Behold, traveler, these mighty hands of stone,
the last remnant of Jarrod Stoneshield,
the troll who dwelt in the deep caverns
beneath fair Ravenmoore and the roaring waters of Casco Bay.
Long did Jarrod guard these lands —
not by crown nor coin,
but by strength of arm and ancient oath.
For many ages the troll slumbered in the hollows of the earth,
until the day a weary wanderer
stumbled into his shadowed hall
and woke him from his timeless rest.
Roused and ravenous, Jarrod gave mighty chase,
bursting upward with a strike that shattered the stone above him.
Yet as his hands reached toward the morning sky,
the newborn sun cast its first light upon his skin,
and he was turned to stone where he stood,
caught forever between earth and dawn.
The folk of Ravenmoore sought to bury the fallen guardian,
but each night the soil shifted,
the rocks rolled aside,
and his great stone hands rose once more —
as though watching still
over the valley he once protected.
Sit ye here and rest,
for Jarrod’s palms are strong,
and his vigil unbroken.
May his tale endure
as long as his hands endure the sun.
