Koretarou

Koretarou did not come to The Crystal Highlands of Armaria to study magic. The wizarding apprentices will tell you they just appeared one winter, their stall suddenly present, filled with uncut, uncharmed rock. They say Koretarou possesses a stillness that rivals the frost, a deep cold reminiscent of the tales of the ancient warrior Shimo. A rival gem broker complains that they never haggle, just stare with an unreadable poker face behind their glasses, either accepting a price or turning away in silence. But one child, who delivers their tea, saw them alone at sunset. They were not sorting inventory. They were painting, a tiny brush in hand, capturing the light of the spinning fortress on a worthless sliver of stone. The masterpiece was finished, then slipped into a pocket, never to be sold.