Burgrin Svenkrison, Azgaraz Dwarf Troll-Slayer

WHFRP 3rd Edition Character Backstories:


Burgrin Svenkrison, Azgaraz Dwarf Troll-Slayer:



You raised your family in the halls of the newly founded stronghold of Karak-Azgaraz, the Hold of the Fearless Axe among the peaks south of the Reikland town of Ubersreik, though your ancestral clan-hold was that of Karak-Norn, far to the east where the lost human province of Solland’s southern border meets the Black Mountains. In your youth (you were after all a short-beard whelp of less than 150 at the time) the call of glory got the better of you and you decided to lend your axe to the might of this new citadel where you could make a name for yourself carved in stone outside the shadow of your elders.
It was at Karak-Azgaraz where you met your wife Nolakya and the two of you had two fine, stout daughters; Balmira, and Kalnira. They were twins, gifts from the goddess Valaya herself, and on the day of their birth into this world you made a vow to that very goddess to cherish and protect them until you breathed you last breath. For 40 years life was hard, but rewarding, your daughters grew strong, with your auburn locks, and their mother’s kind blue eyes, you were happy and proud of your family and your newfound home. You made your living honorably as a caravan guard for the mining guild, leading patrols of clan dwarfs through the often treacherous mountain passes down into the human town of Ubersreik to trade what silver the veins below the Karak could produce for food, lumber, and medicine. It was during one such trip that the unthinkable occurred.

As you arrived back at Karak-Azgaraz the hold was in chaos with many good dwarfs wounded and signs of a serious cave-in all around you. Before you could even take a second breath you were off through the chaos all that mattered was your family. When you arrived in front of you hearth the door was swaying gently on a battered hinge a black barbed arrow lodged firmly in its facade, bits of scree and rubble coating the stones below your feet. It was then you knew what the next few steps through that door would mean and your heart sank to a place where no heart ever should. All you can really remember is the echo of footfalls as your hand pushed that door open. The next day you took up your axes and etched Balmira into one axe, Kalnira into the other and walked out of Karak-Azgaraz for the last time.

You had failed to live up to the vow you made upon the birth of you daughters and the only absolution left for a dwarf whose honor is lost is the path of the slayer. You made one final oath to the god Grimnir, the dwarf deity of warriors, and took upon yourself the slayer’s oath, committing yourself to seek out your doom fighting the enemies of all dwarfs.

For years you journeyed the mountains and forests of the human lands of the Empire seeking out the opponent who was fearsome enough to send you to your gods but alas no monster was a match for your rage, for your skill, for your strength. Only once did a beast come close to ending your shame, it was a mighty beastman wargor called Izka deep in the heart of the Reikwald Forest and you had fought the beast for what seemed like hours, both fueling your blows with unsurpassed fury. Your axes bit deep into the creature’s foul hide, and his gouging horns had reduced your shoulder to a bloody mess of flesh and sinew. It was just as the mighty wargor was poised to cleave your head from your shoulders that the report of pistol fire came echoing through the trees and a patrol of human roadwardens entered the fray. A pistol shot clipped the bestial wargor in the right eye and he fled back into the darkness of the forest from whence he came and you finally succumbed to the pain or your grievous wounds.

To your chagrin however, rather than your spirit awakening among your ancestors you found yourself bandaged and wrapped up snuggly near a campfire, still in your mortal coil, and still in the gods forsaken Reikwald Forest, although in a different place than when you had fallen. As it turns out a young and impetuous Reiklander roadwarden called Corvin Drauwulf had led the charge and taken the shot that drove Izka off, and to make matters worse was also the very man who had administered to your wounds. After a very laudable attempt to let your temper fly at the indignation of saving a troll-slayers life, the strain caused you to fall back into fitful slumber. By the time you woke up next you were in a Shallayan Ward in the town of Bögenhafen. Once the awful priestesses allowed you to get out of bed you picked up your axes and made your way straight to the door of this meddlesome Corvin Drauwulf so that you could clear up the business of an honor-debt owed to him for saving your life, despite your personal wishes. It was during that meeting that you first met a young baby, Corvin’s second born son Odwin for the first time and as a way to clear the debt you vowed to be there in the boys greatest time of need and protect him as his father had you.

That was some 20 years ago now and with word that Corvin had passed away and talk of Odwin disappearing two years to the day after his best friend was killed, it was clearly time to pay back that honor-debt. You found Odwin easily enough in the town of Ubersreik, not too far from where your own tale began, buried so deep in a bottle he didn’t know which side was up or even what day it was. You have told him why you searched him out, to pay back an old debt to his father. Over the last few weeks it has become more than a debt for you, in the lad’s eyes you see the soul of a man who is honest and strong, but at the same time they look a bit older than the eyes of a young man should, dimmed with the weight of a guilt very few could understand. Needless to say you are quickly growing quite fond of Odwin even if you won’t readily admit it. Emotions aside however you have a glorious demise to worry about, and considering the few coins left between you the idea of starvation isn’t quite the plan you had in mind…