[Tormus]

That night Torm remembered.

The road to salvation was a Circle.
Familial duty leads to stability.
Stability leads to prosperity.
Prosperity requires familial duty.

So it had been for the Blackbeards for the recorded centuries.
The takers, for the dwarven language, had no word for thieves.
They had taken so long that it had become a tradition. 
Never too much, that it would be worth the effort of taking back.
Never too violently, less the clans grow angry.
Never too loudly, so that others would acknowledge their existence.

If the dwarves had human detectives and guards, the Circle would have been broken generations ago.
But what the dwarves lacked in dogged determination, they more than made up for in pragmatism.
As long as the Circle was tolerated, the Circle would keep other thieves away.

There was another name the Circle was known by, when Taker was unspoken.. or when dwarves were deep in cups and scorn.
"Ratcatcher."

It wasn't a polite term.

The Blackbeards had been Ratcatchers for generations.
And Tormus was expected to continue the traditions of his mothers and fathers.
To be a good thief, to take just enough to keep the larders full... and to chase off any competition.

But growing up, Tormus had always grown bored by the stories and exploits of his ancestors.
Every 'Rat' they killed earned more admiration in Torm's toes.
While the Rats did not have security.
While the Rats did not have salvation.
While the Rats did not have even prosperity.

The Rats had boldness.
The Rats had notoriety.

And... on a rare occasion.
The Rats inspired genuine fear among the dwarves.

And so Tormus left to follow the Rat-Song.
To take the uncertain path.
To embrace damnation.
To steal what had never been stolen before.