Hirendan the Volcano of Infinite RageHirendan created on 14th of March 2020, and is currently 23 years old (94 hours played).
Title: the Volcano of Infinite Rage
Class: duergar berserker
- A Duergar's Fury - posted at 2020-04-23 03:53:12
A Duergar's FuryDeep 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
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
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
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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