If Gorzanth is the iron fist and Zarnack the poisoned tongue, then Krothuum is the whetstone—hard, cracked, and merciless. A forge-town in the southern savannah, its cracked walls are less defense than defiance. Smoke curls above it not from incense or sacred flame, but from coal-pits and bellows. The gutters run with slag, the air tastes of rust and ash, and the heat never dies.
Krothuum is not known for wealth, nor for beauty, but for steel. Its blades, axes, and armor travel across the Hyenalands and beyond, coveted and cursed in equal measure. To walk into Krothuum is to step into a place where every strike of the hammer is a challenge, every deal is a betrayal waiting to happen, and every mouth lies sharper than the steel it sells.
The Forges
Every street is a smithy. The clang of iron is constant, the roar of bellows never ceases. Here, smiths compete not only in craft but in survival. A blade may be flawless, but if its maker cannot defend it—by steel or by bargain—it will be stolen, resold, or claimed by a rival.
Merchants prowl the alleys, buying and selling steel like grain, cheating as often as they trade. To do business in Krothuum is to accept treachery as law: your gold may buy a weapon, but tomorrow you may find the same blade in another’s hand, pointed at your throat.
The Slave Mines
Beneath Krothuum yawns a maze of shafts and tunnels, its undercity carved not by folk but by chains. Here lions, jackals, Drael, and any unlucky enough to be captured toil until death. Ore, coal, and stone are dragged to the surface at the cost of countless lives, feeding the endless hunger of the forges.
Overseers rule with whips and cruelty, driving slaves until lungs blacken and bones break. The mines are as much a prison as a quarry: once chained here, escape is rare, death certain, and survival meaningless.
The Markets and Brothels
Above ground, the streets swarm with crooked merchants and prostitutes. The markets are filled with steel, slag, scraps, and lies. Deals are struck in moments and broken just as quickly.
The brothels are numerous but never soft. Here, flesh is sold like steel—quick, rough, and transactional. Prostitutes trade in bodies the way smiths trade in blades, and pleasure is a secondary concern. What matters is coin, survival, and the ruthless cycle of use and discard.
Couplings are fast, rough, and without tenderness. Sometimes they are payments for debt, sometimes wagers lost, sometimes just another way to assert dominance. Krothuum does not hide this—it thrives on it.