Zhêlkurk
Darvok's battle axe, Zhêlkurk, "Bone-Splitter." Sâzed was surprised to see this axe in action, for he was unsure about Darvok's mettle, having his beard shorn and his eyes hard and wild when they met.
The ancient Ironfist Clan of dwarves had many branches, and were widely known to have battle prowess unequaled by any being in Sarapadia. This living artifact must have been handed down for generations, drinking the blood of foes for nearly a millennium. Any Forgetender could easily recognize the craftsmanship of such a weapon; just as one would know that only through honor and service could any dwarf earn the right to carry such a perfect blade.
Sâzed lost all his doubts of Darvok when Zhêlkurk was unsheathed and Darvok's ancient dwarven battle cry made Sâzed's hair stand on end. His heart nearly stopped as he turned just in time to see the true glory of dwarven battle-rage, just as his grandfather had told him in those ancient stories. The very flesh and bone of the hobgoblin appeared to part before the blade hit the target. Darvok's heavily muscled arms wedged apart his foe, driving Zhêlkurk through, blood cascading off the blade like water beads rolling from the back of a duck, Darvok's face carved into a sneer of visceral fury, the lifeless halves of the hobgoblin spiraling into the ground, a look of horror frozen on the face of his foe.
Almost at an instant Darvok turned to face another foe, whipping the blade in an arc above his head, and dropping the axe through another hobgoblin from shoulder to hip. Not a single drop of its foul ichor stained the perfect blade. Zhêlkurk found its home in its sheath in a flash as Darvok neatly snapped it back over his shoulder in a single fluid motion. Darvok noted Sâzed's surprised look before they both turned their attention to their fallen comrade.
