Had some ‼FUN‼ today when a dragonman ambush showed up to play. I had my woodsdorfs out chopping wood, and there were many others out there hauling the logs back in. The dragonmen revealed themselves to a legendary cook near the main gate, whom I'd named Roast sometime earlier. He did in fact die in a fire.
Several rangers were out there in the hauling leagues, and when I ordered the militia to their stations, they were the first to engage the dragonmen militarily. Every ranger on the field died, but one swordsdwarf in the melee squad stood out. Not because he was flinging elemental fury at the enemy from a distance, but because after they'd closed on him, hacked his phallus off and smashed his foot to paste, and all seemed lost, he just kept going on and on and on. He blocked their dragonfire, dodged or parried all their blows, and grievously wounded their commander and many of the enemy swordsmen. And he didn't even enter a martial trance. At the beginning of the day he was adequate in his greatest fighting skills, and now he's a talented shield user and skilled swordsdwarf. After the dragonmen retreated, he was still there, crawling through the ashes and hacking heads off the wounded hostiles. He only gained two kills, and many of the dragonmen were repelled or crippled by the rangers on the walls, but he is now officially badass of the first melee squad. I named him Braveheart. He didn't save the grand master glassmaker, though.
Maybe I should change it to sits-on-ass, though, because he isn't resting and nobody has come to pick him up to go to the hospital. I'm afraid he might die like the dwarf he lived up to be; starving in a field because he refuses to ask for help or drag himself to the food stockpile.
There was actually a second squad of dragonmen, approaching from the south, but they all wandered into my cage traps and did jack-shit besides shoot a trapper's throat out.