A note from Necrontyr525

Would you kindly correct my spelling errors?

<This is Draconic language> Not all characters understand Draconic.

Date: Seventeenth of January, year 810 Post Seminal War (810 PSW)

... --- ...

Job scratched the scales at the back of Baar’miin’s ears as they waited for Enra to make her appearance.

“Murrrrr. Feels good.”

“Told you Baar’miin, most everyone likes headpats or earscritches.”

Sly slumped in the corner, idly fiddling with a dagger, “wonder why she called us all here again. ‘S not like I got anything else to do, mind you, just… I’d have liked an explanation.”

Job snorted, “you miss seeing her.”

“Well, yeah, she was awful comfy to snuggle with…”


Sly blushed, “yeah…”

Job arched an eyebrow, “nothing more?”

“None of yer damn business!”

Index ambled into the room, “well, I can’t find any text to help translate old dwarvish into anything else, but I know of a…” She looked about, saw Enra wasn’t there, and ambled back out the door.

Baar’miin looked up from her contented murring, “what was that?”

“Looking for Enra!” Index called back down the hallway. “Back in a minute!”

Several minutes of sulking, earscritches, and murring later Index reappeared, attempting to herd Enra into the room. “... Why not talk about it with all of us?”

Enra clutched a tattered letter, “because it’s a life I wanted to leave behind!” she made an attempt to break past Index and flee into the library.

Baar’miin stopped murrring happily, got up, and chased after Enra. She re-appeared moments later, the elf held unceremoniously over her head. Job had to bite his cheek to prevent himself from laughing at the sight of the two foot eight inch tall, thirty-five pound Baar’miin effortlessly carrying the five foot one inch, ninety-seven pound Enra effortlessly into the room and unceremoniously dumping her butt into a chair.

“Now you here. Now we talk. Why you angry and sad?”

Enra fidgeted with the letter, fraying it some more, and looked around the room. She sighed, “It’s a wedding invitation from my eldest sister. Family politics: she is placed to inherit the family title and wants to flaunt it. I couldn’t care less, but I’m the youngest sister and not really in the line of succession. But my middle sister is going to manage to cause a stink somehow, and I’ll be expected to play peacemaker, and a whole shitshow of family drama. I just want to toss it all aside and focus on my work.”

Job scratched his chin, “so how big would the scandal be if you didn’t show up?”

Enra blinked. “Somewhere between ‘epic’ and ‘catastrophic on a national level’. Why? What are you thinking?”

Job tapped his chin, “Well, Index mentioned she couldn’t find any translation text for old dwarvish, but knows of where we could find one… On the other hand, you could probably bring us along for ‘backup’ at the wedding, make a scandal all your own…”


About the author


  • Graveyard Shift Writer


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