh-wa-GIN] N. - 1a. Small and cute thingum, particularly fond of four legged scaled creatures of the metalic and chromatic varieties.

-Extraordinarily ordinary in the mostest of ways.

//Foreman Fhard cannot remember anyone stealing his mules. The only one that escaped him was that nancypansy elven no-good called Valawyn, as far as he knows.

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Say 'no' to JSBF!