The Crown Beneath the Mountain

In the heart of Nak-Tharud, a cavern long shrouded in darkness and legend beneath the Dragon Spine Mountains, dwarven miners sought new veins of Drakthorite. This cavern, whispered of in cautious tones as "That Which Rises from Shadow," had been left undisturbed for centuries. The winds that slipped through its depths carried the sound of faint voices, and the stone seemed to resist the bite of pickaxes. Yet dwarven ambition, ever drawn to the call of unclaimed riches, proved difficult to silence.

Driven by the prospect of wealth and legacy, a group of miners pressed into Nak-Tharud’s forbidden tunnels. After weeks of slow excavation and near-catastrophic cave-ins, their picks struck hollow stone. Behind the collapsed wall lay a chamber untouched by time—eerily precise, its walls smooth as polished glass, shaped not by dwarven hands but by a craft lost to history.

At its center stood a blackened pedestal, atop which rested a crown wrought from an unfamiliar dark alloy. Seven jagged spires twisted skyward, each set with a gem. Three of them glowed with unnatural light as if they were a vessel that was filled to the brim.

The air in the chamber thickened with the metallic tang of blood, though no bodies lay within. Those present later recalled the feeling of unseen eyes fixed upon them, the weight of some presence lurking just beyond the edge of perception.

To the miners, it was a relic—an elven trophy left from some forgotten age, no more dangerous than any other treasure unearthed from beneath the mountain. It was, they believed, silent gold.

They carried the artifact to Dumatharun, presenting it to Forge King Maldrak Stonegaze as a prize worthy of dwarven ingenuity and perseverance.

The Silent Watcher

In the great halls of Dumatharun, the crown was examined by scholars, rune-smiths, and elder forgemasters. None could identify its origin. It bore no sign of elven artistry, lacked the crude elegance of orcish craftsmanship, and resisted the intense fires of Thrangrim, the Deep Forge. Even the most skilled hammer could not scratch its surface.

Maldrak viewed this mystery as a symbol of dwarven triumph—a testament that no secret or treasure, even one hidden by time itself, could escape the grasp of dwarven hands. He decreed that the crown would remain in his personal hall, a beacon of dwarven supremacy.

But the crown was not idle.

By the time of its discovery, the Crown of Dominion had long since devoured it's last two weares along with Vaeril Dusktide, its original master, . For centuries, the artifact wandered, shifting through forgotten paths, reemerging only to consume those who found it. The miners had not unearthed the crown by chance—it had drawn them to it.

The First Whispers of Corruption

At first, the crown’s influence barely stirred. Yet, Maldrak began to exhibit subtle changes—nothing that raised immediate suspicion. He grew fiercely protective of Dumatharun’s wealth, halting all Drakthorite trade to the elves of Mountainrun and the human merchants beyond the mountains. When councilors questioned him, he spoke of securing dwarven prosperity for future generations.

In his dreams, the crown whispered. Maldrak envisioned vaults emptied by unseen hands and forges cold and silent. In waking hours, he saw shadows creeping along the veins of Drakthorite, as if the mountain itself conspired against him.

The king's paranoia spread to the forgemasters, who began hoarding their finest works. Artisans withheld enchanted tools, and merchants delayed shipments of iron and stone. Miners who returned to Nak-Tharud claimed the chamber was gone, as if swallowed by the mountain.

Those who lingered near the crown for too long grew uneasy—sleep eluded them, and the forges seemed dimmer beneath its gaze.

A Poison Rooted in Stone

By the time the dwarves began to suspect the crown’s true nature, its roots had already woven into Dumatharun’s heart. Maldrak’s growing isolation led him to issue an edict forbidding the sharing of Drakthorite or enchanted relics with other races. This decree strained alliances with Mountainrun and Hollow Lake, fracturing the once-prosperous bonds forged during the Dwarven-Elven Accord.

The crown’s presence became a lingering tension within the city, but the dwarves—proud and stubborn—refused to question their king openly. To them, the crown was a symbol of what dwarves could uncover and guard, not a harbinger of ruin.

Maldrak Stonegaze, whose name had once been sung in halls of stone, drifted into legend. The paranoia that consumed him lived on as “Maldrak’s Folly,” a whispered warning to dwarves who strayed too close to ambition.

But the Crown of Dominion remained—not as a treasure, but as a wound beneath the mountain.