I still young and years not full,
Look back to times of younger still,
In the Aalen fast with friends,
Where the river slowly wends.
Through the Aalen, one by one,
Whispers come of days bygone,
Tumbling down come thoughts afree,
Through the leafy canopy.

Corl the Hermit, wise and good,
Lived well and deep inside this wood,
My old father scarred from wars,
Cheered us with old folklores,
Yyt the Horkval, Jlx his son,
Went leaping throgh the trees in fun,
Sharp Ranato, Clever Grook,
Looks up smiling from his book.

Times were hard and times were sad,
Mostly thogh these times were glad,
Through the Aalen, one by one,
Whispers come of endless fun,
We had it long, but somehow lost,
This pricless pearl to much great cost.
But no regrets, our lives go on,
Regardless of our choices, right or wrong.

Old dwarves don't die. They just turn to stone.

Through the Aalen, green and deep,
Whispers come of endless sleep,
Yyt the Horkval I called friend,
There he lived, and met his end.
Ranato took it very bad,
He parted from us very sad,
He went in search of those who dig,
I 'spose his heart was just too big.

If by the Talpa he was found,
He now lives somewhere underground.
I to call so sword and runes,
Left that place of endless tunes,
Over mountain I did hike,
'till found this place that I do like,
I have new friends and still am free,
In the City of Cyrene.

But what of Jlx? I cannot say.
For only I remain today

Penned by my hand on the 10th of Lupar, in the year 336 AF.