For many years Toragar of the Splitavil family worked the mines happily content on bringing in the ore required for smelting of metals. Over the last decade a strange happening began to take place, like a distant sound that would accompany his pickaxe. Over the years the sound became rhythmic and second nature blending in with the beat of the mine around him. Being the practical dwarf that he is he paid it no heed passing it off as echoes and tricks of the tunnels. Over the last year he finally noticed a difference that could no longer be ignored. While at prayer before he drifted off to sleep he could hear the beating again…only this time it settled in his barrel chest. It was a subtle vibration that over time began to feel more like the beat of his strong heart. It was at these times when he was most happy but yet confused. On one such night as he drifted off to sleep he began to dream. Not so strange a thing as he often dreamed of friends and family and battles in the mines. But this dream was different. He was in a field of tall grass that played at his hands and arms as the winds pushed it this way and that. In the distance he heard the clear ring of steel against steel and could smell the smoke of a battlefield. He came to a small rise and saw what stretched out before him men and dwarves battling against orcs and beasts. Filled with rage at the sight he threw up his arm in an ancient war cry then stopped short looking up. There in his strong firm grip was a shining silver war axe. Again not such a strange thing, but yet in all his long years as a miner in the tunnels he had been more fond of his trusty pick and hammers. Still ever the pragmatic dwarf he simply shrugged knowing that there was battle to be joined and his kin to protect. Putting his head down and pumping his solid legs he charged the field to find his place. It was one week later when it happened, an event that all dwarves feared but rarely talk of. While he and his crew were working a rather old set of tunnels one of the walls without warning gave way to loose dirt and then collapsed bringing the roof in down with it. Buried under crushing rock with a few small pockets of air he could hear all around him the hacking and cursing of his kin but he was covered and pined up to his chest in dirt and rock with only on arm free to move about. Through the rock they could already hear another crew had arrived alerted by the sounds and setting to work carefully trying to remove the rubble. Sitting quietly in the darkness it was then that he heard it. It was the gentle rhythmic beating of a hammer on a forge coming from deep inside him. He listened intently and fell deep into the sound letting it strengthen him and guide him. It was at that exact moment when Toragar Splitavil, son of Rolmator Splitavil, realised he could hear words, words nestled in with the beat. Without a thought or a moment of doubt Toragar reached into the darkness and grasped a hand sized rock. Then with a final push of his will he released the momentum of the beating and the words in his head into the rock…for a heart beat nothing happened. Then slowly but surely the pocket of space that held him fast began to brighten as the small rock began to glow with a pure clean light. Shouts rang up all around the tunnel as the rescue crew could see cracks of light peeking out from under the rocks and dirt and they redoubled their efforts to save their fallen kin. Two months later after fully recovering from the accident Toragar found himself at the exit of The Stonebrow Clan up in the Greypeak Mountains. He knew that somewhere out there he was being called to a battlefield that had been shown to him. So he bid farewell to his family and clan and set off to follow the pull of beating rhythms from The Father of Battle.