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COMPONENT 11: FROZEN
Gonzeelda Skins watched as her Orc mates carried the unconscious Dwarf across the cave. She was surprised the short bearded man was so heavy in the first place. First Budge had tried to lift him, then Weiggs, but neither could carry the pipsqueak.
“Why so heavy!?” Budge groaned.
“Me no no,” Weiggs responded as he heaved the Dwarf’s legs up onto his shoulders.
Gonzeelda, who sat with her chin in her hands, muttered, “I guess what they say is true—Dwarves are of the Earth, and they have stone bones.”
She giggled to herself when she said that last word. Her mind was in a place Torchwood would refuse to let it go—if he even really existed. After having wielded her Beauty, and learning the truths and weaknesses of the ‘Gods’, she was beginning to wonder if she should follow her once favored deity at all. If something could bleed, was it really a god? And furthermore if it could be killed, then it SURELY was not worth worshipping.
“Mistress!” Budge dragged out her title in a long whine.
“Shut up, Budge,” Gonzeelda said, her mind somewhere in the distance.
She pictured the visage of Torchwood that the Orcs carved into cave walls deep beneath the Moonbearer Mountains and shook her head. He wasn’t even that attractive! A god should be gorgeous! Maybe she should be a god? A smile spread across her plump lips—yes, she SHOULD be a god!
Budge and Weiggs made it up to Gonzeelda’s sitting spot. She stared off absent-mindedly as her minions looked at each other.
“What wrong with Mistress?” Budge asked.
“I dunno. Maybe she thunking,” Weiggs told his taller cohort.
“She thunks a lot,” said Budge.
The Belltower Dwarf began to stir and Budge saw this.
“Nuh uh uh, Dwarfy,” the Orc chuckled and lifted his hand, delivering a quick punch to the side of Buster’s head, knocking the groggy prisoner right back out.
Gavin was off scouting ahead of Lavina and Angon. The obviously broken Compass Stone was pointing toward the Malgar Cliffs. The Elf worried about his own ability to climb down those sharp and slippery, sea pounded ledges, let-alone Lavina and this new companion, the Forge.
The Elf finally made it over the last hill and suddenly found himself at a steep drop off. He took a deep breath and leaned over, staring down the hundreds of feet into the ocean below. Huge waves the size of the grandest ships crashed against the rocks, and even still there was at least five score feet of rocks to descend. Hopefully they wouldn’t have to travel too far down.
A gust of wind hit the Sol Elf from behind. Caught completely off guard, Gavin cried out and lost his balance, flipping face first over the side. His arms shot out and grabbed onto a root hanging over the side, and his body slammed into the rocky cliff wall, knocking the air right out of his lungs.
“Fetter!” Gavin screamed, “Lavina! Forge!”
Slowly he tried to climb the root, putting one hand over the other, but then even his light weight began to pull him down.
“Fetter! Fetter! Fetter!” Gavin cursed repeatedly.
He knew the Forge and his Half-Elf companion were too far away to hear his cries, for he had ran at least a couple miles ahead.
Gavin kicked his legs and tried in desperation to foot his foot into a niche so he could hold himself up. The wet sea air left moisture on the root stopping the Elf from getting a good grip.
“Ellania, help me!” Gavin pleaded, staring up into the sky, where he could not see a single star in the afternoon sky—he knew he was doomed.
The Elf hung there for many long moment, slowly sinking an inch every minute. He was running out of time—he had to think of something! Gavin looked down to the loop on his belt where his dagger resided. If he could grab it then he could stab the cliff with its sharp blade and perhaps make a new hand hold. It was his only hope, but letting go was not so easy to do.
“Just a split-second,” Gavin whispered, reassuring himself, “All I have to do is let go for a split-second and I’ll have my dagger.”
Gavin sighed. He just couldn’t bring himself to let go! It would be fatal! Although he was strong, in truth it had nothing to do with muscles, in fact his muscles were working against him; weighing him down.
His own stubbornness was the cause of his fall. He slipped off the root and fell, screaming.
“Gavin has been gone a long time,” Lavina complained, as she and the Forge trudged on up and over hill-after-similar-looking-hill.
“Surely we will catch up to the Gavin, don’t you think?” Angon asked, shrugging.
He walked by her side, towering over her, and casting a long shadow, leaving her in the shade. She wasn’t upset about this, it was nice—considering the weather that day had chosen to be so intensely warm.
“Well all this walking is making me sweat up a storm!” Lavina whined, and wiped the moisture from her brow.
“Another thing I do not understand,” Angon said, as he watched her.
Her skin glistened and looked slippery, but yet it made her seem even more appealing.
“Just be glad that you don’t,” Lavina said, “It makes me feel icky and gross.”
“You could never be icky or gross,” the Forge chuckled.
“You’re just too sweet,” Lavina giggled.