Adil Arelmistan, first and current mayor of Mistamselor.
Personal Memoirs, Camade Yula, 303
Some think me snobbish, pretentious and egotistical for my choice to record a personal memoir. Surely, they say, a simple log of events is more than sufficient. The significant points in our history shall be carved indelibly into the living rock of our fortress, after all. To keep a written account, on paper no less, is undwarvenly.
They may be correct. But at times like this I find my memoirs invaluable. Our engravers, handpicked for their skills and creativity, are undoubtedly amongst the very best Dwarfkind has to offer, but they are a little unreliable. Ask for suitable engravings to decorate the walls of a fallen and honoured hero, and you will get a dozen intricate and masterful depictions of plump helmets, cheese and dwarves raising skirts. My good friend, my sister and comrade's life may well go unrecorded even were I to demand every smoothed surface in the fortress be covered in art.
Ah, Myrul. She was one of the first seven; a loyal and hardworking friend who never questioned my request for her to join me when I proposed the foundation of a new fortress here. We knew the dangers, but the potential prizes are worth it! Sadly, Myrul will never live to see the great treasures she helped us obtain.
Myrul immediately drafted herself upon our arrival here. The fortress was in a well chosen position; digging into a crevace in the rock, next to a river and with steep cliffs behind our backs. One can never be too careful of course; especially with the deep fissure in the earth pouring out ratmen, giant cave swallows and worse, let alone the potential dangers that would unfold once we located the magma our geologists assured me lay beneath the surface. And so Myrul became our first recruit. Training tirelessly with the crossbow, she rapidly became one of our most highly skilled dwarves and, as our numbers swelled, she took pride in training the newer recruits.
It was not long before our wealth grew, and the fortress expanded rapidly. In only three short years we have swelled our ranks to 65 living dwarves, and have lost to date only 3 brothers and sisters. The horde of vile, thieving greenskins living some distance away took notice, you can be sure, and sent ambushes against us. But Myrul stood strong, and of the 14 goblins, 2 child snatchers and 3 kobolds to be sent to test us, Myrul alone downed 6 of the foul beasts. She earned herself the honoured name, Myrul Amusedrelics, the Tangled Simplicity of Dreams. I felt sure Myrul would soon become our first champion and had a fine burial chamber carved out in preparation. Smoothed walls, statues, her own chests and a fine marble coffin.
Three days ago, whilst my stout workers braved the sunlight to gather mined nuggets from a surface-level gold seam, a great and terrible creature emerged from the chasms to the East and set itself to preying upon my dwarves. One dwarf, a craftsdwarf by the name of Udil, fell under the giant bat's vicious attacks and her only son, Lolor, died as well. Though I immediately ordered my workers indoors I knew that, with so many still outside and far from the safety of the fortress walls, more would die if I did not act quickly. Myrul, ever courageous, immediately headed out into the fray, charging ahead of her squad in her enthusiasm for battle. She fought hard and well, and slew the great bat, but a lucky blow by the creature severed her throat and she fell, suffocating to death. Myrul never reached the rank of Champion, but in light of her courageous death she has been entombed in the burial chamber I had prepared for her. The bat she slew has been named Dardodlem; Climatestone, to honour her and ensure her deathis recorded well in our history. I shall make bolts from Dardodlem's bones, a great quiver from it's hide and a fine totem from its skull. To decorate her tomb.
Myrul leaves behind a lover, Ducim; a marksdwarf from her squad, who now takes up her banner. May she be forever remembered.
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Topic: Last Respects (Read 603 times)