Far beneath the icy surface of the southern glaciers, three dwarves stand in a smoothed and engraved chamber. The first dwarf, a heavyset dwarf with thick, powerful arms stands over a table littered with papers.
"So, this is him, is it Captain?"
"Yes, sir" responds the second dwarf. Unlike the other two she is clad in chain and dark crystal plate, with a copper morningstar hanging at her side. "This is the dwarf who was tasked with recovering the wounded." Her left hand gripped the third dwarf's arm. Perhaps a bit tighter then strictly necessary.
"I see." The first dwarf, the self-styled Lord Crescent, Administrator of the fortress Omerzoden, gazed at the cowering dwarf. "And what is your name?"
"I'm known as Claystone CrowdedIrons, sir. And I don't understand. What have I done wrong?" CrowdedIrons fidgeted under the firm grip of the Captain of the Guard.
"What's wrong? What's wrong is that One-eye Knifebeaches The Rough Grasp of Style, our greatest Champion, has bled to death. And it is your fault!"
"My fault??" quavered the captive. "I...I don't understand. I brought him back from the battle with the Ogres, since he'd been beat up bad. He was hurt, but once in bed and looked after I'm sure he'd be fine. How could he have died?"
"Perhaps. But...CrowdedIrons, did you bring him back to bed?" Lord Crescent raised a thick eyebrow.
"Uh..well...no. You see, I got really thirsty hauling him back. So I figured, hey, we're back at the fortress. I'll go grab a quick drink! And there I was, quaffing some nice strawberry wine, when miss DiamondGuard here hauls me down to your office! I was going to go and finish the job, I swear!"
"I'm sure you would have. Except that you dropped him ON TOP OF ONE OF OUR TRAPS!" The stocky administrator's hand crashed down on the desk beside him, toppling a brass goblet onto the floor. "Your lazyness has cost us a great warror. And why? So some...what, stonecarver? could get a drink?".
"But, but, sir! I swear, I never meant for that to happen!!"
"So? That means what? That you're incompetent instead of a traitor?" He turned away from the prisoner and looked at the grim-faced guard. "Captain, what is the punishment for this crime?"
The Captain hesitated. "Well, sir, I'm not really sure. He didn't fail a mandate, or directly cause any damage to person or property"
"But he KILLED One-eye!"
"Well, yes, sir. But according to the gate sentries One-eye died when he rolled over onto the trap, triggering it. Claystone here didn't directly put him onto the trap's trigger. I'm not sure what to do. The jail hasn't been carved out yet..."
"Yes, yes, I know." Interrupted Lord Crescent. "I'm sorry, but we need the western tunnels excavated first. I need that limonite and marble for our steelworks."
"I know, sir. And I understand. But without a jail I can't lock him up. We could beat him I suppose..." she looked sideways at the prisoner, her hand falling down towards the hilt of her morningstar.
"PLEASE!" Now terrified, the craftsdwarf fell to his knees. "I'll...I'll do something to make it up! I'm sorry, and you're right. I was lazy! But there must be something I can do to make up for it"
"Let me think, both of you." The Administrator turned away from them, and walked over to the engraved garnerite walls. He walked past them, trailing his hands over images of clouds, and battles both won and lost.
Eventually, he stopped and walked back to the other two dwarves. His hand stroked his think brown beard as he chose his words. "The site for this fortress was chosen by Queen Zefon herself. This is a very dangerous location. The icy wasteland of this glacier is permeated with a deep evil. An evil she does not want spread to the rest of our lands. And so we are here to combat it. It is a harsh location, but we are dwarves. We have metal, and the fires of the earth to with which to work it. But metal and fire alone will not keep the evil at bay. For that, we need heroes. Heroes like One-eye, who has killed ogres, and driven off entire ambushes by himself. One-eye always charged ahead, ready to defend our fortress with his life."
He paused for a bit, eyes closed.
"Yes, what we need is heroes. I could have you beaten, or perhaps exiled. We could even throw you to the magma, I suppose. But instead, I will give you a chance to redeem yourself."
He grabbed hold of the dwarf's beard, and dragged him to his feet.
"You are no longer Claystone CrowdedIrons! You are no longer a stonecarver. From this day forward, you shall become a hammerdwarf!"
"A...a hammerdwarf? That's what One-eye was, right? I remember him having an iron hammer. I...I suppose I could do that. Fight monsters...and...stuff. I mean, it beats being thrown in lava, right?" CrowdedIrons managed a weak grin.
"Sir, I think I know an appropriate name for him." Interjected the Captain, with a mocking twist to her lips. "Call him Lazyhammer, since it's because he's so lazy that he's got to wield one!"
"Ha! I like it!" The Administrator pointed a finger at the newly drafted craftsdwarf. "LazyHammer, report to the barracks and start your training. You have very, very large shoes to fill if you want to earn your redemption!"