Grimhold

Then a stranger came down the long stair. The Void Merchant. He sold King Brandr black iron that glowed like a dying star.

The king's miners dug for that black iron deeper and deeper... until the deep halls cracked, and the mountain began to fall.

Hrotgar held the gate until the last miner was out. We found only his shield. Hundreds of dwarves went home that night. He did not.

I melted his shield down in my crucible. From it I forged a breastplate... and every rivet in it was a promise.

King Brandr named me Ironwarden in the Hall of the Iron Kings. Keeper of the gates. Shield of every dwarf below.

With Odva, the master artificer, I built golems of brass and steam. For thirty years, no enemy passed the gates of the Iron Deep.

But the king was deep in the Merchant's debt. And the Merchant wanted only one thing. The Deepfire Core... the heart of our mountain.

I stood before the Core and said no. To the Merchant. To my king. The Ironwarden does not open the gate to thieves.

For that, Brandr banished me to the surface. And that same night, the Merchant carried the Core away.

Without its heart, the Iron Deep went cold. The forges died. The golems stopped. My people sat in the dark.

So I went back down. I struck the great anvil and gave the forge my own fire. I was the Ironwarden. Now I am the forge itself.

The Iron Deep burns again. The Merchant is coming back for what he lost. Let him knock. Dwarves don't answer the door.

My armour has never been dented. Every rivet a promise... and I keep my promises.