Eamon Hardich

Name's Eamon Hardich, just an old woodcutter.

I used to have dreams, big ones. Heh, isn't that amusing?

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

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

Oh, the flask? Yes, 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 isn't too pleased about my, uh, habits.

But when he's not looking, 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 you.

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

My coworkers make it bearable.

Some good people work here, keeping 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 any help.

Thanks, but things are depressing enough.

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

Nah, Grommuk will say something.