Jarrol Ironhead was birthed in loud fashion in year 1301, appropriately called the Year of the Trumpet. He was born in the harsh caverns of the clan Battlehammer remnants under Kevin's Cairn near Ten Towns. He was born to Jarl Ironhead and Tilly Brawnanvil, both industrious miners and resilient, if not overly proficient members of the clan militia. Jarrol was the youngest of three sons and from an early age was wild and nearly uncontainable. His unruly copper mane was as carefree as his whims and it was widely opined throughout the clan that Jarrol validated every stereotype thought about firebeards.
His parents were both young, having only heard of the flight from Mithral Hall from tales passed down from the clan elders. Like every youngbeard Jarrol would sit awestruck at the stories of old Shimmergloom invading the Battlehammer ancestral home and stealing it from the rightful owners. Rumors of a venture to recover the lost halls would pop up every few years but as the decades passed the number of dwarves remembering Mithral Hall dwindled. Jarrol dreamed of adventures to find the lost Hall, indeed wandering farther and farther in the caverns. Eventually, worried as much for his own recklessness as anything, his father gave him over to the militia in hopes that the martial training would tame his son's wild nature.
Jarrol's training progressed with mixed results. He was valued for his raw strength and even more so for his sturdy resilience but the finer aspects of dwarven combat eluded him. He was too prone to recklessness and crude outbursts which, while vaulting him ahead in single combat, did not lend itself to the organized dwarven armored formations. He disdained the heavy steel armors of his kin in favor of lighter, less restrictive protections. Eventually it was determined that he would better fit as a scout and escort in the mines, clearing new tunnels ahead of the mining crews and providing martial support for the scouts seeking new veins of ore.
On one such expedition, beginning no different than any other, Jarrol was leading a group of young prospective miners with a solitary veteran through one of the lower tunnels. As they traveled the dwarves began to whisper furtively, their subterranean intuition indicating a rise toward the surface rather than the expected descent. The inexperienced junior miners stopped and began to mill about trying to decide what to do. Before the veteran team leader could warn them about the perils of idleness in the upperdark, a huge dire bear barreled into the cavern, especially grouchy being bothered early from his hibernation. The young dwarves scattered, lack of experience giving over to sheer panic. The ursine terror bowled right over the wild haired Jarrol, doing his best to call its attention.
The great brown beast loped along, soloing out one young blackbeard to pay the price for the intrusion. As it reared up on hind legs, preparing to collapse on the terrified miner the previously trampled Jarrol erupted from behind it, grabbing double handfuls of greasy, matted fur and bellowing at the top of his mighty lungs. True to his family name the ironheaded firebeard smashed his bared head into the bear's thick skull repeatedly. The firebearded wild dwarf then pulled with all his might and toppled the unsteady beast over backward...right on top of himself. As the mass of teeth and claws collapsed backward onto him he wrapped his thick arms around its bullish neck, holding it on the ground, ribs creaking under the weight. With the few moments of reprieve the miners rallied and turned on the vulnerable bear. Following the veteran's lead the efficiently dispatched the rowdy beast and extricated the gasping and slightly flattened Jarrol from beneath it. The expedition leader ordered the beast skinned, staring in awe at the suprisingly unkilled Jarrol. The dwarves, never known for wastefulness, butchered the beast and packed the meat in cloth sacks for return to the hold.
When the patrol returned to the holdfast proper carrying a ton or more of meat and hide were met with wide eyes and hearty shoulder claps. The tale was told and retold to wide-eyed onlookers. Two things of note came of the ill fated expedition. Jarrol was gifted with a tanned cloak of seasoned bear hide and offered the dubious honor of training with a new group of dwarven warriors unaffectionately called Gutbusters.
