Awakening of the Forgefathers

"Stone does not forget the hands that shaped it." – Dwarven Proverb

In the beginning, the Dragon Spine Mountains lay cold and silent, their jagged peaks cutting the sky like the edges of an unfinished blade. The heart of the mountains pulsed softly, hidden beneath layers of stone and ice, waiting for the day the forge-fire of creation would awaken within.

It was in this time of quiet that Dumathar, the Veinsmith—god of the forge and stone—walked the deep places of the earth. While other gods shaped the seas and skies, Dumathar turned his gaze downward, to the bones of the world. With hands of molten fire and eyes that burned like coals, he carved the veins of metal into the mountain roots, crafting halls and caverns that no mortal eye would see for centuries to come.

But stone alone was not enough. Dumathar sought beings to tend his forges, caretakers who would understand the weight of the mountain and the whispers of the deep. And so, with hammer and chisel, he sculpted the first dwarves from the living stone of the Dragon Spine. Their forms were rough, unpolished, yet sturdy—each one a reflection of the mountains they would one day call home.

The First Forgefathers

From Dumathar’s hand, seven dwarves rose before all others—the Forgefathers—the eldest and strongest, bearing the weight of creation upon their shoulders. Each stepped forward, molded not just by stone, but by a purpose etched deep into the core of their being.

• Brammek, The Watcher of the Founding Stone – Brammek’s gaze lingered on the heart of the mountain. His eyes seemed to pierce the stone itself, seeking the forge at the world’s core. Silent and resolute, he would stand as the anchor, watching over the foundation of all dwarven halls.
• Halgrak, The Grudgekeeper – Halgrak’s hammer struck with the weight of finality. His presence bore the weight of ancient wrongs yet to be righted, his eyes hardened by the debts of the mountain. His forge would know no rest until all accounts were settled.
• Nuraber, The Keeper of the Living Flame – Nuraber’s hands lingered over molten stone, shaping fire and light. His heart seemed drawn to the glow of distant forges yet to be kindled. Where others sought the strength of steel, Nuraber chased the flicker of the flame in the dark.
• Banmar, The Frostwright – From the cold winds that howled along the peaks, Banmar awoke with ice on his breath and snow at his feet. He carried the chill of the mountain’s heights with him, his hammer striking ice as easily as iron.
• Thalrik, The Mountainbinder – With steps that seemed to echo long after he had passed, Thalrik felt the trembling of stone beneath his feet. His hands sought not to break the mountain but to bind it, reinforcing halls that would outlast the ages.
• Thonir and Ghonir, The Twin Pillars of Iron – The twin brothers rose together, their hammers ringing in unison. Their footsteps left no echo alone, only the steady sound of two hearts and two crafts entwined.

These seven dwarves emerged not as rulers, but as guides and builders. The Forgefathers struck the first stones and carved the earliest paths. Beneath their watch, the younger dwarves awakened, and together they began shaping the mountain’s halls.

The Wandering Clans

For twelve years after their awakening, the dwarves lived as nomads, wandering the high valleys and deep caverns of Steerbright. The Forgefathers walked among them, each leading by action rather than word. Their hammer strikes echoed through the mountains, and their kin followed, seeking the fire of Dumathar’s forge buried somewhere deep beneath the stone.

Brammek’s kin gathered lore and carved it into stone, while Halgrak’s followers etched names into the hafts of their axes, preparing for debts that would one day need settling. Nuraber’s clan carried torches and lanterns, bringing light to forgotten corners of the mountain, while Banmar’s kin shaped the cold into tools and weapons. Thalrik’s dwarves strengthened every hall they entered, reinforcing tunnels so that none would collapse under the weight of the world. And wherever the brothers Thonir and Ghonir walked, their descendants echoed their work, creating tools that resonated through the caverns.

The dwarves lived by their craft, mining iron and carving stone, yet the mountains withheld their greatest treasures. Ordinary iron bent beneath their hammers, but none of it matched the strength of the peaks that towered over them. It is said that in these early days, the dwarves grew restless, for though they were born of stone, they had not yet found the heart of it.

Many believed that Dumathar still walked among them, hidden in the form of a wandering smith or a distant echo in the caverns. Travelers told stories of meeting an old dwarf with ember eyes who spoke little but left behind tools that never dulled and blades that never broke.

The Forge in Their Blood

Even as they wandered, the dwarves felt the pull of the forges buried beneath the mountains. The elders taught that within every dwarf burned a fragment of Dumathar’s fire—a gift left by the Veinsmith to guide them home when the time was right.

This belief became the foundation of dwarven life. Every hammer strike, every carved stone, and every mined gem was part of an eternal search to reclaim the forges of their creator. To shape the world around them was to honor Dumathar’s craft, and so the dwarves built great stone halls, even without a city to call their own.

Legends say that the mountain remembers every step a dwarf takes. To this day, dwarven travelers pause at the entrance of unfamiliar caverns, placing their palms against the stone as if listening for the faintest echo of Dumathar’s voice.

The Eternal Journey

The Dawn of the Dwarves was not marked by conquest or war but by the slow, deliberate spread of their craft across the mountains. The dwarves measured time not in seasons, but in the wear of their tools and the length of tunnels carved through the stone.

Though no thrones had been raised and no banners unfurled, the Forgefathers led the dwarves forward, striking the first sparks of what would one day become the great halls of Steerbright.

Until that day, the dwarves walked as children of the stone, leaving their mark one hammer strike at a time.