[b]Name[/b]: Rundel Grimdtersson.

[b]Race[/b]: Dwarf

[b]Clan/Faction/Country[/b]: Formerly of Zhufbar, now a wandering Slayer

[b]Class Descriptor[/b]: Daemon Slayer

[b]Physical Description[/b]:
Obnoxiously tall for a Dwarf at 4'6, Rundel has a body that although possessing a slightly larger beer-belly than the larger Dwarf hides more muscle than the toughest of Hammerers. His red Slayer's mohawk is starting to fray with age, but it is nevertheless quite massive even by Slayer standards making his height technically go up to seven feet. His beard and whiskers are quite well styled, although short due to being burned off some two years back, his hair being naturally a very dark brown. Beyond a tattered pair of leather pants he wears nothing. His eyes are a brown almost black much like his hair, while upon his face he is generally considered 'average' for a Dwarf, with only notable features being a slightly more pointed nose and larger ears. 

[b]Weapons/Armor and Gear[/b]:
Klinkazes: His twin pair of Gromril axes, they are weapons of true beauty to behold. Few but Dwarves and Elves have eyesight keen enough to discern the full carvings upon the blades for the Gromril of them was made to be a light-sucking jet black, the names of Rundel's ancestors upon each. They both have particularly long handles for a better reach, and lack an armour-piercing pick on their inverse sides for the Gromril blades already cleave through even Chaos-plate like butter. An important thing to note of the blades is the additional Runic carvings upon them to help the wielder weather magics set upon them.

Zharrikaz: A two-handed hammer, it is a work of ingenuity akin to that in his axes. Also made of meteoric iron, the weapon is rather unorthodox in that it bears Runes of Burning more typically found on artillery pieces than close combat weapons. While for single-combat against more legendary foes Rundell prefers his twin axes, against lesser foes - particularly when in large numbers - he prefers his hammer for the flesh of many targets bursting helps him clear a path to the foes of real note. 


[b]Background[/b]:
Rundell was born in Zhufbar to a quite prominent family with a martial history as Ironbreakers. So long was their service in the field that they had even managed to accumulate hereditary Drakefire-arms in addition to the mere armour and hand-axe or hand-hammer with shield that most possess. 

As was expected of any right minded lad in the family, Rundell joined the moment he fit into the plate. He served honourably, plowing through Skaven and Gobbos trying to invade the glorious hold of Zhufbar. However, the hold was not the only one he had seen. At the behest of his Lord and the High King of Dwarfs he had marched through much of the world, over a century seeing nearly the entirety of the old world. He went to the North-lands of Kislev to protect allied holds from vile Northlanders, he travelled West to deal with pesky Elgi of all three varieties. Yet after these travels, what he truly missed was his home, and thus there he returned.

It would be in Zhufbar not long after a return from one of his travels that his fall from grace happened. Rundell was patrolling the underway with a dozen of his comrades before a hole in the wall collapsed, and hundreds of Grobi and Urki were beyond. Naturally, the enemy was no match for a good shield-wall of Gromril in such a narrow passage, and as hours passed more and more greenskins lay dead at their feet with naught but a few bruises upon each warrior. As the enemy numbered but a few dozens, Rundell bellowed loudly before charging head first in the enemy, breaking ranks. 

This folly was not one anyone would forget. As he did so quite suddenly squigs emerged from small holes covered with rocks, a quite simple but easily concealable trap loosed upon the Dawi. In but a minute half the force had died, in one way or another meeting a disgraceful end. By the end only three remained, and the unspoken agreement was quite clear.

Rundell returned not bothering to speak to anyone, simply taking a familial hammer before he went on the long trek to Karak Kadrin. At last he made it to his destination, and took his Slayer oath. From there on his life went as expected. Again he travelled the world, seeing familiar sights. Many enemies were felled by his weapons, starting from black orcs, progressing to Ogres, trolls, lesser daemons, but as he gained experience he found it harder and harder to come near his desired death. Chaos warriors and Champions, a Vampire count, all fell to his axes. Time progressed and even greater foes met their ends at his blades, eventually coming to include (and admittedly young and small) a Dragon and a Greater Daemon of Slaanesh. 

Yet death ran from him no matter how hard he chased it. Thus, after much deliberation he decided that if he cannot find death, he best find some true purpose in his fights rather than simply killing in hopes of being killed. So, catching up to a band of Slayers he now heads of Karak Eight peaks in hopes of reclaiming part of the great Dwarven Fatherland.


[@Andronicus23]