He dreamt of the past. Hard, soot-filled days before the anvil that yielded indelible beauty. He woke to an unknown sky, surrounded by lush green trees. Rising, brushing his red beard, he saw a relic of days gone on the ground. The hammer of his sires, Fjellbran, long lost. Grasping the worn grip, radiant power descended on the dwarf, giving him purpose.
