deep in the Draconi, in a decently sized clearing, sits a building. around it is flourishing life, trees with trunks feet in diameter, flowers growing tall and lush. animals lazing around, a fox rests out in the open, asleep in the sun. a fresh cut stump sits among the4m, but sprouts and saplings can be seen sprouting from the deadwood, almost growing visibly. the building itself stands out, but not harshly so.
one part is a tall tower, hexagonal in shape, and four stories tall. at first glance, it would seem to be standard grey stone brick; but looking closer, one would find that the brickwork is just decoration, and the actual body is made of massive stone slabs, smooth as glass, and cut with unnatural precision.
the other part is a big, circular structure. it sits low to the ground as if part of the earth itself. inside is a relatively standard blacksmith, cases line the walls, racks above for weapons, a few armors stands about. but all are empty. not a blade nor plate of mail can be seen. behind the service, counter are two doors, one a dark walnut, hand-carved with decorative runes, it led to the tower.
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the other door was metal, heavy and bolted into the stone directly. its face looked rough, but upon close inspection, it was runic carvings. so small and so tight together, they filled the space of the door and hummed gently with magic.
outside, a man walked towards it, a massive burlap sack over his shoulder, dirt, and dust covering his body. he wore little, a cloak and a pair of greaves, his chest and arms bare save for a pair of gauntlets, one clutching the bag. he strolled around the structure, before coming to a section of the round building, pressing his hand to the wall and speaking quietly, he heaved the bag off his shoulder and through the wall, as if it were nothing. the wall remained unharmed, with no noticeable change, but the bag was gone.
he stepped inside, he pulled off his cloak and hung it up, the door closing softly behind him. he pulled open the heavy steel door and stepped through.
the room was lit by a few floating violet flames, dim, but grew brighter as he entered. the bag sat on the floor, some large chunks of ore spilling out a bit. the room was large, a few tables against the walls contained different equipment. one full of masonry tools, another with vats of sand and clay, one carrying a gargantuan book, the text within matching no language of the land. an anvil sat alone, no bucket of oil or water nearby. in the center of the room sat a massive steel vessel, a dome connected to the roof via a chain and pully. the man cracked his knuckles, the gauntlets tossed aside.
he gripped the mighty chain and pulled, the vessel rising and revealing the source of power. the room heated up, from a comfortable warth to scorching hot, burning. a small violet light, almost palm-sized, sat floating there, the source of the heat and an abundance of light.
the moment he unveiled it, the bag burned away, in a blink of the eye, the burlap was gone, a pile of rock and ore remained. he tied up the chain, keeping the dome up as the ore grew red hot and began to melt. drops of molten metal floating up and gathering in floating orbs hanging in the air. he sighed at the sight, a puff of steam came from a tear, evaporating the moment it fell from his skin.
to anyone sensitive to magic, it would appear as if a star lay in the middle of the wood, and it was liable to draw attention.
