Aleria fell into step beside Bran as they approached the garrison gates, her earlier mirth still lingering in the upturned corners of her mouth. As they neared the arched entryway, Aleria couldn't help but notice the decidedly martial air that permeated the yard beyond. Gone was the bustling bureaucracy that had greeted her upon first arriving in Last Gate. In its place stood grim-faced sentries, their expressions taut with wariness as they cast watchful eyes over the comings and goings.

The recent goblin raid had clearly left its mark, putting the garrison's residents firmly on the defensive. Aleria felt the weight of it like a tangible presence as they crossed the threshold, her smile fading somewhat.

A young man emerged to greet them almost at once, one hand resting idly upon the pommel of the sword belted at his hip. His gaze swept over Bran in evident recognition before flickering to Aleria with open curiosity.

"Afternoon, Bran," the sentry offered with a dip of his chin, attention sliding back to the half-orc. "Got a delivery for the quartermaster, I'd wager?"

Bran offered the sentry a curt nod. "Aye, fresh batch of training blades for the quartermaster." He shifted the leather roll slung across his shoulder as evidence.

The young man's gaze slid then to Aleria, open curiosity writ plain. "And you, miss? What business brings—"

"Wilkins." Another soldier cut him off with a raised hand, striding forward to clap the sentry firmly on the back. Aleria recognized the features of Edric, one of the young men who had assisted during the clinic's frantic opening days. A ghost of a smile tugged at her lips as their eyes met, his own crinkling with an unspoken greeting.

"The lady's with me," Edric informed Wilkins without preamble, jerking his chin towards Aleria. "Commander's orders - she's to have free access, just the same as the rest of us."

Wilkins seemed to deflate somewhat at the rebuke, shoulders slumping. "My apologies, I didn't realise—"

"No need." Edric waved away the half-formed excuse with an easy grin. Turning back to Aleria, he offered a shallow bow. "After you, milady. If you are looking for the Quartermaster with Bran here I'll escort you."

Aleria inclined her head graciously, fighting the urge to roll her eyes at the excessive formality. Bran shot her a sidelong look, the hint of a smirk playing about his lips as if reading her thoughts. Without further preamble, she swept past the chastened Wilkins, Bran falling into step beside her once more.

Edric led them across the bustling courtyard, deftly weaving a path through the throngs of soldiers, scribes and labourers going about their daily duties. Aleria followed close behind, taking in the scene with a critical eye. The garrison seemed almost a different place from her first visit - the air now thick with an undercurrent of grim determination that put her teeth on edge.

"Apologies for the distinct lack of hospitality today," Edric called over his shoulder as they moved. He shot her an apologetic look. "We're preparing for a scouting mission into the Dead Lands come first light. Got word of more goblin activity in the area, so the commander's got everyone on high alert."

"I'd heard something of the sort," Aleria murmured, her gaze sweeping over the ranks of men. A muscle ticked in her jaw as half-forgotten memories stirred.

Edric seemed to sense her unease, his expression softening somewhat. "Don't you worry none, milady. We're not going to let those greenskinned bastards catch us unawares again." He puffed out his chest with unmistakable pride. "Commander even saw fit to have me ride out with the forward scouts on this one."

"Be cautious in those lands," she chided, unable to entirely keep the edge from her tone. "The demon king's fel armies may have been routed, but his foul taint still lingers in every shadow and crevice."

Edric seemed to sense the shift in her demeanour, his expression sobering somewhat. "Aye, you'd know better than most, I'd wager." He offered her a grim nod of acknowledgement. "We'll be treading carefully, you can count on that."

Aleria held his gaze a moment longer before giving a terse nod of her own. She allowed Bran to guide her onwards with a gentle touch to her elbow, falling into step beside the blacksmith once more.

The sounds of raucous laughter and the clashing of steel soon reached her ears as they neared a fenced-off training ring. A small crowd had gathered, leaning against the posts or perched atop the fence rails with easy disregard for propriety. At the centre, two soldiers danced across the hard-packed dirt, blunted practice swords whirling in a flurry of motion.

One of the combatants was clearly outmatched, staggering and desperately fending off the relentless onslaught of his opponent's strikes. His movements grew increasingly sloppy with fatigue, sweat darkening the fabric of his tunic.

A portly man with a bald pate and bristling beard stalked around the outside of the ring, bellowing insults and encouragement in turn as a small pouch of coins traded hands between the onlookers. He turned at their approach, squinting against the sunlight with one hand shading his brow.

"Bran!" The man's face split into a broad grin, seemingly recognizing the half-orc at once. "Didn't expect to see your ugly mug around here already."

Bran tossed the leather roll to the portly quartermaster with an easy underhand swing. The man fumbled the catch, grunting as the weight of it slammed into his midsection. A few stray blades clattered free, eliciting a chorus of raucous laughter from the gathered onlookers.

"Blasted half-breed," the man growled, though the insult lacked any real venom as he bent to scoop up the errant weapons. Straightening, he shot Bran a toothy grin. "You trying to do me an injury with these things?"

"Just keeping you on your toes," Bran replied with an easy shrug, his eyes dancing with open amusement. "Wouldn't want the great Byden to get too complacent with dull steel, after all."

Byden snorted, idly spinning one of the newly forged blades to test the balance. "As if that's a worry, with this sorry lot." He jerked his chin towards the beleaguered combatants still trading blows in the training ring.

Aleria watched the exchange with a faint smile playing about her lips, oddly charmed by the easy camaraderie between the two men. As the banter lulled, Bran made a beckoning gesture towards her.

"Byden, this is Aleria," he said by way of introduction. "The lady Bernard's been having you funnel all that aid to, for her clinic."

The stocky quartermaster's eyes widened somewhat as they alighted on her, his manner shifting subtly. Sweeping into an exaggerated bow, he offered her a roguish wink. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance at last, m'lady. I'd heard the new healer was a vision, but the stories hardly did you justice."

Aleria arched an eyebrow at the man's forwardness, though she couldn't quite smother her grin. Edric made a show of clearing his throat meaningfully beside her.

"Down, Byden," the soldier chided with a shake of his head. "The lady's far too good for the likes of you."

"A man can dream, can't he?" Byden shot back with a hearty laugh, straightening once more. His expression sobered somewhat as he regarded Aleria anew. "In all seriousness though, m'lady - it's an honour. Bernard speaks highly of your talents."

Aleria inclined her head graciously, though she felt a slight pang at the oblique reference to her erstwhile commander. "You're too kind, Master Byden. I'll endeavour to live up to the good mayor's expectations."

Aleria shifted her weight, the pouch of talismans suddenly heavy in her hand as she regarded the men before her. "Speaking of which..."

She extended her arm, proffering the bundle to Byden. "Please take these healing talismans for your scouts. A simple enchantment, but one that should offer some protection from minor wounds or ailments encountered on the trail."

Byden's bushy brows rose, calloused fingers already plucking at the drawstring to inspect the contents. His expression shifted to one of open gratitude as he rifled through the assortment.

"You're too generous, m'lady." He met her gaze once more, genuine warmth in his eyes. "These will be a blessing for the lads out on patrol, you have my word."

Edric nodded his approval as well, a faint smile playing about his young features. "Aye, we'll put them to good use. The gods know we could use any edge we can get out in those forsaken lands."

Aleria waved away their thanks with a dismissive gesture. "Think nothing of it. I'm simply endeavouring to aid the community in whatever small way I can."

Her gaze slid sideways to meet Bran's, the half-orc's expression inscrutable save for the barest hint of a smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth. She found herself fighting a sudden flush at his look, uncertain why his tacit approval should affect her so.

Clearing her throat, she directed her attention back to Byden where he was carefully resealing the pouch. "Please, see that those are distributed amongst your forward scouts before they depart. I would take it as a personal favour."

The stocky quartermaster met her request with an emphatic nod, all traces of his earlier jocularity banished as he clutched the talismans to his chest. "You have my word on that, milady. "

Byden tucked the pouch of talismans securely into his jerkin with a nod of thanks. Gathering up the fresh training blades Bran had delivered, he turned and raised his voice to carry over the raucous jeers of the gathered onlookers.

"Oi! You two sorry excuses for soldiers!" He gestured disdainfully at the panting, sweat-drenched combatants still trading halfhearted blows in the ring. "Get yourselves out of there before you do yourselves a mischief. You're boring the Lady Aleria and Master Bran to tears with that sad display."

The two men froze at the quartermaster's bellow, swords dropping to their sides as they swivelled to locate the source of the rebuke. One flushed a deep crimson, ducking his head in open embarrassment, while the other simply scowled mutinously.

"We were just—" the defiant one began, only to be cut off by a withering glare from Byden.

"You were just wasting everyone's time, more like." The stocky man snorted, shaking his head in evident disgust. "Out with you both. Let's give the good lady a proper demonstration of Last Gate steel, shall we?"

Grumbling, the two reluctantly abandoned the training ring, skirting the crowd of snickering onlookers with hunched shoulders. Byden wasted no time in ducking the fence, and took up position at the centre of the hard-packed dirt circle.

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"You there!" He pointed one of the newly forged blades at a cluster of younger soldiers lounging against the fence rails. "And you. In the ring, both of you."

Two men disentangled themselves from the throng, exchanging bemused looks as they obeyed the summons. One was lean and wiry, all coiled potential energy, while the other was a veritable mountain of muscle and bristling beard. Byden tossed each a blunted blade, which they snatched deftly from the air.

"Now then," the quartermaster announced with a sweep of his gaze, raising his voice to ensure he had the attention of the gathered crowd. "Our esteemed guests were kind enough to provide us with some new training steel. I think it's only proper we put it through its paces, don't you?"

A ragged cheer went up from the onlookers, a few raining down a smattering of good-natured jeers and insults towards the two combatants. Aleria found herself drawn in, unable to fully suppress the flicker of interest that had been stoked despite herself.

As if in silent agreement, the two men in the ring had begun to circle one another with measured strides. Byden backed away, idly twirling his own blade as he called out a final piece of advice.

"Let's have a nice, clean bout now! First man to yield or hit the dirt loses!"

Aleria leaned against the rickety fence, lips quirking in a faint smile as she watched on. The vision of good-natured sparring and bets changing hands amongst the gathered onlookers stirred fond memories of lighter moments from the war camps. For a fleeting instant, she could almost smell the woodsmoke and hear the raucous laughter of her comrades echoing across the years.

The wiry fighter struck first, leading with a feinting jab that his bulkier opponent parried. Aleria's smile widened a fraction as the two men fell into an easy rhythm, trading measured blows and parries in an intricate dancelike pattern. There was no true malice in their movements, simply the exhilaration of pitting skill against skill.

Beside her, Bran shifted almost imperceptibly. Aleria found her gaze drawn inexorably to the play of taut muscle shifting beneath his sweat-slicked skin as he moved, unable to fully suppress an unexpected flutter low in her belly.

A roar went up from the crowd, snapping her attention back to the bout at hand. The burly fighter had managed to catch his opponent's arm mid-swing, using the smaller man's own momentum to hurl him to the hard-packed earth with a well-timed hip throw. Aleria winced despite herself as the wiry man's back slammed into the ground with an audible thud, the air exploding from his lungs in a pained wheeze.

The large fighter extended a calloused hand after a moment, hauling his downed opponent back to his feet with a firm yank. The smaller man swayed for a moment before finding his balance, offering a rueful grin and a grudging nod of respect.

A chorus of raucous cheers and groans alike rippled through the gathered onlookers. Coins and trinkets began changing hands in rapid succession, those who had backed the larger combatant revelling in their winnings with unabashed glee.

"Told you not even veteran of the war would best Torric!" One particularly boisterous soldier crowed, scooping up a veritable handful of coins from his crestfallen comrades. "No wet-behind-the-ears pup stands a chance against a lad that size!"

The words struck an unexpected chord within Aleria, a predatory need reawakened by the events of the past week that welled up from deep inside her, and a desire to let that caged beast spread its legs without need for bloodshed.

Before she could think better of it, the words slipped free in a voice far more assured than she'd intended. "Is that so? I'll take that bet."

Aleria was vaguely aware of Bran starting beside her, but her attention remained fixed on the raucous gathering as a hush gradually fell over the throng. All eyes turned towards her, the sudden silence almost deafening in its intensity.

Even Byden had frozen mid-gesture, as he gaped openly at her daring. The large man in the ring, Torric, straightened almost instinctively, shoulders squaring as his grip tightened reflexively around his practice blade.

It was too late to take the words back. Emboldened by the flood of recollections, and the spark of challenge. Lifting her chin a fraction, Aleria allowed her lips to curl into a faint, taunting smile as she met the startled gazes levelled her way.

"Perhaps someone would care to put a little coin on that theory?" Her gaze slid sideways to the boisterous soldier who had spoken, holding his stare with a brazen quirk of one eyebrow. "I'd be happy to prove there are still a few tricks this old 'veteran' remembers."

The words hung in the stillness for a suspended heartbeat. Then, as if a dam had burst, a roar of chatter went up from the assembled men. Jeers and bellowed insults filled the air as the soldiers crowded closer, shoving and jostling one another in their eagerness.

Aleria shrugged off her cloak, the well-worn fabric pooling at her feet as she moved to drape it over the fence rail. She could feel the weight of dozens of eyes upon her, the gathered soldiers exchanging sidelong glances and muttered asides as she began gathering her auburn tresses into a tight bun at the nape of her neck.

"You can't be serious, m'lady..."

The words came from somewhere in the throng, though Aleria couldn't pick out the speaker amidst the press of bodies. A low rumble of incredulous chuckles rippled through the crowd, punctuated by a few more audible scoffs.

"She's half Torric's size! This has to be some kind of jape..."

Aleria refused to rise to the baited taunts, her movements calm and economical as she secured the last errant strands of hair. Rolling her shoulders in a slow, languid stretch, she turned to face the hulking warrior still standing in the centre of the makeshift ring.

Torric regarded her with evident bemusement, his thick arms folded across his barrel chest. Even at rest, the cords of muscle rippling beneath his tanned skin spoke of hard training.

Aleria met the big man's gaze levelly, allowing her lips to quirk in a faint, almost mocking smile. Then, unhurriedly, she extended one hand towards Byden in an unmistakable gesture.

The stocky quartermaster seemed to war with himself for a moment. "You're sure about this, milady?" Byden rumbled, already moving to oblige her unspoken request. "Torric's no green recruit - the lad could likely snap you like a twig without even meaning to."

Aleria's smile widened a fraction at the concern colouring the gruff man's tone. Giving a minute shake of her head, she simply widened her stance and flexed her fingers meaningfully.

Muttering something that might have been a prayer beneath his breath, Byden tossed her one of the newly forged practice blades. Aleria snatched it from the air, her smirk blossoming into a full-fledged grin at the satisfying heft and balance of the weapon.

Another murmur went up from the onlookers, though this one carried more than a hint of nervous energy. A few more coins and trinkets traded hands, those daring enough to back the unassuming woman evidently emboldened by her easy confidence. Even Bran seemed to place a bet or two.

Aleria's grip tightened around the hilt of the sword, the supple leather wrappings moulding to her palm. She rolled her shoulders once more, allowing the familiar weight of the weapon to centre her as she advanced into the centre of the ring.

Torric turned to face her fully, his thick brow furrowing as he took in her diminutive stature. Despite the obvious disparity in their sizes, the hulking warrior seemed to sense the undercurrent of quiet assurance rolling off her in waves.

Circling one another with measured strides, Aleria met the big man's appraising gaze with a pointed look of her own. "I'd thank you not to go easy on me," she said, her voice a calm, almost conversational lilt that carried clearly across the hushed murmurs of the crowd. "I'll consider it a personal insult if you don't give me your best."

Torric's bushy eyebrows climbed towards his hairline, though Aleria could have sworn the faintest of smirks tugged at the corner of his mouth. He cocked his head almost imperceptibly, as if silently weighing her measure anew in the wake of her bold proclamation.

"As you wish, m'lady," he rumbled at last, squaring his shoulders as he settled into a fighting crouch.

Aleria mirrored the bigger man's stance, her body thrumming with eager anticipation. Around them, the assembled onlookers had gone utterly still, the sudden silence almost a living presence unto itself.

Then Torric struck, leading with a powerful overhand chop that would have cloven a lesser foe from shoulder to sternum. At least it would have, had the man not slowed the swing, seeming to fear doing damage to the woman before him.

Aleria was already moving before conscious thought could intervene, her battle instincts screaming to life. Shifting her weight with a subtle twist of her hips, she allowed Torric's strike to whistle past her leading shoulder, the big man's momentum carrying him forward half a step.

Exploiting the overextension with ruthless precision, Aleria pivoted on the ball of her rear foot, bringing the pommel of her own blade around in a vicious hook. The dull steel slammed into Torric's midsection with punishing force, the solid thunk of impact echoing through the courtyard.

A collective indrawn breath rustled through the stunned onlookers as Torric stumbled back a step, wheezing. His eyes had gone wide with shock, as Aleria settled back into her balanced stance with predatory grace.

Aleria met the big man's startled gaze levelly, arching one delicate eyebrow in silent challenge. "I did warn you," she murmured, her voice as mild as if chastising a fractious child.

Torric's eyes narrowed, his brow furrowing in grudging respect. Adjusting his grip on the practice blade, he closed once more, movements suddenly more measured and purposeful.

There was no trace of taunt or arrogance in Torric's bearing now. The warrior had caught the scent of a genuine threat, his body coiled like a spring as he probed her guard with feinting jabs and short, controlled cuts.

Aleria swayed aside from each testing strike with an almost lazy grace, her feet tracing a web through the dirt as she avoided Torric's blows. Deflecting one upward swing with a deft parry, she slipped inside the bigger man's reach before he could recover his stance.

She cut past his guard and pivoting on the ball of her leading foot, she lashed out with a vicious kick, the sole of her boot slamming into the back of the big man's knee with shocking force.

An explosive grunt escaped Torric's lips as his leg buckled, his knees hitting the hard-packed dirt with a solid thump. Before the startled hulk could even begin to react, the kiss of steel caressed the side of his throat with featherlight pressure.

Aleria stood with her blade held perfectly horizontal, her body coiled in a picture of lethal poise. Were the blade real, one errant twitch would be all it took to open Torric's neck, his life's blood pulsing from the fatal wound in a crimson torrent.

The entire exchange had transpired in the space of a few heartbeats, the spectators still gaping in stunned silence. Aleria allowed her gaze to sweep over the slack-jawed throng for a suspended moment, relishing in each dumbstruck expression.

Then she turned her attention back to the man kneeling before her, unable to completely disguise the spark of savage satisfaction that flickered to life in her eyes. Torric had gone utterly still, his thick neck corded with tension as he held himself rigidly motionless. His own blade lay forgotten in the dirt at his side, his calloused palms raised in a gesture of open surrender.

Aleria drank in the sight for a lingering beat, the sheer intoxicating rush of dominance singing through her veins with each hammering pulse. This was The Witch's element. The dance of blades, the heady thrill of combat where one misstep meant oblivion - it called to her soul in a way no healing tonic ever could.

"Well struck, m'lady," Torric rumbled at last, his deep voice barely above a rasping whisper. "I yield the bout to you."

Aleria regarded him for a heartbeat longer, allowing the moment to stretch out with deliberate silence. Then, finally, she gave the barest of nods and lowered her blade in one smooth, economical motion.

Aleria allowed the triumphant smile to spread across her lips, unable to completely suppress the predatory thrill. The beast that had awoken during her clash with Torric purred its satisfaction, relishing the look of stunned disbelief still etched across the big man's features.

Letting her practice sword drop to her side in a loose grip, Aleria turned to survey the gathered onlookers.

"Well?" she called out, her voice ringing with easy confidence as she lifted her chin a fraction. "Any other brave souls feel like testing their mettle?"

Her eyes swept over the group in an unspoken challenge, taking note of the way more than a few spectators immediately averted their gazes. The soldiers shifted their weight almost unconsciously, their stances subtly shifting as an undercurrent of nervous tension rippled through the crowd.

"Come now, surely the garrison can muster more than one real challenge?" Aleria allowed just a hint of mocking laughter to colour her tone as she turned a slow circle, meeting each wary look with a pointed arch of one auburn brow. "Or was Torric's spirited showing the best Last Gate has to offer?"

A rumble of shifting bootfalls and muttered asides answered her casual taunt. Aleria could sense the swell of masculine pride stiffening more than a few spines, the wounded bravado of those who had scoffed at the idea of her besting one of their own now prickling in the wake of her effortless victory.

She was pushing them, she knew - prodding at their egos with calculated jabs and thinly-veiled challenges. The beast within her revelled in it, luxuriating in the sudden shift of the crowd's demeanour as her very presence became an unspoken threat to be reckoned with.

A movement in her peripheral vision caught her eye, her lips curving in a slow smile as a particularly brash-looking soldier stepped forward. He was a strapping young lad, all puffed chest and swagger as he tossed his weighted practice blade from hand to hand. The gleam of challenge in his eye was unmistakable, his cocksure grin lending his features a disarmingly handsome cast despite the faint dusting of whiskers marring his jawline.

"I'll take a turn, m'lady - if you've still got the wind for it?"

The words were delivered with an easy, almost charming confidence that might have disarmed a less wary opponent. But, Aleria recognized the bait the bait for what it was even as a few of the nearby soldiers sniggered and elbowed one another.

"We'll soon find out, won't we?" she purred, rolling her shoulders in an exaggerated stretch as she sauntered back towards the centre of the ring.