Adventure of Artania Nero Thornson 2

Artania reaches the guild’s trading field with Al at his side. The tethered Brass Farm Token floats safely beyond his burned palm, tugging gently eastward.

Marked sparring lanes cross the packed earth beside weighted practice stones and climbing frames. At the far end, warded circles provide open space for controlled spellwork.

Brunna Coppervein trains nearby, striking a suspended weight with a short practice hammer. Maelin Voss watches from the field’s edge, her ledger tucked beneath one arm.

The token’s hooked mark gives one faint tug toward the guild’s records quarter, then settles. For a moment, the eastern passage and the unresolved diplomatic danger feel linked.

Artania launches across the packed field without drawing on magic. The tethered Brass Farm Token swings behind him as he reaches the first climbing frame and hauls himself upward.

He crosses the beams, drops to the rope traverse, and drives through the final hanging bars in a single rapid sequence. His boots strike the marked landing inside the required boundary.

The last descent costs him: his burned palm catches briefly against rough wood, tearing fresh linen and reopening the shallow cut. Blood beads beneath the bandage, but he remains upright.

The floating token jerks against its tether from the sudden motion, then steadies beyond his injured hand. Al watches from the field’s edge, ears raised but calm.

Artania steadies his uninjured hand and draws the Magic Pouch’s focus. Blue-white power gathers between his fingers, shaping itself into a luminous bow.

A string of braided light spans the bow, while three translucent arrows form beside it, each carrying a quiet silver edge and a fletching of blue flame.

The closest targets stand in a row beyond the marked lane, their straw faces painted with concentric rings. The warded ground recognizes Artania’s spell and accepts the weapon.

Artania nocks the first magical arrow and draws the radiant string to his cheek. The bow hums softly, its aim aligned with the nearest target.

Al watches from the field’s edge, ears forward. Brunna shifts aside to clear the lane as the three arrows hover in readiness around Artania’s drawn bow.

Artania releases the first arrow. It streaks toward the nearest straw target, then wavers as the bow’s braided light shudders, striking the outer ring instead of the center.

He looses the second and third in quick succession. Their silver edges bend apart, one clipping a target’s painted rim and the other burying itself in the warded earth between lanes.

The missed arrow’s impact ripples through the practice ward. Thin blue lines rise from the earth, briefly outlining a hidden current beneath the targets and connecting it to the floating Brass Farm Token.

The luminous bow collapses safely, leaving the three arrows dissolved into pale sparks. The nearest target remains standing, its outer rings now glowing in a precise trail toward the records quarter.

Artania lowers the Magic Pouch’s focus and gathers blue-white power through his uninjured hand. The field’s ward-lines soften, accepting a spell meant for movement rather than force.

A small fold of silver light opens beside him, deep enough to hold a few travel goods. Its interior shows no bottom, only calm blue darkness threaded with faint stars.

Artania steps through the fold and reappears several paces away within the marked lane. The transition is clean, leaving his injured hand untouched and his footing steady.

He reaches into the dimensional space and withdraws the Magic Pouch’s focus, then places it back inside. The opening closes neatly, leaving the item secured beyond ordinary reach.

Brunna lowers her practice hammer and surveys the field. The marked lanes hold only empty straw targets and dormant ward-circles; no guild fighter is presently available for a safe bout.

Brunna taps the nearest sparring lane with her hammer. Its ward-lines brighten, recognizing Artania’s bronze token and the lingering weakness in his bandaged palm.

Complete the warded blade course

Brunna studies Artania’s stance, then the fresh edge of his bandage. The warded lane remains empty, its practice blades resting in their rack.

She draws a blunt guild blade and sets it across the lane’s boundary. When Artania reaches for it with his unburnt hand, the ward-circle flares and reshapes its markings.

Artania takes the blunt guild blade in his unburnt hand and darts across the warded lane, shifting through the few forms he remembers from books.

He settles into a guarded stance, then feints toward the course’s first marker. A spectral blade answers, and Artania turns it aside with a clean parry.

The adaptive circle matches his rhythm with measured strikes. Artania circles, retreats, and advances again, imagining a living opponent as he exchanges blows with the ward.

Artania’s blade arm continues without tiring. Each exchange sharpens his stance, and the ward-lines adjust, producing a faster sequence that tests his feints and angled parries.

Artania completes the final exchange by slipping outside the spectral guard and touching the warded target with the flat of his blade. The circle settles, approving and bright.

Artania lowers the blunt blade as the warded circle dims. His breathing steadies, and the floating Brass Farm Token gives a quiet, approving tug beside his unburnt hand.

The warded course resets, leaving its spectral blade dormant. Beyond the lane, the practice circles remain open, while Al watches from the field’s edge with calm attention.