Never go into battle before first tasting your favorite ale. That is the advice you would give any of your fellow Dwarves, for you never know when this may be your last fight.
You slam your Battle Axe onto the table as you await the finest dark ale you know. The tavern was quiet before you walked inside, tense with the anticipation of a coming war, but you are loud and bring life back to its walls. You raise a toast to the barkeep and to any nearby, granting them glory on the battlefield before drinking deeply from your mug.
It would be a true shame to leave this world while thirsty.
You spend a long time deciding what to name your battle axe. It has to be perfect--something that will cause fear in the hearts of your enemies. You originally took the axe from an executioner in the last village you visited, a man whose job was to chop off the heads of thieves.
Perhaps it was not the wisest idea to steal from such a person.