About the ruins of the Ogre Stronghold
The expedition from Karak Norn, sent east to search the ruined ogre stronghold in the Mountains of Mourn, returned with fewer warriors and more history than anyone had expected. At their head marched Zambula, a mercenary dwarf with frost in his beard and the look of one who had left good comrades buried beneath bad snow. Behind him came three rune-locked carts filled not with gold, but with something rarer: carved tusks, hide maps, iron plates, old contracts and the broken records of an ogre hold long since fallen silent. Some called them brute-scribbles. Zambula broke that talk quickly. “Memory is memory,” he growled. “Even when it is ugly.” Karak Norn had fought the ogres often, and not always as enemies. They had been raiders, oathbreakers and monsters, aye, but also mercenaries, drinking companions and, at times, stubborn allies worth every coin paid to them. The dwarfs had known them well once. So a new chamber was carved beneath the hold. Not a treasury. Not an armoury. A vault ...