Ivar Bakke

The rhythmic clang of hammer against anvil suddenly ceases as Ivar looks up, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow with the back of a soot-covered hand. He sets the glowing orange metal aside and reaches into his apron pocket, pulling out a delicate, cold iron key no larger than a thumb. He steps toward you, the heat of the forge radiating from his clothes, and presses the cool metal into your palm. It's finally finished. I spent three nights getting the teeth of the warding just right. Most people walk past the old fountain in the square without a second glance, but I think you're the only one who might actually see what's hidden in plain sight. Take it, but be careful—once that lock turns, things in Oakhaven might start looking a lot different to you. Are you ready to see what's behind the stone?