As I sit alone by the fire, somewhere high up on a mountain, the embers of the fire lures me to remember my past...

“Listen son, today is your birthingday and tradition binds me to tell you about our name and the legacy that comes with it.

   I will tell you three things this day. First, I will tell you about our anfather, Bogrim Beardbelt; how he got his name and why we follow in not only name, but also his footsteps. Secondly, I will tell you about the Way of the Axe and why we swear by it. Thirdly, I will tell you about your self, as none other than I, your father, sees you for who you truly are.

  You are the 30th son of sons descending from old Borin Beardbelt; the Worldwormrider, Trolljuggler, Forgesleeper, Ripewringer, Frothbather, Stumpwalker; and was so named after the time when his mountain halls were overrun by hideous and loathsome creatures.

  Old Bogrim awoke from the walls crumbling and the sounds of his family and people being slaughtered and burned. Letting out a tremendous roar of challenge he jumped out of his bed, naked as the day he was born, and with no time to clothe or armour himself he tied his long beard tightly around his belly and hung his two heavy battleaxes there as he ran into the fray to save his people. He was a whirlwind of death in the halls that day! It is said that when he came speeding into a group of trolls they flew from his spinning rage like dead leafs in a tornado.

Therefore; we must never know fear! Never flinch when the eyes of danger are upon you - stare back!

   The Way of the Axe is an easy one. The axe does what it says it will, what it was forged to do, there is no way around it. It delivers.
  When people see the axe, they know what it can do for them and they know they can depend on it to get the job done. So it should be with us Beardbelts! We stay true to our word, we do what we say we will do and we never lie!

Always say your piece my son, always speak your mind without sugarcoating it. When people hear your deep voice they say it’s like the shifting of the mountainwalls, deep underneath us - you are a true leader and some day I am sure you will lead many men to victory!

  Even though some people may find you blunt and sometimes obnoxious because you speak the way you do, straight out from the depths within, ‘tis just  ‘cause they can not handle the truth. It’s not your fault they are weak of character son. No… stay true to the Axe and you will never fail.

   With those final words my father, towering above my small boyish self, picked a burning twig from the fire and carefully held it above his pipe… the red and yellows of the burning wood reflected in the smooth polished wood like dancing red eyes - drawing the fire gently down onto his Toby-weed in long steady pulls he filled his mouth with smoke. I could see him closing his eyes a little as the taste took hold - he swirled the smoke around his mouth before winking at me and released the smoke as little birds!"

   Now, when I myself blow the smoke-birds from my pipe to thrill my sons, and see the birds crushed and shattered in the wind I realize I have grown alot - that I am not that boy anymore.