2. Some Lessons Belong in the Classroom

Greta’s hearty laugh bursts out at Marlena’s bold declaration, loud enough to turn a few heads nearby. "Dragon’s Fire, eh? Now that’s the spirit!" she says, slapping the table hard. "Nothin’ like a bit of liquid courage to start the night off right!"
Greta snorts. "Banana wine? Sounds like somethin’ you drink after losin’ a bet—but hey, I respect the adventurous spirit." She leans back in her chair, clearly loving every minute of this.

When the server, a recently hired third-year tiefling, finally swings by, Greta leans forward, drumming her fingers against the table. "Alright, listen close. For my friends here—one tankard of Dragon’s Fire for the brave one, and a glass of that fancy banana wine for our aspiring poet. And for me—" she pauses, eyes gleaming mischievously, "—give me somethin’ that glows. I want a drink that looks like it might singe my eyebrows off just for lookin’ at it wrong. Somethin’ magical—like it’s dared me to drink it."

The tiefling blinks, tail flicking uncertainly. "Uh... glowing. Got it. I’ll check with the kitchen on that."

Greta flashes her a grin. "Perfect. And throw in a plate of those sparkly pastries Chef Curtie makes. We’re celebratin’ survivin’ our first proper day—and no celebration’s complete without sugar and regret."

As the tiefling scurries off, Greta leans back, resting her hands behind her head, utterly at ease.

---

A few moments later, the tiefling server returns, expertly balancing a tray laden with drinks and a plate piled high with Curtie Axechucker’s famous enchanted pastries — some of which softly hum and shimmer with faint runes, the sugar dust sparkling like tiny stars.

First, she sets down Marlena’s tankard of Dragon’s Fire, a deep crimson liquid that faintly ripples as though it’s alive, a thin tendril of smoke curling from its surface.

Marlena swallows hard, trying to remember why she thought this was a good idea.Next comes Zix’s glass of banana wine, a pale gold with a subtle aroma of ripe fruit and something floral. The glass itself is etched with a delicate swirl design — a touch of refined elegance at odds with the chaos of the tavern.

Finally, with a flourish, the server places Greta’s drink in front of her — a tall glass filled with a swirling, iridescent liquid that shifts between neon green and electric blue, flickering faintly like bottled lightning. A few curious students at nearby tables lean over to sneak a glance.

Greta’s eyes widen with pure glee. "Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about!" She slaps the table, sending one of the pastries hopping an inch into the air. "If this doesn’t put hair on my chest, I don’t know what will!"

She grabs her glass, holding it high, her iron-ringed braids clinking softly with the motion. "Alright, you lot — here’s to surviving our first day without melting our brains! Here’s to friends worth drinkin’ with, bad decisions we’ll laugh about later, and magic so wild it makes our professors cry!"

Dueling Gym
"Good instincts," Gorran rumbled. "When your head’s too loud, your hands should be busy." He stepped aside, gesturing toward the open gym. "You’re welcome to use the space, Kiraen. Plenty of practice dummies and moving mannequins along the edges if you just want to work off some steam."

He turned slightly, his gaze sliding over to the central dueling rings, each one framed by those flickering bands of light—some a calm blue, others burning red where matches were already underway. "If you’re after more than just punching something, we also run ranked matches here. Duelists fight to earn standing—proving your skill, learning from real opponents."

His heavy hand gestured toward a wide board mounted on the far wall, where names were engraved into polished wood, each accompanied by a string of glowing symbols—marks denoting rank, recent victories, and favored weapons.

"You want to compete for rank, you let me know. It’s open to any student who’s willing to put their pride on the line."

Bow’s End Tavern
Greta’s laugh explodes from her like a thunderclap, loud enough to rattle nearby plates and make the glowing drink in her hand ripple. She slaps her knee so hard it sounds like a hammer striking an anvil, nearly tipping herself backward in her chair. "HA! You’ve got a furnace in your belly, lass! Look at you — a proper fire-breather!"

She’s doubled over with laughter, tears gathering at the corners of her bright blue eyes. Several nearby tables erupt into cheers and applause, a few students raising their mugs in salute to the accidental pyromancer. One gnome in the corner shouts, "Do it again!" while a dwarf a few tables over looks mildly impressed, nodding in approval.

Greta slaps Marlena’s back — carefully, but still with enough force to nearly knock the poor girl off her seat. "I’ve known warriors who couldn’t handle that drink half as well! You’re a bloody legend now, lass!" She lifts her own shimmering, glowing drink high. "To Marlena the Firemouth! May your drinks always be bold and your eyebrows always grow back!"

---

Greta turns toward Dorian with a wide grin, her cheeks still flushed from laughing at Marlena’s accidental fire show.

"Dominatio, huh?" She snorts, her voice rich with amusement and just a touch of mischief. "Nah, lad — haven’t changed my mind a bit. Why waste good magic bossin’ folks around when you can just roll up your sleeves, flash a winning smile, and ask ‘em proper? Maybe flex a little if they’re stubborn." She winks, flexing one of her thick arms for emphasis, muscle corded beneath sun-kissed skin.

"Magic’s handy, sure — but I’d rather charm ‘em with my sparkling personality than fry my own conscience, yeah?" She knocks her glowing drink with her knuckles, the liquid within shifting from neon green to a deep electric purple. "Plus, no spell beats a good tankard and a bit of honest talk. Folks’ll do a lot for you if they like ya."

Dueling Gym
Gorran let out a low, rumbling chuckle, tusks gleaming in the lantern light. "You’ve got the right spirit, Kiraen."

He stepped over to one of the nearby training dummies — a scarred and weathered thing with limbs held together by enchantments and years of magical patchwork. He gave it a firm slap on the shoulder, causing the whole mannequin to shudder slightly. "For light blades like daggers, you can use your own. Most duelists do. A blade you know is worth more than any stick off my rack. And don’t worry about the damage — your monthly fee more than covers a Mutatio mage to stitch these poor bastards back together after you’re done."

He turned slightly, gesturing to the large ranking board mounted along the far wall. A couple of names now glowed faintly in shifting gold and silver letters, the current standings constantly updated by a scribe’s enchantment. "As for the rankings, you’ll be competing in Light Blades. That covers daggers, short swords, rapiers, even enchanted knives, if you’ve got any. Spells are allowed, but only the right kind."

He raised a hand, ticking off his thick fingers. "Tutela for defense. Perceptio for awareness, reading your opponent. Amplifico to boost your speed, strength, or reflexes. And Illusio — you can distract, mislead, or disguise a move. "

His fingers curled into a loose fist. "But nothing that hits directly. No Excidium bolts, no Creatio fire blasts, no Dominatio mind strikes. This is about finesse — blade work, positioning, and using your magic to sharpen your edge. If you want to blast someone across the ring, you’re looking for the battlemage circuit. Light Blades? This is for duelists."

Gorran’s tusked grin grew wider. "If you’re ready, I can put your name down right now. First match could happen tonight. There’s always someone eager to fight. And if you do well, you’ll have a shot at something bigger."

He jabbed a thumb toward a poster pinned on the wall — announcing a Light Blade Tournament in just a few days’ time. "Win a few ranked matches, and you’ll qualify for the tournament. It’s open to all students, and it’s a damn good way to make a name for yourself."

The massive orc crossed his arms, leaning back slightly as he gave her a once-over. "So? You want your first match now, or do you need to study a little bit more and warm up on the dummy first?" His grin sharpened. "I’d bet there’s at least one poor fool near the bottom of the board just itching to prove himself."

Bow's End Tavern
"Oh, Zix, you beautiful brain on legs — let me set ya straight." She leans forward, resting her elbows on the table, fingers laced together like she’s about to deliver the most profound wisdom in all of Misthaven.

"See, threatenin’ someone with magic — that’s cheatin’. That’s pretendin’ you’re somethin’ you ain’t. Like slappin’ a fancy illusion over a lump of coal and callin’ it a diamond."

She unlaces her fingers and flexes one arm, her bicep bulging under her rolled-up sleeve. "But this? This is just me. No magic, no tricks, no illusions. If I politely suggest that a merchant reconsider his stance on lettin’ hungry folks starve, and I just happen to do it while crackin’ my knuckles loud enough to make his knees wobble — well, that’s just me bein’ persuasive."

Her grin sharpens, blue eyes twinkling with mischief. "A punch? A shove? That’s not coercion, love. That’s communication. Direct, honest, dwarven communication."

She leans back, arms wide. "There’s no ‘magical compulsion’ foggin’ his mind — just the stark clarity of choices laid bare: be a decent person, or maybe take a lil’ nap courtesy of Greta’s left hook. No different than haggling a price down or convincin’ someone to share the last pastry — just… a bit louder."

She taps her temple with a calloused finger. "It ain’t about takin’ away his free will — it’s about convincin’ him to make the right choice on his own... with a lil’ extra motivation. That’s the difference, my friend. Dominatio is about takin’ control. Me? I just give ‘em a… gentle push in the right direction. Completely ethical... Probably."

She downs the rest of her drink, slamming the empty glass on the table with a grin. "Besides, if my fists count as coercion, then so does Marlena's charming smile. Guess we’re both guilty!"

Dueling Gym
Kiraen draws her stiletto and in one smooth motion plants it between the target dummy's legs, with a quick cut under the left armpit and a final strike on the right side of the neck.
I assume that there are healers available or one of these potions that Professor Ellowyn Starforge gave me after we defeated the mirmic?
Gorran did wince when her first strike sank home, so he could understand her caution. What if I seriously hurt somebody? The thought that someone could hurt her in a dual hasn't entered her mind.

Dueling Gym
Gorran’s brow lifted slightly as Kiraen’s stiletto struck with precise, almost clinical efficiency. His eyes followed the fluidity of her movements — quick, practiced, and not at all what he usually saw from first-years. The corner of his mouth tugged upward in something resembling approval, though he didn’t say it outright.

"Not bad," he grunted, stepping forward to inspect the dummy’s fresh set of wounds. "You’ve got a professional’s touch — which means you’re going to need to unlearn a few things if you want to do well here."

At her question, he gave a slow, deliberate nod. "Yeah, I can patch up most anything short of gutting someone outright." He held up his large hand, fingers crackling faintly with a soft golden glow — evidence of his Tutela training. "But don’t go thinking that means you can cut loose like this is a back-alley scrap. This is a duel, not a fight for your life."

His gaze met hers, sharp and unyielding. "You need to learn to pull your strikes — aim to disarm, not disembowel. Control your blade. Read your opponent. If you don’t, you’ll hurt someone who didn’t sign up for a trip to the infirmary."

Gorran’s arms crossed over his chest, the cords of muscle shifting under his skin. "You’re not on the Underdark anymore, Kiraen. Here, a fight ends when someone yields, not when they stop breathing."

He stepped back, giving her a little more space. "But you’ve got the hands for it — I can see that much already. Just remember: precision and control win matches here. Not blood."

The weight of his words settled between them for a moment, before a wide grin returned. "Now… you still up for that first match? Or do you need a minute to convince yourself not to stab someone in the throat?"

Dueling Gym
Pull my punches?!
Break skin, not tentens or vains?
No sir I will not compeat to night. I have to practice first. She removes her hair band and ties it round the tip of her stiletto, so only a centimeter or two of the blade is free.
When I can work through all my katars, my forms, without moving the hairband further up the blade, then I will compeat. I still need power behind my thrust to penetrate defences, but I have to stop the blade for reaching mucles. Just break skin.
This is a fun challenge, its a hard one, but there is an immidiate feedback if she doesn't get it right.
Tomorrow I will ask Marlena for a elastic band of some sort. I need my hairband.

Bow’s End Tavern
Greta’s smile fades like a forge cooling after the heat’s been drawn back. She leans forward again, resting her thick forearms on the table, her fingers absentmindedly toying with one of the iron rings at the end of her braid.

"Zix, I get what you’re sayin’, I do," she says, her voice quieter than usual — though still loud enough for the nearby tables to probably catch a word or two. "But you’re paintin’ me with the wrong brush here. What you’re talkin’ about — threats for the sake of takin’ what ain’t yours, makin’ someone feel powerless just ‘cause you can — that’s not what I meant."

She shakes her head, brows furrowed in thought. "I’m talkin’ about when there’s hungry mouths and empty bellies, and some fat merchant’s sittin’ on a storeroom full of bread he’s hoardin’ for profit while kids are cryin’ for scraps." Her hand curls into a fist on the table, the leather bracers on her forearms creaking slightly with the movement. "If all it takes to loosen his grip is me crackin’ my knuckles or leanin’ in real close so he gets a good look at the muscle that built these arms — well, I can sleep just fine knowin’ I gave him a nudge toward doin’ the right thing."

Greta exhales sharply. "I’m not sayin’ I’m some perfect paragon of ethics, but I sure as hell ain’t some thug squeezin’ folks for my own gain." She taps the table for emphasis. "What I’m talkin’ about — it’s about justice. Not greed, not power, and sure as hell not…"

She pauses, her brow furrowing deeper, jaw tightening for just a breath before she pushes out the words. "…not anythin’ like what you’re thinkin’ of."

Greta then turns to Dorian. "Exactly!" she says, slapping the table hard enough to make a few enchanted pastries bounce. "You’ve got the coin, you spend it how you like — on swords, shields, or a whole battalion of mercenaries if that’s what gets the job done. No magic tricks, no mind-bendin’, just good ol’ coin and muscle."

She flashes Dorian a broad grin, completely missing the irony in his voice. "See? Now there’s someone who gets it! You play the hand you’re dealt — no shame in that. Whether you’re born with gold in your pocket or a hammer in your hand, you make it work for you."

Dueling Gym
Gorran’s brow lifted slightly at her outburst, but there was a flicker of approval in his eyes. "Fair enough. Better to know your own limits than pretend they don’t exist."

With that, he gave her a nod and stepped back, leaving her to her training.

Kiraen took a deep breath, centering herself in front of the enchanted training dummy. The hairband, black against the polished steel of her stiletto, stood out like a mark of intent. A simple challenge, but one that demanded absolute precision — exactly the kind of precision she had spent years refining.