The Hales hail from Kellack Wheal – a family of smiths, but not blacksmiths. Their work was finer — wire, clasps, buckles, buttons, lock mechanisms, brooches, hinges for chests and jewellery boxes. Small things that held weight.
Corenna Hale
The matriarch of the family was born to a family of fine metalworkers on the western fringes, where river-trade and hill ore made silver and tin the local grain. Her stall at the Kellack market, beneath the wide-reaching limbs of the town’s central elm, was always dressed just so: brushed cloth, polished stone, gleaming glass jars of fastenings and findings.
She was exacting and busy, known for her skill in clasps and clever joints — but even more for her sense of occasion. She made clasps that clicked shut with such precision you couldn’t see the seam. Some said her work was magic. Corenna said they were just careful.
Derrick Hale
From Ferwell, the son of a village smith — not a master, just a reliable local tradesman.
He was a taciturn man who rarely looked up from his vice or his whetstone. But he whistled softly while he worked — always a different tune. His fingernails were square, and his palms thickened with callus from decades of coaxing metal into purpose.
Corenna and Derrick
They met at a spring fair upriver. He was helping his cousin sell tools and hardware — plain things, no shine to them, but Corenna noticed the polish on the back of a hinge. The kind no one sees, unless they made it. They spoke only a little. He moved to Kellan Wheal the next year, to marry Corenna and join her more ambitious craft family.
He was quietly good, content to hone his tools and stay behind the stall while she courted clients. He never matched her flash or hunger, but he always made the best hinges.
Their three daughters each took their own path.
Brisa
Practical and hard-set, she took over Corenna’s workshop after their mother became too ill to work. Brisa is respected in their town — not warm, but dependable. She writes to Elowen once or twice a year. They aren’t close, but Brisa watches news of Lowen with a surprising eye — sending small tools or polished stones, claiming they were “left over.”
Elowen
The middle child, quietest and most precise, Elowen took to the craft early and left for the House of Craft before she was twenty-five.
Sellet
The youngest, still works with Brisa, and has a knack for shaping bezels and knowing which design will sell. She’s got more cheer than finesse, but buyers like her.
Elowen’s departure
Corenna Hale had a well-kept stall at the midmonth market on the stone square of Kellack Wheal—a respectable town known for its metalwork, fishing, and market square. Her stall always faced the sun. She brought folding mirrors to catch the light, and her lockets and brooches glittered without needing spells.
She displayed Elowen’s pieces alongside her own from the moment they were good enough. At first, small ear wires and delicate loops, then pendants with a weight and quiet shape to them—somehow older than they looked. People paused longer. A woman with Evergild accents picked up one and whispered to a companion.
Later, someone approached Corenna with interest in Elowen. An offer—not just to stock, but to sponsor her. Possibly an apprenticeship with a satellite workshop of the House of Craft. Corenna didn’t hesitate. She came home with her cheeks flushed and her shawl half unpinned. “They noticed her,” she told Derrick. “Our girl.”
Elowen didn’t show much. She nodded and kept sanding the pendant she was working on. But she accepted.
She didn’t love the House of Craft, though she admired the skill there. Her work stood out: less ornate, more elemental. When she left after a few years, Corenna wrote back saying only:
“You were right to try. Now make it your own.”
They didn’t speak often after that, but they remained proud of each other in their own private ways.