Born as the first son of the head blacksmith of the Dwarven Colony Balor lead a privileged life in the clan. He was trained as a blacksmith and as a warrior, and when he was thirty years old (you have be bloody thirteen to be an ‘adult’ and drink ale) he spent three weeks crafting a tower shield. After finishing his masterwork he vowed never to stand at the anvil again, much to the dismay of his father.
During a heated argument his father disinherited him for refusing to follow the family tradition. He left the Colony and wandered the continent for years as a sellsword. Later, on the arrival of the Wardens’ fortress he joined their ranks and through his prowess with axe and hammer quickly rose in the ranks until he became a squad leader.
A few months later his little brother Nulin came seeking him. He told Balor that their father was dead and that he could go back to the Colony if he wanted. But Balor would have none of it. “I’m a Warden now, and a Warden I will stay. Good fighting, good booze, though sadly no eligible women”. Instead of leaving him, Nulin decided to enlist as well.
On the next day Balor lead his squad on a ranging to the Ruined City of Kor’kroll where his group was attacked by the undead servants of a necromancer Veliana. All of his men were killed and he only escaped by hiding under his shield, which covered him completely. (Heh, bloody stupid archers.) He was gravely wounded though, and the way back to the Citadel was blocked by the undead, so he slowly made his way south to Crossroads instead. After being turned out of the city’s hospital for being of questionable background (Communist spy? That’s bloody retarded.) a young Marcus Danien saw him limping along in the street and muttering to himself about the lack of hospitality. Danien asked him to tell his tale, and took pity on him. (Pity? PITY!!!???) He told his servants to take Balor up to the family mansion and tend his wounds and fill his belly with food and ale (the latter was much appreciated). He spent two week with the Daniens, and as he got better sparred a few times with Marcus and his brother Eron.
After Balor got better he briskly thanked the Daniens for their help, took back his complaint about southron hospitality, and vowed to Marcus that the debt would be repaid.
He rode back to the Citadel following the road that lead through Crow’s Nest instead of the Old Kor’kroll road. He stayed in the town for a night and though it was a generally miserable affair indeed, but he drank all the inhabitants under the table in the pub and got a free dinner and breakfast as a prize. (Peasants… Can’t take their booze.) While being slightly illuminated he toasted his fallen comrades (not the communist kind, mind you) and vowed to take revenge.
Upon reaching the Citadel disastrous news awaited him. His brother’s squad had gone to Kor’kroll looking for him, had met the necromancer. She beguiled all of them (apparently with her tiny elvish breasts, bah), apart from his brother (dwarves do not fall prey to the charms of women lacking in the beard department, hah). So the group promptly turned on Nulin and killed him. Balor was distraught and above all very angry. He vowed he would take revenge on the turncloaks and asked Sir Shadric to give him a squad so he could hunt them down. But Sir Shadric said they had already lost too many good men hunting the necromancer, and could spare none just now. (Maybe in a week’s time? NOT BLOODY GOOD ENOUGH!)
So Balor took off his ring, threw it at the commander’s feet and stormed out of the Citadel alone. He went to Kor’kroll and after careful searching found his brother’s charred corpse and buried it. He then followed the turncloaks’ trail up to Silvercoast, where he bought a small fishing boat from his wages and sailed to the Northern Continent (no dwarf should ever have to sail bah. too much swaying, and only bloody fish to eat. Also, not enough ale). There he found that his pray had all been killed by a pair of frost dragons. He kicked the corpses a few times (there was that woman with the very nice butt. Didn’t kick her. Although entirely not hairy enough, and much too dead). Unsatisfied, he commenced to walk back to his boat. There he found a wounded and bedraggled paladin sitting next to the barge. “Who might ye be then” asked Balor. “I am Sir Leeroy Jenkins at your service. And hoping that your boat can carry us both” The dwarf looked him up and down. “Weeeell, as long as you don’t drink the last vestiges of my ale, and don’t flap yer trap too much…” So they sailed merrily (and with plenty of seasickness on the dwarf’s part) back to Silvercoast. They parted ways with Balor slapping the knight so hard on the back that his armour may have dented even further. “Take care of yerself laddie, and here’s to hoping my Nulin and your Miranda are in a happier place with loads of bearded women and fine ale.”
Afterwards Balor was at a bit of a loss. He left the Wardens and he didn’t want to go back to selling his sword all that much. (Too much bloody travel, and not enough fighting.) So at some length he decided to head back to Crossroads and offer Marcus Danien his sword. (Axe, hammer and shield that is. Swords are for wussies.)
He arrived just in time to find Lord Danien and his wife murdered at the hands of two assassins. The now Lord Marcus Danien gladly took him into his service. Balor vowed to protect his Lord, and smack the assassins about. (With a sharp and heavy object. Repeatedly.)
Later on he became the head of Lord Danien’s guards, and managed to fulfil part if his latest vow when he smacked Daud with his axe. (Quite gently though, Lord Danien insisted on that.)
All through the revolution he guarded Lord Marcus and even went into hiding with him. In the Battle of the Bloodfields he sent many a Meadower into an early grave (or limping home with a broken kneecap).
He accompanied Lord Danien to Lys and insisted he keep a larger group of guards with him at all times. But Marcus refused. And Marcus died. After the crossbow bolts thudded into his Lord’s chest he cradled him behind his tower shield, which kept any further bolts at bay. But by then it was too late. (Another broken vow. This will have been the bloody last.)