Thurgrim Ironhold - The Hammer of Eniche

Thurgrim Ironhold - The Hammer of Eniche

The moon hung low over the ruined chapel, its pale light casting long shadows through broken archways and shattered stained glass. The once-holy ground had become a desecrated battlefield, littered with the rattling remains of the restless dead. They clawed forward, skeletal hands grasping at the dwarf who stood in their path, his breath steaming in the cold night air.Thurgrim Ironhold tightened his grip around his weapon—a massive spiked maul, the head of which was adorned with jagged steel, each edge blessed by the unyielding will of Eniche. His armor, plated and brutal, bristled with spikes of its own, a reflection of the god he served. A deity of war, of discipline, of strength unbroken in the face of evil.

The first wave came, skeletal figures draped in tattered remnants of forgotten banners, their blades rusted yet deadly. Thurgrim surged forward, channeling the divine mastery of Eniche into his movements. He twisted his shoulders, brought the maul around in a brutal arc, and with a deafening crash, three skeletons shattered beneath the force of his blow, fragments of bone flying like shards of glass.He did not stop.With each strike, Eniche’s blessing guided his hand. His maul was a mountain, unstopable and absolute, crashing down upon his foes like the judgment of war itself. Shields splintered. Helms caved inward. Ribs crumbled to dust. The dead had no fear, no hesitation, but they met their end nonetheless.

One of them lunged, a twisted mockery of a knight, armored bones wrapped in a corroded breastplate. It swung its rusted sword downward, but Thurgrim caught the blow against the spikes of his gauntlet, locking the weapon in place. His boot shot forward, knocking the abomination to its knees, and with one motion, he raised his maul high and drove it down with the weight of a thousand battles.

The cracked temple floor trembled at the impact.

A blinding light flared from the weapon’s core, an explosion of divine force rippling outward. Bones disintegrated, dark magic burned away, and the restless dead were undone, scattered as mere dust upon the wind. The holy radiance did not stop there... It surged through the desecrated, once holy, ruins, lighting every shadow, burning away the corruption that had taken hold of these sacred grounds. The very stone pulsed with renewed energy, the presence of Eniche sweeping through the chapel as his judgment was fulfilled.Thurgrim lowered his maul, breathing heavily, his armor still crackling with divine power. The temple stood whole once more—not in its crumbled walls or shattered windows, but in its sanctity, reclaimed by the god of war and his chosen warrior, Thurgrim Ironhold the Hammer of Eniche.

The undead were gone. The battle was won. And Thurgrim, bearing the strength of Eniche, had done what he was sent to do. He strode outside to where the Lord Mayor of Miner's Reach stood with his guards.  "It is done. The undead are laid to rest. The temple is yours once again!", he said as he nodded to the guards and strode, unpaid, into the distance, massive Maul over his shoulder, awaiting the next divine call.

For war. For discipline. For victory.