Tony saw off the secret police and when he returned, he was visibly elated, half because he had managed to bluff his way through the encounter with the secret police, and half because under Durin's pen, a masterpiece worthy of being handed down through generations was unfolding.
Fine wines, sumptuous feasts, battle flags, spear formations standing tall and muskets, the steepest mountains, ores, the Edelweiss that blooms only on the mountaintops, and most importantly—the profiles of heroes, each detail hitting right in the sweet spot for any Dwarf.
Tony stood before the painting, scratching his head in bemusement; in that moment, he seemed less a Dwarf and more like a monkey with dwarfism that hadn't quite finished evolving.
Durin drew up the draft methodically and then turned to Tony, "The pickaxe?"
The belated Mr. Durin then screamed and began his work.
