Argnhold

Argnhold—“Silverhold” to any who can’t quite wrap their tongue around the Dwarvish—began as a humble dig gnawing into the roots of the Brunnbarak foothills. In the uneasy dawn of the fledgling Alliance, when trust was a fragile ember and steel was drawn more often than shared, the dwarves of Baragorn made an uncharacteristically open-handed gesture: they ceded the mine to the humans of Midgard. Not as tribute, not as surrender, but as a declaration that prosperity could be forged together rather than quarried apart.

The humans took the gift and stoked it into something larger. With dwarven architects grumbling over shoulder-high blueprints and human masons sweating beneath the mountain sun, Argnhold began to rise. A stout wall unfurled around the settlement—dwarven-straight, human-wide—its stones a marriage of two crafts. Homes clustered beside forges, trade stalls crept toward the gates like eager seedlings, and the cavernous mine evolved into the city’s beating, metallic heart. When the dwarves finally marched north to their deeper halls, they left runes carved into the cornerstone blocks: promises of friendship… and a few quiet warnings for anyone bold—or foolish—enough to test the wall’s resolve.

Now Argnhold stands as a living emblem of unity between Baragorn and Midgard. Its streets echo with the harmony of dwarven hammers and the bustling chatter of human merchants. Beneath the city lie half-buried halls still bearing the angular geometry of their founders; above, a more impulsive human sprawl reaches toward the light. Festivals commemorating the treaty draw revelers from both nations, and ambassadors tread the same stone corridors once carved by pickaxe and torch.

Argnhold is no utopia—frontier towns seldom are—but it endures, stubborn as bedrock and gleaming like the ore that first lured miners to these hills. A reminder that the strongest cities aren’t built by one people alone, but by those willing to shoulder the stone together.

Key Figures