Epic dwarf Mokum "Wolfslayer" Lokuthum
The most epic dwarf I have ever seen was, no doubt, the young Mokum "Wolfslayer" Lokuthum. He was, by large, an useless dwarf in the beginning. He was fighting with everyone, holding parties when he should have worked and honestly somehow avoiding all work he could. He was, to put it into words, a no-good half-beard.
At first, he was simply ignored, the other dwarves of the Founding Seven too busy to pay attention to him. The food stores were low, alcohol was needed and furniture was seriously lacking behind. But after few too many fingers and naps during worktime, the expedition leader took the matter into his hands.
Punching Mokum around head, the leader threw him out of the fledgling fortress, tossing an axe for him. But he was not about to give him an easy task, not by a long shot. Instead of cutting down trees, Mokum was ordered to hunt deer. With his axe. He was not fast, not by a long shot, and knew nothing about sneaking or fighting with his axe, but being held at crossbow point and told to do it, the young dwarf had to learn fast.
After a few days of exhaustive running, Mokum finally managed to charge and fell a young deer. Or more accurately, to fall on it and then hack the shocked animal to pieces. He was allowed to drink and eat, and then tossed out again. He killed a few more, and then a few after that. He certainly learned nothing about swinging an axe in that time, nor about sneaking, but he earned a living.
Mokum could have gone about his life like that, perhaps becoming a real asset to the fort in time, had it not been for a certain incident. For Uristbomrek was not only a home for deer, but for the occasional werewolf, too. And when the next of the damn things started prowling the area, the dwarves initially thought to simply keep clear of it. However, after a spectacularly stupid dog tried to eat the beast's leg, it tore the animal to one pound pieces and went crazy.
Mokum was still hunting deer. He hadn't become any tougher, or faster, or stronger. Nor had he learned to swing his axe or sneak around. He had no armor at all. And yet he was the first to stand in the way of the horrible, bloodthirsty monster. At first he screamed and tried to flee, but suddenly something happened in his head. Suddenly that feeble, only marginally tough dwarf, turned around, and there was great resolve in his eyes. The werewolf screamed and hurled itself at him, and he met it with equal fury.
Even though his leg was torn to shreds from the thigh immediately, he did not fall or give in to pain. He smashed his axe, stained with the blood of a dozen deer, to the skull of the beast. The heavy blade did not find take against the unnatural, steely bone, but it served to draw blood. And to anger the thing. With a scream of rage it crushed his other leg from the knee like a twig. Mokum did not faze, but hit struck back, this time into a shoulder. There was a crack, and the lycanthrope yowled in pain and anger. Another blow struck it at hip, and again it flinched. It grabbed Mokum by his broken leg and hurled him to the ground, bruising his neck.
Mokum's vision was swimming in red haze. His fingers were beginning to slip around the axe, but still, raising himself higher with his free hand, he shouted at his foe and taunted him. And the werewolf came, smelling blood. Mokum hacked at it, but his axe slipped past and he almost fell over. The Werewolf grabbed him by his free hand, twisting. A sickening crunch, and the limb fell to the side.
Mokum was in pain, his lifeblood draining to the ground and his mind going numb. But, in the grasp of the beast, he spied his chance. And with the last scream of fury, he drove his axe forward, under the werewolf's jaw and into its throat. The weapon hit deep, cutting through the windpipe and all the way into the spine.
Gurgling in horror and grasping its throat, the werewolf stumbled back, dropping the maimed Mokum down. He forced himself to stay conscious as the beast fell, drinking in the sight. This was his, nobody else's. His alone. He had a value. He was more than some pitiful beast.
And so it was, that upon seeing Mokum's bravery, his comrades rescued him, and quickly brought him to a bed. They all pondered what they had seen, and never again they said a bad word about the dwarf. He never became a master axedwarf or a mighty warrior with arms of steel, but there was something about him. He married and sired ten children. He took up the trade of an engraver, his artworks a stuff of legends in themselves. And his tale was told from a dwarf to a dwarf: even the most feeble dwarf can do great things, should he just have the resolve.
A dabbling axedwarf-hunter killed a werewolf after having his both legs maimed and being nearly unconscious and the damn thing hadn't yet taken even a wound. And after that becoming a father of ten and a legendary engraver.