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The pick sat wedged in the dwarf's head, combative fits slowing as a trickle of crimson ran down the handle of the tool, meeting dark red stains of those before.  As she twisted the implement in his head, she began to wonder how things came to this, shooting empty glances at the other dwarves, still cowering in the meeting hall, to be sure no one tried anything.

It began as most stories do when they involve dwarves: An invasion of Goblins gone wrong in every way.  The military was well prepared for the small band of freaks, but Avus was just a miner at that point.  All she knew was there was a clash outside the gates, and something went wrong.  Something went very wrong.  Within moments, the goblins seized opportunity and flooded in from the main gate, covered in battle wounds, and all-too-dwarven blood.  The civilians scattered, their presence a sign that the military was indeed broken.

A few brave dwarves leaped from the crowd onto the vile creatures, detaining some, while the captain of the guard fought with another.  The other goblins were luckier, and in the chaos, began slashing limbs from her fellows.  Women, children, babies, animals... the foul creatures were indiscriminate in their slaughter, easily taking one sixth the fortress population down in a bang.  It was only when the few brave civilians aided the law enforcer in tearing the limbs from a goblin did the others retreat, their ranks broken.

The next week was controlled chaos.  Avus kept busy extracting rock boulders for carving into tombs for the many fallen, but commotion echoed through even the depths of her mines.  Quarrels raised and were settled, and the offenders jailed in due time by the captain of the guard.  It was only once the dead were all buried that the storm truly hit.  An angered mourner visited the mayor at the start of the following week, no doubt to curse them in Armok's name.  Armok got more than a simple job to initiate bad luck, however.  In a fit of rage, the mourner tackled the mayor, bashing his brains onto the rock table in the office until his brains spilled out in front of his children.  It was the start of the end, to be sure.

The death of the mayor rang through the fortress, and before long, crime was off the charts.  Exacerbating things, of course, was the fact that an enraged wood chopper took their axe clear through the guardsman, ending all hope of fixing things.  That is when she stepped up.  Avuz went from miner to captain without so much as a whisper.

It seemed the new captain had things under control for a while; Offenders were beaten or jailed, and others kept in line.  The brewing insanity could not be held back.  Avuz had always head stories from the human traders of life on land by the sea.  In the big storms, they say, there is a point of quiet, where one doesn't know if the storm has passed, or will hit again harder.

It was but a matter of time until one of her suspects would resist her.  In fury, Avuz took beating too far, and jammed her pickaxe clear into the assaulter, enough force in the blow to detach his head from his body.  She was done with these games.  Avuz would see her fortress restored.

The next few days were a blur to everyone, but the massacre was incredible.  Avuz stained her pick with the ripe life substance of all suspects and offenders, one by one.  Hundreds of dwarves reduced to thirty at her hands.  The offenders were unclean, and had to be swept away.

The clatter of the deceased dwarf's dagger hitting the floor brought Avuz back from her daydream.  Looking to the side, she saw that her audience had gone, the survivors making themselves scarce before the vigilante could get them, too.  The doors had been broken open, and they were likely too far outside to catch.  She was alone now, in that fort, rotting bodies of a hundred slain by her scattered on the floor.  In the stench of miasma, the fortress was finally clean.  In the hellscape of those halls, Avuz had fixed everything.  She was what comes after the eye of the storm, this time.