Al'ir'aska

Al'ir'aska rests on the shop counter, a shard that seems to breathe. Its surface is a paradox of night and ember: a slice of obsidian-dark stone crossed with veins of copper, the copper threads catching light and releasing a warm glow. The texture is a duel between cool polish and stubborn grain, as if the stone remembers every touch it has endured—sand, oil, rain—until it yields a delightfully tactile feel in the palm. Runes etched along its length curl like river branches, and the older seekers insist the markings hold a memory, a map to a forge’s heart. It is less an ornament than a fragment of a story: a piece of the world’s own smithing, tempered by storm and sea. I found it in a ruined temple by the mangroves, half-buried under rope and salt. When I brushed away the sand, the runes woke with a faint, patient glow. A craftsman whispered that the sigils are not quotation marks but a route: to patience, accuracy, and endurance in work. In the hands of a careful keeper, Al'ir'aska becomes a catalyst: it steadies the hand while carving, heightens the sense for detecting faults, and breathes warmth into the chain of steps that turn ore into blade. The glow waxes and wanes with the tempo of a long journey, never shouting, always listening. Across markets, the stone’s influence is felt in small, practical ways. Smiths press it into the core of a new set of armor, caravans line up to borrow its aura for a long march, and scouts claim it sharpens their attention at critical forks. Healers swear the heat from the shard hastens minor repairs, while merchants say the right buyer can sense the stone’s history in a contract signed at dawn. The larger tale, though, is about community: a shared memory of where the metal came from and what it endured to reach the forge. Saddlebag Exchange is where its price is most often tested. In the mornings, a stall radiates the copper glow as traders haggle in careful breaths. A good shard might fetch seven to nine gold in fair weather, with premium pieces rising when demand for fortified gear climbs. On lean days or during moons that dim market chatter, the price softens, yet the stone’s story keeps pulling value upward in the eyes of collectors and craftsmen who know it is more than currency. Al'ir'aska remains a stubborn companion for the traveler and a patient tutor for the smith. When it rests at the anvil or rests in a bag on a saddle, you feel it choosing its next bearer—the glow brightening, then settling, listening to the road’s breath. In that quiet, the world tilts toward a future tempered by shared labor, the old stone guiding a new dawn in the blade and in the map of those who carry it. Its warmth lingers long after the road forgets the name of the town. In that quiet, a craftsman’s oath still glows for ages more.