In the heart of my resilient fortress, the calendar marked the passing of year 102, a testament to the strength of my domain. With a flourishing food supply, abundant water sources, and a formidable cadre of trained guards, I took pride in the fact that my fortress had remained untarnished by the grim specter of casualties. Little did I know that fate would soon put my defenses to the ultimate test.

A sudden alert flashed across my screen, disrupting the tranquility of my well-fortified haven – "Thief: Child Stealer." The very essence of my security was about to be challenged. With unwavering resolve, the dwarves rallied, ready to confront the impending threat. The malevolent figure, a goblin child-stealing thief accompanied by two sinister goblin lackeys, advanced menacingly toward the fortress gates.

In a heartbeat, I sounded the alarm, summoning all dwarves behind the safety of the gate and swiftly raising the drawbridge. A handful of dwarves, including the gate guards, found themselves stranded outside, entrusted with the crucial oversight of the marksdwarves stationed in the gate towers. The well-being of the children took precedence above all else. The militia of Kolsherik, resolute and determined, swiftly dispatched the three goblin thieves. As the drawbridge descended to welcome the remaining dwarves back within the fortress walls, a collective sigh of relief echoed through the air.

Days passed, and the dwarves began to notice a conspicuous absence – a one-year-old infant named Aban Stigazezum. She had vanished without a trace during the chaotic events of the goblin attack. Despite meticulous inspections of the defenses, the mystery surrounding Aban's disappearance remained unsolved. I was certain there were only three thieves, and I had witnessed their demise. I knew where their lifeless bodies rested.

Half a year later, the fortress and its inhabitants had moved forward, albeit with an unsettling undercurrent. One night, as I surveyed the guard towers, a strange sight caught my attention – an ethereal, naked green dwarf standing among the regular guards. Hovering over this otherworldly apparition, I discovered it to be none other than Aban, returned as a ghost with a silent determination to exact retribution on those who had allowed her abduction.

Aban's ghostly presence glided up and down the guard towers, traversing between floors and through walls, occasionally haunting the guards stationed at the front gate. Perhaps she held them responsible for the lapse in security that led to her tragic fate.

After enduring several months of disconcerting hauntings, I finally found the time to construct a tomb. Although I lacked a physical body for a proper burial, I fashioned a memorial slab, personally etched to commemorate Aban's spirit. It was an offering to lay her to rest and bring solace to my guards, who had internalized the lesson from that fateful day. They vowed never to let another thief breach the fortress's defenses.

As the engraved slab found its place, Aban's ghost seemed appeased, finally finding peace. I read the inscription aloud, the words etched in stone bearing witness to the tragedy – "In memory of Aban Stizgazezum / Born 102 / Crushed by a drawbridge in the year 102."

And so, with a poignant acknowledgment of her fate, Aban was laid to rest, her spirit finding tranquility. The fortress had weathered a storm of both corporeal and spectral challenges, leaving an indelible mark on its history. The lesson learned was etched not only in stone but in the hearts of the dwarves who vowed to guard their sanctuary with an unwavering vigilance. The saga of Aban Stigazezum had become an integral part of the fortress's lore, a tale of resilience, loss, and the enduring spirit that lingered beyond the veil of mortality. 10/10.