Untold Tales of Kalda: Melinar, the Stonemason [COMPLETED] ✔️

3 - Transformation

Transformation

Reluctantly, Melinar moved further along the wall. He stopped at a solid table where two oversized weapons lay, made completely from stone–the serrated dagger and short sword.

"Impressive," she muttered, "most impressive..." The currier said something else that Melinar didn't quite understand–but he thought she was remarking about the weapons' resemblance to their real-world counterparts.

How could she know what they looked like? he wondered. The Overseers hadn't any accurate depictions of Melthas Dol'shir's weapons. Not many people were acquainted with them. After all, Melinar's father had inherited the weapons after Melthas died. Shortly thereafter, Melinar's father relocated to Soroth.

Melinar himself, however, was well acquainted with the stone weapons' real-world counterparts. Melinar's father had taught him how to wield both weapons, and when Melinar was thirteen he made replicas of them–from stone, of course. But those replicas were not nearly as impressive as what lay on the table.

Both stone weapons were two and a half times larger than the real weapons, and perfect replicas. Shortly after accepting the commission, Melinar asked his father to bring the weapons to Tor so he could take accurate measurements. The actual serrated dagger and short sword were shorter than a man's arm–the blades were barely the length of a forearm. But the stone replicas–if standing on end–would reach to a man's chest. In fact, the short sword looked like a claymore–a thick claymore.

"What exquisite detail," the currier said, her tone changed from condescending impatience to awed admiration. "The blades' edges look so sharp... that is good." She moved the sphere in her left hand toward the serrated dagger's hilt, near the triangular stone in the pommel. The sphere was too big, as Melinar had predicted.

"As you can see, it won't fit..." Melinar remarked.

"It is unwise to place a tha'rin'dar in the pommel..." the currier said.

"A what...?" Melinar asked aloud, but she didn't answer.

"For best results the optimal place is below the guard," she said, gliding the sphere along the stone weapon's hilt. The sphere was half the size of the hilt's thickness. "Here," she said, hovering the sphere near the dagger's sinuous guard.

"So... what are you saying?" Melinar asked, watching the currier ease the sphere toward the stone. "You want me to chisel a hole in the hilt? That will weaken the integrity of the stone! It will–"

Melinar's eyes widened as white light burst from the point where the sphere touched the stone weapon. The light grew brighter, blinding Melinar's vision. He shielded his eyes, squinting against the light. Melinar could barely see the outline of the currier, pushing the sphere into the stone.

Impossible, he thought.

Soon, the light ceased.

Melinar blinked several times, then noticed the sphere in the currier's left hand was gone. It was as if the sphere had gone into the stone. But how was that possible? That defied the laws of nature.

Unfazed, the currier moved toward the large stony hilt of the sculpted short sword. As with the serrated dagger, she guided the other sphere toward the guard and pressed it into the stone.

More blinding light filled the workshop, but dissipated after a moment.

Melinar searched the currier's hand, but the second sphere had vanished like the first. By Heleron's Trident... he cursed.

The currier turned toward him nonchalantly. "Am I safe in assuming you aren't finished with the statue?" She spoke as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Melinar struggled to speak, and all he could do was nod.

"Alright," the currier sighed, walking back to her satchel. "Come on," she beckoned.

What's going on here? Melinar wondered, watching as the woman reached into her satchel.

"Well, don't just stand there," she said petulantly, removing another sphere from the satchel. This sphere, however, was larger than the first two, about half the size of a man's head. "I have other important things that need doing."

Gathering his wits, Melinar walked back to the currier.

"Once you are finished, put this in the statue's chest–or anywhere else in its torso. This sphere," she emphasized awkwardly, "needs to be in a centralized location in order for everything to work properly." The currier eyed the tabletop, then glanced back to Melinar. "This isn't made out of stone, is it?"

Melinar shook his head.

"Good," she said, setting the large sphere atop the table. "Don't let it touch stone–unless you're putting it in the statue, of course. Now this," she rummaged through her satchel, "needs to go into the pedestal."

The currier removed a large disc–the size of a dinner plate with the thickness of a hefty tome–and set it next to the sphere.

Unlike the sphere, the disc was made mostly of a glistening white metal–what kind Melinar didn't know. It had several transparent lines wrapping around its circumference. More strange characters were engraved on the metal parts of the disc, glowing a faint blue hue.

"The same goes for this," she tapped the disc. "Don't let it touch any stone other than the pedestal. It must be placed last, do you understand?"

Melinar nodded.

The currier smirked, then closed her satchel and slung it over her shoulder. "Now if you'll excuse me, I must take my leave. Keep up the good work, Mister Dol'shir. I'm sure our paths will cross again."

With that, the currier hurried out of the workshop, leaving the door ajar.

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