Long time ago, in the days when the mountains sang with the echoes of dwarven hammers, and the great halls beneath the earth glittered with the wealth of the world, there lived a young dwarf named Bifur. He was unlike the other dwarves of his kin - not as brash or bold, but thoughtful and sharp-eyed. Bifur's hands, though strong and calloused from years of labor, often sought the forgotten corners of the ancient halls. His heart was drawn not only to the art of smithing but to the mysteries that lay hidden in the dark recesses of the mountain.
His people, the Durinfolk, dwelt within Khazad-dûm, the mightiest stronghold of the dwarves. The wealth of Khazad-dûm was vast, yet for Bifur, it was not the gems or the gold that stirred his spirit but the stories of his ancestors, their forgotten treasures, and the lost relics of ages past. Among these stories was one that haunted him: the legend of an ancient coin, said to possess power beyond mere wealth. It was no ordinary piece of currency, but an artifact forged in the First Age by a master craftsman whose name had been lost to time.

Surrounded by the warmth of the fire, this figure dedicates himself to the craft of cooking, his long beard swaying with each motion, creating a moment of quiet intensity.
The coin was believed to hold the power of fortune itself, a fickle force that could bring untold riches or utter ruin to those who held it. The legend said that the coin's true value was not in its metal but in its ability to sway the hearts of those around it, to cloud their judgment and bend their will toward treachery. It was said to be cursed, but for Bifur, it was an irresistible lure - a mystery begging to be unraveled.
It was on one of his forays into the deep forgotten tunnels of Khazad-dûm that Bifur stumbled upon a chamber no dwarf had entered for an age. The air was thick with the dust of centuries, and the walls were covered in runes so old that they had nearly faded from the stone. At the center of the chamber, atop a crumbling stone pedestal, lay a single coin. Its surface was blackened with age, but its edges shimmered faintly in the torchlight, as if hinting at the power it still held.
Bifur's heart raced as he reached out to take it. The coin was heavier than it looked, and the moment his fingers closed around it, he felt a strange warmth spread through his hand. He did not know whether it was the heat of excitement or something more sinister. Nonetheless, he pocketed the coin and left the chamber, his mind already buzzing with the possibilities of what it could mean for him and his kin.
Little did Bifur know, the coin's power was already working upon him. As he climbed back up through the winding tunnels to the great halls of Khazad-dûm, dark thoughts began to creep into his mind - thoughts of betrayal, of deceit, and of what he might gain if he kept the coin for himself. He had always been loyal to his kin, but now, with the coin in his possession, a shadow fell over his heart.
In the days that followed, Bifur became more and more secretive. He withdrew from his friends and his duties, spending long hours alone in the lower halls. His mind, once sharp and clear, grew clouded with ambition and greed. He began to see his fellow dwarves not as brothers but as rivals, obstacles standing between him and the fortune that he believed was his by right.
Among Bifur's closest companions was Balin, an elder dwarf whose wisdom was renowned. Balin had always looked out for Bifur, guiding him with a fatherly hand. But even Balin began to sense the change in his young friend. The light in Bifur's eyes had dimmed, replaced by a cold, calculating gleam. Balin confronted Bifur one evening, asking him what troubled him, but Bifur only shrugged off the concern.
The coin's influence grew stronger, its power weaving deeper into Bifur's soul. He began to dream of ruling over Khazad-dûm, of taking the throne for himself and amassing wealth beyond measure. In his dreams, he saw his kin bowing before him, their faces blank and emotionless, their wills bent to his own. The coin whispered promises of power and glory, feeding his growing hunger.
It wasn't long before Bifur's ambition led him to a dark decision. In the dead of night, he ventured into the deepest vaults of Khazad-dûm, where the treasures of the dwarves were kept. His goal was clear: to steal a relic of great importance, one that would give him the leverage he needed to claim the throne. The coin pulsed in his pocket as he moved silently through the shadows, his heart pounding with anticipation.
But he was not alone.

On top of the rock, this figure stands like a king, his vibrant red and gold attire contrasting against the vastness of the landscape, ready to face whatever comes next.
Balin, ever watchful, had followed him, suspecting that Bifur's heart had been poisoned by something dark. When Bifur reached the great vault door, Balin stepped out of the shadows.
"Bifur," he said quietly, "what have you done?"
Bifur spun around, his hand instinctively reaching for the coin. "Stay back, Balin," he warned. "You don't understand. This is my destiny."
Balin's eyes narrowed. "It is not destiny that drives you. It is madness. Whatever that coin is, it has taken hold of your mind. You must let it go before it destroys you."
But Bifur could not hear him. The coin's whispers filled his ears, drowning out reason and friendship. With a snarl, he lunged at Balin, drawing a dagger from his belt. The elder dwarf dodged the attack, but his heart ached to see his friend so consumed by greed.
The two dwarves struggled in the dark vault, their clash echoing through the halls. In the chaos, Bifur lost his grip on the coin, and it rolled across the floor, coming to rest at Balin's feet. For a moment, Bifur froze, his mind clearing as if a fog had lifted.
Balin picked up the coin, studying it closely. "This is the source of your torment," he said softly. "An ancient evil disguised as wealth."
With great effort, Balin cast the coin into the deepest chasm of Khazad-dûm, where it fell into darkness, never to be seen again.
Bifur collapsed to his knees, his chest heaving with the weight of what he had nearly done. The coin's hold on him was broken, but the shame of his betrayal remained. Balin, ever wise and compassionate, knelt beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

In the depths of the forest, this figure stands ready, his glowing red eyes hinting at the power within, as the trees around him stand still in quiet anticipation.
"The coin is gone," Balin said, "but you must now fight the darkness it left behind."
From that day forward, Bifur was a changed dwarf. Though the coin's curse had been lifted, the memory of its whispers lingered in his mind. He devoted himself to reclaiming his honor, working tirelessly for his people and seeking redemption for the treachery he had nearly committed.
The tale of Bifur and the ancient coin became a cautionary story among the dwarves, a reminder that the greatest treasure is not found in gold or gems, but in loyalty and friendship, and that even the mightiest of hearts can be swayed by the allure of greed.
Top 5 color shades of the illustration.
See these colors in NCS, PANTONE, RAL palettes...