Watching the distraught dwarf leave, Titus heaved a sigh. He knew he could not wade in these deep waters, not since he was still wounded from the battle 500 years ago. Just remembering it made the scar in his chest ache.
Wincing slightly in pain, he was reminded of a bond. A bond that he once had, a bond that was stronger than the Eternitum chains of the Foundation.
The dead should remain with the dead. It's time I move on...
Sighing once more, he turned around, intending to return to his room at the back of the monastery. Just as he began walking, a faint glimmer of light was reflected onto his face. Annoyed, he gazed at the room, trying to find the source of it.
Gazing down, he found what he was looking for.
A satchel lay open, its bronze hammer clip thrown to the side. Strewn across were dozens of sheets of paper, each depicting plans of a dwarf riding several contraptions, each aimed at reaching the sky. Some even held notes, to which Titus, intrigued, read on:
17th of Wahun, 5603 EL - Today I have set myself up using several balloons filled with burning gas. It's lightweight properties should allow me to ascend up...
1st of Marde, 5603 EL - Damn balloon, nearly blew me up! Thank Illumia that I had brought extra pillows for the flight up. Note to self - Don't use balloons again!
3rd Apar, 5603 EL - Now, these wings should do the trick! Hah, people say we can't fly like the birds, but I say nay! Let us reach for the skies!
And so on and so on, Titus' eyes grew bigger and bigger. reading each sheet told him the struggles and sacrifices the dwarf made, about how, despite being pressured and shunned by everyone, despite being advised to leave his dreams, he still forged on, believing that he'd reach the Moon one day.
Well, I'll be damned...
Chuckling, Titus collected the papers, putting them back into the satchel. Closing the bronze hammer, he began walking back to his room, still chuckling at Simon's ridiculous ideas. Yet little by little, his steps began faltering, for he began to realise how hypocritical he was.
He, too, once had a dream. A dream to lead his people back to honour. A dream to help the Orcs gain the recognition they deserved.
A dream...that ended in tragedy.
He gave up his dreams, believing them to be pointless, not worth fighting for. Yet the dwarf's dream encompassed even his by a thousand meters.
But he did not give up.
Stopping in his tracks, Titus ruminated over for seconds, stretching to minutes, and later, hours.
He made up his mind.
Just as he was about to go and pack up, a loud boom was heard behind him. Picking up the stench in the air, his eyes shrunk with fear.
Urks! And damn it, they're in danger!
Realising that they were in immense danger, Titus ran to a locked room, barred shut with thick orichalcum pillars. Ripping his way through, he entered the dusty, forgotten hall.
Breathing deeply, he passed through several shelves, of which displayed paraphernalia thought to have been lost, and those that originated elsewhere.
Walking down the aisle, he headed to the end of the room, where a pedestal lay. Going up the stairs, he started at the weapon laid upon it, contemplating. Closing his eyes, he picked it up, and switched it on.
The long-forgotten buzz of the chainsword was heard once again.