O, Cuerthalas, How We Hardly Knew Ye...

“Cuerthalas Utimnos, o bold Lingothiir, you were of noble kin. When you graced our town with your countenance, we all did know your name. From mornings in Saltmarket to evenings at the ‘Stick, so many hanging on your word from dusk ‘till dawning light. Why then did you go to the south, and what was it you sought? Did you find in Ghirimar that which your soul so missed? Was it worth the cost you paid in forfeiting your life? Do the bearers tell true the news that you were crushed by stone? Why would one such as yourself go robbing ancient tombs? A drink to your name is a drink all the same, and I'd take it were you here or not. For when I heard you'd not returned, I spared ye not much thought. Truth be told, you always were a bit of an arseling…” -Overheard verses noodled by a local troubadour one evening at The Fishwife