Folks keep asking when I decided to become a Shaman.
That's not quite how it happened.
I was born a Dwarf.
Mountains came with the arrangement.
Stone beneath yer boots. Snow down yer collar. Smoke in yer beard. Somebody hammering on something before breakfast.
Normal childhood.
I thought everybody could feel when the mountain changed.
Not moved.
Changed.
There's a difference.
Before a storm, stone feels different.
Deep underground, some tunnels feel awake and others feel dead.
A forge has moods, though most smiths will tell ye that's nonsense right before blaming the forge for ruining their work.
I kept noticing.
Eventually I learned to listen.
Earth was easiest.
Of course it was.
I'm a Dwarf.
Fire came next.
Fire and I understood one another immediately.
This concerned several people.
Water took longer.
Still don't entirely trust anything that refuses to hold its shape.
And Air?
Air is an arse.
We've discussed it.
The point is, people use the word balance too easily.
They think balance means calm.
They think it means everything gets an equal share.
Try that in a forge.
Equal ore, water, fire and air.
See what ye make.
Nothing useful.
Balance means knowing what the moment requires.
Sometimes ye need stone.
Sometimes ye need water.
Sometimes somebody needs healing.
And sometimes something large, ugly and unpleasant needs struck by lightning.
That one's usually obvious.
I'm Alldez Crossweft.
If we're adventuring together, I've got yer back.
If the ground starts shaking, listen to me.
If I tell ye to run, run.
And if ye see me arguing with the wind—
mind yer business.
We're working something out.