Truck was a yellow toy dump truck. He loved it when his boy, Bobby, rode in his bed. “Yeah!! Lessgo backwards!!” Truck would yell as Bobby would sit and start moving his legs as if to walk while he were sitting down. “That’s it pump those little legs of yours! Pull, pull, pull!” Truck was an inside toy, which means he was not to be used to haul dirt outside like the other dump truck like Scratch did. Scratch was an old worn out dump truck. His colors were faded but the boys of the Dawson family did not mind, for his job was to get dirty and not to stay all clean and comfy.
One day, Truck was placed by the window where he could see Scratch as he was just having a shovelful of sand being dump into his bed. “I’m glad I’m not like that toy. I’d never let my wheels get so dirty. And the sand in my bed would scratch my yellow paint off! Must be terrible being that toy out there,” Truck thought as he observed the boys begin to burry Scratch underneath a pile of sand. “I am only made for riding in! And I’ll never want to do anything else.”
A few days later, Truck was busy giving Bobby a ride. It had been raining that morning and so Bobby and his brothers could not go outside. However, the rain had just stopped and the sun was now shining bright. Bobby’s brother whispered something Truck couldn’t hear. “Wanna ride some more kid? I’m ready to go!” But Bobby didn’t keep riding Truck. Instead, he picked Truck up and took him toward the front door. Mrs. Dawson was getting the groceries and the boys’ older sister, Ally, was reading a book downstairs in the basement. The boys snuck out of the house and approached the sidewalk where they looked down their road with a grin. The road and the sidewalk next to it went down a hill ending in a turn at the bottom that had a large oak tree and a field next to it that now was a big mud puddle. Truck was confused. He had never been outside before, but he wasn’t worried about getting dirty…until Bobby set him down into a small puddle!
“Aaaah!!! My wheels!!! They’re wet!!” yelled the toy. Bobby then climbed into Truck’s bed! “No, no, no we are not riding me outside!! Take me back in! Oh please take me back in!!” whined Truck. Suddenly, there was a jolt and Truck and Bobby were off…down the hill! “Aaaaaaaaaah!!!” both yelled as they flew down the hill straight toward the oak tree! Worrying about Bobby getting hurt as they tore down the sidewalk, Truck began to stop his wheels from turning, but he could not slow down. The tree was now looming faster, faster, and faster. Quickly, Truck forced his front left tire to slow a little which made him turn away from the tree and straight for the big puddle! Truck closed his eyes. Sploosh! Truck now felt cold, wet, and scratchy. Then Bobby to whimper. When Truck had turned and dove into the puddle, Bobby had gone flying out of Truck’s bed into the puddle. Now he was all wet, but he had missed the tree by a few feet! Truck felt a better now knowing he had helped protect his boy, even though he had had to get all dirty.
It had been twenty years since Took had been inside his parents’ mansion. The thick, sturdy manor had been cut out of a sharp hostone (one of thousands sharp rock formations that knifed into the open air across the overall flat landscape of Dragont). The dwarfish architecture could be plainly seen for miles, that is when the view wasn’t blocked by an obnoxiously tall hostone, which was always. A perpetual mist blanketed the ground, and evidence of the sun was only found by the clouds over the valley basin turning a lighter shade of gray. Other than that, you might have just said that there were no blue skies in the dale, only gray ones. The heavy stone door on the front of the house would have been impossible for a dwarf even with Took’s stoutness to open. This is what made the people of Dragont of the Dale unconquerable; they needed no central manor around which to build a town for protection. All homes of the Dale where made from hostone and all hostones connect to each other in a series of tunnels, for they are what remains of the dragon nests of the dragons that had long since disappeared. Instead of a doorknob there was only a keyhole into which only the signet of a family member or close friend could fit. Took clenched his fist, placed the ring into the hole, and twisted sharply. A stone clank and a low rumble could be heard as the lock responded and triggered the door open. For a moment there was blackness and dust swirling out of the door like smoke. Presently, torches triggered by the opening of the door lit themselves; they burned very low, however. “After twenty years, it’s a wonder that they even flamed up,” said Took. The family treasure chamber lay at the center of the home, as did all dwarven treasure chambers. This too had a stone door guarding it, but this one was decorated with the family crest in silver and gold with two specific gems-a perfectly circular diamond surround by a ring shaped ruby-placed in the center as the key hole. The keyhole at the front door was heavy iron and could be changed as friends and family rose or fell out of family favor, thus their signet mark would not work. The treasure chamber keyhole however could only be opened by one signet, the heir’s. Raising his clenched fist once again, slightly trembling, Took fitted the ring into the hole and twisted again. It worked! The lock clanked and the door sank back a rolled to the side into the wall. Here the torches were much brighter and stronger, for the chamber was rarely ever opened. Scanning the heaps of gold and jewels, Took’s eyes landed on a very peculiar object. This object was not of dwarfish design. Not even glancing at the beautiful glittering treasure around him, he advanced upon the foreign object. It was a sword, a clear silver sword as strait and as thin as a needle but as wide as an ax head. On the silver handle, the Stulwart family crest. It was part of his family’s treasure, but it was not made by his family. It was an elven sword. Looking closer at the blade and flipping it over and over, Took noticed an inscription on both sides of the blade: one he assumed was written in an elven tongue for he could only make out a few letters, but the other was written in Dwarf. The shadows danced to much on this side of the room, so Took picked up the sword and carried it to a nearby torch. Putting the blade behind the flame, Took studied the words. With a gasp, Took dropped the sword, which hit the golden tiled floor with a sharp ring that echoed through the chamber. As the ringing faded, Took gingerly lifted the sword once again and this time trembling. He read the words once again behind the flame. There was no mistake. In our language the inscription read: “Sword Victorious.” According to Realm legend, he who bears this sword in war would surely be victorious so long as he did not seek his own gain. He who sought the gain of others would bring peace to the land, but he who sought his own gains by the sword would die by that sword and the it would be lost.
The ship creaked and groaned its death pains. The dim light at the top flickered and zapped one last time before all the ship’s power failed. “Do ya hear that?” Jamie whispered hoarsely. The struggle that had just ended had left its marks on his throat. His breathing was labored. The man that we both had feared lay dead at my feet. “Yes.” I answered. “She’s sinkin’ faster. Water must be to the deck ‘neath us. We need to get ya to a lifeboat fast.” Starting up the ladder, I noticed that we were more vertical than when we had first descended. When we at last reached the main deck, I glanced down one side then the other side of the ship. One life boat. Just one. And right in the path of the swaying funnel. Indeed the ship was sinking faster. The water now swallowed about half the ship. Funnel’s 1 and 2 where gone and 3’s lines would snap at any moment. “Lifeboat won’t save us now!” I yelled above the din of helpless screams around us. “By the time we get there, 3 will break off and swamp us!” Jamie nodded and pointed aft. I acknowledged his idea. And we darted over the railing onto the deck below. Regaining our feet we scurried to the stern. We were nearly halfway there when the ship moaned. There was a deathly silence that clutched all hearts on board for a moment before we began to realize what the sea was about to do to the pride of the White Star Line. Metal shrieked. Sparks flew. Not one person was standing as gravity threw us and the stern down while the sea finished its meal of the bow. Then just as greedily as it had swallowed the bow the sea began to play with the stern. As she raised once more like a finger pointing to the sky, we slid across the deck. And slammed into a wall. Jamie, still sliding reached for a handhold and caught the railing. I crawled to his spot, and stood up clutching the rail. It was strange. Had the ship been upright, we would have been standing sideways. I looked at Jamie and we gave each other a nod as we knew what was to come. “Take care of yourself, chap.” Jamie smiled softly and nodding said in a voice that would make one choke once it was heard, “Aye! Godspeed, Thomas. Godspeed.” I looked into the sky and whispered a prayer to my Gracious Maker. Then at last the Titanic began its final plunge.
