In the end, Thrain looked out over his kingdom. The forge was never cold, and the sound of the "Hammerting" echoed through every cavern—a constant reminder that while the world above might burn, the heart of the mountain would always endure through fire and steel.
Years passed, and the small camp became a sprawling kilometers-wide industrial marvel. Though the dwarves were often stubborn—sometimes sitting to smoke a pipe while a critical bridge sat half-finished—their craftsmanship remained the heartbeat of the mountain.
The rhythm of the Deepwood Mountains was defined by the strike of the hammer. Below the snowy peaks of Mara, a small clan of dwarves—led by the pragmatic elder, Thrain—began their descent into the forgotten earth. Above them, a Great War raged in the Overworld, and the surface realms looked to the mountains for the steel and arms needed to survive.
