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Difference between revisions of "User:Xshredder01 x"

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(Dwarven Historic Poems and Odes)
 
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Latest revision as of 13:23, 2 December 2010

Throughout the years some dwarven cultures like to record their history. Often times these records are of long gone heroes or historic moments that influenced the fortress. Here are some of the only remaining examples of creative dwarven literature that archeologists have found:

Ode to Minnie the Miner, the founder of our hall:

Withe her brave pioneers she searched all around, She saw a good spot and dug a cave in the ground. A beautiful fortress she built and did found, Untill she was beaten and put in the ground.


  Ode to Lenith, the Door Guard:

Was mostly a man who did little harm, He drove off a kobold with his only good arm. Stood brave by the door for many a moon, 'till his head was chopped off by an axe-wielding loon.


  Tale of the forgotten armorer:

After loosing his mind and throwing a fit, He punched a horse and was thrown in a pit. They ignored his dead body: "we'll eventually clear it," Up rose his ghost, an antagonized spirit! He wandered the halls moaning forlorn, 'till the pit rose in size: five bodies more. The dwarves building fast as the halls filled with bone, They all now rest in peace in the Great Catacombs.


   The Famine of 254:

In 254 in the month of Granite, Terror raped the land: a deadly famine. Just getting set in, much too stupid to trade, Predictions were wrong: not enough food was made. Something about the fort must have been much attractive, more immigrants came and their stomachs were active. Panics rose as population rose that year, 20 to 54 in just over a year. Many of them refused their jobs, Together they conversed and they formed motley mobs. "There is not enough water! There are not enough beds!" It occurred very quickly that they all lost their heads. Bill killed a farmer and was tied to a rope, Many a friend's death did the dwarves have to cope. They were told as an order "there are plants to be milled," But they started to fight and the nobles were killed. The doctor fixed bones and the dwarves that were chewed, For many among them were in a fey mood. None of them worked, they all hunted for vermin, They ignored the requests for food-making construction. The Great Dining hall was always a fit, This caused the need for the great body pit. The amount of free souls made the air flutter, Ghosts arose from the body-filled gutter. The miners dug chambers two stories deep, Attempting to put restless souls to sleep. Carpenters built coffins fast to be brought down, Bodies were piled faster than were put in the ground. Many dead lost, so many bereft, the killing has stopped, there are no bodies left. With new nobles appointed things began to calm down, With the 20 dwarves left there was food to go 'round.


   Ode to "Dr. P.h.d."

He fixed the bones of the dwarves that were punched, He often went days without eating his lunch. His patients couldn't stand and some couldn't grasp, He probably couldn't either in his last shocking gasp.