Sojourn

It had started with a puncture through some ornate work on a decorative brass pommel. In an attempt to further shape the piece’s divots with a hammer and rounded-off punch, the hrothgar had gotten a little carried away and left a dent that—after numerous attempts to hammer back into place—had simply given way. Disgruntled, he put the piece aside and shifted work to a cabinet he’d been commissioned for.

That project had gone smoother, until a slam at the front door caused him to startle and knock a can of stain over, spilling it over the yet-unfinished top slab. Hurriedly cleaning the mess up, Svaelfyr set the slab aside and fixed it with a stare. For a moment, he found himself hoping that if he were disappointed enough, it’d revert back to its previous state somehow.

The final straw was C’zahra’s quick stop by the workshop to pass on a note she’d read in the mail for the hrothgar. She was busy herself, and so hadn’t been there for long, summarizing.

“Ms. Dumas has written back about her armoire, and says the quoted price is too high. She’s sent along a payment for what she feels is a fair amount, and says she expects the finished project by the end of next month.”

With a quiet offer of thanks, Svaelfyr took the letter, set it aside, then scribbled on a nearby piece of paper. Hanging it upon outside of the door to the shop area, he made his way towards his room to gather some of his things.

Upon that workshop door, the note read,

I’ve packed my things and taken a trip to Costa del Sol.

I will be back, eventually.

C’zahra is in charge.

Sv.

28. Vainglory

Rylen stood with his arms crossed and a proud beam across his features. ”Is that all of them?” “I think so.” C’zahra stood at his side. It was a victory for her just as much as it had been for him.

The light of the display case shone on both of their faces, its contents a glittering treasure of color and wonder. The precious items contained within were ranked and sorted into their own dedicated compartments. A collaborative effort that involved Svaelfyr’s assistance in the final construction.

“We did it...” The notion alone was enough to take Rylen’s breath away. “Doesn’t get any better than this.” C’zahra stepped forward to inspect their handiwork one more time. She tugged on each of the drawer handles in order, feeling the gentle friction as they slid open, then savoring the perfect alignment when they closed again. The audible click when they lined up flush and settled into place. Each drawer had been labeled with embossed plates that showed star ratings to delineate rarity. She gave one more nod of confirmation, satisfied. “So what do we do now?” Rylen asked, stepping forward to peer at the the rarer items encased in their protective display frames at the top. “What do you mean?” One of Zahra’s ears flicked as she glanced back at him. “Now we can finally open some more packs.” A momentary pause, before they both grinned in unison. The pile of sealed Platinum Triple Triad packs on the nearby table wouldn’t remain unopened for much longer.

Break a Leg

In the corner of a well-decorated lounge and bar, the members of the Dustwrought Embers gathered around a round wooden table. Rylen remained the only figure standing; there were chairs he could’ve brought over, but the table was already crowded, and so he stood leaning against the stone wall to his flank, one leg kicked idly over the other. C’zahra sat, a small glass to her right, while she pored over a few small pages that seem to have been torn from a larger book. To her left, Daedaena was reclined in her seat, uncharacteristically still. She seemed to be staring at the opposite wall in contemplation. Rex and Rolph were a few paces away to the lalafell’s flank, quietly chatting to one another about dragons and drink. Astraut sat another seat to the left, quietly chewing on the last of his dinner. Settled into a single chair, the auri twins nursed their respective drinks while occasionally joining in with the chatter.

Away from the table, Svaelfyr stood beside the team’s newest member, a viera who went by ‘Pixie’. She watched the group with silent regard. 

“We have everyone here, are we headed out?” She asked, fixing the hrothgar with a quick gaze.

Svaelfyr shook his head, and took a few steps over towards the bar. After a few quiet words with Rolph, he returned with a glass for each of them; water and ice. He hated to make assumptions on who would and wouldn’t take a stiffer drink, and newcomers were always encouraged to fix their own.  “We are all accounted for, but we’ll take a moment longer. Enjoy the company, chat a while, relax.”

Pixie’s frown knit deeper. “Aren’t we on a tight schedule?”

The hrothgar let out a soft hum of acknowledgement. “Yes,” he began, though the word was toned high to indicate the coming clarification, “but we’ve got something of a ritual. Some time among ourselves before we all set out. Sometimes the job can get… Difficult. So we like to be able to have moments like these to reflect on.”

“A ritual.” Pixie repeated, a soft laugh muted behind still-closed lips.

“We’ve done a number of jobs,” Svaelfyr retorted with a slow nod, “and they’ve all worked out well so far. All of them came on the heels of a short moment to socialize together.” Unable to help himself, a smile crept onto the man’s lips as he watched the group chat among themselves. Employees grown close enough to become friends, friends grown close enough to become family.

“Why change what works?”

23. Pitch

After a particularly late and eventful bar crawl the night before, Rylen woke up the next morning on the hammock he’d set up behind the workshop. Strung up between two support pillars, the weathered canvas swayed gently with the breeze and helped rock him back to consciousness when he finally began to wake a little bit.

Running a hand down his face, he let out an audible grunt and assessed his current physical state. The slight headache was there (of course) as was the persistant pit in his stomach. But worst of all was the wave of nausea he felt when he sat up and raised his head a little bit. Immediately he sighed and layed back down again, draping his arm over his head to keep the morning sunlight out of his eyes. “That’s no way to greet the day.” A soft voice stated from the periphery. “The day can come back tomorrow.” Rylen groaned, wishing he had a blanket he could pull over himself. “Besides, I trained yesterday, I’m due for a rest.” C’zahra used her knee to nudge his ribs through the thin fabric of his hammock. “Let’s get you a breakfast and do the stretches at the very least.” “Five more minutes.” C’zahra then moved, grabbing holds of the hammock to abruptly yank it to one side. Rylen was immediately thrown out and unceremoniously dumped on the ground. He could handle it, it was fine. Following the heavy impact, Rylen laid motionless with his head against the dirt and let out a prolonged, quiet wheeze. “So uncool....”

Pitch

Though the ‘shopping’ list that Svaelfyr had given to C’zahra hadn’t made too much sense initially, the miqo’te hadn’t been given the opportunity to voice her curiosity; the list had been left as a note upon her door.

-

Zahra,

At your convenience, I’ll need a few things picked up. Take whatever money you need from the workshop’s coffer; a few thousand gil should cover all of the purchases. 

10 pz. Gypsum plaster 2 pz.   Resin (plant-based will do, but synthetic is easier to find) ½ pz.  Tallow 8 pz.   Pitch

The resin and pitch might best be found east, closer to Gridania. There’s plenty of gypsum deposits here in Thanalan; Ul’dah will have plenty of supply. The tallow you could honestly get from anywhere.

Thank you kindly!

Sv.

-

When she’d arrived, Zahra came carrying the ingredients in, setting them down in the workshop. Svaelfyr looked up from his work, and brightened almost immediately. “Ah! You’ve made it back.” “Interesting list,” the miqo’te muttered, setting down the paper bag of gypsum. “A new project you’re working on?”

“Sort of. I’ve elected to stop outsourcing some of my more decorative work. I thought I might be able to do some of it myself, and I need what the experts call…” The hrothgar had made his way over to a book that he’d dog-eared some time ago, flicking it open and finding the name he’d underscored. “Chaser’s pitch. It’s for helping to emboss in some of the finer details in metals I can’t necessarily clamp for fear of warping them.”

C’zahra’s brows knit into a quick frown, and she gave the hrothgar a cant of his head. “Isn’t there a goldsmith’s guild here in Ul’dah? Wouldn’t they have sold this stuff pre-made?”

“Oh, sure,” Svaelfyr rumbled. “But it was very expensive.”

17. Novel

Rylen returned to the extravagant tent carrying two buckets of fresh water (one in each hand.) “It’s me, I’m back.” He announced in a matter-of-fact tone, as if there was ever any doubt as to who he might be. Allowing the entry flap to fall back into place behind him, he crossed the array of rugs and knelt down beside the floor sofa where C’zahra was resting.

A weak sounding groan was the only thing he heard in response as his miqo’te friend laid there in a helpless posture. A thin film of sweat misted her face, but despite her apparent warmth she refused to part with the pile of throw blankets laid over the top of her. “What are we supposed to do when the healer’s the one getting sick?” His rhetorical question was posed with a quiet, good-natured cadence as he carefully ladled some of the fresh water to refill her canteen. “You could start by shutting up.” C’zahra muttered, he voice raspy from the effects of her symptoms. “Noted.” He replied with a slight chuckle, and reached into his pocket to produce a small vial of orange liquid. “But also, you should try this. Rolph mixed it up. Should help with your throat, at least.” C'zahra kept her eyes closed but slowly nodded to those instructions. 

Still seated nearby, Rylen dunked a clean rag into the bucket and rung it out. He then reached across to lightly dab some of the sweat from the woeful patient's face. "Cold." C'zahra whined, scrunching her nose up at the sensation.

"That's the idea." Rylen smirked as he rinsed and rang the cloth out again. Then he folded it over into a long narrow section and moved to drape it across her forehead.

Another weak noise of protest followed, but C'zahra otherwise remained still enough for the cool rag to stay in place.

"Think you might be up for eating something in a little bit?" Rylen asked.

There was a pause while she considered, before providing another raspy answer. "... Maybe."

"Alright, I'll see what I can whip up a little later." Rylen left the canteen and medicine within reach on the coffee table and set the buckets aside. Then he moved around to the unoccupied section of the couch and made himself comfortable. A hardback book beneath one of the cushions caught his attention and he scooped it up to look at the cover.

"The Brigand and the Basilisk." He read the title out loud. "How is it?"

"Don't know." She answered, still keeping her eyes closed as she pulled the blankets more closely over herself. "Only read a few pages."

"That bad, huh?"

"No, too much work." She sighed, another display of her weariness.

Rylen thumbed through the pages before landing at the prologue. "Then how about I just read some of it to you?"

Novel

Frozen winds bit at what few features the crew had left exposed; most of the Embers had wrapped up in as many layers as they could stand to carry themselves in, but even then, flurries continued to scoop up loose snow from banks and blast it against barely-shielded eyes. At the back, perhaps most accustomed—and well suited—to cold weather, Svaelfyr still tried to defend his face from blasts of ice with an outstretched hand. A few curious gazes craned over their shoulders to fix upon the hrothgar, who gave a singular nod. 

Rolph was the first to speak; his voice raised uncharacteristically as he spoke from thick black furs that still, somehow, seemed to retain some degree of formality upon the hyur.  

“ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴄᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜɪs ɪs ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ, ʏᴇs?” The man’s usually-reserved tone had all but been lost to volume that the weather demanded of him.

“ʜᴇ'ᴅ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ʙᴇ ᴄᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴ, ᴏʀ ɪ'ᴍ ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏɴᴅᴜᴄᴛ ᴀ ᴍᴜᴛɪɴʏ.” Came the response of Daedaena, who wasn’t too far away from Svaelfyr. She retained a thick outfit—still pink, naturally—layered enough that her silhouette was almost spherical. Even though the hrothgar could barely see her features, he could feel the knife-sharp gaze and dire intent she commanded.

“ɪ'ᴍ ᴄᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴ! ʀʏʟᴇɴ, ʏᴏᴜ'ʟʟ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴘᴏɪɴᴛ. ʀᴇx sʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ғᴏʟʟᴏᴡ. ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇsᴛ ᴏғ ᴜs ᴡɪʟʟ ғɪʟᴇ ɪɴ ᴀғᴛᴇʀᴡᴀʀᴅ.” Svaelfyr called in response, urging the highlander to stride towards the open cave they stood before.

He hadn’t been able to see it only a few yalms back; though it was day, a thick blanket of snow-filled grey clouds knit so tightly together in the sky it seemed it could be night, and only the fact that they could see anything at all let them know that the sun was still somewhere beyond. Dustings of white powder whipped upward from drifts and blocked sight for seconds at a time, and it’d been by compass readings and map alone that the group had navigated their way to the entrance of a cave, barely visible for the ramp of snow that almost entirely obscured it. Rex and Rylen went to work channeling out the entrance, and had only gotten a few fulms in when a great beast—the same they had been after—burst through.

A great black-scaled and multi-legged beast plowed through, its movements quite likable to an insect rudely awakened from beneath a damp rock. It scurried along the rock with a midsection that twirled and weaved through thickly packed snow as though it were an afterthought. 

Rex’s instincts proved unerring; with what seemed like barely a split-second’s worth of coiling and crouching upon his legs, he launched himself forward, speartip guided clear into the lower flanks of the beast. As the majority of the group were still struggling to right themselves in the snow, Rylen and Rex were already forcing themselves into the fray. Svaelfyr caught sight of a proffered hand—Zahra’s—and took it to bring himself onto his feet beside her and Rolph.

In a hurry to ensure all heads were accounted for, Svaelfyr scanned his immediate surroundings to find Daedaena, the last upon his list. She was easy to spot.

Eager to exercise newfound skills against a newfound beast, he watched as the air around her raised staff seemed to grow dense and force even the insistent winds away. A soft hiss replaced the howls of the weather as fire heated the air around them and the snow at the lalafell’s feet receded into a wet slurry bathed in the orange-red light of her flames.

Attrition

Page by page, the hrothgar dotted his pencil at a column of his ledgerbook labeled ‘sales’. He sat in the renovated bar of the workshop, the back of his other hand nudging a half-empty bottle of ale out of the way. At his side, Rylen Ashworth sat nearer the wall, leaning his chair back on the back feet as though it was the one activity stemming the tide of his boredom.

“I’m just saying, buddy. That’s a source of income that we’re leaving on the table. You’re trying to get us in the black, right?” The highlander spoke, head leaned backwards enough that he only managed half of the usual eye-contact. Svaelfyr didn’t so much as look up from his book.

“I would rather go destitute.”

⌭ The sun poured in through dust-caked windows. Svaelfyr hadn’t taken the usual effort he spared to keep the place neat and tidy. Instead, he continued dutiful work upon a lathe, rounding out broad, ornate newel posts for a pressing work order. To his left, Rylen remained a couple of paces away, raising his voice to speak above the drone of the machinery.

“But seriously! You’ve been in here for days, haven’t you? You look like a wreck, and your shop’s getting to look that way too. You gotta step away, big guy. Take a breather.”

Svaelfyr focused his attention upon his tools with an unerring determination. “The delivery is next week, and we need the final payment. I’m not stepping away, Rylen.”

Zahra stood nearby this time, too, leaned into the doorway’s frame with her arms folded across her torso. “He’s right, you know. You look awful.”

The hrothgar grumbled, but before he could retort, Rylen rose his voice once more.

“There’s an easy job I found. One day, in-and-out, just looking after some bookish type on their journey. It pays more than you’ll make on this job. I’ve been looking at your contracts, and–”

This time, Svaelfyr interrupted. 

“We are not sellswords!”

⌭

Among the mail scattered on his bedside table, Svaelfyr saw a small folded note, titled with his name and written in script he recognized as C’zahra’s. It was simple in its message:

You shouldn’t be so quick to dismiss all of Rylen’s ideas. They aren’t all great, and some of them aren’t even worth considering, but sometimes he’s right. We both just want to help.

Beneath was an old picture he'd commissioned of the whole crew, back when he’d started the business officially. It was hard to ignore the broad smiles and looks of excitement painted upon faces. It hadn’t been merely artistic expression; he recalled the day. Those smiles were fixed within his memory.

⌭

It was an arduous thing for the hrothgar to do; shifting gears wasn’t just a frightening prospect in itself, it also meant he had come to no small amount of concessions on his own. As such, it wasn’t a great surprise to neither Rylen nor C’zahra when Svaelfyr arrived with a job notice to set in front of them upon the table. The two also knew the correct time to push the man’s buttons, and the times to grant him a moment of pretend dignity. He knew he should’ve considered their advice months ago, and they certainly knew as much themselves. That fact didn’t need driving home, however.

“Up for some outside work?” He asked, as a sheepish smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.

14. Attrition

The partial collapse of the ruined tunnel had caught them by surprise, and the hrothgar’s reflexes weren’t quite quick enough to save his leg from getting caught in the fallen debris. Everything below Svaelfyr’s knee was pinned beneath the rubble, and no amount of struggling on his part (or pulling from the others) would set it free. With the imminent threat of afternoon rainfall flooding the passage, Rylen did everything he could to lift the fallen pillar off of his wounded friend.

There wasn’t any kind of pry bar in sight. He had to resort to getting his hands beneath one edge of the pillar and trying to deadlift just far enough to allow Svaelfyr to pull his crushed appendage free. But no matter how he tried to approach it, and regardless of all the strength he possessed, he just could not get the pillar to budge. After yet another failed attempt, Rylen cursed loud enough for it to echo off of the cavern walls. He then kicked at one of the pebbles and screamed another expletive, in defiance of Svaelfyr’s efforts to keep heads level. “One more time...” C’zahra waited out the highlander’s outburst and spoke in a cool, soothing tone. She had been crouched at Svaelfyr’s side, channeling healing spells into him that were constantly being undone by the crushing force of the fallen pillar. “Count to ten, get your breath back, and go again. We’re with you.” Svaelfyr had one arm draped over his eyes, wincing through bared teeth. It was all he could do to shut out the overwhelming pain as the shock began wearing off. His foot must have still been attached and intact, because he could sure feel the agonizing way its nerve endings screamed at his senses. Anyone can win in a fight when the odds are easy. Rylen did as instructed, pacing the edge of the chamber and breathing deeply to try and center himself. He used the back of his coat to wipe some of the sweat from his hands, then deliberately grabbed some piles of chalky debris in order to coat them in the fine sediment. It’s when the going’s tough, when there seems to be no chance...  “Alright...” He steeled himself with a sigh as he moved to get into position again. Squatting down low, he centered his balance and wrapped his hands beneath his end of the seemingly immovable object. His chest rose and fell with several more deep breaths, and he closed his eyes to try and concentrate. That’s when it really counts. Then, at the very last moment, the familiar warmth of restorative conjury began to fill his senses. C’zahra shifted her focus from Svaelfyr to him, lending her abilities to bolster his efforts. ”You’ve got this, big guy.”  Invigorated, Rylen clenched his jaw and went to work. Every muscle in his body tensed. His back strained to keep straight, and every ounce of power he could spare was devoted to driving with his legs. He ignored every sensation of protest that his body threw back at him, and strained with everything he had.  Even with the presence of the white magic to protect and repair his body, he could feel his consciousness begin to slip. His strained groan rattled through bared teeth and he felt the splitting sensation in his head. And that was when the pillar actually shifted a little bit. The sounds of trickling pebbles helped confirm it to be true. It’s moving! It’s moving! Rylen kept going, letting that motivation drive him.  He could feel his body breaking, and the way that the magic struggled to knit it back together.  Can’t stop now... with this momentum... this might be my last chance! Forgetting to breathe, he continued to strain with everything he had left. More... just a little more! And as a very modest reward for all of his efforts, the pillar finally lifted. Barely.

12. Miss the Boat

With the precious vessel in hand, Rylen frantically raced through the stone passageway, trying desperately to retrace the path they had taken on the way in.  Was it two lefts and a right or three lefts and a right? Mercifully the hallway was devoid of major obstacles, allowing him to focus on the all-out sprint to escape the threats persuing him. The crescendo of heavy thumping footsteps on the stone behind him didn’t make matters any easier.

After scrambling on the stone to round one last corner, the brilliant rays of daylight spilled through the dusty chambers, lighting the way to get outside again. Rylen burst through the opening into the light of day, revealing an expanse of carved stone, a massive balcony jutting out into the canyon beyond it.  A small airship hovered at the edge of the tone structure, with engines already firing and the its anchoring ropes unfastened. Svaelfyr was at the helm, and C’zahra perched at the gangway, holding onto the rigging with an anxious expression. Keeping to the instructions he’d given, the Embers had prepared for take-off, and the ship was inching farther and farther away from the platform already. Rylen had left his weaponry on board the airship, allowing for a little bit more maneuverability, even though his heavy armor still weighed him down. With every step that carried him closer to the ship, another sentinel rounded the corner, adding to the seemingly endless army in pursuit of him. To make matters worse, a couple more dropped down from above, landing with heavy impacts on the stone in order to try blocking his path. Rylen tucked the vessel more securely under his arm and kept running. He had no other options, knowing that the numbers would quickly overwhelm him if he tried to stop and fight them all head-on. He had to get a little creative with the last few enemies in his path. A juke helped him avoid one, and then a spin move to escape the grasp of another. One of them even got close enough that he had to reach out and keep it at arms length with a hard stiff-armed shove to its chest. And from there, it seemed like he was home free. Ignoring the way his muscles protested and the air burned in his lungs, he kept going, leaving the sea of cursed creatures at his back. C’zahra gripped hold of the ship’s edge and stretched out a hand, just as it became clear that the airship’s deck was more than a few yalms away from the platform edge. Time seemed to slow down as Rylen took the last few steps towards the edge. He was going to have to jump. At the very last moment, he made the judgement call to throw the vessel mid-step. It sailed through the air first, crossing the gap as C’zahra put her body in the way to stop it. A loud sound hissed through fanged teeth as she caught the heavy stone chest, letting its force and momentum knock her to the deck. Rylen himself pushed off from the ledge one heartbeat later, and fully extended his body as he reached out for the safety of the ship deck ahead of him. It felt like an eternity spent hanging in the air, and he could almost swear he felt his fingertips brush the wood of the deck. But it wasn’t enough.

9. Yawn

“Did you check the calendar?” Rylen asked, keeping one arm draped over his face while he lounged on one of the outdoor benches. “Yeah.” C’zahra, arranged in a similar sprawl on a different bench, dropped the printed flyer to one side and shifted to a more comfortable position. “Anything good?” “Nope.”

The roll of the distant breeze was the only sound as a prolonged pause hung in the air. Rylen remained motionless, even while offering more suggestions.  “We could go hit up the Gold Saucer.” “Nah.” “Onsen?” “Pass.” The desert sun retreated behind the mountains while it set, painting the sky in a warm spectrum of differing hues. “Too sore for a workout... too late to go fish...” Rylen mused out loud. “What about something to eat?” C’zahra’s eyes remained closed, but one of her ears perked straight up at that suggestion. “What were you thinking?” “I don’t know, something close by.” The highlander finally lifted his arm out of the way, allowing him to look straight up at the clouds above. “Maybe burgers?” Another quiet pause ensued. C’zahra’s tail idly flicked while she considered the idea. Then finally, she delivered her verdict. “Only if you go pick them up.”

8. Tepid

Rylen’s brow furrowed as he studied the new garment he’d been presented with.  He didn’t know what to think of it. He’d needed a new piece of light armor to wear. Reinforced leather with enough protection for standard adventuring, but without the full weight of his heavy armor. Something he could wear more comfortably on a more regular basis. Additionally, he needed something a little bit warmer than the old sleeveless coat with the hood he usually wore. A lot of his Wulves missions in particular had led him out into Coerthas, and his regular gear left far too much skin exposed to the frigid winds.

The item he’d received checked all the boxes he’d been searching for, but didn’t seem to match his usual preferred style. Something about it seemed a little off, and didn’t incite the kind of excitement he had hoped to feel while looking at it. Black, form fitting and flexible, the jerkin had a somewhat militant look to its design. The high collar and metallic fittings reminded him of something more in line with imperial fashions than he felt comfortable with. It seemed so... noble? All of the extra pockets and buckles reminded him more of the kind of utility a machinist would favor, and was that a holster for a sidearm on the hip? With a sigh, Rylen grabbed the coat from its hangar and undressed to try it on anyway. The trepidation continued even as he stepped outside into the main lobby of the Embers Workshop. Finding a suitably large mirror to stand in front of, he spun around a few times, sizing up his own reflection. It was certainly comfortable, at least. Warm, without being stifling. There was room where he needed it, and snugness in the right spots too. He turned around a few times, then put his hands on his hips and stared back at himself from over his shoulder. His powerful glutes were partially obscured by the hanging fabric on one side (though maybe that was for the best.) After a short pause, he abruptly turned to flex his upper body in various poses, deliberately trying to stress the integrity of the garment in doing so. It expanded and released just right, accommodating even the tensing of his trap muscles at the back. Grinning at his own reflection, he almost missed the moment when C’zahra entered the room. She strode up, silently, and gave the leather sleeve on his arm a single poke. A look of concentration knitted her features while she studied the material. “What do you think?” Rylen asked with a raised brow. C’zahra gave him an ambivalent shrug, then turned to leave. “Not bad.” Rylen turned back to the mirror one more time and gave his belt a slight tug. He spent a few moments playing with the collar, still unsure about that component, though he certainly appreciated the way the material framed his shoulders. “Is that new?” A new voice cut through the room’s silence from the back. Rylen had to suppress the urge to jump out of his skin, glancing back to register Norah watching him with folded arms. “Yeah.” Recovering from his shock, he smoothed a hand down his front and cleared his throat. “Figured it was time.” “I like it.” She stated in a matter-of-fact tone before leaving again. And just like that, his opinion of the coat grew a little more favorable.  “Yeah, alright. I think I can work with this.”

7. Pawn

Rylen’s heavy armor rattled with each step as he led the charge through the crumbling corridors of the abandoned garrison. He kept his shield raised and his sword arm at his side, hustling at a brisk pace while trying to keep his eyes peeled for any obvious traps or obstacles along the way. Pixie sprinted along at his side, chakrams held out in outstretched arms that trailed behind her. Her rhythms had helped to enhance the group’s ground speed, helping to make up for their foe’s enhanced abilities during the pursuit. C’zahra and Svaelfyr kept up a few paces behind. Evidence of a long ordeal was visible on all of their gear, with scorches and rends marring the various pieces of armor.

The hallway opened up before them, revealing a widened chamber that trapped their fleeing target in a dead end. The hooded figure halted before the featureless stone wall, then turned to regard the party of adventurers that approached them. Rylen had no intention of slowing down, and lowered his shoulder in order to try and barrel into the robed figure, shield first. Before he could get close though, a wall of aetherically charged crimson flames shot up from the stone floor. The spell bisected the room, dense enough to repel the barrage of ranged attacks that the other three loosed upon their hooded foe. "Not another step, plundering filth...” A sinister, unnaturally enhanced voice called out from beyond the flames. “Oh would you give it up already!?” Rylen growled through a clenched jaw, pacing along the wall of flames and occasionally striking at it with his blade, to no avail. “You’re outnumbered and out-gunned.” Svaelfyr reasoned, while cocking his handgun or effect.  “All we want is the stone! Lay it down and you can leave here with your life.” C’zahra added, weary frustration evident in her voice. “Is that all?” The voice broke into a sickening laugh that echoed throughout musty chamber. Slowly the intense wall of flames began to recede. As the aetheric obstacle rescinded, the party was greeted by an entirely new sight. The hooded figure was joined by the presence of four new summoned companions. Quadrupedal creatures resembling carbuncles with bared fangs and much more hulking, feral figures. The companions were tinted an unnatural violet hue, with a smokey quality that billowed around their forms. “That’s new...” Rylen commented, readying up for the final clash that awaited. “Come and take it...” The foe taunted, closing his grimoire with an audible snap.

6. Ornerous

Even after a morning spent in rigorous strength training, Rylen still had plenty of energy to spare. His schedule happened to be wide open on that particular day as well. So as soon as he finished showering and loading up on an enormous protein-rich breakfast, he headed to the Embers Workshop in order to interrupt any semblance of peace that could still be found in the place. Marching up the stairs, he headed right for Zahra’s loft, whistling merrily as he went. Maybe he could convince her to join him for a little fishing outing for the day? Or to help scope out some new bounty opportunities?

Ignoring the important step of knocking, Rylen pushed on the unlocked door and waltzed right on in there. “Hey buddy! Do y-” “No.” C’zahra answered from her hunched position at her desk, without even looking up from the ledger she was busy writing in. “Okay!” Rylen immediately turned on his heel to spin around and march right back out again. C’zahra shook her head and ruled a new line on the page, overhearing his boisterous footsteps tromping back down the stairs in search of a new target.

1. Cross

“Alright, let’s see the stance.” Rylen slowly paced around the newly constructed practice ring, keeping his eyes fixed on his pupil. Svaelfyr cricked his neck to one side before shifting to adopt a defensive position, balling his hands into fists. “Like this?” “Turn a little bit more.” Rylen corrected, “Get that left foot more forward, and your hands closer to your face.” Svaelfyr adjusted as instructed. To no one’s surprise, he was a very quick study.

“Better.” Rylen nodded, “Imagine biting the tips of both of your thumbs, that’s how close you want them to be.” “Do I have to actually bite them?” Svaelfyr asked with a frown. “No. Not today, at least.” Rylen chuckled, “It’s actually not a bad drill if you need to correct yourself though.” “Noted.” “Alright, so the first punch is real simple. The jab.”  Rylen began to slip on his leather striking pads. “You strike with your leading side, and keep your balance. So in this case, that’s your left arm. Nothing too crazy, just out and back, real sharp.” Rylen held up one of the strike pads and gave the Hrothgar a nod. “Alright, now jab.” Svaelfyr extended his arm and hit the pad as requested, keeping a focused look on his face. Though his form was a little shaky, there was clearly a lot of strength and potential there. “Jab. Jab.” Rylen got him to repeat the action several times, calling it out each time and getting an answer in the form of the punches that thumped modestly against the leather pad he held. “Next one’s pretty simple too.” Rylen proceeded, still circling the ring in slow pacing steps. “For this one, you punch with the other arm, the one in line with your rear leg. You pivot with your back foot, turn your hips, then your shoulders. You want to keep it quick and sharp like the jab while also putting more of your body into it.” “And what’s this one called?” Svaelfyr asked. “The straight.” Rylen answered, raising the striking pad for another drill. “Sometimes known as the cross.” Svaelfyr nodded and raised his fists, readily. “Straight! Straight!” Again, Rylen called out the punches, and Svaelfyr delivered them as requested. Soon enough the lesson progressed into simple combos. “Jab... Jab... Straight!” Rylen called it out over and over again, “Jab... Jab... Straight!” He kept it going until the lactic acid had started to build up and the hrothgar began to show his fatigue. ”Don’t tell me you’re tired already!” In the background, a very bored looking Zahra lounged on the sofa and turned over a new page in her book.