The Gilded Rune

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At the beginning of Creation, there was naught but darkness and void. Then came light: a single lump of coal, glowing red.

Moradin the Creator breathed upon the coal, and it grew hot. He plucked it from the firmament with his tongs, and placed it into his forge. There it burned brightly, neither dimming nor diminishing in heat for a tenday.

Moradin scooped clay from the earth, and from it made a mold in his own image. He worked the soft clay with his fingers, denting it to create hollows into which molten metal would flow. A thumbprint became a face, surrounded by nail-scored lines for the hair. The chest was a deeper hollow, with more lines upon it that would be the beard. The body he made stout and solid, so that his creation might hold its ground in the face of adversity, as unmoving as a mountain. The legs were the length and breadth of Moradin’s thumb; the arms the length of his strong forefinger.

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