Overview
- A book telling a tale about an adventure who seemed to derive his power from magical stones
Appearances
Chapter 10.2 - Enter! Wyrmsgard!
- The book was lent to the gang by Torbert as part of his “Bookwyrms” scheme
Act 1
Before the modern commonplace of arcane smiths and lodestones, In Pyraust’s Domain, lays a town, Greyhollow, home to an Orphanage.
It was here that two boys, inseparable at the waist, dreamed of adventure.
Byron was the dreamer—tall for his age, with eyes that sparkled whenever tales of heroism filled the evening air. His friend Rhoald was quieter, his calloused hands always tinkering with broken trinkets, coaxing life back into discarded metal and wood. Where Byron saw grand quests and noble deeds, Rhoald saw the intricate mechanisms that made such wonders possible.
Each evening, as the orphanage settled into slumber, the two would slip through a loose board in the cellar wall. They’d make their way to the Wanderer’s Rest, a tavern where traveling adventurers would regale listeners with tales of distant lands and fearsome beasts. Byron would hang on every word of sword fights and heroic rescues, while Rhoald studied the weapons and tools these warriors carried, memorizing every detail of their craftsmanship.
”Someday,” Byron would whisper as they crept back through the darkness, “we’ll have stories of our own to tell."
"Aye,” Rhoald would reply, his mind already working on designs for the weapons that would make such stories possible.
When they finally came of age and left Greyhollow behind, they set out with nothing but Byron’s inherited sword, Rhoald’s makeshift collection of tools, and hearts full of ambition.
The road was harder than the tavern tales had suggested. They took whatever work they could find—clearing rats from cellars, delivering messages through dangerous territory, standing guard over merchant caravans.
In every scrape, in every moment of peril, they complemented each other perfectly. Byron’s blade would sing through the air while Rhoald’s quick thinking would devise clever traps or find weaknesses in their enemies’ defenses. They were poor in coin but rich in friendship, and somehow, they always managed to scrape by.
It was during what should have been a simple quest—clearing a family of kobolds from a cave that had been terrorizing local farmers—that everything changed.
As Byron fought off the snarling creatures with skill born of necessity, Rhoald’s keen eyes spotted something glinting in the depths of the cave.
There, embedded in the cavern wall like a star fallen to earth, was a perfectly round stone. A runic inscription across its surface, pulsing with an inner orange glow like a setting sun. Rhoald’s heart raced as he recognized it from the ancient smithing texts he’d studied in various libraries across their travels—a lodestone, spoken of in whispers among the greatest smiths of legend.
The old texts claimed these stones held mystic powers, that weapons forged with their essence could channel magical attributes. Yet for all the speculation and theory, none had ever succeeded in unlocking their secrets. Many had tried; all had failed.
But Rhoald was not deterred. Over the following years, as he and Byron continued their adventures across the realm, he dedicated every spare moment to understanding the lodestone’s mysteries. He studied ancient forging techniques, experimented with different metals and methods, and slowly, painstakingly, began to unravel the stone’s secrets.
Byron, ever loyal, supported his friend’s obsession even when it meant eating cold meals and sleeping under stars while Rhoald worked late into the night at makeshift forges. Then came the night when everything changed. Deep in the heart of a dwarven forge in the Burning Expanse that Rhoald had convinced the master smith to let him use, the impossible finally happened.
As he brought his hammer down one final time, the lodestone didn’t shatter—it merged. The blade seemed to drink in the stone’s light, and suddenly Byron’s simple sword hummed with a warmth that made the air around it warp.
Byron, wielding that first enchanted blade, had become something new entirely—the first stonemancer, a warrior whose weapon was an extension of magic. And Rhoald, the first arcane smith.