When the mountain fell, a substantial group of dwarves were cut off from the rest. Several among them were injured, and they did not know what else to do except exit the mountain and return home. However, a stranger waylaid them, saying he could show them a safe way to where they could live. The being came to them in the form of oneself, and even though he was not a dwarf, they trusted him. He led them across the mountain and across plains until they arrived in a valley. There they settled against their nature: above ground and in the daylight, promising loyalty to the elf named Sanguinar, who gave them tools to make weapons, which they gladly forged. He then trained them for battle, instilling in them the thirst for blood and the hunger for war. When they stood near him, they knew that they were short but stocky in stature. Of this physical trait they complained, saying that they would make better warriors if they were taller but still with a massive build. Sanguinar did not immediately give them the growth they wanted, but he set into effect the process that would make them larger than the elves, men, and dwarves, and creatures that would need at least three of any race in order to fell one in battle. So the warriors came into being—those trained for Sanguinar with the only purpose to fight.