The stone that was once a brave young lad who, like the old Don of legends, had run off drunk on dreams of knights in armor, fair maidens, and terrible dragons, stood where it was made and was left untouched. You were left in darkness and in silence, insensible of the world around you. Of all the endings you had imagined, never had you dreamt of one so early on and lacking in renown. How horrid that you now are nothing but one of those rash young fools that old men say will meet only a horrible end. What ending was worse.
Oh, but if only you knew. Soon the statue shall crack apart and fall to rubble on the floor revealing a young maiden, fair and beautiful, but mute. No glory or praise shall ever meet your ears save for what is said of your prettiness, but the wizard says that much to all his pretty ones. There are so many and every one of them would tell the same story if they could only speak.
Hear thy fate oh foolish boy, no shining sword for thee, but a slender sewing needle. No armor shalt thou wear but softest blue gowns, and thy helm a white bonnet. No quests taken but to ready the wizard's meals, mend his robes and wait upon his every need. You shall know life eternal as a pretty young serving girl.
Perhaps you should have taken up smithing after all.
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