How many tears does it take to fill the flowing bowl? It is a bitter drink we all swallow down, the coming age too terrible to fathom. Let us instead concentrate on happier times. The days before the shadow of death blotted out the life giving sun and cast violence and destruction over the land. Yes, let us count the minutes, for time will have no meaning in the by and by.
“Two beers,” said Aliz.
The Refreshing Garden Pavilion was hopping that night. A balladeer played on a complicated dwarven string instrument, stopping now and again to drop a few lines of wit. Bar wenches moved this way and that bringing goblets of wine to the happy dwarves. Aliz took a seat in the back where the human spy was waiting, wrapped in a dark cloak.
Outside the fortress it was the first day of summer. Bits of snow still blew in the cold wind, chilling the rocky coast. There was a celebration going on, commemorating the dwarven victory over the forces of evil. Bands of drunken dwarves charged through the streets, sparing and shouting with joy.
“It will happen tonight,” said the spy. “Smoke is already rising from Mount Harakata. We have three days at most.”
Aliz swilled down his drink.
How could the end of the world come soon?