Baerdal Fellhammer

While a veritable warren of the snaking passageways beneath the Mountains of Despair are well-lit and well-traveled, many more remain a mystery. Many have sheer drops to one side, are weak-walled, or are too dangerous to navigate. Some have been forgotten almost entirely, recorded only on maps and carvings hidden deep in dusty archives. Others have been blocked, whether by natural cave-in or intentionally by Dwarves past. Dangers aplenty are rumored or known to dwell within them, whether they be nests of writhing cave-serpents, chimeric monsters part tiger, wolf spider, and Aravian devil, or the creature known only as ‘the Maw’. A handful of Dwarves argue that some tunnels and passageways still harbor Demonspawn that invaded the under-empire centuries ago. Foolhardy adventurers still try their luck in these darkened corridors, usually dooming themselves to a forgotten end. On rare occasions, some successfully return. Baerdal, noted for his bright red beard, was a typical boisterous warrior – always up for a good scrap and hunting for that next great adventure which would see his name sung in the alehouses and taverns. So, when a hooded fortune teller told him he would surely find his fame if he delved into the lost tunnels and returned with tales and treasure, he jumped at the chance. Taking only his faithful ax and a single torch, he followed the fortune teller's instructions to the letter, initially advancing down a tunnel that he thought he knew well. The deeper he delved, the more unsteady the floor became, but he pressed on. The ceiling sloped downwards, the walls grew narrower, and Baerdal was forced to crawl – but he pressed on. Eventually, Baerdal’s torch blew out and the whole tunnel began to rumble and wobble. Still, he continued. The floor gave way and Baerdal fell through the dark for what felt like an eternity, fearsome shapes and chilling screams whistling past him all the while. He finally landed with a splash, into a writhing pool as black as pure obsidian. The liquid was thick, dragging him down into the darkness, further blurring and confusing his senses. He struggled and swung in the muck, the screams growing louder and the invisible figures grasping at his body until – nothing. Baerdal emerged in Gloomdeep Hold days later, a shadow of himself. His beard was now white as snow, his eyes were sunken, his mouth was a contorted grimace. Though none of his people knew it, his head sloshed with gurgling whispers. He refused to speak of what had happened to him, including to family and close friends. Even when speaking of the most mundane subjects he whispered and looked over his shoulder repeatedly. He abandoned his home, which was close to bustling markets and taverns, moving to a more remote location where he reinforced his front door with steel and barred his windows. He never left without his ax and clad in full plate. Should beasts ever crawl up from the depths, Baerdal is always the among the first to respond. Those who have witnessed him fight see just how much stronger he has suddenly become, how easily and swiftly he can swing and strike with his weapon, and have dubbed him the Fellhammer for the way he pulverizes his enemies. But there is more. They have seen chitinous claws and stingers seemingly bounce off Baerdal before even striking his armor. They suspect it is all linked to his journey into the depths, but he will never tell.