Long before the dwarven kingdoms carved their stone halls
and crowned kings under the mountains, Tharnak Rootwarden
walked alone among the deep groves and silent peaks. Born
under a blood moon in the cave-temple of Garn’Durahl,
Tharnak was marked from infancy by strange omens—lichens
blooming in his cradle, stones cracking open to reveal tiny
glowing spores.
Where other dwarves found their calling in forge and war,
Tharnak heard a different voice: the slow, patient whisper
of the stone-roots—the deep, tangled mycelial life that
stretches beneath the mountains, forgotten by surface folk.
Guided by ancient spirits known only as the Stonebound, he
turned from dwarven strongholds and made his home in
Stonegrove, a hidden forest of petrified trees and
moss-veiled ruins. Over centuries, he became its guardian.
His beard grew knotted with roots. His eyes took on the
sheen of wet agate. He learned the tongue of badgers, the
secrets of the wind through tunnel-choked canyons, and the
mourning songs of dying rivers.
But peace does not last.
Lately, Tharnak feels the rhythm of the earth change—like
a hammer striking a cracked anvil. The veins of the
mountains bleed dry. Miners dig too deep, and something
ancient and blind stirs beneath the stone. Some say he’s
mad. Others say he’s the only one who still listens.
Now, the old druid stirs from his glade, staff in hand and
runes pulsing faintly on his skin. He walks again among
dwarves—not as one of them, but as a reminder of what
they’ve forgotten.
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