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Grumdil wearing his favorite armor.

A dwarven warrior and beserker, Grumdil is renowned for his prowess in battle, against staggering odds. Thick in build, the dwarf is often seen smiling. His beard, long and auburn, falls from his face in thick strands. Small silver bands hold the beard in braids.

Into the World

Grumdil is a dwarf of the Grandaxe family, a small group of dwarves who were mixed bloods of both Wildhammers and Bronzebeards. The parents, Gloyn Stormaxe and Garmi Grandhammer, both well-known people of their respective clans, gave birth to Raglin Grandaxe, and Grumdil Grandaxe. The two grew up, a good 45 years apart, yet still close. Their relationship was strengthened over years of fighting together, and living together. When the two were young, both were given small stone keys. Garmi, gave a thick bronze key to her son, whispering in his ear; "Your birthright awaits." It seemed awfully strange to Grumdil when he was young, but he beamed and took the key nonetheless.

When the First War came, Raglin left his brother in Coldridge Valley, traveling to fight against the oncoming armies of orcs. Grumdil was left to reside in the safe haven of Coldridge, growing slowly under the tutelage of the old warriors left there. Grumdil was content at being home, enjoying the company of friends he had made over his childhood. Wars continued on, and Raglin fought them all. Grumdil remained in Dun Morogh, training.


Coldridge Valley.

Years passed, the battle against the Lich King was done, and Grumdil took up arms and left his sheltered home in Dun Morogh. He made the journey to join the Alliance's armies. His brother, on the other hand, had deserted, leaving to take up his own interests in Kalimdor. Legend had already begun to swirl about his long-lost kin, rumors speaking of piracy and murder that the dwarf was committing.

Hearing this, Grumdil was given a newfound purpose, to right the wrongs that were brought to his family name. Raglin had become an infamous criminal, known for slaughtering innocents in the streets, and robbing people on the roads. Grumdil wasn't having it. He would restore honor to their name. His name. Grandaxe.

True Love

When Grumdil joined the Alliance military, he was wary. Never before had he swung his axe or hammer at anything other than the occasional trogg. This was something he wasn't ready for, but he delved in nonetheless. His first battle came, a skirmish on the edges of Arathi. The wind whistled softly through the trees, as Grumdil stared forward. There, marching towards them, was a mass of green, brown, and red. An orcish patrol charged them head-on, immense swords and clubs swinging as the Horde standards whipped in the wind. 

The inexperienced dwarf drew back in fear, as the armies crashed together. But before long, the fight found him. He was drawn this way and that, dodging and parrying blows from random attackers. A slip of his foot, and he fell forward, axe swinging down to sink deeply into an orc's torso. 
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Grumdil's first kill.

So it began. Grumdil's fatigue, anxiety, fear, all dissipated at once. He rose powerfully, his weapon reaping through the bodies before him like crops before the scythe. Blood red washed away the blue on his tabard, as his enemies fell. The orcs began to surround him, but it merely emboldened him further. In a whirlwind of fury and steel, Grumdil fought his way free, hewing orcs left and right. 

It was only after the battle that he realized there were three arrows in his leg, and back, and lacerations covered him from head to toe. But it didn't matter. He had found his true love.

Dwarf on the Rise

Grumdil's success in Arathi quickly reached the ears of many Alliance officers, and before long he was sent to numerous fronts. Hillsbrad, Alterac, Arathi, Ashenvale, all the battlefields the Alliance fought upon, Grumdil was there. He was finally exploring the world, and working for his goal; To restore his family's name. 

Eventually, Grumdil took a leave from his constant military exploits, journeying to the land of Northrend. His travel took him up towards the Storm Peaks, in view of the magnificent constructions of the Titans. Grumdil was in awe, taken aback by the beauty of the land. His feet led him to the steps of his kin; The Frostborn. For months he resided in their halls, learning of the land, and of their past as he prepared to head home. 

Grumdil arrived in Ironforge, strolling the halls of his forefathers, he came upon the tomb of his mother. A woman known for her skill with the hammer and the axe, Garmi was a warrior if there ever was one. 

Before the grave, a thick stone container rested. Most passed it for a sort of gravestone, but a small keyhole was seen. Grumdil took the bronze key his mother had given him, and inserted it into the stone box. Upon opening it, an amulet was revealed. Forged with gold, the axe and hammer of his family emblazoned with a deep red, it was a work of dwarven art. Ancient, at that. It began faintly glimmering in the mountain air. On the back of the amulet, read:

"My Dear Grumdil,

If you are reading this, I have passed. This amulet has been passed down from generation to generation. Within it resides an ancient magic; For if you wear this, your courage shall never falter. Your fears will never haunt you. May you live long, and always remember... Family, Honor, and Glory."

The writing was small, and just barely elligible, but they meant the world to Grumdil. He still wears the ancient amulet to this day.

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