Kiraz, the golden city, was the birthing bed of the Harnic Khuzdul. For seven thousand years Kiraz was the largest and richest city of Harn. The dwarves made her well, and she endured the coming of men, their haste and pestilence, their greed and wars. Until, that is, the tyranny of Lothrim, the Foulspawner. Now gloom hangs like a shroud about Kiraz, sealed with enchantment and good stone. Her dark and cavernous, haunted halls, seem yet to ring with the muted sounds of hammers no hand has touched for six centuries. Even the woods echo with the voices of a hundred ghosts. Now and then, an adventurer grown brave from too much ale, and greedy from tales of treasure, comes to Kiraz. If he is not enslaved or slain by the Equani or gargun, he will try the Gate of Hrazadar, seek other entrances, give up in disgust, and return whence he came - if he is lucky.