When the fire-god Grimnir hurled himself into the throat of the great salamander Vulcatrix and slew it, both were sundered into countless burning shards, scattered across the Mortal Realms. Those shards, drifting down as veins of gleaming ore, are Ur-Gold — and every last mote of it holds a fragment of the god's divine soul. To gather it is to gather Grimnir Himself, piece by scattered piece.
The Fyreslayers live and die for this pursuit. Their smiths beat the Ur-Gold into sacred runes and hammer them molten into the flesh of their warriors, so that a mystic priest may wake the fire within and call forth the god's fury in battle. A lodge rich in runes burns with unnatural strength; a lodge stripped of gold is a lodge that has failed its ancestor.
This hunger makes the Fyreslayers mercenaries without equal and without shame. They will sell their axes to daemon and duardin alike, demanding payment in the only coin that matters, for every ingot earned brings Grimnir a fraction closer to wholeness. Some among their priests whisper of a final reckoning — that should all the Ur-Gold ever be reforged into one, the sundered god might rise again. Until that day, the lodges march on, chasing a resurrection measured in gold and blood.
The reliquary continues
