George's Writing Section

The wooden door of the Forge, three inches thick and reinforced with iron ribs, clangs against a delicate bell. Cold, damp mist hangs in the foyer, stinking of molten metal and all sorts of exotic substances. Woodberry shivers. The handle of his Q'uonan's axe strikes the door frame, forcing him to dip low to enter. Q'UONAN: "Zudin, this place is much like my homeland..." WOODBERRY: "Ew, it makes my eyes sting." Stacked from floor to ceiling against each wall, leaving only a small patch of open floor in the center of the room, are strange objects of every shape and color. Filthy piles of cloth and leather, hunks of contorted weaponry and household tools, colorful jars filled with powders, insects, glowing liquids, preserved animal parts, and bones. WOODBERRY: "Anyone here...? We're looking for... someone... um..." Q'uonan inches toward a cluttered counter resembling a work station. Further inside, an ashen black

WOODBERRY: "What's so interesting about that hunk of stone?" Woodberry tugs on Q'uonan's ear, urging him away from Needham's Tavern. Down a gentle slope of wild grass, Sir Soanso paces around the Bryn Colledig Monument. He mutters beneath his helmet. SIR SOANSO: "Young and old... the soil hungers for us all to return to its embrace. Oh, my soul... what are we, but leaves in the wind?" WOODBERRY: "...Sir Soanso?" SIR SOANSO: "Hm? Ah! Graceful Woodberry and Brave Q'uonan! My new friends have found their way!" WOODBERRY: "Are you feeling all right? I hear you've been standing here for a while." SIR SOANSO: "I confess, time does seem to escape one's perception whilst contemplating the names written here. So very many lives lost... and yet, who stops to remember, but once per year?" Q'uonan shudders, glaring at the dozens of moss-covered stones beneath his feet. Q'U