Role

Chapter 1

Ysaloerye had chased off the Duergar, and her and Juhldalor
stood at the Altar, The Biddy fuming at her former apprentice.

"Ah knowin ah be diss'apointin ta yer dare meh Biddy eh."

'Fargin understatement o' tha millennia thur.' Ysaloerye retorted back.

Ysaloerye spoke of the smith, and how blades had that survived
the fire, come out stronger. Juhldalor had thought the same thing to
himself several times during his fast. If he could survive through
this, if he was once again favored, it would indeed lead him to
great strength.

Ysaloerye asked which stone smiths prefer. Juhldalor thought that
the whetstone used to shape the blades was too simple the answer.
Mithril came to his mind, coveted by his kin.

He did not realize Ysaloerye ment which stone he liked to work with
and which stone he as a stonemason preferred.

Tried as he might, he had not yet perfected the shaping of stone
as much as he hacked away at the stalagmites within the vast
cavern near the hammer. His chisels dulled fast and his skill
grew as he toiled, yet he had not yet created a masterpiece.

Juhldalor had hoped the Lady Ysaloerye would reveal this skill to him.

He could see what was within the stone, and his heart led him as
he striked with his hammer, yet it's shape had yet to reveal itself.

He had always admired granite, the igneous rock of the earth, it's
face can be left raw, sawed at with iron, or bronze, and sanded
with grit until it is smooth and rough. It's crystalline structure
danced alive when lit with the fires of the earth. With enough
work, tin and the finest crushed diamonds, granite could be polished
to shine as if made of glass.