Javal stood where he had delivered his punch, his eyes glancing at Cyran as he hit the wall, “Pathetic old man knows your place”, the fellblood said in a calm and uninterested tone, a far cry from his normal way of talking although his voice stayed the same.



He ignored the other man’s apology and just glared down at himself now towering over Cyran as a result of his transformation growing another foot. Uriel’s visage stayed holding her hands on his shoulders still face filled with confusion and slight interest at her champion’s new attitude towards his supposed ‘friend’.



He then turned around as he saw Cyran send out shadows looking at the room awaiting the appearance of another one of his shadow doubles. He was surprised to see the caltrops that he narrowly missed earlier rise from the floor and hover before launching straight at his vital points.



“Good one, kid, looks like you are masterfully playin’ dirty”, he quickly slammed his fists into the ground in front of him summoning a wall of ice (1) to protect his most vital spots his face and his chest, and abdomen although taking about thirty caltrops to his back and sides.



He staggered back already feeling the effects of paralysis having difficulty moving his feet in the way he wanted. Javal had no time to move and dodge Cyran’s incoming stab to his torso and just took it straight, grinning widely as he still felt the paralysis.



The fellblood listens to the voice in his head, the normal Javal is unable to hear it currently in a state of consciousness as someone, something is controlling his body.



The fellblood snarled before exclaiming, “Snap out of this before you make me? Who do you think you are? I’m going to snap you”.



He then smirks as he sees that Cyran is close enough for an attack, he clasps his hands together and suddenly his arms are surrounded by a water and shaped into a long tendril like whip (2) he whips at Cyran before wrapping the water whip around Cyran’s leg pulling him to the floor.

---

1. Glacial Wall
2. Water Whip

- And the voice that resonated in Cyran’s mind was certainly not Javal’s. In the realm of the mind, there was no physical voice speaking, but the words lacked Javal’s tone and inflection, all the friendliness replaced with cruelty and disdain. Not an ounce of recognition or friendship rested behind those eyes, no trace of the young man Cyran knew. It had all been stamped down by whatever parasite this was, controlling his movements and stoking the fire of competition. It was as if of Javal’s fighting spirit had been cruelly warped, twisted beyond recognition. But by whom, or what? Something intrinsic told him this was not the work of the angel. But if that was the case, what could possibly have…?

No - now was not the time nor place. Cyran could speculate later. Right now, he had to figure out how to purge this stranger.

The assassin’s face sharpened, any traces of hesitation evaporated with the realization that the man in front of him was not Javal at all. If that was the case, then there existed no reason for him to hold back, when his opponent was not granting him the same mercy. This light spar had become a battle to the death - where Cyran had to stop this creature or die trying.

He remained silent in response to the provocation, breaking the mental link between himself and Javal’s body. The Specter was not in the mood for wasting his breath dignifying the man’s provocation with a response. He was far too old to be ruffled by someone’s attempts to rile him up, get him off his guard. In contrast to the uncertainty and anguish that had plagued him only moments before, the Specter was utterly and truly calm. Silent as the shadows; a thief in the night.

He raised his hand and clenched it into a fist, pulling at the shadows to halt the water whip before it could wrap around his leg.^[1] Without the mana to keep it moving, the water splashed to the ground, nothing more than a puddle. Cyran ignored it, holding out his hand, plucking a dagger straight from the darkness. Not one of his usual blades, but one that was studier, heavier, its metal singing with the kiss of cold iron.^[2] Wraithsbane. Del’s engagement gift to him, a blade forged in the shadow to cut through the very darkness.

Cyran closed his eyes, brought the blade to his face and pressed a chaste kiss to the side of the hilt.

Even when she was not here, Del’s presence was felt. Protecting him from harm. And right now, that meant ridding Javal of this parasite.

He had to end this; now.

The blood-stained ice-blade on Cyran’s arm crumbled away, giving him full range of movement and dexterity. He twirled the dagger between nimble fingertips, flicking it straight at Javal’s throat - that was just fine if he dodged.^[3] It was just another tricky feint to distract him for Cyran to raise both hands, fingers extended, murmuring a spell in elvish under his breath.^[4] The darkness stirred under him, dark rot gathering in each fingertip as he leveled one blast of pure, dark energy to the left or right, limiting not-Javal’s movement.^[5] Boxing him into one small space, while Wraithsbane completed its arc behind him and Cyran charged from the front.

---

1. Counterspell
2. Summon: Possession
3. Boomerang Arc
4. Dual Cast
5. Chaos Bolt (x2)

There was currently a faint smile on Javal’s face, one of amusement as Cyran had turned his water whip into nothing more than just a puddle of water on the floor.



He laughed, “Good one kid, I bet you feel real great and strong don’t ya? Well, lemme tell you something, I’m way older than you. I’ve beaten guys bigger, stronger, and smarter than you so don’t think you’re anything special alright?”.



He chuckled as he saw Cyran kiss his newly summoned blade, “Oh what shadow boy? Think kissing your little dagger will do anything huh? Maybe if you love it more it’ll give you strength, don’t make me laugh”.



The fellblood stared down Cyran's into his very soul and didn’t break eye contact even as the dagger came swiftly towards his throat. He opened his mouth wide and spewed a cone of ice (^{1. Ice Drake Gland}) right in front of him causing the blade meant for his throat to drop to the floor.



He watched in amusement as the elven man summoned two beams of dark energy towards his left and right side although missing Javal's head still managing to hit his arms and legs. He shuddered as he felt the impact, a dark isolating feeling begging to enter his soul before being quickly pushed out by a feeling of warmth and justice thanks to his celestial Patron, Uriel.



“You know what kid? I grow tired of these little games you’re playing”, he waved his hand towards the puddle manipulating it into the air and shaping it into a pair of sea tendrils (^{2. Sea Tendrils}) one striking and binding Cyran’s torso pulling him backwards and the other one moving behind him to catch the wraith bane in its grasp.



He then held his arms to his core for a minute gathering the water in the air around him before releasing a strong wave of water (^{3. Smashing Wave}) straight at Cyran.

---

1. Ice Breath (Drake Gland)

2. Sea Tendrils

3. Smashing Wave

Cyran’s face was stony and silent, murderous in response to not-Javal’s provocations. He was past words now, past allowing this leech to worm its way into his head and throw him off guard. Lips pressed together, he retreated as not-Javal let out a slurry of ice-breath, stopping his assault in its tracks. Cyran didn’t even hesitate a second to go on the defensive.

At the very same instant the monster in fellblood skin summoned whips of arcane water, Cyran called forth the shadows, which draped over him protectively - the tendrils bounced harmlessly off of him, allowing Cyran to run through the wave, smashing through the water like paper.^[1]. He wrenched his hand to the side, sweeping Wraithsbane away from the second water tendril, the knife clattering harmlessly to the side where not-Javal couldn’t touch it.^[2]

Whispering a mental apology to his friend, Cyran wrapped his hand around Javal’s fucking throat, his shadow-clad hand caustic to the touch, poison seeping into not-Javal’s skin.^[3] A reckless move, but he had to act - and hope that even if he hurt Javal, he would be able to heal his friend later. Right now was not the time for softness and hesitance. Right now was the time to grip hard to that cold anger, and force this thing out of his friend.

---

1. Black Shield
2. Telekinesis
3. Toxic Touch

Not-Javal’s eyes grew wide in shock and delight as he saw Cyran finally lose his control and finally go for his true unadulterated assassin ways. He felt the man’s hands wrap around his throat tightly as well as the poison that he infected him with.



The fellblood laughed as hard as he could through batted breaths as his throat felt tighter and tighter. He stared widely into the elf man’s eyes pushing through the pain feeling his rage (_{1. Berserker's Rage}) overtake any feeling of discomfort or injury. Feeling the aftereffects of this battle wasn’t going to be his problem so why would he care about it now?



He smiled and headbutted Cyran with as much force as he could before touching the man’s back with his glowing hand causing him to glow and float (^{2. Fairy Dust}) in the air.



“I’m sure you saw this one before but now it’s my version”, as Cyran was suspended in the air he brought his clasped together fists down in his chest once more smashing him into the wooden floor.



He then brought his fists to the floor next to Cyran causing another block of ice (^{3. Glacial Wall}) to rise hoping to launch him back into the air again.



“This is starting to get boring, little man, come on, give me something a little more or I’m gonna be sleeping soon”, he snarled.

That same move again, the weightless sensation that gripped him. Cyran hovered a few inches off the ground, caught off guard - but this time, he knew what was coming. This thing might have not had Javal’s kind demeanor or his strength, all buried beneath layers of cruelty and murderous intent - but they moved exactly the same. The only difference was that there was a ferocity to his movements, a desperate need for violence so prevalent it was almost pathological.

And this time, Cyran knew to expect the incoming blow.

Blink, and he was behind not-Javal, the fellblood’s fist sailing through the air.^[1] The shimmering ice of the glacial wall that jutted up from the ground would have given him full view of the assassin behind him, Spell Slicer and Cold Steel raised in the air, one in each hand, shimmering reflection the only warning not-Javal would get before Cyran spun, a glint of deadly silver and steel, a reckoning packaged in a whirlwind and determined to put an end of this once and for all.^[2,3]

---

1. Blink
2. Summon: Possession - fighting knives
3. Cyran’s Haunting Blade

wood floor like he was earlier only faintly hearing a whoosh sound and flash as he slammed his fists into the ground.



He looked into the translucent wall in front of him expecting to somehow see Cyran behind the wall only to see his reflection right behind him, blades raised and ready to end this.



He snarled as he spun around katana in hand and held his other hand over the large gash on his arm creating another katana from his blood (1) this one bright red. He raised them over his head before saying, “Perfect give this last thing everything you got kid, I know I certainly will. This damned brat holds back so fucking much it hurts me to see. This kids fucking stupid and weak beyond damned belief. As a result he’ll never get far or stronger in his entire life, all he’ll end up being is some chump like you and pointy beard over there, not handsome and strong like me. It makes my blood boil to think I'm stuck to this sack of weakness by force”.



His katana Theseus glowed a bright ethereal light around it as the runes on its blade shone a brilliant blue he waved both blades around almost rhythmically (2) charging its sharpness before swinging both with fury (3) straight at Cyran’s chest with a wide slash, shouting, “Finishing Move: Hell’s Damned Rising Edge” (4).

---

1. Crimson Armaments

2. Blade Dance

3. Berserker I-Sweeping Fury

4. Blood Sword Slash & Katana Slash (Water Rune, Bull’s Strength, Double Strike)

One-two-three, along not-Javal’s body like a waltz. It disoriented the taller man enough for Cyran to retreat, boots scuffing where he touched the wooden floor panels and leapt backwards. Not-Javal was bleeding now, crimson dripping from the neat gashes in his arm wrought by Cyran’s clean handiwork. Lips parted in a feral snarl, he clawed at his hand as if to rip the injury off of himself - and in a single fluid movement pulled a second blade out of his body, made from his own blood.

Cyran shuddered. He recognized that spell well.

The fury of this beast simmered in the air, each word from its mouth like acid. Cyran kept his lips pursed together, his own hate like hell frozen over. Cyran was not the kind of man to get explosive in the face of something he despised. It was snow and layers of ever-present shadows lingering in dark corners. Silent. And Cyran would not rise to this man’s provocations, even if he so despite the cruel manner with which this thing spoke of his dear friend.

Javal was a good kid. And a strong one. Not in his physical prowess - though he possessed that in spades - but in his passion and capacity for kindness. He learned to fight, seemingly for the sake of it. Because it was fun and gave him discipline. And Cyran would wrench him from this thing’s clutches no matter what it took.

“Okay.” He murmured, twirling Spell Slicer and Cold Steel in his hands once more.

And he met the man’s challenge head-on.

With no tricks and no stealth to aid him on, Cyran was not as strong. He was speed and precision and none of the brute force not-Javal carried. But he had not spent so much time around brawlers without learning how to hone what little power he had. With the force of Del’s strength behind him, he tugged on that little bit of her soul within his own, the piece of her that was always by his side. Like muscle memory forged from magic and careful observation, he adjusted his stance, less a rogue and more a brawler.

And Cyran dropped his knives.

He wouldn’t be able to dodge one hit, not with not-Javal’s fancy footwork. That was fine with him. Pain was secondary so long as one was still alive to breathe and recover from it. Cyran was intimately familiar with death and the permanence of it. He just had to step closer, within not-Javal’s range; twisted to the side, earning a nasty slice along the length of his arm that cut to the bone - ignored the pain, grit his teeth. And in the same manner as he’d seen Del perform countless times before, he extended his hand with his fingers pointed like a blade, aimed to break the bastard’s neck with a well-placed blow at the same time not-Javal brought the second sword down at his chest. Mutually assured destruction, and Cyran would not be the one to back down first.^[1]

---

1. Del’s Eternity Ring - Sting like a Bee

“That’s more than enough”, a loud booming voice erupts as a bright flash of yellow emerges from the table where Ronrik was sitting and appears in the middle of the two fighters.



He holds Javal’s two blades with his pinky finger and his thumb while his other hand is wrapped around Cyran’s fist. He quickly rips the fellblood’s blades from his hands in almost a second wielding both one in his left arm and the other tucked under his armpit. He flips Theseus the blade he's holding in his hand to its butt and slams it into the back of Javal’s head, dropping him to the floor unconscious. He then twists Cyran’s fist against him and makes himself punch his own face.



He then brings the two down to the floor holding their hands as he does so letting go as both now lay on the floor.


“That was much much too far, and I mean for the both of you. What were you even thinking right now? You’re friends knuckleheads so act like it”, he then balls his hands into fists and hits the backs of their heads with some tough love.



He sits back on his hands and sighs before chuckling softly, “Heh, looks like I have my work cut out for me huh? If I'm the one who’s being tasked with teaching such moronic students like you two”.



His expression softens a bit “Seriously though, both of you did very well in that spar although it did get too wild and out of control towards the end. You both have shown me your strengths and weaknesses, I have learned a lot about what we must do to get you two to be stronger”.



Ronrik then glances at Cyran, “Cyran your performance was great, your quick thinking and evasiveness showed through in this fight. You're agile and were able to tear apart Javal’s defenses quickly while also using your environment to your advantage. You need more technique and power though to be able to stand against opponents like Javal or anyone else that’s really that strong. We should also work on improving what you already have, that quick assassin skill and knife work could be vastly improved. I’m not sure what else I can teach you to improve your umbramancy but I do have a couple of ideas to make you think of it differently”.



He then glances at Javal and says, “Javal you were also great. Each movement you made was strong and true with good swordsmanship to back it up. Your sea magic and other tricky maneuvers like that ice wall were a good way to combat Cyran’s shadows. You although struggled in terms of creativity I saw you repeat some of the same moves a couple of times and you weren’t able to reproduce the rest of Hero Style techniques that make up your own swordsmanship, it seems you’ll need a refresher maybe Cyran could learn that too”, he looks like he was about to say something else before he then glances over to his blue pupil noticing he was loudly snoring completely knocked out.

In the heat of battle it was easy to forget that Javal’s teacher, of all people, had been watching this with a critical eye. He only remembered as he heard the voice, and the hand that sought to make him punch himself in the face. Cyran took the blow with grace, though he twisted himself so he only punched his other shoulder rather than his cheek. Javal, or whoever it was now, was not so lucky. He crumpled to the floor and Cyran hoped that unconsciousness would bring the young man back from his uncanny possession.

He summoned Wraithsbane into his hand and tucked his blade into his belt as Ronrick scolded the both of them, lips pursed in a thin line. A wave of his hand scooped the remaining caltrops into the air, tucking them back in his bag. Ronrick’s tone was admonishing, a master scolding his impudent children. He was not especially guilty about what he’d done - losing control in battle implied he’d not been in his faculties as it got worse.

He wiped a little bit of blood off his arm where the bone-deep gash was making him a little woozy. Javal had truly done a number on him. He could bandage it after he made certain Javal was okay - for now, he dipped into a stiff bow, equal parts frosty and polite. “With all due respect master, that stopped being a spar minutes ago and started being a real battle. It appears your student is not in complete control of his faculties. I acted in self defense.”

He straightened, chest still heaving from the adrenaline of battle. He was truly getting old. Part of him melted at Ronrick’s appraisal of his abilities… not a bad job for someone who was an entirely self-taught assassin; though he was still wary. An attentive teacher he seemed to be, but Cyran still didn’t trust the way he’d not seen the signs of that malignancy in his student.

“I am honored by your appraisal of my skills. Thank you.”

He swept past Ronrick and dropped to his knees at Javal’s side. Cool fingers pressed against his forehead, searching for any warmth or trace of the bastard that might have remained. Javal’s breathing was steady, normal. Cyran reached for the long, silver chain around his neck and tilted Javal’s head, careful to administer the essence of the North Star without choking him. That should take care of the wounds Cyran had inflicted.^[1] Not tearing his gaze away from the young fellblood as Cyran gently cleaned his wounds, he spoke. A little quieter, a little less gentle in his manner of speech.

“I hope you know I mean no disrespect when I say this, and I know you’ve plenty of experience raising students and releasing them in the world. But it might be prudent of you to keep a more careful eye on whatever they’re getting into. Swordsmanship is more than just imparting the bladework. Javal has battle prowess in spades. But he needs discipline, temperance. Or else whatever has wormed its way into his mind will swallow him entirely.”

---

1. Essence of the North - given to Javal

The gnome fellow scoffs before shrugging, “That’s fair I probably should’ve stepped in earlier to stop his rampage. My apologies kiddo I just got a little curious, I haven’t seen Javal quite like that before honestly. I would’ve thought he’d snap out of it like the times he had before. Whatever this thing was there wasn’t a trace of the fellblood’s usual warmness and vibrance in his movements. As for Javal’s training, he’s fine at least he was before this battle, whenever I’ve seen him enter that state it’s never been anything like this before. Usually, he’d just get a faint yellow aura around his body and enter a more reckless state of mind. I’ve never heard a voice like that come from him before, not something so cruel. Apologies again but this isn’t a problem with my training itself I think there's a deeper problem at hand. Whatever it was that happened, it seemed to make the presence inside of Javal grow almost wholeheartedly. I knew he had some temper issues from the story of Javal’s first outburst. Once as a kid, Javal had rescued his siblings from the clutches of a snotty noble bully, everything was fine until that bully insulted his father and told him he’d left them because of him. At that moment Javal beat the bully into a blood pulp. As soon as he realized what happened he ran to the local physician’s office and begged for forgiveness. Everything was fine after and when I asked his mother she just said it was some dark impulses he’d been born with. I thought everything was fine once I taught him, he learned discipline and honor in spades. Probably my best student in terms of morals and ethics but I didn’t think this would happen. I’m not a telepath or anything like that so I can’t give a solution all besides training for that, I know is that somethings in there”, Ronrik says as he takes off his bifocals revealing once more his blind eyes, “Something not good for anyone”.



Over with Javal, he lays in sleep in a dreamlike state as he enters a foggy dojo sitting across something that likes. Before he could say another word the figure just snarls at him in anger and says, “Leave me alone, shut the fuck up and go back” and punches him in the face. He then gasps for air as he sits up to full consciousness, his head wild with dreams and thoughts confused and horrified at what happened.



As Javal wakes up loud footsteps creaking on the wooden stairs can be heard as a woman’s gruff voice shouts, “What the fuck happened? I was in the middle of making a damned invisibility potion for Grinlin’s order when the whole building was shaken and cause me to knock it over”, then a beautiful toned orc woman with a large white strand in her hair stands before the fellows her right hand currently not visible.

Master Ronrik’s apology dimmed Cyran’s frustration, but did not quell it entirely. “So you’ve seen him like this before, then…” He trailed off, the back of his hand a cool, gentle press against Javal’s forehead. It was warm, though most were warmer than the assassin. He remained silent, lips pressed in a thin like while the master spoke.

He ought to have minded his tongue - Javal was not Cyran’s student, and they’d only been friends for a short few months as opposed to the years that Javal had spent under Ronrik’s watchful eye. But things did not look like they were getting better. Whatever that person was, it was a twisted recollection of Javal Zarrias’s base instincts. Strength morphed into aggression, exuberance to cockiness. If it had started out as a mere aura, a whisper in the wind - if Ronrick had never heard the voice -

If, if, if.

What mattered was that something was irrevocably wrong with Javal, and if they just brushed it under the rug, then there probably would not be a Javal to keep safe in a few years, or even months, time.

“If this has gotten to the point where he can’t snap out of it then I don’t think continuing to impart swordsmanship on him is a good idea. Look what just happened.” Cyran swept his hand through the air, across the destruction caused by their clash. Slash marks from blades and holy, burning light - rot seeping into the walls from dark magic, and water stains leaking into every available surface.

“I do not doubt you care about Javal… and I understand that there are some forces outside of our mortal control. Dark forces we cannot even begin to comprehend.” He ran the thumb of his left hand across his palm, where pale scars webbed across his hands. “And if this is something that Javal was born with, then it’s all the harder to get rid of it. Perhaps it is impossible. But the solution, in my experience, does not lay in giving him the chance to get lost in that aggression. He needs balance. Mindfulness. The strength of mind and body, in tandem. That way he can develop the proper mental wards and actually combat the presence in his brain.”

He stood as Javal groaned, lingering on the edges of consciousness.

“You were curious about my umbramancy earlier. I do not deny there is a negative connotation associated with the magic I practice - I did not even seek to learn it myself. But what you perhaps view as me holding back, is my temperance. I have seen what happens when one gives into that temptations without any limitations. My wife once succumbed to that dark magic in the pursuit of power, opened her mind to the entity that claimed her body and soul. I keep myself in check so it doesn’t happen to me. And I don’t want it to happen to Javal.”

With a start, Cyran paused - realizing that his protectiveness had gotten the better of him. He bowed, eyes trained on the floor.

“As his teacher, you are free to train him as you see fit. But I would be remiss if I did not voice my thoughts. As Javal’s friend, and a teacher to two wonderful students myself.”

It was at that moment that Javal finally startled awake.

Cyran flew to his side, worried. “Javal? Oh, thank goodness you’re alright. I’m sorry about your arm, I didn’t mean to-”

Of course, whatever he’d been about to say was interrupted by the sound of thudding footsteps, threatening to break the thin wood of the dojo with each long stride. Cyran stiffened, ready to reach for his dagger, but Ronrik’s nonchalant posture said this was an ordinary occurrence, so he stood down. A few seconds later, a sizeable orc woman made her way to the door, gruff voice rattling the panes as she spoke.

And Cyran damn near about had a heart attack.

This was Ronrik’s wife, the deadly ninja and master of stealth?

It was only the fact that he’d already had one harrowing battle that the poor man hadn’t passed out at the sight of her. Bowing his head in apology, Cyran stammered, “T… Terribly sorry to disrupt your work, Ma’am. I shall endeavor to remain quiet in the future.”

Ronrik placed his hand on his chin as he listened to Cyran’s criticism and thought about it for a minute before saying, “I wholeheartedly disagree with you Cyran, Javal has been my student since he was age nine. He’s always been eager to learn and respects discipline, his my most successful pupil, don’t tell him that though it’d make his head too big. Swordsmanship is something you can’t unlearn even if I stopped here doesn’t mean he would. It’s a vital part of him because a part of your person is like any swordsman, his blade is an extension of himself, if you take that away from him it’d be like taking a limb from him. I’d assume that’d make him upset knowing just how much he enjoys fighting and his blade. We wouldn't want him upset now, would we? That and what stops him from going to another teacher if I stop? Why give him a worse teacher if he’s learning from the best right here? I don’t care about dark forces, trust me I don’t, I know exactly the way I’m going to die, I want to impart and leave something of myself in this world before I leave. All my other students have become vainful and overconfident, Javal’s all I have left in terms of legacy so at least let this old bag of bones have this. Those dark impulses are indeed going to be a problem, I know they will but seeking balance is what I'm trying to give him. My training doesn’t just involve punching rocks until you get stronger, keeping your spirit and mind at peace is important too. I’ve fought opponents that had the power to destroy the world and won not because I’m strong although I am, I’m strong because of my spirit. It’s that same spirit that Javal has. I believe in him, not my training. I'm just giving him the tools to become more balanced. I trust him and support him enough to be able to beat this internal evil. I ask you to do the same. Although I agree with some of your points, fundamentally I believe in what I said”, he says with pride.



Suddenly the orc woman runs through shoving Cyran out of the way, almost throwing him to the floor with her strength, and kneels to a waking Javal.



She then shouts in a wholly angry tone “WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED HERE? RONRIK YOU BETTER HAVE SOME EXPLANATION FOR THIS BEFORE I BEAT THE EVER LOVING SHIT OUT OF YOU AND FEATHER BOY HERE SENSELESS”.



He picks up Javal and carries him in her hands as she glares at Cyran right into his soul before shifting her sight to her husband tapping her feet and waiting for a response.



“Why hello there honey, my precious, my treasure, remember what I said about Javal visiting with a friend interested in training? Well, I just had them have a light spar to see what we’d be working with. It got just a little out of hand and led to both of them almost killing each other. I’m sorry for disturbing you my sweet and for all of this mess it was on me alone, I should’ve been more careful I just got too excited watching”.



The woman huffs and grunts before saying, “Fucking hell Ronrik be careful my love although I know that fighting each other almost to death is a great way to get stronger, since that’s the way we met, having these two chickens duke it out is just not good. I forgive you I just ask you to be more careful”, she then softens her gaze as he looks at Cyran walking over and patting him on the back. She then grabs him, carries both him and Javal under her arms, and walks up the stairs with Ronrik trailing behind.



“Alright, Ronrik’s had you two numbskulls beaten half to death, it’s my job here to patch you up as the street’s local physician. Let’s just walk up the stairs into my office and get you two patched up”.

It was difficult for Cyran not to feel as if his caution had been dismissed, tossed aside like an unwelcome housewarming gift. He pursed his lips. It did not sound like Ronrick was considering balance in Javal’s training when he was still so dead set on furthering Javal’s swordwork. One could not call a spade anything other than a spade.

Yet he was not the one who was Javal’s teacher. He was merely a concerned friend and he was all too entirely aware that his opinion as an equal and an adult had been forfeit when he agreed to train as a temporary student. Still; it grated.

He held his tongue.

“The master knows what is best.” He intoned, as politely as he could manage and hoped that the conversation was dropped. It did little to abate his own worries. There was a fine line between confidence and one’s skills and an abundance thereof. He only hoped that this case did not prove to be the latter.

He fell silent while Ronrik spoke with his wife, entire demeanor changing to something terribly smitten. At least that much the two of them had in common. He stiffened when he was suddenly picked up and hoisted in the air like a kitten held aloft by their scruff; he moved to protest before realizing it was the orc warrior, and forced himself to relax.

“Erm… okay. Thank you.” He could not deny, now that battle adrenaline was ebbing, that the pain was beginning to set in. His arm was gashed up, and Javal had done a number on him with his katana. He’d remained conscious while Javal fell under, but he was beginning to creep towards that dim, hazy state himself.

The orc woman quickly ran up the stairs as fast as she could, having the two adventurers under her arms jogging up the stairs from the dojo to the shop’s previous floor to a third floor that looked drastically different. It was surprisingly cleaner and more organized looking than the last two. Several bookshelves were filled, beakers with caps, medical instruments, and two regular-looking beds. She quickly throws a half-awake Javal into the air before catching him once more and gently laying him on one on the left side of the room before walking to the other side of the room and doing the same for Cyran. She sat down at her desk, an organized one with notebooks and a strange uncorked blue liquid that she was presumably working on.



“Hmmmm”, she hummed as she placed on her bifocals and took out a notebook before grabbing a chair and scooting over to Javal.



“Let’s see”, she said as she examined him fully first holding up his head by the chin and looking into his eye, “Head trauma on the right side of his head”, before lowering and saying, “Choke marks on the neck”, and lowering once more “Several broken ribs, signs of cuts on the arms, a very large gash on his right arm”, before finally lowering her focus again, “bruising on the legs”.



She raised her bifocals and winced, “Ughhhh, WHAT THE HELL DID YOU FUCKERS DO?”, she quickly gave the fellblood a light hug. She was the one who’d treated Javal and his close ones for years even being the physician in charge of the noble incident, she’d been used to Javal getting scraps here and there but nothing in comparison to this.



She quickly zoomed around the room looking for unmarked potions, grabbing a healing kit off the wall, and getting to work on treating Javal. After rigorous and careful work surprising coming from such a rough and tough-looking woman the fellblood is patched up pretty quickly, he’s now just lying down on the bed getting some rest.



She shifts his attention to Cyran and scotts her chair over to him as she starts examining him, “Hmmmmm got a name, tiny boy?”, she says as she holds his head by the chin examining his injuries.