(For context: )
Interviewer: Today, we’re meeting with Bardumgenlath, one of the hard working citizens of Gildrounded.
I: Bardumgenlath, how long have you been at Gildrounded?
B: Oh, about three months.
I: And what have your impressions been?
B: Well, my initial impressions weren’t good. I first I thought I was was anxiety induced hallucinations, but then I found that my cousin died here in a fight with a dragon raptor, so it’s only natural that his ghost follows me everywhere. One of the other dwarves even carries the remains of his head around; I’ve never felt comfortable asking her why.
I: That must have been quite a shock.
B: Well, it was at first, especially having lost the rest of my family to carp, but then I actually arrived at the fortress proper. It’s just like this big field of bones and dismembered body parts. That doesn’t sound really appealing, but you should see what they’ve actually done with the place. You can tell the person who made the butchery house has really put some thought into it; it’s not just giant knives and dripping entrails, there’s art to it.
I: So overall, you’ve liked the layout?
B: Oh yeah. I mean, from what I hear the whole place has really humble beginnings, and you can see that with things like the dining room have been carved from this disgusting ooze beneath the beach but someone’s put a statue in there; it’s clear they’re trying really hard with what they have. I just wish there were some chairs… and somewhere to sleep that wasn’t a room filled with mud.
I: And what do you do here?
B: Well, it’s always been my dream to be a shearer. Y’know, work with animals, that sort of thing. But the only shearing animals around here are lightning sheep.
I: Lightning sheep?
B: Yeah. Sheep. With the power of lightning. I don’t want to be the one to find out what that means.
I: So what do you do?
B: I’m a miner. Everyone tells me that’s important, but I’m not not really sure if the other dwarves aren’t making fun of me when I come back covered in coal dust. I mean, that should be a noble profession for a dwarf, but the brewer always has this gleam in his eye when he hands me my beer, and then everyone seems to watch while I drink it. I don’t really know what that’s about, but people seem to think me drinking the horrid stuff that passes for beer here is incredibly funny.
I: Thank you very much, Bardumgenlath. That’s all we have time for tonight.
B: Thank you. Say, do you want this beer, I don’t think I’m going to stomach it…