Just off of Resolution Boulevard sits a cosy group of houses. Each one has a yard so the residents can garden and relax. Being in the more middle-class area of the city, most people are retirees of the Watch or in Joan Stillwater’s case, the house was owned by her father.

Joan’s yard has two unique things: an abundance of flowers and a sand pit for training. Two things that define the young Stillwater are her love of gardening and swordwork.

Standing in the middle of her training area was Joan with her weighted sword going through her drill, getting ready for the moro. Strike, twist, turn, block, return. Each movement was precise, her Amazonian body slick with sweat, and her leather headband tied her dirty blond hair back as she had grown for the last few months. Her hazel eyes were determined to make this her fourth championship as her drill continued.

With a loud back and an accoupling woot, Joan knew that Way and Caw were racing home. Stillwater put her sword back on the rack and grabbed a towel to clean off some of the sweat so she could see what those partners in crime were up to.

As the noise was coming closer, Joan walked through her cottage house. A painting of her father and mother was displayed above the sitting room. A bit of grief still lingered in Joan’s hazel eyes from losing both mother and father to an illness four years ago.

Opening the door, the two troublemakers entertained her dwarven neighbour, Mrs Rockshine. She, too, lost her husband to the same illness. “Afternoon, Mrs Rockshine, I hope these two haven’t been giving you trouble.”

Turning to look at Joan, her grey eyes shone with mirth. “No, no. Just getting a visit, and I told you to call me Olga.”

WayWocket whooped on Caw’s back, and they ran around the small culdesac where he and Joan lived. Joan smiled, and the stocky lady said, “Sorry, Olga, I will remember for next time.”

Shaking her head, Olga remarked, “I could hear you training in your yard. Ready for tomorrow?”

“By the Trinity, I hope so. I don't think it will be easy with some new challengers this year.” Joan said.

“Listen to this old woman; I know no one else to train as hard as you. I think you have it in the bag. I know my fifty slips will be a safe bet.” Olga laughed.

“You bet on me, Mrs Rockshine,” A reproachful look came from the grey-headed dwarf. “I mean, Olga, I don’t have that good of odds.”

“Bah, 5 to 1 odds, better than your friend Solo, who is 40 to 1.” Olga declared.

“His odd is that bad?” Joan said, watching Caw and Way play. “He has even been taught by Kilroy.”

“My brother’s grandchild is running the books this year; he didn’t know that Kilroy was teaching Solo. That changes a few things; maybe I might put some money on him to reach the top four or eight. I must take my leave. You have a good night, Joan.” Olga ran back into her house to grab her money pouch.

Joan could see the calculations pouring through Olga’s head. Dwarves will always be trying to find a way to make a few slips. “Good night to you as well, Olga,” Joan said.

Joan turned to the two running around, “Way and Caw, where is Gunnar?” She called out.

With a leap in her direction, Caw ran towards Joan, with WayWocket just laughing. The dog stopped at Joan’s feet and looked up at her. Way golden eyes turned up towards Stillwater and replied. “Gunnar, Gunnar? Oh, Green Heart, his journey is slow, but he comes with many of a fish.” Rubbing the big head of the mastiff, “Caw told me, and he likes fish but not as much as beef.”

“So Gunnar is behind you somewhere and had fished today?” Joan asked.

“Yep, he is as the bird flies. In the blue wonder, Green Heart, always together with his feathered friend.” WayWocket called out while Caw ran around the culdesac.

Joan looked up and around, searching for Gunnar’s feathered ally. On top of her roof was Beltram. Sitting there preening, occasionally looking at the two having a jolly time.

Thinking that she had some meat cuts in her house, she turned to her and went to the kitchen to grab a few treats from her cold storage unit. Way modified it to use a cooling potion instead of the ice block used in most households. Appearing again with meat in hand, Caw and Beltram looked over; one flew down while the other just ran across.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“Here you go, greedy animals,” Joan said.

Joan Stillwater threw a piece of meat towards the raven and then the mastiff. Beltram caught it mid-air and flew back up to pull it apart while Caw snapped it off the ground and chewed. After a short time, Caw sat up with puppy eyes, looking for another slice of meat.

WayWocket lost his hold of Caw’s loose skin and fell onto the ground. Hopping up, he rubbed his butt and complained, “Ah, no more fun. Food is here. Oh, the betrayal for a scrap of meat.”

Throwing another piece at Caw, “It isn’t that bad; I had some cuts left over from the stew tonight. How was your day, Way?”

“I have nearly found an alternative to their white copper alloy. It is a tin-antimony alloy, and I am just trying to find the right amount of copper in the mixture. Still trying to think on bonding a thin layer of silver onto the finished product.” WayWocket explained.

“That was fast,” Joan always found Way’s change in personality weird as it depended on what he was talking about. “I thought you were going to make the white copper process less toxic?”

Way’s eyes turned back into his head, “Pure Soul, beware of the beasts; they rise. ‘Ware of the kindness of bladed trickster, who seeks the blooded.”

Then WayWocket fell and started to go into a fit. Caw stopped begging and whined after sniffing Way. Joan exclaimed, “Oh no, Way.”

She shooed Caw away to gather him up. Caw followed Joan inside as she laid WayWocket on the couch. As she went for a blanket, the mastiff sat beside Way and licked his cheek to comfort him.

With a blanket in hand, Joan smiled at Caw’s trying to help WayWocket. “Okay, you can stop licking him, you big lug.” Looking up at Joan, Caw looked worried and did a little howl, “No, you don’t, no howling. He will be fine, just needs some rest.”

Putting the blanket on WayWocket, a knock on the door distracted Joan. “This must be Gunnar. Stay here, Caw, and keep an eye on Way.”

Heading to the door, there was Gunnar with Ripple but no Beltram. Joan assumed that he was still eating on the roof. “Hey, Boss, is my mutt in here?”

Joan shook her head at Gunnar, “It is just Joan now, Gunnar. Not boss.”

“You are still my boss, so I guess he is in there.” Joan nodded, “Hope those two weren’t too much trouble for ya, Boss?”

She let Gunnar go past and replied, “No, but Way had another episode.”

“It has been months since his last one. What is this one about?” Gunnar asked.

“Something about beasts and someone who might be messing with Pela,” Joan replied as they entered the lounge room.

Gunnar’s dog was still licking WayWocket and was still knocked out but looking more relaxed now.

“Let’s leave them be. Do you want a tea, Gunnar?” Joan inquired.

Gunnar dropped his basket of fish just inside the kitchen and flopped into a chair, “Sure, Boss. Did you want a few fish? I caught a few today.”

“Sure, thank you. Just chuck the fish into the cold storage cabinet.” Gunnar hopped back up, grabbed a brace of four fish and put them into the storage. “You don’t mind blueberry and blackcurrant?” Joan asked.

“Sure,” Gunnar replied gruffly. He then looked back into the lounge room, seeing Ripple lying on the couch at the end of WayWocket’s feet. Caw has his head lying near the gnome’s face, occasionally licking it. “That idiot gnome didn’t have his extractor on when I arrived today. Could have been high on fumes, and that caused the ‘prediction’.”

“I don’t think so. He said he was doing something new. A different alloy for Helmut instead of making the other one. Way might have seen a job at the Hall dealing with Wild Land critters.” Joan mused.

“I haven’t been in the Hall for ages since this tournament. There are too many fools trying to prove something. Like the Halfy, he’ll get knocked out in the first round.” Gunnar grinned at the notion.

Joan grabbed the kettle off the stove with a towel and poured two cups. The smell was delightful. The scent of the berries flooded the kitchen. Gunnar picked up his cup and blew on it. The taste was like freshly picked blueberries with a hint of the blackcurrant. It's such a soothing cuppa to end a long day.

“Thanks for this, Boss. This tastes fantastic. Just what I needed.” Gunnar said.

Taking a sip herself, Joan could agree. “It was a new blend I got from the market. Another was orange peel with ground cinnamon; it might be a good one, too.”

Both Gunnar and Joan sat there relaxing, listening to the occasional slurp on WayWocket’s face by Caw.

Leaning back on his chair, having another slip, Gunnar asked. “What do you think your chances are, Boss?”

Joan looked up to think, “I don’t know; there are a few new fighters this year. I think I will at least make it to the quarter-finals, but beyond that, I'll see how I go.”

“You’ll win the whole thing, Boss.” Gunnar determantly said.

“We’ll see. After this, we need to find another job. The slips from Klaus’ job will be running out soon, especially with how much food has risen over the last six weeks, and Way still wants to buy the lab once he has finished the patent alloy.” Joan listed off.

“Guess we off of the easy guard duty. Klaus did stop paying us to be guards at the lab after the first month. Didn’t read the fine print, damn merchants.” Gunnar grumbled.

“Nothing we can do about it now. At least we got new equipment, and you paid off your debts.” Joan Stillwater said.

With the animals shuffling in the lounge room, WayWocket sat straight up, coughed a little, and spoke. “Is there any of that heavenly tea for me?”