Feel free to edit as you see fit, I'll see if I can dig up any fighting logs.


<55 Dwarf IMM> (PK) Thror HammerSong, Lord of Perseverance
* Dwarf * (PK) Dugruain the Holy of Faith, Holy Apprentice of the Anvil

Thror snorts.
You grumble distractedly to yourself.

Zandrumial tells you 'Do I know you?'
You tell Zandrumial 'Neh.'

Thror says 'ye've attained a number O' things.'
Thror says 'can't say I'm proud O' yer yet.'

You grumble distractedly to yourself.
Thror tugs his beard in frustration.

You say 'Feh louck're nie sien.'
Dugruain strokes his blue beard.

The hiss of a great forge being stoked echoes around you.
The hiss of a great forge being stoked echoes around you.

You say 'Pride is a tricky thing.'
You grumble distractedly to yourself.

Thror says 'Ain't it.'
Thror grumbles and growls. You wonder what's wrong...

The hiss of a great forge being stoked echoes around you.
Thror says 'Ready yerself lad.'
The searing heat roasts you.
Thror says 'Time we learned somethin' O' forgin.'

You grizzle your teeth and look mean.
You nod at Thror.

The eerie silence is broken by booming voices of rhythmic song.

The Ancient Chamber of Hammers
Rounding the edge of the cavern's hall brings you to a grand opening that
spreads into an enormous chamber. Large granite pillars support the tons
of rock that tower over your head, providing an entrance into the secluded
cavern below. An overwhelming feeling of awe envelops you as the stunning
display unfolds before your eyes. Long halls cradle each side of the
cavern, hewn into steps that descend into the chamber. Three anvils rest
at the far edge of the hall, backed by massive twin crucibles and a
blazing marble forge. Above the domed chamber are a number of pulleys and
levers, each serving to lower the caskets of stone along winding cords of
rope. Thin vises, inlaid with gold, sit at the edge of large granite
tables, serving to steady one's work. Large bellows rest beside the
forge, their constant swoosh of air steadily stoking the forge-fires. A
single circular gouge opens at the top of the chamber, breaking through
the rough mountain stone. Light spills from the opening bathing, you in
the splendor while allowing the smoke to rise through the crevice.

A bearded dwarf is standing here, carefully concealed beneath a cloak.
(Red Aura) Drenched in sweat, this grey-dwarf labors with a cart of iron.
(Gold Aura) (White Aura) Hoisting the bellows, this giant maintains the temperature of the forge.

Thror snorts, a thin line of soot blowing from his nostrils about his face.

The eerie silence is broken by booming voices of rhythmic song.
Ding! Ding! A distant pounding resonates throughout the mountain.

Zandrumial tells you 'Oh, that's too bad, I'm real nice.'
Thror grumbles and scurries eastward.

Zandrumial tells you 'How about you?'

You scan east.
***** Range 1 *****
A bearded dwarf is standing here, carefully concealed beneath a cloak.
(Red Aura) A figure with thick forearms and massive wings approaches you with his wares.
A svirfnebli metalsmith buries a white-hot sword within this mountain stream.

The Cooling Hall

A massive monument of stone depicts a proud dwarf, reforged by war.
A small stream of mountain water licks against the stone in this cavern.
A bearded dwarf is standing here, carefully concealed beneath a cloak.
(Red Aura) A figure with thick forearms and massive wings approaches you with his wares.
A svirfnebli metalsmith buries a white-hot sword within this mountain stream.
Grithnir the merchant-smith says 'Might I interest you in these fine wares?'
Thror buys a scorched leather tunic.
Thror stops using a thick shirt studded with duergar bones.
Thror wears a scorched leather tunic on his body.

You snort.
You say 'Yers ain't thinkin' of facin' meh axe..'

Thror buys a pair of smoldering steel tongs.
Thror peers around himself intently.
Thror snorts.

Grithnir the merchant-smith concentrates for a moment, then resumes his position.
Thror puts a thick shirt studded with duergar bones in a soot-covered cloak emblazoned with a Singing Hammer.
Thror says 'Well..'
Thror says 'Get yer a tunic.'
Thror says 'En some tongs.'

You buy a scorched leather tunic.
Thror grumbles and growls. You wonder what's wrong...
You buy a pair of smoldering steel tongs.
Thror says 'Hammers, ye'll need hammers.'
Thror holds up two fingers.

You buy a sturdy forgehammer.
You buy a sturdy forgehammer.
You grumble distractedly to yourself.
You wear a demon-faced talisman around your neck.
You can no longer find the strength to wield a burrow-warden's mithril pickaxe.
Looking pleased, Thror strokes the mighty mithril hammer of Thror with a wicked grin.

Thror says 'Let's get te work.'
Thror beckons for everyone to follow.
Thror leaves west.
The Fiery Bridge of Temperance

A granite statue is here, depicting a dwarf-lord at the forge.
A bearded dwarf is standing here, carefully concealed beneath a cloak.

You say 'statue'

Thror glares icily at you, you feel cold to your bones.
Thror says 'Bah!'
Intently, Thror peers at a granite statue, inspecting its quality.

The hiss of a great forge being stoked echoes around you.

You grumble distractedly to yourself.
Thror says 'What O' it?'

This statue is carved of white granite and is carefully detailed. The
stone shows a large dwarf posed before a brick forge with large tongs in his
grasp. An intense _expression of focus is carved into his face, brows set in
fierce determination. Oddly enough, the coals and the flames are caught in
this stone and both the dance of the flames and the effort of the dwarven
smith are carefully captured. Near the bottom of this statue are words
etched upon the face.
The searing heat singes you!

You shrug.
You say 'It's there.'
You grumble distractedly to yourself.

Thror nods.
Thror says 'Fine observation.'
Thror mumbles something incoherant and snorts beneath his breath.
Thror walks around the statue, considering it for a moment.
Thror says 'Think it worth forgin?'
Thror says 'Shapin? Sharpenin?'

The searing heat SEARS you!
Dugruain strokes his blue beard.
You say 'Mehbe.'
The searing heat RAZES you!

Thror says 'Wear yer flamin' tunic!'

Dugruain looks over the statue.

Thror groans loudly.

You can't remove some spiked body armor.
The ring of a hammer echoes in the distance.
You grumble distractedly to yourself.

You say 'Meh armors sticky.'
Thror groans loudly.

You are using:
<worn on finger> (Glowing) a wide golden ring
<worn on finger> (Glowing) a wide golden ring
<worn around neck> (Invis) a ruby-encrusted collar
<worn around neck> (Invis) a ruby-encrusted collar
<worn on body> some spiked body armor
<worn on head> a helmet with a long spike
<worn on legs> Leggings from the Scales of Tiamat
<worn on feet> a pair of spiked boots
<worn on hands> some spiked gauntlets
<worn on arms> some spiked sleeves
<worn as shield> a shield made of boiled leather
<worn about body> a skin from the snow leopard
<worn about waist> a corroded belt
<worn around wrist> (Invis) (Glowing) the Bracelet of Bifrost
<worn around wrist> the Bracelet of Charms
<wielded> a sturdy forgehammer
<tattooed> a hammer set upon a rune-covered anvil

You grumble distractedly to yourself.
Thror places his stubby hands over your chest, creating a warm glow that is painful.
Thror says 'This'll uncurse yer '

You say 'Yers jus' painin' meh, not fixin' anything.'
Thror says 'Yer havin' a problem with it?'
You say 'Neh. '
Thror nods.
You shake your head in his direction.

Thror places his stubby hands over your chest, creating a warm glow that is painful.
Thror stands up.
Thror snorts.
You can't remove some spiked body armor.
Your some spiked body armor glows blue.
You stop using some spiked body armor.
You wear a scorched leather tunic on your body.
You feel slightly resistant to the fires of the forge.

You nod.
You snort.
Dugruain strokes his blue beard.
Thror gives a broad, proud grin.

You say 'Neh then..'
Thror refrains from snorting as his smile becomes even broader.
Thror snorts.

You say 'Th' statue.'
Thror says 'That isa statue it is.'
The searing heat heats you.
Thror says 'Consider it.'

This statue is carved of white granite with each niche and curve carefully
detailed. A great dwarf-lord is chiseled into the stone, wearing breeches
and a tunic of rock. The dwarf has a large nose with a long, flowing beard
and hair which reaches the tops of his broad shoulders. His features are
carefully detailed, from the fatigue etched upon his proud face, to the
strain carved in his muscles. His hammer is poised above his head, upon
a path to strike the shaft of metal held firmly against this anvil. Upon
the base of this statue are words set in stone.

Thror says 'What is the make O' it? How difficult is it te forge?'

You wince in agony.
You say 'Granite some tuff stuffs.'

Thror nods.
Thror says 'One O' the toughest stones.'
Thror says 'So too are certain men.'

The eerie silence is broken by booming voices of rhythmic song.

Thror says 'Difficult te forge.'

You nod.

Thror says 'Fer instance, we the hearty folk.'
Thror says 'I would find it rather difficult te forge yer.'

You say 'Lots O' men do.'

Thror says 'Yet the humans, with a span O' life which is founded by change...'

Ding! Ding! A distant pounding resonates throughout the mountain.
The ring of a hammer echoes in the distance.

You nod.

Thror says 'They are more brittle en easily forged.'
Thror says 'So always, yer must consider.'

The searing heat blisters you.
Dugruain nods, tugging at his beard.

Thror snorts.

He is the creator of this brotherhood, yet his craft is ancient.
The Noldarian Smiths
Raw is one's life, incomplete and impure,
Shaped by these trials, to be tempered with defeat.
Though perfection has been captured in rock and within stone,
death is the final quenching, which makes one complete.

Thror says 'Note the granite, it must be raw. Unshaped, te be easily forged.'
The searing heat blisters you.
Thror says 'You cannot determine how pure it is until it has been through the tempest O' the forge.'

You nod.
You say 'Aye.'
Thror says 'How will ye begin?'

You say 'Wit' th' granite?'

Thror shakes his head.

You grumble distractedly to yourself.

Thror says 'Granite is simply the type O' man yer is te forge.'

The searing heat stifles you.

Thror says 'Remember, we are learnin' te forge men.'
Thror says 'Nae stone.'

The searing heat blisters you.

You nod at Thror.
You say 'Hims cannae be shap'd in a short span.'
You say 'Th' man O' granite will.'

The ring of a hammer echoes in the distance.

You say 'Him's got teh be first bath'd in fire, teh determine his worth...'
You say 'Fire kin beh, war, or words..'

Thror nods at you in agreement.
Thror says 'what is the fire fer yer?'

You say 'Words, most th' time.'
You say 'Unless I's find'd them not workin''
You say 'Dens hims gittin' th' fight.'

Thror nods.
The searing heat heats you.

Thror says 'Begin te shape it.'
Holding up a granite statue, Thror nods.
The searing heat stifles you.

Dugruain examines the statue with a close eye.
Dugruain walks to the side of the statue, noting is grain.
Ding! Ding! A distant pounding resonates throughout the mountain.

You say 'BAH.'

Thror shakes his head in dismay.

You say 'Gots a solid grain.'

Thror nods his approval, circling the granite statue carefully.

You say 'Yers cain't beh rushin' teh this, hit one wrong vein, yers could crumble th' thing.'

Dugruain rubs his stubby hands over the surface.

The searing heat burns you.

Thror nods at you in agreement.

You say 'It's nearly flawless.'

Thror motions to the speckled face.
Thror says 'Though nae flawless.'

You nod at Thror.

Thror points to the corroded stone.

You say 'I's sayin' almost.'
You snort.

Thror says 'Mayhaps once, flawless.'
Thror shakes his head in dismay.

The eerie silence is broken by booming voices of rhythmic song.

Thror says 'Ruint now I'm thinkin. Somethin's changed it'

You say 'Times' tugs at all dwarves makins''
Dugruain examines the corroded area closer.
You say 'I's thinkin' it can beh made teh look as anew.'
You say 'Got's teh get some scorchers in her''
You say 'Heatin' it up some.'

Thror nods.

You say 'More th' flaw will appear then, I'ms thinkin''

Thror grumbles and growls. You wonder what's wrong...
Dugruain tugs at his beard, thinking hard.
Ding! Ding! A distant pounding resonates throughout the mountain.
Thror says 'All talk lad, all talk.'
Thror tugs his beard in frustration.

You grumble distractedly to yourself.

Thror pokes at a granite statue with his finger.

Dugruain hops up to the statue face.

Thror grumbles and growls. You wonder what's wrong...

The hiss of a great forge being stoked echoes around you.

Dugruain begins to take the hammer along the smudged forhead area.
The ring of a hammer echoes in the distance.

Thror brushes the dust from a granite statue.
Thror grumbles and growls. You wonder what's wrong...

Dugruain hammers gently, then rubs away the dust with his stubby paws.
Dugruain hammers much harder on a spot of terrible corrosion.

A wry little smile crosses Thror's face.
Thror nods.
Thror says 'There yer go...not too hard now!'

Dugruain wipes the face area clean, taking a step back to survey his work.

Thror says 'En not te much at first!'

Dugruain folds his arms and inspects his work.
You grumble distractedly to yourself.

Thror beams at you proudly.

You say 'Sour lookin' fella.'

Thror frowns.
Thror grumbles and growls. You wonder what's wrong...

You say 'Bah!'

Thror grumbles and growls. You wonder what's wrong...
Thror extends his arm, the massive hammer at the end humming slightly.

You say 'Guess we's all cain't beh smart an' good lookin' teh.'

You shrug.
Dugruain grins under his beard.

Thror gives a loud, 'Hrmff!!'

Dugruain eyes the extended hammer.

Thror clambers atop the statue..
Thror touches his hammered hand slightly against the face of the statue, bringing it around the slope of the face carefully.
Thror sticks his tongue out slightly, his right eye narrowed in concentration.

Dugruain folds his arms, watching.

Thror blows at the dust that the hammers create.

Your nose and throat are suddenly overwhelmed with granite dust!
Thror snorts.

Dugruain coughs and chokes up dust.
You grumble distractedly to yourself.
You say 'Bah! Tastes better than purfume..'
You grumble distractedly to yourself.

The ring of a hammer echoes in the distance.

You say 'He's lookin' better though.'
Dugruain eyes the work.

Thror grumbles and growls. You wonder what's wrong...
Thror lifts his head above the beard and begins to touch it up slightly.
Thror slips from the base of the statue!

You say 'Feh!'

Thror waves his arms in a circular motion!
The hiss of a great forge being stoked echoes around you.
Thror says 'Whao! Whoa!!! Whoaaaa!!!'

Dugruain rushes over to keep you from falling.
You say 'Her!'

With a curse, Thror tumbles to the ground!

You grumble distractedly to yourself.

Ding! Ding! A distant pounding resonates throughout the mountain.

You say 'Yers ok Thane?'
You grumble distractedly to yourself.
The eerie silence is broken by booming voices of rhythmic song.

Thror, a male dwarf, is in perfect health.
Thror is using:
<worn on finger> a diamond encrusted mithril band
<worn around neck> a soot-covered cloak emblazoned with a Singing Hammer
<worn on body> a scorched leather tunic
<worn on legs> a pair of thick leather leggings with mithril plating
<worn about waist> a loincloth
<wielded> the mighty steel hammer of Thror
<dual wield> the mighty mithril hammer of Thror
<tattooed> a hammer set upon a rune-covered anvil

You say 'Bloody hell, yers knocked cold?'

Thror snores loudly.

Dugruain moves closer to the Thane.

You grumble distractedly to yourself.
The searing heat blisters you.
Dugruain places his stubby hand on Thror's shoulder, shaking him.
You say 'Up up, nae time fer restin'!'
You yell 'Up up, nae time fer restin'!'
You get an herb draught from the Bracelet of Charms.
Dugruain pours an herbal stout into Thror's mouth.
You say 'Drink that up.'
Dugruain moves his head to the side.
You say 'Bloody hell.'

Thror licks his beard and snores once more.

You grumble distractedly to yourself.
You say 'Feh.'
The searing heat toasts you.
You say 'Well yers gettin' a nap, I's gunnae finish this forgin.'
Dugruain hops up to the area where Thror was working.

The searing heat roasts you.
Dugruain takes his hammer, and chips away at some other areas of blemishes.
Dugruain swipes away the granite dust with his stubby fingers.
Dugruain grumbles something about clumbsy dwarves, glancing back over at Thror.

The ring of a hammer echoes in the distance.
The eerie silence is broken by booming voices of rhythmic song.

Thror rolls over and scratches at his rear.

Dugruain hammers softer.
You say 'Feh.'
You say 'Hope it hurts.'
You snort.

Thror snores loudly.

A sturdy forgehammer gets extremely hot and you drop it!
The searing heat heats you.
You get a sturdy forgehammer.
The eerie silence is broken by booming voices of rhythmic song.
You wield a sturdy forgehammer.
You grumble distractedly to yourself.
Dugruain keeps hammering away, engrossed in his work.
The eerie silence is broken by booming voices of rhythmic song.

Thror leaps to his feet!
Thror says 'Bah!'
Thror peers around himself intently.
Thror says 'Where is I?'

Dugruain wipes away the dust, and steps back down off the statue, taking care not to disturb Thror.
You grumble distractedly to yourself.
You say 'Yers were right on th' floor where yers fell.'

Thror peers around himself intently.

Dugruain motions to the floor.

Thror says 'I didnae fall!'

Dugruain laughs aloud.

Thror says 'I'm nimble like a bloody fela!'
The searing heat heats you.

You say 'Yeh, yeh!'

Thror gasps in astonishment.
Thror says 'I didnae!'
Thror says 'I didnae fall!'

You shrug.

Thror glares icily at you, you feel cold to your bones.
The hiss of a great forge being stoked echoes around you.

You say 'Hows yer rear feel?'
Dugruain motions to your backside.

Thror turns around slightly.
Thror snorts.

Dugruain folds his arms.

Thror says 'Itches.'
Refusing to yield, Thror folds his arms stubbornly.

You say 'Yers did, Thane.'
Dugruain chuckles grunty.

Thror grumbles and growls. You wonder what's wrong...

Thror says 'Oooh.'
Carefully, Thror stares at a granite statue, looking for small details.
Thror says 'Tha's nice.'

Dugruain strokes his blue beard.

Thror says 'I musta did that 'efore someone pushed me.'
Thror grins proudly.

You say 'Yeh, I's thinkin' so.'
You say 'FEH!'
You say 'That's meh work there!'
You grumble distractedly to yourself.

Intently, Thror peers at a granite statue, inspecting its quality.

You say 'Yers were out cold, yeh were!'

Thror says 'No.'
Thror says 'That ain't yer work.'
Thror says 'That ain't the work O' a flamin' apprentice!'

You say 'Feh.'

The hiss of a great forge being stoked echoes around you.

You say 'Mehbe , mehbe not.'
You shrug.
You say 'But it's mey works.'

Thror says 'Bah!'
Thror says 'I don't believe yer!'

Dugruain nods at the statue.

Thror says 'Yer pushed me!'
Thror spits in utter disgust!

Dugruain laughs under his beard.

The hiss of a great forge being stoked echoes around you.

Thror grumbles and pushes past you.
Thror grits his teeth and fumes with rage.
Raising his fist towards the heavens, Thror stands up and stumbles away rubbing his head.

Dugruain admires the statue.
You say 'Feh!'
You say 'Meh works.'
You grumble distractedly to yourself.

***snip back in Galadon, moments later***
* Dwarf * (PK) Dugruain the Holy of Faith, Holy Apprentice of the Anvil, Provincial Magistrate

Thror grumbles and growls. You wonder what's wrong...
Thror says 'Bah!'

You grumble distractedly to yourself.

Thror says 'Yer good lad.'
Thror says 'Better than most.'
You say 'Yeh, don't beh tellin' meh lads.'

Thror sniffs sadly.

Dugruain motions over to the Spire.

Thror nods.

You say 'Gots an' image, yers know.'
Dugruain strokes his blue beard.

Thror says 'Na, ain't fer ruinin' yer image.'
Thror chuckles beneath his beard.
Thror says 'yer know, I ain't got no hands...'
Thror says 'Jes these Hammers, whichun BoltThrower forged fer me long ago.'

You say 'I's hearin' th' ledgends.'
You nod.

Thror says 'I'd have it ifn yer would be me Hand..'
Thror says 'Ifn yer would wish it so.'
Thror says 'I see in yer what I ain't seen in many O' me own...'

Dugruain chest puffs as he swells with pride.

Thror says 'Yer...yer make me feel like I was a wee lad again, young.'
Thror says 'Almost make me angry with meself fer bein' so old.'
Thror grumbles and growls. You wonder what's wrong...

You snort.
You say 'Old yer are.'

Thror says 'Aye?'

You say 'But I's takin' this trial..'
You say 'Wit' honor.'

A wry little smile crosses Thror's face.
Thror says 'It'll be a trial lad.'
Thror says 'I name yer me hand, thus I expect ye te portray all that I was...'

You say 'Makin' meh, or break'n meh.'
You grumble distractedly to yourself.

Thror says 'in all that yer is.'
Thror says 'Yer is Dugruain, nae Thror HammerSong'
Thror says 'but ye reflect what the HammerSong is.'
Thror says 'I think ye have yet te fully know...'
Thror says 'but ye have come far enough te find out.'

Dugruain strokes his beard, reflecting.



* Dwarf * (PK) Dugruain the Hand of Thror, Holy Noldarian Smith, Provincial Magistrate