Prelude/Prologue

This story was about dwarves that go around and paint things. That's the gist of it.

Prelude

   Many a night sky bore its sheltering coolness and clear, starlit wonders to adventurous travelers and murderous thieves alike.  No matter the attributes of the person, no matter the mistakes they had made, no matter their flaws, nothing shared its illumination like a clear, starlit sky. It cares not for the onlooker, for it simply shares its wonders with any that care to gaze upon it.
   Perhaps it was the gentle calmness of the night breeze that gave it its grandeur. Perhaps it was only the knowledge of how much a gift it could be. Whatever the case may have been, Thestorr Bushdrop continued to live her life in full stride; the night sky watching over her with a calm and approving smile, her faithful husband Krackle eloquently at her side.
   By her pure skill with the painter’s brush, and the cunning persuasion of her stubborn husband, the adventurous couple found easy profit on the open trail. Often, Thestorr and Krackle would travel the lands. Nothing was too far for the duo and their old horse, for they took no homes, perhaps never staying in a certain area for more than a week. Their thirty years of wandering together had taken them further and further from busy towns and taverns, besides that of the occasional merchant’s plaza to sell Thestorr’s paintings, and nearer to lands unknown or unheard of.   
   Together they sought thrill and adventure. Although it had become a daily routine to travel, for the road was their home, both were not unfamiliar with their weapons. In numerous times of danger, both had pulled through for each other each time. Thus (and this goes true for many a powerful warrior), as it had not happened previously, there was a certain level of confidence and security with their weapons and the judgment of their abilities that boosted their cravings for adventure.
   Possibly, it was also because nothing had bested them previously.
   Thestorr found great pleasure in the simple art of her paintings. Often, her skills brought she and her husband great wealth at the merchant’s plaza. What brought the couple the most profit were the architectural paintings of the places they had visited, so detailed were they.
   Alas, it was not for profit that drove Thestorr Bushdrop. It was the grandeur of what she was doing, the ability to preserve what so many others had never seen. It was for that reason that the two adventurous dwarves had visited many lands thought to be forever lost.
   It filled the dwarven painter’s heart with joy to simply sit and channel her feelings through the thin hairs of her aged wooden brush. But oh how she loved to paint under the beautiful night sky. To paint with twinkling stars viewing her with as much confidence as it would a newborn child.
 A dark that never judged.

Prologue

   The bustling tavern clamored with the great laughter of a dozen patrons, the clangs of ceramic ware as the barmaids desperately tried to satisfy the customers, and perhaps even the distinct cry of a child. Barmaids with more than enough   occupying them were ordered to fill nigh seven different mugs of ale at each respective table. ‘Twas quite the busy night, as most were for the most renowned tavern in all of Venyaurd. The Crushing Hammer had become quite the hotspot over the years.
   A rare few sat quietly, oblivious to the attitude that the rest of the tavern’s patrons were giving off. This may have been indicative of the barmaids’ constant ignorance of their presence, but then again, it very well may have been the glum expressions on their faces. Whatever the case, the two mountain dwarves sitting at the small, round table in the corner of the main dining area had received very few visits from the barmaids. Yet still, for a dwarf was a dwarf, the male of the group had been served quite a bit of food. Unsurprisingly, several empty mugs lay scattered across the table in front of him.
   Across from him was a female dwarf, a sight to see if ever there was one, sitting quietly, gently resting her head on her hands. The male looked solely at his large plate of food, forking in as much as he possibly could into every single mouthful. Alas, another clear mug of ale was in his other hand, halfway finished with a ring of foam slowly deteriorating around the surface of what was left of the ale. The female dwarf sighed as she was forced to listen to the constant smacking and shucking of her husband’s jaw, trying not to look as he stuffed his face with hot foods.
   Mustering her courage, for it indeed did rely on that to look at a dwarf eat, the female dwarf suppressed another sigh.
   “You’ve got grime in your beard, me love,” She grunted sarcastically as he feverishly ate. The male dwarf stopped eating, momentarily glanced at her, and then continued, although a might more tentatively.
   “Well, so do ye!” He scoffed, his chewing tempo now back up to par. “Your beard ain’t no napkin, know ye. If ye’re sporting it, ye've got to take care of it.”
   “Oh love, you've consumed too much o’ that ale,” his wife chuckled, (for her husband’s beard was dirtier and more full of food than she had ever seen it) and she was fully and truly ready to return to the road. “Ye’re gonna get us in ter trouble.”
   Washing down the rest of his late supper with his half-finished mug, the male dwarf replied,
   “Oh, folly. Ye should have a couple o’ rounds. It’d do ye some good. Maybe get some o’ that fireale I been fancying.”
   “Ye’ve had enough fer the night!” The female dwarf cried. “By the gods, ye’re drunker’n I ever seen ye and yer asking fer more.”
   “Bah!” the male dwarf pouted. “Ye just need ter calm down.”
   “Nonsense!” His wife retorted, her cheeks flashing a rather annoyed shade of red.
   Yet, her drunken husband’s attention had gone otherwise, acting as though his wife had never responded.  Simply chuckling, he gestured to another table beside them with a swaggering grin.
   The occupants of the neighboring table, having overheard the dwarves’ conversation, all laughed aloud, nodded their accord, and turned respectively to each other to continue their goings-on.
   “Ye know, I quite like this town,” said the male dwarf to his wife, oblivious to the embarrassed and disbelieving expression she now cast upon him. “Very friendly folks.”
   “Well,” she spat, flustered. “Don’t get too comfy. We’ve means to return to the road at the crack o’ dawn.”
   “Wha…?” stammered the male dwarf, honestly surprised in his drunken sway. “Me figuring told me we’d be staying fer a week!”
   “Why? Fer we can sit around and suck up ale till the morn’? By all means, me figuring says we should get back to the road as quick as we’ve arrived. This town’s got something about,” she muttered, staring into the distance. “Besides! I fancy me a new picture fer the Northlands. Me new brush has been itching to be put to good use!”
   “What’s the point o’ adventure if ye can’t have a good drink? We’ve got ter stay and relax fer once!”
   “Ye call this relaxing? Getting drunk at some bustling tavern fer nights on end? Good god, me love. We’re getting back on the road in the morn’ and that’s that.” 
   Even when entoxicated, the male dwarf knew when his wife had set her mind on something, and thus, he also knew that it was useless to try and push her any further. Smiling glumly, he folded his arms and put his head down.
   “Oh, don’t fret, deary,” his wife said, suddenly compassionate. “There’ll be plenty o’ other taverns along the way.”
   “S’not about that,” the male dwarf replied, his voice muffled.
   Groaning at the naturally stubborn dwarf’s naturally stubborn personality, the female dwarf snorted, waving a hand to silence him.
   Yet, her husband seemed not to notice at all, his mind once again somewhere in the distance as he stared into the fireplace, apparently watching in awe as the flames portrayed their intricate dance.
   The female dwarf, giving a last snort of blatant frustration, turned from her husband and folded her arms. It was quite a pain to watch over the dwarf when he was like this; so childlike and helpless, and always, always so stubborn. Yet, it was for those very reasons that she had fallen in love with him. It struck her as ironic, then, for the two couldn’t have been more different.
   The female dwarf smiled. Different.
   The gods must have made it so, she thought. For indeed, that was the only explanation she could muster.

Author's Note

This is pretty old and my style of writing has since changed, but I like it. The simplicity is effective. Anyway, enjoy.