Tormin the Cold

Many stories in Dwarven folklore tell of a mysterious figure who is able to command winter itself. Clad in frost-encrusted armor, this Dwarf is said to wield a hammer of such chilling power that one touch can freeze even the raging torrents of molten metal that swirl within the forges of Gloomdeep Hold. Legends have given this warrior many names over the ages – the Ghost of the Forge, the Frozen Hammer, and the Winter Phantom among them. While lore keepers debate who this being is or whether they exist at all, some believe the tales are all of one Dwarf – a tragic figure known as Tormin the Cold. All of these tales share the same beginning: they tell of Tormin, the son of a humble blacksmith in Gloomdeep Hold, who grew up longing to learn his father’s trade. But no matter how much he tried to love smithing, Tormin could never tolerate the forge’s torridity. His reaction was physical, every time he approached his father’s furnace, the heat made him gag and vomit. Tormin’s only respite came from standing near a small shaft, through which a frigid wind blew from the frozen north. This icy air quelled Tormin’s pain, but he could not conquer his reaction to the abominable heat of the forge. One day, after yet another failed visit to his father’s smithy, Tormin could no longer stand it. Hopeless and ashamed, he left his home and went to seek solace in the north. Soon Tormin found himself lost among the crags and tunnels of the Mountains of Despair, where he remained for many years. It is said that Tormin eventually escaped the mountains’ vast tunnels, leaving on a boat from Port Wretched. No one knows for how long he sailed, but all the stories agree that Tormin’s travels took him to an enormous glacier, somewhere in the Winterlands of the far north. No one knows what went through Tormin’s heart when he lay his hands on the ice. Perhaps the sight of it, its surface as smooth as blown glass, seemed to Tormin to be a cold mirror of the molten metals in his father’s forge. When he lay his hands upon the glacier, its chilly spirit took hold of him, wrapping his being in its infinite ice. The enchantment took hold of every part of Tormin, even spreading to the forge hammer that he kept with him. The frost cut to Tormin's very bones but for the first time, he felt at peace. His body now wreathed in frost, Tormin made the long journey back to Gloomdeep Hold, the home he had abandoned out of deep shame. There, he approached the furnace that had been the source of such humiliation in his youth. With great trepidation, Tormin drew closer to the roiling fire. No sickness swelled in his chest, no dizziness gripped him. He was no longer repulsed by the forge’s searing heat – the glacier's touch allowed him to finally tolerate the scalding air that swirled around him. Joy filled Tormin's heart and so, he set about forging himself a suit of magic armor that he longed to make as a boy. Tormin worked long into the night, using his frozen hammer to craft breastplates and gauntlets that could withstand attacks from both natural and unnatural foes. It is said that when the armor was finished, and with his desire to engage in his father’s trade fulfilled, Tormin vanished to travel north once more. He supposedly left nothing in the forge but a rime-covered anvil and a wisp of freezing fog. To this day, Tormin’s whereabouts remain a mystery. While many see him solely as a figure of myth, some Dwarven smiths claim that from time to time they feel an unnatural presence while working in their forges. They hear the echo of a hammer on ice, resonating from deep within the earth, followed by the sensation of a freezing breeze.