Year 12, Summer

The clang of the forge is a deafening symphony, one I've lived with since I was a beardling. But the city… the endless hammer blows, the throng of dwarves, the stink of coal… it’s suffocating. I, Borin Stonebeard, have decided. I'm leaving. Packed my meager belongings and a good wheelbarrow onto a sturdy wagon, hitched to my loyal mule, Bessie. The High King gave me a nod, not even a word. All the capital cares about is more steel, more gold. I’m seeking something… else.

Year 18, Autumn

Years have passed, years of relentless travel. The plains stretched on, then forests, then more plains. The wagon creaks, Bessie groans, and I, well, I'm just weary. Found a place once, riddled with iron. My heart sang for a day, ready to build a small forge. But the spark… it wasn't there. The endless mine shafts of the capital, the pressure… it's burnt me out. The passion for delving… gone.

Year 21, Spring.

Found another place. A small, seemingly useless valley, nestled between hills. No metal, no promise of riches. Just a small stream, a patch of forest, and… quiet. I've decided to stop. Here. I've built a small hut, made crude furniture from fallen branches. A whetstone, a hand-crank drill, a few basic tools. My days are long, filled with chopping wood, hunting, tending the tiny garden I’ve started. Each day, the sun rises, I work, it sets. The work is hard, even backbreaking, but… peaceful. I think I almost like it this way.

Year 25, Summer

Unforeseen. The winter ice that covered the stream melted with the spring rains. And in the clear water, I saw it. Small, glittering stones, more than just pebbles. Garnets! And… was that a vein of gold? The old fire, the one I thought had died, flickers. I’ve spent the week digging around the stream, the old dwarf instinct clawing its way back. The pick scrapes at rock face, and I find more. Amethysts, jet, even a few topazes. Never seen this kind of diversity before. It's a haul. Far beyond what I ever thought possible.

Year 26, Autumn

I’ve delved deep. I’ve crafted crude picks and shovels, working by the light of lanterns I made from tallow. My hut has expanded, now partially underground, with stone walls and support beams from the nearby hills. I’ve built a proper furnace. There’s a mountain of gems and a fair amount of gold piling up. Enough to make any proper dwarf go wild. But… it’s so far to the capital. The wagon journey alone would take months. Still, the idea sits in the back of my head, like a nagging tune.

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Year 27, Spring

A goblin. A scrawny, green brute. It ambushed me by the fishing pond, snarling with a crude iron blade. There I fought, fury and desperation driving me. It was a close thing, but I prevailed. Took his blade and now have a new tool for defense, and a bit more to consider. If one comes, more could follow. I can’t just stay out here alone, not with these riches. I have to go back.

Year 27, Summer

The decision is made. Loaded up the wagon, a mountain of gems and gold clanking. Bessie doesn't like the load, but she pulls. It's a long, arduous journey. The capital is still a sprawling, noisy pit, the sight of it almost shocking after so much quiet. The merchants’ eyes went wide at the sight of what I had. I traded for weapons – a fine dwarven axe, a sturdy breastplate, two hand axes, a sturdy iron shield, and extra leather armor. I even traded for a few tools. But more than that, I spoke to many dwarves who were unhappy with the city life.

Year 28, Spring

I have built this place. My small hamlet. The sound of axes chipping, picks impacting rocks, the ring of hammers. It’s not the capital, it's almost the opposite. But these dwarves, they’re happy. They see that this place holds something for them. Three came with me from the city. A miller, a carpenter and a stone worker. We’ve built workshops and storerooms. New dwellings are going up day by day. And the mines… they are overflowing with gems. We trade these gems for tools, equipment and other good to keep us going.

Year 30, Summer

Word has spread. More and more dwarves arrive. Some miners, like myself, some even merchants. A few gnomes have also come. They have brought new ideas and new methods to the hamlet. We’ve built defenses, a small wall, watchtowers. But with the growth came trouble. A band of goblins attacked last week, a larger group this time. We fought them off, but I know they will be back. I am no longer Borin Stonebeard, the lonely dwarf. They call me Lord Borin now. Seems I’ve become something of a leader.

Year 32, Autumn

The horn has blown. The High King calls for aid, war has come. All able-bodied dwarves are being summoned to fight. The people of my hamlet look to me, Lord Borin, their chosen leader. I must go. I leave the running of the fort to my trusted foreman, Norin, he is a stoic and dependable dwarf who has been with me from the start.. I take with me the strongest warriors of my people, a dozen loyal dwarves, well-armed, ready to fight, and with a heavy heart. I load my gear and my axe onto my wagon. Bessie, old as the hills but still strong, waits patiently for the order to move. I think the day has come, once more, to embrace that old fire.