Alien Pickaxe

"My dad found something bizarre at work, he deals with antiques and a tool came to him... I don't remember if it was an axe or a pickaxe, but it was so heavy that nobody knows what it's made of, my cousin thinks it's an alien relic."

That was said by a guy, not far from Renee. Moradin immediately recognized the description. The Brutal Pick was made of rare and powerful ores that existed only in the sacred land of the dwarves, Nidavellir, where he forged it.

Rennee instantly crossed the short distance and placed her hand on the boy's shoulder. "A pickaxe, you say?"

The boy was startled, Renee came to her senses for a moment and gave a slightly embarrassed smile.

"Oh, sorry! I didn't mean to be so incisive. It's just that I love this kind of story. Could you tell me more about... uh... Ron... Is that your name, right?"

The guy, Ron, surprised both by the redhead remembering his name and by her interest in bizarre things, looked at his other friends before answering. He was part of a small group of nerds on the borderline of what was socially tolerable for Tracy. Renee's presence was clearly very well received by his companions for several reasons.

"Oh... sure..." said the young man, somewhat embarrassed.

"My father works with antiques and receives an old tool, apparently a pickaxe, in excellent condition, all made of a metal he couldn't identify. It's so heavy that it took about three guys to carry it from the top of the mountain." It was her... it was the Brutal Pick... "My cousin is almost certain it's made of some alien mineral that..."

"Wow, that's interesting! And where is that pickaxe now?" Renee said suddenly, wanting to skip the part about the conspiracy theories that would confuse Moradin with little green men.

"Oh, my dad couldn't identify the material, it's still in his antique shop I think, but he's negotiating and should sell it to a rich guy, normally he calls specialists to take a look, but this guy seems to be in a big hurry. I'm not going to complain, it's more money for us."

Renee and Moradin sniffed it out instantly. It was an ice giant.

"Listen, Ron." "By any chance do you know the name of that rich man and when he's going to receive the pickaxe?"

Ron scratched his head before answering.

"Well... I know my father is going to deliver it to him at the antique shop tonight, the name is... Joel... Orel... or something like that."

Moradin recognized the correct pronunciation, Renee too... Jarl Orel "the Grayhand" was the elderly leader of the Yargray tribe of frost giants that dwelled within Tholvarr.

With a firm grip on Ron's shoulders, the redhead now spoke to him in a firm and powerful voice.

"Ron... I have reasons to want you to tell me where your father is. Now." "The situation could be serious."

Ron looked at her confused, he really wanted to ask what on earth she meant, what she wanted with his father, but... looking into her eyes that now seemed to glow like fire, he couldn't help but answer her exactly what she had been asked.

"234 Elm Street, CA 94866. near the mall."

Renee whispered a thank you as she left, leaving Ron and his friends very confused. Tracy only had time to see Renee rushing out the door.