Literature Quotes:
"I dream of you, to wake: would that I might Dream of you and not wake but slumber on; Nor find with dreams the dear companion gone, As, Summer ended, Summer birds take flight."	Monna Innominata by Christina Rossetti
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Well today was a horrible attempt at writing! I know exactly what I want to write but... it just won't come out... I tried every trick in the book to get the fuel running but all I could come up was half a page after 2 hrs of trying so I'm calling it a night. Hopefully tomorrow will be better.
*** UPDATE: Ok after reading this post to verify that everything was alright, It just clicked and ended up writing 3 more pages. It's the word "song" that did it for me. I was just able to suddenly link everything together because of that word. Does that ever happen to you?

Sitting dutifully beside Davben at the end of the table, Fiore waited for silence while nibbling away at a piece of bread. She wanted to know more about the story she heard her friend chant earlier: “Why was that Dwarf cut into pieces?”
“Ye means Gwart the Berserker,” exclaimed Goran suddenly standing in excitement, which caused the dinner wear to rattle against the table, “The greatest master of war our race has even known. He…”
“Ye heard me song earlier?” Davben cut in frowning at his impetuous brother. Davben was the elder and stories were after all his right especially after a good meal. Had the first war not occurred, during his young days, he would have become a bard dedicated to the songs of old. He loved history. Instead his master had seen off to battle with these words: “History must be recorded before it is sung.”
“If he was a hero, why was he sliced into pieces?” Asked an astonished Fiore. Most of the heroes from her tribe still lived and had daily offerings of flowers and nectar for their glorious past. They were respected.
Davben had known Gwart, briefly, before his death and was still in the mist of composing his song.
“Fear, Fiore, fear led the people to sacrifice him to the Gods,” sighed Davben. “He was a good Dwarf! During the war, he begged me to write down his messages to his mother and father and to use the herald falcon to send them home about once every new moon. He always cared about the folk back home.”
“Silly Dwarves if he was such a good person, why did your kin cut him into pieces? He must have been bad!” Asserted Fiore batting her little translucent purple wings to emphasise her point. “We only do bad things to bad people,” she added to prove herself right when she noticed Davben face grow sombre. His eyes were drooping sadly to the floor. Then and there, Fiore realized how old Davben was. His usual cheery demeanour took years off of his age no one but his close kin and friends would have known that he partook in the last Great War over two centuries ago.
“He wasn’t a bad man,” Davben declared banging his fist on the stone table, “ye shouldn’t speak of things ye do not understand!” He was yelling now and Fiore did not know why, why her friend looked like he was in pain, after all that Dwarf had been dead for a very long time.
“She doesn’t know about fighting let alone what a berserker is,” said Goran trying to pour water over the fire. He hated real disputes and feared that Fiore wouldn’t visit them anymore if it got too much out of hand. He like her, she was sweet and good company. The only friendly pixie he had ever met not to mention the best trickster. She would rival many a rogue, thought Goran.
“Fiore, our kin decapitated Gwart because he was too powerful to leave alone. Every great hero needs a rival,” explained Goran as he walked over to his brother to pat him on the shoulder.
“That can’t be true,” said Fiore, “Ms. Delilah lives with us and she was the only one of our kind to fight in your war.”
Davben threw his mug on the wall across the table: “it’s not the same,” he growled, furious at trying to explain worldly affair to a child of a sheltered race.
Fiore’s face deepened from her usual pastel purple to a magenta colour. She was fighting back tears. She had considered Davben a friend and now he was angry with her and she really did not understand why. She knew Dwarves fought with swords and axes more than with magic but she had seen Ms. Delilah’s magic demonstrations and they could be very deadly and just as scary as a weapon although she had never seen one in use for real.
“Fiore, do you know what it means to berserk,” asked Goran in a calm voice.
“Isn’t to loose one’s mind,” she replied quietly as to not awake the wrath of Davben once more. She felt really dumb. She had always wanted to learn about the world like Ms. Delilah had. But the elders would never allow her to leave the sanctuary of the groove after all she was a joke of a pixie that couldn’t possibly take care of herself. She had been so happy when the Dwarves came to the tower. They had brought the world with them but now she wished she had contented herself with making flower wreaths for the daily offerings. Her kin was right; she should have ignored the outsiders. Fiore was crying now and ashamed of it, she covered her face with her two little palms.
The thirteen Dwarves unaccustomed to crying looked at each other uneasily. They wanted all to be merry some more and to have another toast with their friends. Surprisingly, Davben, father-like, gently placed his bulky arm around Fiore’s shoulder. “Forgive me Fiore, it’s just that he was my friend and I regret that I could not help him. I never meant to take my frustration out on ye.”
An audible sigh of release circled the table as the other twelve men relaxed and took a sip of ale.
Fiore smiled and hugged Davben. She was glad that her friend did not hate her. Hesitantly, she asked again why their kin thought appropriate to dismember their hero.
“Ye need to understand that a berserker doesn’t only loose his mind but goes into a frenzy. He will fight foe and friend alike in such a state.”
Fiore gasped, shocked that friends could fight each other. Davben smiled at her innocence. Davben had never fathered any children and he was glad he had met Fiore who was like a daughter to him.
“Gwart,” Davben continued the story with a lump in his throat, “ when the war ended volunteered to be dismembered and magically preserved as an offering to the Gods. He was a good man and did not want to hurt his friends or family.”
Fiore hugged Davben with all her strength, amid her tears she whispered in admiration: “he was a great Dwarf and friend!” Something still bothered Fiore. She did not understand why they needed to dismember the honourable man.
“Nobody really knows why except the priests who have cut their tongues off to make sure nobody finds out the locations of all the pieces,” explained Goran with a wide grin on his face that gave him cute little red cheeks like a child’s. Goran expertise was not history but rumours and myth. Once he had enough intelligence on a particular rumour he would set off on an adventure to find the mythical object or other such artefacts. That’s actually why he was here in this tower digging up old tunnels. He had heard about some ancient tablet kept secret hidden in the forest. “The rumour as it, he continued, that if all his limbs were placed together again with the aid of a little magic he could be revived.”
“And, that is why I never finished my song,” added Davben, “I have a feeling his story isn’t quite over just yet.” He smiled hopefully.
Fiore wished that Davben could meet his friend again. She hadn’t enjoyed seeing him in so much pain and grief. “Why don’t we go and find him,” she suggested.
“No one knows where he is scattered, it be a pointless journey,” sighed Davben.
“Well there are rumours,” grinned Goran, “we could check them out.” Excited, Fiore tugged on Goran’s shirt and asked: “Where? Where?”
Goran’s booming laugh resonated throughout the hall. Fiore’s curiosity rivalled his own. “They say that the legs and arms are hidden away with ancient magic in forgotten towers and that his body is somewhere that falls while his head is lost forever to this world.”
Fiore giggled clasping her hands together, she knew how to cheer up Davben. The company of men all stared at her waiting to see why she was suddenly so happy. She touched Davben arm softly. “I know how to fix your song,” she said.
Perplexed Davben just looked at her dumbfounded. There was nothing wrong with his song other than it wasn’t completed.
“We need to write a song that never ends,” explained Fiore proud of her idea.
“That never ends,” repeated Davben even more perplexed. Songs are not written or sung without and an ending since they record history… events that have come to past.
“Yes, umm something like this,” and Fiore began to sing in her clear melodious voice that resembled dewdrops falling from flower petals.

“Dumpy the Dwarvy sat on a wall. Dumpy the Dwarvy had a great fall and all the King’s men scattered him all. His legs and arms hidden in towers so tall. His body is where all things fall. His head nobody knows at all!”

“And when we find his pieces we update the song,” explained Fiore, “That way it never has an end until we find him.”

The lot of Dwarves were holding their stomachs from laughter. “Dumpy the Dwarvy,” boomed Davben, “Gwart would have loved the nickname!”