The Axebreaker Clan

The Siege of Emberhold

It was in the waning days of a brutal winter when Vaelin first earned the respect of Varrin Axebreaker.

The clan’s outpost at Emberhold had come under siege by mercenaries loyal to Mirabar; thugs hired to break the Axebreakers’ influence in the high passes. Snow drifted in chest-high drifts along the palisade, and supplies were dwindling fast.

Vaelin arrived under the cover of night, slipping past the pickets with the ease of someone who had done so far too often to count. When the Axebreakers’ scouts found them crouched inside the gatehouse, calmly tending to a frostbitten sentry, the dwarves almost threw them in irons on the spot.

Almost.

Varrin Axebreaker himself strode down from the battlements – broad-shouldered, long black braided hair and a mighty beard, leaning on his warhammer as if it were a walking stick.

»You know you’ve got the look of a spy, don’t you?« he rumbled.

»And you’ve got the look of a brigand«, Vaelin replied.

Silence fell. Then Varrin barked out a laugh that echoed off the frozen timbers.

By dawn, Vaelin had laid out a plan to break the siege. They led a raiding party through a hidden ravine they’d scouted years before, and where the snow swallowed all noise. Under the cover of a blizzard they struck the mercenaries’ supply train, scattering them before the sun rose.

When Emberhold was safe again, Varrin turned to Vaelin, nodded, and said, »If you ever get tired of wandering, there’ll be a place here for you.«

The Wyrm Beneath the Mines

A year later Vaelin returned to the Axebreakers at Varrin’s request – not to fight Mirabar, but to hunt something far older.

A section of the old mine tunnels had collapsed. The dwarves who went to clear the rubble never returned. Rumors spread of a pale-scaled wyrm that had claimed the depths as its lair.

Vaelin joined the expedition, guiding the dwarves through narrow shafts where no armored warrior could fit. Varrin insisted on going himself.

It was in the black heart of the mine that they found the wyrm, coiled around the bones of its last meal, although much smaller than they stories made it out to be. When it lunged, Varrin’s hammer struck first and Vaelin’s arrow followed shortly, burying itself to the fletching in the creature’s eye.

In the silence that followed, Varrin glanced at them, his expression a mixture of relief and grudging admiration. »Not many I’d trust at my back down here«, he admitted, wiping the blood from his weapon. Vaelin gave a small nod. »Not many I’d follow down here.«

Their Relationship Now

Since then, Varrin and the Axebreaker Clan have been one of the few groups Vaelin can call allies – not because they share every belief, but because they share a respect earned in hardship.

And where others call Vaelin a deserter, the dwarves of the Axebreakers call them a trusted friend.