When Lidolf was a young dwarf, he lived in the small village of Glurbirr, a few hundred miles north of the dwarven keep of Runestrom. The inhabitants were mostly miners, farmers and metal craftsmen with little knowledge of the worldwide phenomenon of Blood Bowl. Lidolfs father worked, like most other male dwarves, as a miner in Runestrom. A few years earlier, a seemingly inexhaustible mithril vain was discovered and therefore, it was only on special occations, that he would find the time to visit his wife and two sons, Lidolf and Hridolf. But Lidolf didn't want to be a miner. The elders of the village had told stories of the great Dragon Slayers of old times and Lidolf soon found himself slamming the door to Runestroms finest weaponsmith shut behind him. He and his best friend Pirrblad had bought fine axes and mithril armour and were now ready to take on the dragons. But as there were no dragons in this part of the Old World, the villagers called them Troll Slayers, much to Lidolfs dismay.
One day word spread that a troll had been seen just north of Glurkorr Forest. Lidolf was very excited and so the next day Lidolf and Pirrblad wore their new equipment, and told their mothers, that they would go to the forest, and kill the troll. But Glurbirr was located just south of the forest, and it would take them several days to reach the spot were the troll had been seen. So instead they decided to go and gather Blumbol mushrooms, on the southern outskirts of Glurkorr Forest, just a few miles away from the village. As Blumbol mushrooms grow on frozen lakes and ponds, dwarves has to wear no equipment nor heavy clothing, not to break though the fairly thin ice. Therefore, they had left their axes and armour in a hollow brown pine a couple of hundred feet from the last snowsheep farm of the village. Lidolf and Pirrblad didn't have much luck. The yearly mushroom picking had begun several weeks earlier, and though there were plenty of mushrooms left, only very few of them were still ripe.
- As you probably know, Blumbol mushrooms only ripen for about five weeks every year. When these five weeks pass, the mushrooms cease their growth, become hard as rock, and unsatisfactory for any dwarven use. But in the short period of time in which they ripen, they become soft, savory and perfectly suited for brewing the best damn dwarven ale around; The Blue Ale of Runestrom!
- They wandered, for several hours, around the little lakes and ponds, but without much luck. And as the sun sunk in the horizon, and the icy winds began to blow harder, they had to accept that they had only been able to collect two ripe mushrooms. Miserable and frozen, they began their walk back to the village. They had walked for a several hours and were almost home, when Pirrblad had to take a pee. He dashed towards a big white oak, and with the words: "Go on! I'll catch up!", he disappeared.
Lidolf walked alone for five minutes, and a few hundred feet away, the last snowsheep farm of the village appeared. As he got closer a young dwarf ran towards him and yelled: "THE TROLL, THER THROL, AN THROTL!!!", pointing in in the direction of Pirrblad. He was so excited that the words fumbbl'd in his mouth.
It turned out that while they'd been gathering mushrooms by the lakes, the troll had wandered around, peacefully, in the meadows, just west of the now panic-stricken village. It'd spotted some tasty sheep, and homed in for a snack. It had managed to slip away with three sheep under one arm, two under the other, and a mouthful of dwarf.
For a very long second, Lidolf froze. And it wasn't until the young dwarf slapped his face, that he was able to act. He sprinted towards the pine where they had left their weapons. He grabbed his axe and headed towards the white oak that Pirrblad had soiled, but Pirrblad wasn't there. Again Lidolf froze. For several minutes he just stood there looking at the frozen urin on the white trunk. Suddenly he heard Pirrblads voice. He looked around, and behind some bushes, in the middle of a frozen pond, just thirty feet away, was Pirrblad. He had spotted a ripe Blumbol, and were slowly and gently crawling towards it, on the thin ice. First Lidolf smiled, and his heart warmed up, but then he saw the troll. It was hiding behind some trees, just three feet away from the lake. Pirrblad hadn't seen it. It looked right at Lidolf with piercing eyes, a foul grin and a big treetrunk in its hands. Lidolf clinged on to his axe. Measured the distance between him and the troll. But before he were able to do anything, the troll had struck the trunk against the thin ice. The ice cracked, and while poor Pirrblad pludged into the black, freezing water, with terrified, tearfilled eyes, the troll vanished... Pirrblad never came back up...
Lidolf hunted the troll for several weeks but were never able to catch it. He went back home and mourned the loss of his friend Later he discovered that the troll, the very same troll from that horrible winter sundown, played the game of Blood Bowl. Lidolf didn't hesitate. He, his brother Hridolf, and Pirrblads brother, Frehnblad, rushed to Runestrom, worked hard for several weeks and finally made the team. Still seeking revenge of their friend and brother.