“The dwarfs like to tell their stories about their enslavement at the hands of the giants, of how they fought for freedom and became Moradin’s chosen. How often a people can forget their history.
My father was yet a babe when they came to our village upon the plain. For decades, the dwarves had traded us iron and precious metals they mined from their mountain fortress in exchange for food and other goods. This time, they needed workers to help them crush through the strongest of stones deep within the ground, a task which required the strenght of a goliath. As the work would take several months, families of the workers, including my father’s were to be given accomidation within the fortress. Their terms were amiable; we accepted. For the first few months everything went smoothly; we and the dwarfs worked together comfortably and treated eachother with respect.
Everything changed when they descovered a vein of Curium.
Driven mad by the metal and it’s enchanting properties, the dwarfs reneged on their promises and forced our people into slavery. Those who resisted were not killed but tortured beyond the bounds of sanity.
I was born into this life of misery and suffering. We labored for days beneath the rock, learning no concept of night and day. I never saw the sky until I was a man; my father, however, filled my head with visions of what once was above the ground, of the never-ending plains of grass, of the cool air, of the power of storm. Before I slept, I would pray to whatever god would listen to help me make this dream a reality. One day, as I worked in an isolated shaft far from the nearest overseer, I struck a rock that crumpled away to reveal a symbol of Moradine. My companions and I stood stunned, and as we debated what it meant a runner came to tell us the dwarfs had accidently sent us a crate of armor in what was supposed to be a delivery of tools. I know a sign from the gods when I see it; wearing the armor, we gathered the tribe and began fighting our way to the surface. I led, weilding the pair of hammers I had swung since I had become a man, wearing a hastly-crafted symbol of my patron around my neck. Moradin lead us to victory that day, though at terrible cost. By day’s end every dwarf in the mine and in the fortress was dead, as were all but a few dozen of my companions. We have wandered ever since, and I continue to search for another people in need of a Hammer of Moradin."