"Amydon was founded thousands of years ago," the old man began. "It began as nothing more than a small village, formed by refugees from a long-forgotten war. And for hundreds of years, it remained that way — little more than a speck on the map near the edge of the borderlands."
For a moment, he paused, stroking his stubbly chin as his eyes turned dreamy, as if he was envisioning himself living in that small village all those years ago.
After a minute of silence, Arran figured the man was lost in dreams, and he asked, "And then?"
The question brought the old man back to the present. He coughed softly, then continued, "That all came to an end when one of the villagers found iron in the foothills nearby. In a matter of decades, the village grew into a flourishing town, visited by miners and merchants from all over the borderlands."
