In the icy northern summits, King Gareth’s realm did stand,
And far below Mount Korva tunneled his dwarven clan.
Deep within the mountain rock, an azure ore they found
And in its steel were strength and frost and fairest beauty bound.
But the tunnels of this dwarven clan did something else unearth,
Something hideous, something dark, something of a fiendish birth.
A dreadful demon had been loosed and wandered now the dwarven hall,
And there was no place for one to hide from its cruel and hellish call.
Despair and dread, fear and death, seemed all that could remain.
What hero, what blade, what spell could save the dwarven king’s domain?
But within the forges of his realm, the bluish metal had taken form,
And a hammer of war—cold and bright, potent and light—was now newly born.
Brave and fierce, stern and stout, good Merrik grasped the hammer of frost;
He faced the fiend while saying aloud, “The realm of my king shall not be lost!”
The hammer struck once and the demon fell back, stunned by the cold and the pain.
The hammer struck twice and amid a great shriek the demon departed this plane.
And thus began the Ordazwyr, Hammer of Frost, to both demons and devils a bane.