Lionel wasn’t good at much in life, but he could swing a hammer and he could swing it hard. As one of the Amalgamated, born with hair of metal and skin of stone, Lionel worried that he would be as hated as the Amalgamated in Brynmoor had been, but Fellhollow proved a kinder place.
Instead of being feared and shunned, his unnatural strength became a source of much pride in his family and friends. Locals would challenge him to heft heavier and heavier things, cheering and lavishing him with praise as he did so.
Life had been good. He was happy. So, of course, it all had to end.
When the dead began to rise, arrows and blades seemed less effective than before, but crushing force still got the job done. His family and friends escaped to the Silverthorn Keep and Lionel waited at the guardhouse, standing as a wall against the tide of the undead. Countless zombies and skeletons fell to his hammer, reduced to little more than powder in a few careful swings. He could have stemmed the tide if that were all, but when the Zogre descended upon him, even Lionel’s Warhammer eventually broke against the strain.