Here lies Ghillarik Mortorke and Ghinnarick Mortorke, second and third twin sons to Ghandrik Mortork, Princes of Hurznd Barakum and Lords of the Steel Aerie. Thy names will be remembered forever as heroes among heroes.
This account has been written by a band of peers and laid to rest alongside these heroes so that any they doth meet in the afterlife will know each man’s courage, integrity, and personal valour.
To those who would defile: Know ye who have desecrated this tomb, that a curse, as sure as Mortorke’s Rune Forge itself, has been laid upon ye. Ye shall know no brothers! Every brother ye were born to, every companion at arms ye fight aside, and every man ye would call friend shall be stricken by a fate fitting yer crimes. Go now into dark w’out allies and die the pitiful death ye have wrought, alone and afraid.
Twas in the halls of Steely rise,
That en’mies o’Mortorke still despise,
Where Dwarven Princes sat aloft,
And en’my threats were often scoffed.
With valour great and honour true,
Twins of Ghandrik, their deeds not few,
Did rule the skies and all beheld,
With a mighty force unparalleled.
They sat in halls of fine-wrought gold,
And all who saw them thus extolled
The splendour rich of Dwarven craft
And blood red hues of bitter draught.
But giant greed is deadly cold,
No bounds to hatred still untold.
They fight for work they cannot make,
Shed their blood in hopes to take,
What they can from noble homes,
Or rob from dead in catacombs.
They come with clubs and rocks and beasts,
And on our flesh hold loathly feasts.
They rage like storms they know no rank,
With gruesome bodies and disgusting stank,
Beheld a host of cataclysmic size,
As sounds of horror in night outcries.
Our heroes stood, their voices loud,
“No troll or giant on this mountain proud!
To arms and runes our bravely men,
Pull thy mounts from stately pen!
Strike at those who come so grim,
And sing aloft of Mortorke’s hymn,
For on this day our mountain booms,
Thunder strikes and fire consumes!
Give them naught but pain and spite,
Upon their flesh our hammers smite,
For none shall foot upon our stone,
Now make our might legend known!”
The battle rang and raged for days,
As grisly en’my crept up in haze!
Hundreds, by the score they came,
Through axe and blast and fire and flame.
Yet together naught could they stand,
Against the Brothers and their brand.
For one with rune and one with steel,
Both did fight with untold zeal!
They laid them down, they cast them out,
With curse and cry and deadly shout.
So on the rocks the giants broke,
With every word and every stroke.
Yet in the dark a new curse rose,
That knows no tale, or written prose.
They came with laughter on fetid cry,
And soon the battle went great awry.
Twas no blade or rune they spun,
But poison made and deadly done,
To tiny wound or minor gash,
Caused greatest man to grit and gnash.
And as they died, the fearless fought,
Defending kin and time they bought,
For child and mate who sought to flee,
And found salvation in Steel Aerie.
The Brothers bold would not go,
but stood their ground through bite and blow.
Through waves of poison, and burning pain,
They would not move, nor tire nor wane.
And we are those who stood along,
To sing our mighty battle song,
For love of god and prince and king,
We would have fought through anything.
Yet upon the wind our companions flew,
With might upheld and striking true,
They came in numbers our feathered kin,
A hearty beast the bold gryphon.
With beak and claw they came in force,
Their ire fought with no remorse.
They dived and dove upon our foe,
They screamed and cried for us to go.
So seeing great their sacrifice,
We would not cheapen such weighty price,
And on we went, through cavern dark,
To find our freedom, to find the mark.
Upon the light we finally came,
To find ours weak and many lame,
From deadly wounds and greater still,
Disease did fester and make us ill.
For there it was in wooded vale,
That plots did thicken and health did fail.
Twas in the poison our death did lie,
And no salve or aid from each ally,
Would undo the damage wrongly done,
Our destiny sealed our fate was spun.
So there we stood and used our craft,
To create a tomb where all would aft,
Know our tale and know our war,
Let knowledge flow and add to lore,
How somewhere deep in foul pit,
A blasphemy of war does sit.
I am the last of our troop,
My allies dead, our broken group.
My runes are spent, my body slain,
I have not more of much to gain.
I lay this prose in Princely tomb,
I’ll seal the rock, I’ll face the doom.
I know I’ll die without a grave,
I hope my soul Mortorke shall save,
But if I’m lost and cannot sleep
Please don’t cry, please don’t weep.
I was lucky, my house emblem,
Was from the land of Hurznd Barakum.