Kurvic's Glare

So far the visit to the dwarven colony hasn't seemed any different that visiting any other human town, except maybe the smells. There are shops and drinking halls, with lots of people moving about with things to do and places to be. You're starting to feel lucky that you were left off the roster of soldiers named to go to the capital. The journey to the colony was much quicker and more comfortable in the old cairrage, on some errand for the lady of the castle, carrying something heavy for the old steward. "This is the one. Now remember, don't touch anything, and don't put your hand on your sword" as the steward points to a shop with narrow windows and a sign over the door in that blocky dwarven script along side a huge amber gem bigger than a melon, which you suppose must be glass.
Inside after the introductions, the shopkeeper says "Yes, I've been holding this one for her ladyship. Large enough for a humani suit of plate she said" as he turns and clicks a set of locks on a tall metal cabinet with thick glass windowed doors to reveal an assortment of what, mostly, to you, look like ordinary rocks. But among them are some cut open like a hot loaf of bread to reveal hollow interiors. These aren't just delicious crusty bubbles however, the glittering maws of gems packed inside is startling. Each of the stone loaves shows off a different color of sparkling spikes. One of the shopkeeper's silent young apprentices slips a set of steps in front of the cabinet, and up the old master goes to pluck a small orb with nut brown gems peeking out of the edge cut from it. Returned to the shop floor, he places the little orb no larger than your grannies honey cakes on the counter and proclaims "It's the largest Kurvic's Glare that has passed though my shop in twelve years. Two hundred and eighty drams. No less!" with an air of authority.
After you place the satchel on the counter as instructed by the steward, your breath catches when the older apprentice begins weighing the little bars of gold you hadn't even realised you were carrying. You've heard tales of great heroes and lords making bargains with the dwarves for what they call Kurvic's Glare. It is said to be a precious mineral named after the dwarven god of smiths and duty, Kurvic the Deepwarden, needed to craft fine armor that can hold multiple enchantments which only the dwarves can find, deeper in the earth than humans or elves know how to mine. If having an enchanted suit of armor crafted is what she has planned, the Baroness is procuring a fabulous gift for someone.
With the satchel back over your shoulder, you feel the weight of the small fortune at your hip. As you step toward the shop door, the steward gives you a kindly smile and says "Don't worry, you won't need to guard it for long. The smithy is just around the corner" as he hobbles out. You glance back over your shoulder, hearing the clicks and rattle of the cabinet being locked again, with the unassuming lumps of stone displayed within.