It took a special kind of dwarf to work on something that was complicated AND non-lethal, a lack of patience was not limited to just beardlings no matter what the grumbling elder may tell you.
If his family had anything, it was patience, and a great deal of dexterity necessary for their work. Such skills were not noticed however, instead as was often the case, it was the flaws that kept the attention of all other Dawi.
The Timemender family was known for their mastery at the crafting and mending of clocks, many grand works were made for Thanes across the holds, while Umgi nobility would bid their riches for such an alien but complicated machine.
But those were ancient times now, as with all things change came about whether the family wanted it or not. Their race was brought low compared to the heights of the Ancestors, while the Umgi slaughtered each other and as such had no use for 'dwarven trinkets'. At the family's peak they had a massive workshop filled with all manner of gears, cranks, steam-pumps, and bells.
Now, they did not even have a home to begin with. The tragedy of keeping time was knowing just how long ago the good days were, passed down through the generations via tomes and ancient hourglasses given the utmost care. Indeed, even as he had to keep his focus on leading the wagon, Matrik Timemender could list the exact amount of time it had been since his family's hold had fallen down to the second. Nobody alive could remember that grand workshop of their forebears, instead they only knew the caravan that made up their livelihoods.
His ancestors were forced into the lands of the Umgi for sanctuary, but their skills weren't of immediate use compared to the swaths of engineers or weaponsmiths that had been forced out alongside them. If they'd stayed, they'd have been forced to give up their trade, such a thing being less favorable than taking the Slayers Oath.
Yet as they roamed around looking for a new home amongst their kin, they found themselves scorned! Mocked as Imperial Dwarves and given little chance to explain themselves, not helped at all by the 'Great Shame' of the family.
It had been long whispered about and spoken off with disbelief, with disgust, but indeed it was fact. A Timemender would understand that not once in their lives could they get drunk, as to do so would open them to the risk of forgetting! There was nothing more terrifying than to lose the time, to become off track! Yet no other Dawi understood this, so they were cast out as exiles and rejected by nearly all of their society.
Even now the thought brought teeth grinding anger to Matrik, but as head of the family he had to be level-headed in such uncertain times. His father had passed not but 2 weeks 3 days 8 hours 27 minutes and 13 seconds ago, leaving him to hold strong. Twas not just his children he had to look out for, but the other families descended from his that had stayed true and firm despite all of their hardships. The Gearhandlers, the Bellsounders, both had stayed loyal, so he would guide them through the storm.
For there was indeed a light to follow, the trickling of rumors about the land that a Skarrenawi surface settlement had begun to grow. No other place would accept them, so he supposed he would have to place his hopes that those also deemed mad would welcome them. So onwards he lead his kin, to a place where they may be able to salvage their honor and once again be true to themselves as Timemenders.
And if they were once again turned away, then it would matter not. Because he knew his son would take his place in the search for home when his own clock had struck its final hour, as would his grandson, and all who came from them.
It was only a matter of time.
