On the 10th of the month of Elbar's breath, year 597, deep in the depths of Tharel, a duergar was born. The father, Ulroth, was known to his people as The Iron Fist, for none matched his strength in combat. The mother, Erenar, was the fairest of all her race. Many strong dwarves had attempted to gain her love, but none save Ulroth had accomplished this. The newborn, they named Ulteth.

All who laid eyes upon the child knew his lineage. The strength which he had inherited emanated from him.. and the entire region was looking to him. Watching him grow, anticipating the time when he would replace his father and become the champion of their people.

Now Ulroth was immensely proud of his son. Everything he knew about combat, in all its forms, he taught. While he himself favored the axe, he found that his son seemed to prefer the crushing power of a mace. And so, Ulroth went to his forge late at night... and poured his blood and sweat into the creation of a warhammer of which the craft has never before been matched. Indeed, the mallet was worthy of a king-- no, not a king. It was worthy of a god.

When Ulteth received the weapon, his eyes shone. His rough hands fit perfectly around the hilt. The weight was distributed flawlessly... a mighty deathblow could be achieved with such little input of force. So much, in fact, that during its first trial, it made of Ulroth's armor scrap, and shattered every bone in his body. His son stared down at what he had done... he saw the light leaving his father's eyes. As Ulteth began to turn, he heard uttered in a raspy voice, "You require no further training. Don't let yourself be caged, son." And so ended the life of Ulroth The Iron Fist.

When the others got news of the event, it created a large controversy. Some argued that they must put the matter behind them and instate Ulteth a protector of their people. Others would not settle for anything short of ending the young dwarf's life. In the end, it was determined that they must imprison him for the sake of public safety. A group of one dozen was sent to apprehend Ulteth, but they were met with a fury beyond any of their wildest nightmares. All twelve were destroyed. When Ulteth swung his hammer, it passed through bone as it would pass through air. And thus, no force was able to lock away this duergar. For fourty years, he lived in the deep. As time passed, he drifted further and further away from his home. He dwelled in caves, and would slaughter any who dared to approach him. But as the victims grew less, his lust for chaos only increased. One night, without any warning or premeditation, he gave the earth a mighty blow of his hammer. Inwards, the ground collapsed, and before Ulteth was a long passage leading to the surface.

As Ulteth took foot upon the surface of Tharel for the first time in his life, the sky around him seemed to fade to black. Thunder began to bombard the area. Clouds rolled as if in turmoil with themselves. Ulteth drew in the crisp air, and thrust his warhammer up above his head. As he did so, a mighty streak of lightning split the sky and struck it. The grey dwarf let out a roar so loud that it shook all of Tharel. He knew he had been blessed by Elbar. An infusion of the storm. As he let the power settle within him, he noticed a shadow's shadow. He had heard of these creatures. Drow. With a war cry that resounded throughout the shallow valley, the duergar charged. The two engaged, and the battle seemed never to weigh heavily towards either side. Indeed, it was a great battle... and Ulteth began to realize why he could not end this creature's miserable existance. The drow was also a child of the storm. They were meant to find eachother. As if having the same realization at the exact same moment, both combatants lowered their arms, and shook hands roughly.

They began to stride towards the great walls of Naerlan. Ulteth knew there were others like him. Others who were strong, and would create chaos in the name of Elbar. They would deliver the storm. Tharel would bleed.