Eamon Hardich

Name's Eamon Hardich, just an old woodcutter.

I used to have dreams, big ones. Heh, ain't that a laugh?

Thought I'd be an artist, carving beauty from wood.

But life had other ideas, and here I am, chopping logs.

Oh, the flask? Yeah, it's my... uh, constant companion.

Keeps the cold away, you know? And the thoughts.

Oh, I've had better days, honestly.

The work here is hard, and Grommuk ain't too happy about my, uh, habits.

But when he s not lookin', I still manage to carve a bit. And drink a lot...

Keeps the dream alive, even if it's just a flicker.

This sawmill's a real grind, I tell ya.

Grommuk runs it like a prison, which doesn't make it any easier.

My coworkers that make it bearable.

Some good folks work here, keepin' each other sane amidst the noise and dust.

We've built a little community, despite the overseer's scowl.

Actually, I could use a hand. Nearly cut mine off earlier...

If Grommuk will allow it, sure.

Sh-sure. You're not getting a drink though.

I could use a break.

Nah, I've...hic...got it covered.

Help? No, don t need no help.

Thanks, but things are depressing enough.

I m...hic...fine. Just...a little dizzy.

Nah, Grommuk will say something.