• Legends and Lore:

Asgus Axewielder

By: Eirynn

Asgus Axwielder’s Amazingly Alliterative Adventurers are a cunning collective of cool-headed, courageous, and copacetic cavern-combers, whose sole struggle centers on the singular search for sundry stockpiles of shiny substances. Much maligned by magical mayhem and many malevolent miscreants, our obstinate order opposes the offensive operations of our odious oppressors. Even those evil Elves endeavor to exact their effusive enmity upon us, deliberately debarring our daring delvings for the desirable dividends of the dark depths of this destroyed domain.

Still seeking status and splendorous stores of substance, we stubbornly sojourn on, shunning subversion and setback as surely as our sobriety.

- Asgus Axewielder, Axiomatic Authority of Asgus Axewielder’s Amazingly Alliterative Adventurers

Asgus crumpled the old advertisement in his hand, taking in the land around him. Where was he? When was he? The last thing he remembered was a sudden spike of pain as the Chaos Magus uttered some unintelligible gibberish and plunged his knife into the old dwarf’s heart. He had been captured during a raid in Mordheim, his gear taken from him, and taken to be “sacrificed” to the dark gods. But… maybe that wasn’t the Magus’ plan. Or… maybe those dark gods had other plans for him?

Shaking his head to clear the evil thoughts from his mind, he stood up, trying to gain his bearings again. The grass and trees, he didn’t remember, but the mountain… yes, the mountain! If his memory was correct, there would be an entrance to the Ungrim Ankor, the massive mine/tunnel complex that connects all dwarf holds, nearby… and from there, it would only be a few days to reach Karak Azul. With newfound determination, Asgus set out to return to his home, and find out exactly what had happened to him, and to the world.

* * *

Torek looked with fondness at the portrait on his wall. The old slayer had fought many battles in the centuries passed since his oath was sworn, but the loss of his compatriots in Mordheim weighed so heavily on him that he found himself unable to find death, as if Valaya herself was keeping him alive for some purpose, or perhaps his time in Mordheim had had some sort of adverse effect on him. As he looked at the picture, commissioned days before the ill-fated journey, he repeated the names of the fallen: Smythe Swordsmith, Grimm the Granitefisted, Persephone and Penelope, Heron Hammerkeg, and… Asgus Axewielder.

It was Asgus’ death at the hands of the chaos warband that caused Angus to leave Karak Azul and his promising career as a Runelord, and head to Mordheim to claim vengeance for his father. Angus was never the same dwarf, slipping further and further into insanity, always finding new grudges to settle in violent ways, and eventually turning on his own bretheren. Eventually, Torek had no choice but to strike down the son of his best friend, and Angus’ wife, Mara, has never forgiven him for it.

So many sad memories came from Mordheim. Torek thought when the manlings razed the entire city to the ground, that he would somehow find peace at last, and be able to fulfill his oath, but such peace has been elusive. As he set the painting down and began to gather his meager belongings to set out for the battlefield once more, an uproar was heard in the direction of the mines. Cheering and laughter, and hearty yells, and then… a familiar shout in return.

* * *

Mara turned toward the noises coming from the mines, wondering what all the ruckus was about. Her two sons, Karduz and Koslov, looked up from their books and diagrams as their mother stepped out into the hold, walking slowly toward the noise. Shrugging, they stood up to follow her.

As they reached the crowd, they noticed Torek standing amongst them, scratching his head with his axe as he always does when he’s curious about something. Mara scowled at the sight of her husband’s murderer. She knew the noble council had absolved Torek of any wrongdoing, but that didn’t bring Angus back to her… that was one grudge she could never forget. Turning and recognizing her, Torek frowned and looked down at his feet, then looked back up and waved her over. Normally, Mara would have left in a puff of anger at this point, but something about Torek’s manner was different. Unwillingly, Mara walked over to Torek, Karduz and Koslov in tow.

* * *

“Get back, you silly oafs!” yelled the nearly naked Dwarf. “If I’ve told ye once, I’ve told ye a thousand times, I’m no’ a chaos daemon! And stop pokin’ me with them sticks... them wardin’ runes are too experimental to work right anyway.” Asgus stood up and looked around him, taking in the sights of Karak Azul. It hadn’t changed much… an extra house here and there, new mine carts, but it was still more or less the same hold. As he scanned the crowd, though, he didn’t recognize anyone he knew… and then…

“By the axe of Grimnir, tell me this isn’t some chaos trickery!” Torek said, as he stepped forth from the crowd. “Speak now, who… or what, are ye? Give me the truth, or my axe’ll start at th’ bottom an’ work its way up… slowly.”

“Torek! You’re alive! It’s me, Asgus! Surely you haven’t forgotten an old friend…” said Asgus, smiling at first, his smile fading as he noticed Torek’s frown deepening.

“You can’t be Asgus. Asgus died nearly three hundred years ago. So, I’ll ask again… WHO are you?!” yelled Torek, as he began twirling his axes intimidatingly.

“Three… three hundred years? No… it canno’ be. But the age in your eyes shows it to be true. So… I AM Angus Axewielder. And, as far as I can tell, I’m no’ dead.” Asgus said, as the truth started to dawn on him.

“It really is you… isn’t it?” mumbled Torek, lowering his axes. “It really is! Praise Valaya, you’re alive!” The two dwarfs gripped each others arms, their eyes growing wet from the tears of joy. “Go to the pub, lads, and get the brewmaster to work… there’s celebratin’ to be done!”

“Aye, Torek, let’s go get ourselves smashed. I apparently have 300 years of catchin’ up ta do! Oh… but before we go, we need to get the rest of the party together. Where’s Angus? Where’s my son?”

“My old friend, “ said Torek, “we… need to talk.”

* * *

As Torek and Asgus sat at the table, Asgus already knew what had happened to his son. “He was such a good lad… such attention to detail. He would’ve been a fine runelord.” Angus said, looking into his untouched ale. “Tell me, Torek… tell me you did what you could to keep him from harm.”

“I… tried. To my ever-living shame, it was not enough, but I tried.” Torek replied. “In the end, he just…”

“He just what?” spouted Mara from the entryway, apparently uncontent to let the Torek break the news easily. “He just flopped on the ground as his blood dripped from your axes? He just cried for mercy as you hewed him limb from limb, and left his torn body to rot on the streets Mordheim? He just what Torek?”

“He just wasn’t Angus anymore, Mara… that’s what. Angus died on the streets of Mordheim, yes, but I’m not the one that killed him. I slew his body, yes, but Angus… Angus had died long before that. What I killed that night wasn’t Angus… it wasn’t even a Dwarf anymore. It was a twisted mockery of a Dwarf, consumed with rage, hatred, and bloodlust. Mara, he couldn’t even remember Asgus’ name… he couldn’t even remember why he went to mordheim in the first place! What manner of Dwarf forgets a grudge like that?”

Torek turned back to Asgus, “Your son went to Mordheim to avenge your death, and I went with him to protect him… but after he killed the Magus that we’d thought had done you in, he was never the same. He was… unhinged… maddened by his grief at first, but then by the city itself. When I finally struck him down, to my eternal shame, it wasn’t your son I killed. It was… a demon.”

Asgus looked up at Torek to see the truth in his eyes, then glanced at the dwarf woman standing behind him. “And you were… his wife?”

“Aye, his wife. We met after you left for Mordheim. When my husband… when Angus left, he told me he’d be back. He told me he’d be there to watch his sons grow up. I’m sorry, Torek… all these years, I blamed you. But now… now I realize what was left of him wouldn’t have been the father these boys needed… wouldn’t have been the husband who promised to return.” Mara began to sniffle, then looked up, tears in her eyes. “Asgus… I have someone for you to meet. This,” she pointed to her robed son, his beard barely down to his stomach, “is Karduz… a runepriest like his father.

“This one,” she said, nodding in the direction of an even younger dwarf, “is Koslov… an engineer in training. Karduz, Koslov… this is your grandfather.” Asgus fell to his knees, tears finally spilling forth like water from a breaking dam, as the two Dwarfs walked forward, embracing their living ancestor. Asgus lead his family out, followed by Torek, and all went to the pub. As the night wore on, the hold, for the most part, stood silent, as everyone piled in to hear the tales of bygone eras, and a warband that braved the horrors of the City of the Damned, through force of Axe, Ale, and Alliteration.