Deepvein Set

There was a time, before our fathers began counting winters, when the Göldunn clan delved deeper than any dwarf before them, down to the seam where the ever-ember beats like a heart beneath the stone. From that ember which never dies, the masters of the forge clad an entire regalia for the one the Ember-Son would choose as his guide: a helm, a half-plate, a pair of gauntlets and twin axes, each piece receiving its share of the contained fire, the fire that sleeps within matter and wakes only at its bearer's call.
The one who received it was named Tarakul Dyr Goldar. It is said that no warrior of his age mastered the fire of anger as he did, holding it contained where others let it burst forth, and that the tunnels of the Cindergnaw emptied at the mere rumor of his coming. But there befell him what befalls the mighty who have been given everything: the greater his strength grew, the more he feared to lose it, and it was death he came to dread above all else. One night, he carried one of the twin axes to the crucible and melted it down to draw from it a shield no steel could pierce.
The Ember-Son did not forgive the unmaking of his work to flee what all flesh owes the mountain, and he cursed him in the most fitting of ways. So long as Tarakul held that shield, he could not die, yet he would never heal again: his wounds would stay open and his body would wear away without rest, and on the day he let it go, every death he had refused would take him all at once. That shield was named Dumzahar, the Traitor. No one knows whether he ever let it go.
The god's wrath did not end with him, for since that day the whole regalia hungers. Whoever wears it walks through fire unburned, but their rage never subsides and their deepest desires rule them, so that those without the strength to master it burn themselves out within days, chasing what they wanted most. The pieces scattered and were lost over the ages, all but Durgrond, the helm, which resurfaced generation after generation, and whose silhouette the little ones of the Cindergnaw still swear to glimpse whenever the mountain catches fire for no reason.
The watchers of Gloed-härt keep this tale so that it be remembered that fire is lent and never owned, and that few have ever gathered all five pieces without leaving behind what they once were.