Hirendan the Volcano of Infinite Rage
Hirendan created on 14th of March 2020, and is currently 23 years old (94 hours played).

Title: the Volcano of Infinite Rage
Gender: Male
Level: 50
Class: duergar berserker

Background history:

  1. A Duergar's Fury - posted at 2020-04-23 03:53:12
A Duergar's Fury
Deep below the ground, deep below the mountains, deep within the caves, the dwarves and deurgar can be found. Enemies through the ages, the point in time where one race split into two is unbeknownst to scholars. Dwarves tend to have settlements closer to the surface, and mingle with the goodly races. Duergar tend to live deeper and stay secluded, rising from the depths to raid or lay warfare. So it was that a community of deurgar far to the east and far underground left the relative safety of their tunnels to lay waste to a dwarven community. Strong, wicked warriors and wretched, sinister shamans swept over a dwarven colony in the dead of night. The resistence they met was fiercer than they could have imagined. The dwarves not only stood their ground, but with the aid of the elves and men of the community, they repelled the attack and pursued the duergar right back from whence they came. It was a slaughter. The duergar had naught for defense, as every able bodied man and woman had joined the war-party. The dwarves killed and looted with abandon. One dwarf with calloused hands, but a softer heart than normal, one Dunga Bronzebeard, burst into a dwelling to find naught but a toddler. No more than a few years old - a babe by dwarven standards. Rather than slit his throat, Dunga bundled him up and took him home. Initially distraught and filled with rage, the duergar boy seemed to acclimatize in his new habitat over the next several years. He learned with the other dwarven children, he ate, played, and worked amongst the others. His speech even took on a more dwarven dialect. But what could not be seen on the outside, was a burning rage and a burning loathing. He was not an exceptional warrior, nor particularly gifted in any way. He did seem, however, to be able to withstand more punishment than would be imagined. In fights he would take on dwarves bigger than him, or fight outnumbered. He usually wouldn't win, but he would last much longer than anyone would imagine. Upon his eighteenth birthday, there was a celebration, as was common when dwarves entered this age. They are still children by dwarven standards, but able to start a bit of a beard. After the celebration, once all had had their fill of ale and meat and were soundly sleeping, Hirendan took up his axe. He started with Dunga, his adopted father. Then he moved to the next dwelling. Then to the next. Rise. Fall. Rise. Fall. Stalking, methodically, he exacted his vengeance. Rather than sate, his rage built. With every fall of the axe and every cry of pain, his fury grew. He was approaching the city limits before he was confronted by four stout soldiers. The blood on his axe, hands, forearms, and torso spoke volumes. As one, they drew their weapons and attacked. Rather than try to dance away from their attacks, he let out a blood curdling scream and charged at them. The first dwarf didn't even get his sword up to block before his head was severed from his shoulders. The other three fanned out, attempting to surround the young duergar. He swung with a vicious backhand, taking a second dwarf. The remaining two took a step back and tightened their grips on their weapons. Without even a moment of consideration, Hirendan flung his axe head over head at the farther of the two, then turned and ran toward the closer. As he leaped toward the dwarf, he heard his axe thud into the chest of the other. This last dwarf was quick enough to set his axe and deliver an overhead chop as Hirendan hurtled toward him. Axe crunched bone as Hirendan's left clavicle was caved in. Growling through the pain, Hirendan's leap landed him on top of the dwarf. Axe wedged firmly into his torso, and unarmed, Hirendan lunged for the dwarf's exposed neck. There was a sensation of elation as Hirendan's teeth tightened around the dwarf's jugular vein, chomping down and severing it. Gnashing like a vicious animal, his teeth severed the jugular vein, carotid artery, and decimated flesh. As the dwarf convulsed in death, Hirendan pulled the axe out of his shoulder. He sped into the night, never expecting to survive to see the morning. He found a cave and crawled within. He did his best to conceal himself with rubble and then slept, expecting to be found and killed. Somehow, he was not found. Somehow, he did not succumb to his wounds. Somehow, he survived and regenerated. Two days later, he emerged from the cave prepared to journey. Journey he did - to Serin. Ready to explore, ready to kill, ready to conquer.


Standing before you at a height of roughly four and a half feet is what appears to be a duergar. He is as short and stout as a dwarf but has dusky grey skin. His limbs are as stout as the trunks of young trees and are corded with muscles. His head is shaved bald and remarkably he has no beard or eyebrows either. Entirely bereft of facial hair, his head looks not unlike a jagged boulder. A wide, crooked nose protrudes over a nasty grin of jagged, broken, yellowed teeth. His face is covered in scars - both new and old. He appears to be no stranger to pain.

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