Falden sat down on his wooden stool, and stroked his long beard. The young dwarven children were around playing and a cozy fire burned, keeping them warm on this cold winter night. It had been a long time since he told this story. But dwarves were master storytellers. Once they learned a good tale, they never forgot it or any of its details. When Falden was young, many centuries ago, his father, Grim, had told him a tale of such magnificence, such heroism, that it became a legend. But all stories of heroism and legendary achievement fade with time and Falden did not know anyone else who remembered this tale. But these children here would hear it. Perhaps one would want to learn it and pass it on to the next generation. “Gather around, lads and lassies. Yer Uncle Falden is goin’ to tell ye a tale of heroes. Heroes whose deeds are the reason I can be here today tellin’ ye about them,” Falden said, motioning for the children to sit down.
“Does this story have dragons in it, uncle?” one little dwarf child asked.
“Aye, laddie. This one has a dragon or two in it. But they aren’t the heroes. The heroes in this story were an unlikely bunch, at least that’s what it looked like at the start….”