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ResourceSkilling
StackableConsumable
Pale blue shards run through a lump of host rock the weight of a good hammer, refracting lamplight in slow bands that never quite land where you expect. Hold it long enough and the palm goes warm, not hot, the way a cat warms a lap.
Entry
Chronicle
Pulled from the frost-shafts east of the ridge, where miners measure their week by how many shifts the ore allowed before the vein went quiet. Crystal cutters bid on each crate at the pit-head, then argue for the rest of the season about which stone came from which face. Royal houses and a handful of guild-masters keep standing orders, which is the polite way of saying that very little of it ever reaches a market the rest of us can see.