As Hragli walked the halls of the mountain home, Ironforge, he sensed an illusive presence beckoning him, as his beard positively twitched in response. His feet seemed to have a mind of their own as he was dragged deeper into the halls, until he happened upon Grungnir, who was busy at work examining his own beard.
Their eyes met and at once, they knew what fate had in store for them, as their beards began to twitch and writhe wildly, tendrils of facial hair extending towards one-another. They approached one-another, eyes locked in a battle of wills as the serpentine lengths of hair began to strike at one-another, until they finally locked one-another in a hair-ridden embrace. Pulled closer by their beards, their foreheads touched as they continued to stare, Hragli's left eye twitched with the slightest of spasms.
Grungnir's forehead was dripping with sweat from the effort, as they continued their duel. Hragli's eyes closed in defeat, and Grungnir let out a celebratory cheer, before his beard expelled a mighty hammer into Hragli's face, breaking his nose in a gout of blood and rage-filled cries. As Hragli stemmed the flow of his blood, he noticed the hammer in question was, in fact, Ironfoe. He cheered happily, cradling the hammer in his arms as if it were his own flesh and blood, his very own child. The Dwarves nodded curtly to one-another, before returning to their business. No-one would ever hear of this, ever again.