Dwarves

The mountain father of the Dwarves fell silent as the race of hardy creatures advanced. The reason for this is unknown even to them, forgotten by the passage of time. Sometimes in the local tavern, a tale can be heard of how the dwarves were actually formed from the tears of the mountain yearning to be free. The Dwarves did know that all that they needed could be found within the lands around them, for they themselves came from the rock that would become their home, Kjalöl.

They toiled endlessly to gather the raw materials and fashion them into fine pieces of armor, weapons, and other goods they had need for. There came a time when the city faced a surplus of wares and all had more than what was needed. Some left their ways of trade behind to take up the weapons made by their people and becoming fierce warriors, while others wasted away yearning for the days when they felt useful.

Brúnnballi was one of many dwarves who had taken to practicing with a large ornately made hammer. His lot was one of poor fortune as he fell in battle one blazing afternoon. He slowly closed his eyes whispering his final prayers to the great mountains of his homeland when he violently woke coughing and sputtering. A human who had been wandering the wood came upon the dwarf in his hour of need. The human took pity upon the strange looking creature and returned to the city with him to tend to the wounds. As the Dwarf recovered, the humans marveled at the weapons and armor of the creature. They had never seen such fine craftsmanship before.

In time, the Dwarf regained his strength and made ready to return to his homeland for he sorely missed the brew he claimed only could come of the mountains. The people offered him various goods and coin for his only suit of armor and only protection during his journey home. He paused in thought rubbing the fine beard that grew at his chin looking at each of the humans. He told them to send their finest journeymen to the mountains that rose north of the settlement and they would find all they needed. The evening Brúnnballi returned, there was a great celebration and doubly so for those among them who could not bear to leave behind their trades. Once again they had purpose.

Many a forge rang forth that night and though leery of the strange creature called man, the Dwarves rejoiced in the profit there was to be made and the great appreciation shown for their life's work. The Dwarves since have been a neutral people never taking sides in even the most slanted of battles, for each side will surely have need of their handiwork. They fight for their own and the right to continue to create as they have since the beginning of time. They trust only what can be wrought with their own hands refusing the fearsome magic of the world and celebrate over the traditional mug of ale for a fine day's work at the local tavern, where tales of the mountains can still be heard.