Rust.

An IronAge.Media prompt - The Crag.

In ancient times under caverns vast
Under mountains rising, relics past
When days were young and bright the moon
And sun shone glittered sea of gold
The dwarves forsook wind and sky
And carved their way down below
And homes they made ‘neath the snow.

Life was good and merry they made
and mead they drunk and songs they sung 
of hoards and riches and work begun
with many a hall under earth, winding
and spells of seals of dark arts binding
they hid the richest of their prizes
in a maze of secrets and surprises.

Now in a certain hidden crag
One maker of golems cared to brag
That none dared hinder, upset the snare
Of that makers projects engineered
Tall and ominous they stood
Made hale with granite limbs and parts
No soul to care or beat of heart.

Lifeless golems, one purpose had
To guard the riches of their makers
Who in their wealth mirrored their creations
Who clung to jewels, their hearts turned cold
Their joy begotten from coins of gold
And in their delirium and fame
No heirs begotten; natures game.
And so their numbers fell and dwindled
And golems watched, stoic under spell
That none may move unless hoard was threatened
And so their witness gone unobjected
The once merry people of Kalzalar’s folk
Died out, the makers of those days
Where riches gathered under fever.

Those halls built in days now old
That no tale told, for none remember
And time withers the living to the bone
And only those lifeless made of stone
That still in the halls and mazes sit
No shadows cast; no fires lit
And sit as year and decade go by
That come maybe man or dragons’ fable
And claim the hoard and release the spell
That no riches come uncontested
A price they’ll pay of rock and stone
That sits solitary guarding throne
The golems of the secret hoard
The price of which is too steep
And better off staying hidden deep.

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