The lost lore of Karak Zorn
Long before Karaz-a-Karak rose to power, before the War of Vengeance sundered alliances, there was Karak Zorn; the First Hold, the jewel of the southern mountains, and its king, Gordion Emberforge the wealthiest Dwarf who ever lived.
Karak Zorn hollowed halls were so vast and echoing that footsteps would take days to reach from gate to gate. Gordion’s throne was carved from a single meteoric gemstone, and his beard was braided with links of platinum. Traders came from across the world; lizardmen from the jungles, elfs from the sea, and men from distant Khemri, Ind, and Cathay, all for the riches and craft of Karak Zorn’s bounty. Its peaks pierced the heavens, its halls shone with gems the size of a fist, and its people; stout, noble, and unshakably proud, were unmatched in craft and courage.
But Gordion was not satisfied. The veins of gold that ran through the mountain fed his coffers for centuries, and the rivers of molten metal flowed so freely that gold became as common as iron. Still the King’s pride demanded more than riches, not a throne built on wealth, but a kingdom forged in the image of eternity. He sought not gold mined or forged, but gold born of magic. He turned to the deep runes, those forbidden, and ancient scripts said to be etched by Grungni himself. Against the counsel of his Runelords, he inscribed a rune upon his hammer: the Rune of Endless Gilding. With each strike of that weapon, stone turned to gold.
At first, the rune seemed like a miracle. Every strike of the king’s hammer turned stone into pure, gleaming gold. He gilded the walls of the hold, the pillars, the forges, the floor beneath his feet. Statues of iron and granite became monuments of unmatched opulence. Even the air took on a golden shimmer in the deepest halls. Traders traveled from across the world to witness the wonder. Kings sent emissaries bearing priceless gifts, begging to glimpse the halls, for Karak Zorn glowed like the sun, even in the deepest depths. But gold is soft. Gold is heavy. And gold buckles where stone holds fast.
In time the first collapse came without warning. A feast hall, newly gilded, caved in upon the royal family. Then the western aqueducts cracked under the weight of golden pressure. Vaults buckled, gates jammed shut. When miners went to shore up the foundations, they found magma had begun to leak where once stone held firm. Gold had replaced the natural bedrock, and the mountain was no longer stable. Then came the quake. And so Karak Zorn collapsed inward. The Rune of Endless Gilding, no longer sated, gilded the king himself. With his last breath, Gordion screamed not in agony, but in awe, as his flesh turned to shimmering ore.
The jungle swallowed the smoke, and deep beneath the jungle the Rune still glows. A remnant of survivors breached a forgotten side tunnel, and emerged into the blinding sunlight of the jungle. For weeks they wandered, battered, and ash-choked, through the heat, and green madness of the Southlands. They carried no gold, only relics, tools, and the stories of what they had lost. They built no new hold, instead they lived in hidden stones along cliff sides, and hunted jungle beasts. Deep within the Jungle of the Gods, some say their descendants still dwell, cloaked in secrecy and bitterness. Guarding the last riches of Karak Zorn, and the Anvil of Songs, the last and greatest heirloom of Grungni’s first temple.
