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Touch the beard and I will kill you
Background
In the darkest of night, a hidden sally gate by the massive Great East Gate of Fhÿldrmüdhrm opened and two figures walked out. One was a young dwarven noble in magnificent custom made plate armor. Another was a grim looking myrmidon whose armor was just like he himself was - combat tested and brutally functional.
The humanoid tribes living to the east of the dwarven halls were no threat to Fhÿldrmüdhrm's fortifications but were a constant nuisance to any missions the dwarves did on or through the lands. An occasional culling reminded the humanoids to keep their distance. And provided an opportunity for young dwarven warriors to test their mettle in real combat. The noble was naturally accompanied by a myrmidon to make sure he returned from his first battle.
The young man held the haft of his axe, looking eager for combat - too eager, thought the myrmidon. "There are two rules you must follow," the elite warrior said. "You will do as I say, and not leave my side." The noble nodded earnestly.
The pair walked steadily through the darkness, slowly leaving the gate behind. After perhaps two hours of walking the myrmidon stopped and nodded towards a distant glow. A campfire, clearly visible in the darkness. They resumed advancing, now towards the fire and more carefully.
A hunting party of orcs were roasting their catch, talking and laughing and not bothering to keep watch. With their nightvision, they considered that the night belonged to them and they were the biggest threat around.
Unfortunately for them, the dwarves could see at least as well.
From behind a patch of thorny bushes the myrmidon observed the orcs. Four young braves with shortbows and obsidian tipped spears. A scarred orc with a longbow and a human made longsword, clearly a trophy from some battle. Clearly the leader of the party, and the most dangerous of the orcs.
The young noble beside him gasped as he laid eyes on the final figure, dozing a few feet away from the orcs. A towering, muscular brute with numerous scars, wearing only a loincloth, and a crude wooden but fire-hardened club beside him, so massive that even its gigantic owner needed both hands to wield it.
"Yes, an ogre," the myrmidon whispered. "Much glory in that kill, but that is because it is dangerous. Your armor can easily deflect the spears, arrows, and even the sword, but a strike from that club can crush your bones inside your armor. When we go in, we deal with the orcs first, and then take down the ogre together. The credit will still be yours. And remember - do not leave my side. Understood?"
Once again the young man nodded, not taking his eyes off the ogre.
"All right," the myrmidon said. "We go in on my countdown. Three, two, one..."
The orc leader instinctively drew his sword as the dwarves thundered through the bushes, the thorns ineffective against their armor. For the others, the surprise was total. One did not even have time to turn before the noble's axe cleaved through his neck all the way to the bone. Another did turn his head, and the last thing he saw was the myrmidon's warhammer descending on him. But then the moment of surprise was over.
One of the orcs fell back drawing his bow. Another stabbed his spear at the noble, but the tip was harmlessly deflected by the heavy plate. The leader's sword bounced off the myrmidon's shield but the orc expertly dodged the warhammer.
The orc leader and the myrmidon circled each other, both of the veteran warriors looking for an opening. Meanwhile, the noble swung his axe at his opponent. The orc attempted to block the attack with his spear, but the axe simply cut through the haft, barely slowing, and continued to cut into the orc's ribcage. As the noble pulled his axe free, an arrow bounced harmlessly off his back plate.
Only now did the dozing ogre, woken from his nap, figure out what was going on. He rose to his full height grabbing his club, and let out a mighty bellow.
The ogre's waking did not fill the orc leader with confidence, as most of his hunting party was already dead, and the bow wielding survivor would not be of help against the two dwarves. He launched into a furious attack, trying to bring down the myrmidon before the other dwarf could join in. The myrmidon deflected one strike with his shield, another with his warhammer, and the third did not get through his armor.
But the noble did not join the fight against the orc leader. Shouting a war cry, he charged the ogre, eager to kill the huge brute in single combat.
"Deep Queen's teeth!" the myrmidon cursed, and now it was his turn to launch into a furious attack. The orc managed to parry a wild swing of the warhammer with his sword - only at the last moment realizing it was a feint.
The myrmidon stepped on his foot and pushed him with his shield, causing the orc to lose his balance and fall. Even while falling, he brought the sword up in defense of his vitals, but the myrmidon did not go for his vitals. The dwarf brought the warhammer down on the orc's knee, shattering it. The orc howled in pain, momentarily stunned with the shock, and a moment was all it took. The myrmidon brought the hammer down again, now on the orc's skull.
While the duel had been going on, the noble had charged towards the ogre, ignoring an arrow that once again failed to penetrate his armor. He readied his axe to strike, lifting his shield to block the club.
He made two mistakes.
Running forward, he sacrificed balance for speed. And he assumed the ogre to be a dim witted brute rather than a cunning and battle tested opponent.
The ogre raised the club over his head for a massive strike, leaving his defenses open. The dwarf raised his shield high to take the blow while readying his axe to strike. But the club was a feint.
As the dwarf closed in, the ogre kicked, his foot coming under the raised shield and kicking the dwarf in the chest. Suddenly brought to a full stop by the enormous strength behind the kick, the dwarf stumbled and fell backwards.
Unlike the veteran orc, he did not have the sense or instinct to bring his defenses up as he fell. Instead his arms splayed wide in a desperate effort to maintain balance.
So the ogre brought his foot down on the dwarf's chest and the club down on his head. There was an audible crack.
"I told you not to leave my side, fool," the myrmidon muttered. Then he said. "All right, let's end this," and started advancing towards the ogre. But the myrmidon did not rush, he advanced steadily. The remaining orc, frustrated with the uselessness of his arrows, charged the myrmidon with his spear, but the dwarf did not even glance at him as he almost casually swatted the charging orc with his warhammer, connecting with the orc's temple.
The ogre narrowed his eyes, realizing that this was an opponent to take seriously. He decided to try and repeat his earlier success, but in a different way. As the myrmidon approached, the ogre swung his club low, trying to sweep the myrmidon off his feet.
The dwarf grouched and brought his shield down to touch the ground. The club impacted with the shield with the sound like someone striking a gong, but the dwarf did not even waver. The ogre immediately brought the club back up, anticipating a counterattack, but he did not anticipate how the attack happened. The ogre brought the club up, but the myrmidon struck low, bringing the warhammer down on the ogre's toes and crushing them.
The ogre howled, managing to remain on his feet, but now his movements were impaired. As he brought the club down again the dwarf simply sidestepped and this time struck the ogre's wrists. The thick limbs kept the wrists from breaking but they were still jarred. The ogre's next swing was clumsy, easily deflected by the myrmidon's shield, and now the injured wrists kept the ogre from bringing the defense up fast enough. The hammer struck his ribs.
The ogre coughed up blood, as one broken rib punctured his lung. Realizing that he was losing the fight, he rushed at the dwarf, attempting to barrel the smaller opponent down with his size and wrestle him to death. But the dwarf sidestepped again, striking the ogre's knee, and the giant toppled on his stomach.
There were no final words, no "this is for my lord." the myrmidon simply brought the hammer down on the back of the ogre's head.
The battle over, the myrmidon walked over to the young noble and felt for a pulse, already knowing he would find none. "You stupid fool, forgetting all your training for one pointless act of glory. Perhaps this was for the best. Maybe your younger brother will make for a wiser and better heir. But I won't be there to see it, since I got burdened with you fool!"
He picked up the young dwarf's body and started walking back to Fhÿldrmüdhrm.
Two days later the myrmidon walked back out again. Stripped of his honor, rank and name and exiled. "Right," he said to himself. "There is a human town on the coast. Quite a rough place apparently. My hammer will definitely find work there. But what shall I call myself there? Oh, I know."
The myrmidon started walking. "Gunnar Avalanche."