Lost Kingdoms: Nidavellir
Nestled within the rugged peaks and valleys of the mountainous realm of Nidavellir, there stood a city that could only be described as grandiose. Its architecture, meticulously crafted to perfection, was a testament to the ingenuity and skill of its inhabitants. Known far and wide as the home of the greatest craftsmen on Cradle, Nidavellir boasted a lineage of artisans known as Brokhyr.
These Brokhyr were revered throughout the land for their unparalleled craftsmanship, capable of creating wonders that surpassed the imagination of all who beheld them. From intricate works of metal and stone to delicate sculptures and breathtaking structures, the creations of the Brokhyr were legendary, their names spoken with awe and admiration by all who knew of them.
But Nidavellir was more than just a city of artisans; it was a realm inhabited by a people as stubborn and proud as the mountains that surrounded them. Their roots ran deep in the rocky soil, and their spirits were as unyielding as the earth itself. It was said that to be born in Nidavellir was to be imbued with a fierce determination and an unwavering sense of pride in one's heritage.
Central to the identity of the people of Nidavellir was their faith, which was deeply rooted in the veneration and reverence of their ancient ancestors. The halls of the city echoed with the tales of heroes long gone, their deeds celebrated in song and story, their spirits believed to watch over and protect their descendants.
Moradin, the Brokhyr King, stood as the last monarch to rule over the mountain kingdom of Nidavellir, leaving behind a legacy steeped in myth and legend. Renowned for his unparalleled craftsmanship, Moradin was credited with creating armor and weapons that surpassed the strength of iron yet were lighter than air, a testament to his mastery of the forge.
Among his most famous creations was a warhammer that rang with the sound of thunder and lightning with each mighty blow. Legend has it that Moradin spent seven days and seven nights tirelessly forging this hammer from the legendary metal known as orichalcum, infusing it with the power to shake the very foundations of the earth. It was called Gærhialm, the storm bringer.
But Moradin's legacy extended beyond the realm of craftsmanship to the realm of heroism and valor. He was said to have crafted the Vægher's sword, Arinbjorn, a weapon of unmatched beauty and deadly precision. This sword was not just any creation; it was crafted as a gift for Vægher, the King of the Gods, who wielded it with divine strength and skill. With Arinbjorn in hand, Vægher faced and defeated the fearsome mountain dragon Svæin, a creature of immense power and ferocity that had terrorized the lands of Nidavellir for generations.
Yet perhaps Moradin's most legendary feat was his epic battle with the mountain giant Hlodvir. For three days and three nights, the Brokhyr King and the fire giant clashed in a titanic struggle that shook the very mountains themselves. In the end, it was Moradin who emerged victorious, his hammer striking the final blow that brought Hlodvir crashing to the ground, defeated and vanquished.
Sadly, Moradin wounds were too great from this battle and he died upon returning to Nidavellir. They say that the kingdom echoed with the clanging of hammers in honor of their fallen king. He has buried with Gærhialm in the hall of the ancestors as was tradition. His death was believed to be the precursor to Nidavellir's fall. A prophecy fulfilled when the Doom befell Cradle.
The kingdom of Nidavellir, once a beacon of craftsmanship and resilience, was tragically thought lost during the Doom. Legends whispered of a cataclysmic event that buried the kingdom beneath its mountain home, its once-proud citadels and bustling streets swallowed by the earth. In the wake of this devastation, the secrets and treasures of Nidavellir were believed to be forever lost to the sands of time, their legacy fading into myth and obscurity.
Despite the passage of centuries, rumors persisted among the people of Cradle. Whispers carried on the wind spoke of echoes from the past, of the thundering sound of Moradin's hammer still reverberating through the mountains. Some claimed to have heard it in the dead of night, a haunting reminder of the kingdom that once stood proud and defiant against the ravages of time.
These rumors fueled the imaginations of adventurers and treasure seekers, drawing them to the rugged peaks and hidden valleys where Nidavellir was said to have lain dormant for centuries. They sought to uncover the truth behind the legend, to unearth the lost treasures and untold secrets of the fallen kingdom. But as they delved deeper into the heart of the mountains, they found only silence and the solemn echo of their own footsteps, a poignant reminder of the kingdom that had slipped away into the mists of history.
Yet still, the legend of Nidavellir lived on, a testament to the enduring power of myth and the indomitable spirit of those who dared to seek the truth buried beneath the weight of time. And amidst the whispers and echoes of a bygone era, the thundering of Moradin's hammer remained a haunting refrain, a reminder of the kingdom that had once stood as a shining jewel amidst the rugged beauty of the mountains.