Tranquility

[Kronan]

Chapter 4 – To Kront

The two friends travelled with the ferry from Peltarch to Norwick, bandits or not. The caravan departed Norwick beneath low gray skies and the constant threat of rain.

Seven wagons guarded by twenty sellswords. One was a mule team hauling preserved grain toward Mavalgard. Another wagon carrying iron tools and timber fittings meant for settlements farther south beyond the Kront. It was not a glamorous caravan, not luxurious. It was functional. Part of the commerce between Norwick and the South.

The sort of practical movement that kept frontier settlements alive. Xiulan preferred caravans like this. She had never been outside the walls of the Palace before her older sister woke her that night. Told her that she needed to leave the Palace and move to this land. Just as she refrained from going outside the walls when she arrived to Peltarch for a long time. And here she was. The angst of being outside of protecting walls and protecting soldiers still made her stomach tighten and the uncomfortable feeling almost overwhelmed her.

The caravan master, a broad-shouldered Damaran named Harl, had accepted both women almost immediately once Xiulan treated an infected hand belonging to one of the wagon drivers before departure while Kenna quietly demonstrated enough sword discipline to discourage unnecessary questions.

By the second day, both women had naturally settled into routine inside the second wagon of the caravan.

Kenna usually sat near the rear opening beneath the canvas cover where she could watch the road behind them while keeping one hand resting casually near the sheathed katana at her side.

Xiulan remained beside the supplies and bundled blankets near the front half of the wagon. She tended the cooking tools, her herbs, folding medical wraps and making food.
Far too much food, at least according to Kenna. The wagon creaked steadily beneath them while rain occasionally rattled softly against the canvas overhead. Sometimes they spoke quietly, sometimes not at all. And gradually, both women began noticing things about the other that they had not fully understood before.

Kenna became quietly impressed by Xiulan, not because of combat but because of her attention. Everything Xiulan did seemed to have a purpose, every move, every step carefully prepared. It reminded her of a ceremony.

Xiulan noticed pain almost instantly. A wagon driver shifted awkwardly once while climbing down from his seat and Xiulan was already reaching for a small herbal wrap before the man himself fully acknowledged the soreness in his knee. Another laborer tried hiding a blistered hand from embarrassment after unloading supplies. Xiulan had already prepared salve.

One evening a caravan guard developed a slight fever. Xiulan recognized it before he finished insisting that he was “fine.” Again and again, Kenna watched Xiulan respond immediately whenever someone suffered even minor discomfort. She showed no hesitation, never complaining and did not expect any praise.

She just acted as natural as breathing. Kenna eventually realized something unsettling beneath the kindness. Xiulan’s awareness had likely been shaped through necessity.

Someone trained to constantly monitor moods, injuries and needs survived longer inside systems built around hierarchy and pressure. The realization lingered unpleasantly in Kenna’s thoughts afterward.

Xiulan meanwhile found herself increasingly fascinated by entirely different qualities.
Kenna noticed danger constantly, not fearfully, not anxiously but with genuine instinct. She seemed to observe risks and tactical options around every narrow road bend, exposed ridgeline and vulnerable night position. Sometimes before anyone else even realized risk existed.

And unlike many soldiers Xiulan had encountered before, Kenna did not ask anything in return. She did not ask for attention, closeness or submission. She simply acted.
By the third evening Kenna had already begun casually correcting the caravan guards during camp setup.

“Too much space between the wagons.”

“Do not silhouette yourselves beside the fire.”

“Rotate watch positions.”

“Clear brush near the horses.”

“You are leaving blind angles.”

Never arrogant or condescending but simply, well-meaning, practical.
One older guard initially bristled visibly at being corrected by a young woman carrying a Kara-Turan blade. Then Kenna quietly disarmed him during a “demonstration” in less than four seconds. After that, everyone listened carefully.

Xiulan tried very hard not to laugh during the exchange. She failed completely.
Now, during the long hours inside the wagon, she occasionally caught herself simply watching Kenna while the swordswoman studied the roads outside. The stillness fascinated her.

Kenna rarely wasted movement, she rarely fidgeted and rarely spoke unnecessarily. Even vigilance looked peaceful somehow.

Meanwhile Kenna increasingly noticed how Xiulan unconsciously organized the entire wagon around comfort and survival. Blankets was positioned for easier access, food redistributed to reduce spoilage. Always sorting bandages by severity. Making certain that medicines was protected from moisture.

And she always made food. She, somehow, found a way to make more food!

“The buns seems to multiply while I sleep,” Kenna remarked one evening.

Xiulan looked genuinely thoughtful and tilted her head with a furrowed eyebrow,

“Possible.”

Kenna stared at her. Xiulan eventually smiled faintly into her tea. The farther south they traveled, however, the quieter the roads became. Fewer caravans and the woods became darker. Even inside the wagon, Xiulan gradually began noticing the silence pressing against the world outside the canvas walls.

Then, on the fifth day, something changed.

While sitting in the wagon, Xiulan noticed how Kenna tensed suddenly. The road ahead curved between dense clusters of pine and black spruce while muddy slopes rose sharply along both sides of the caravan path. Rain dripped steadily from branches overhead, muffling sound beneath the canvas covering of the wagon.

Too quiet. Kenna’s eyes narrowed slightly. There were no birds, no insects and no movement. Even the wagon drivers had unconsciously lowered their voices.

The swordswoman slowly straightened from her seated position near the rear opening. Xiulan observed her. Kenna never moved unnecessarily.

“What is wrong?”

Kenna did not answer at first. Her eyes continued scanning the tree line. Then she murmured softly but with intention, “It is too narrow… Too quiet. There are too many places to hide.”

Xiulan’s expression shifted. Not into panic or fear. It was pure focus, her Palace training returning to her mind and she unconsciously brushed her hands over her healing herbs.

Outside, one of the horses snorted nervously. Kenna rested one hand against the hilt of her katana.

“Something is watching us.”

Both women began to don their armors. Xiulan strapped into her breastplate with a slight moan of discomfort.

Xiulan lowered her eyes briefly. Then her fingers touched the small ancestral charms hanging beside her belt. Tiny carved dragons. Worn spirit tokens.
Fragments of old prayer wood darkened with age and handling.

Kenna heard some of Xiulans words as the woman whispered in a soft Shou language the sound of rain.

Xiulan lowered her eyes and touched the worn dragon wood at her belt. “Road offices beneath open sky, keepers of wheel, hoof, foot, and returning breath, this small servant submits request. These travelers pass under hardship, not pride. Let harm lose its proper road. Let those who stand guard keep strength enough to return.”

The warmth that followed was not dramatic. It entered the wagon like permission rented.

The wagon seemed warmer afterward. Again, something had moved. Kenna felt a presence. No, presences. Subtle. Brief. Yet unmistakable. Kenna exhaled slowly, feeling stronger and more agile.

The strange calmness settling across her thoughts felt familiar now. Not strength forced into her body. Balance gently offered, as if her ancestors were watching her.

Xiulan opened her eyes again. “This one think danger coming.”

Kenna nodded once. “Yes.”

Then the first arrow tore through the canvas side of the wagon.

[Kronan]

Chapter 3 – Reflections

The absence of students made the dojo grow quieter by the time they returned from the small bath chamber. Steam no longer clung to the air. The scent of sweat and polished wood had faded beneath softer fragrances now. Candles burned spreading the scent of cedar water, herbal oils, warm tea leaves.

Xiulan sat comfortably among a collection of floor cushions near the low table, now dressed in loose dark sleeping trousers and a soft deep violet robe tied casually at the waist. Her damp black hair hung partially loose for once, falling around her shoulders while she slowly dried the remaining strands with a cloth.

Kenna sat opposite her in a lighter red indoor kimono, one leg folded beneath herself while calmly pouring fresh tea into small cups once more. Neither woman spoke immediately.

The silence felt earned now. Comfortable after exertion. The kind that followed training rather than awkwardness. Xiulan accepted the tea with both hands.

“This one think Kenna enjoy winning too much.”

Kenna looked mildly offended. “You struck me twice.”

Xiulan narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “You allow maybe one.”

“I did not.” A pause. “…Perhaps the forearm.”

Xiulan pointed triumphantly. “Aha!”

Kenna shook her head faintly while hiding the beginning of another smile behind her cup. The rain outside intensified briefly before softening again.

Xiulan leaned backward slightly into the cushions with a long exhale. The earlier sparring had left a pleasant heaviness throughout her muscles. She could still feel the ache in her legs from repeated lunges and failed attempts to keep pace with Kenna once the dojo master stopped holding back entirely.

“You move strange,” Xiulan said eventually.

Kenna raised an eyebrow. “That is not usually how people compliment swordsmanship.”

“No, this one mean…” Xiulan searched carefully for the words. “…No wasted. Every move already know where go next.”

Kenna considered that quietly. “My teachers would probably be pleased to hear that.”

Xiulan nodded slowly. “This one try use reach too much.”

“You use instinct too much.”

Xiulan blinked once. Kenna lowered her cup.

“You fight like someone adapting constantly to survive pressure.”

Xiulan became still, thoughtful. Not defensive, but deep in thoughts. Because the observation was painfully accurate. Kenna continued gently.

“You are fast because hesitation was punished.”

Xiulan looked down into her tea. Rain whispered softly outside. For a few moments neither woman spoke again. Then Xiulan smiled faintly without looking up.

“Sisters hit hard.”

Kenna exhaled softly through her nose.

“Yes,” she said dryly. “I suspected as much.” That earned a quiet laugh from Xiulan. The tension dissolved naturally afterward. That was another thing Xiulan appreciated about Kenna. She noticed things, but did not attempt to pry them open.

Eventually Kenna set her cup aside and leaned slightly toward the table where several parchment maps had already been laid for observation. The expression alone caused Xiulan to straighten immediately. She could feel the change.

“The Cold Roads,” Kenna said quietly.

Xiulan nodded once. The warmth from the sparring session faded slightly beneath the reality of those words. Kenna unfolded one of the maps carefully across the table between them. The northern territories spread beneath lanternlight.

They displayed Norwick, Peltarch, the remains of Jiyyd. They marked caves and old, abandoned, forts and stretched as far as Uthmere. To the south they reached well beyond the Dead Horse Inn. Xiulan studied them silently.

“There,” Kenna said eventually, pointing toward the roads of the far south.

“Three caravans disappeared within the last tenday.”

Xiulan’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Bandits or is monsters?”

“Either is what was first that was assumed.”

Kenna’s finger moved farther north. “Then patrols stopped returning.”

Xiulan’s posture shifted subtly now, more alert.

“Undead not hide bodies.”

“No.”

Kenna’s voice remained calm.

“That concerns me.”

Xiulan lowered her eyes toward the map again.

“What else know?”

Kenna rested one hand lightly against the parchment.

“Travelers speak about abandoned camps.”

“Cold fires burning.”

“Shapes moving near old battlefields.”

“And roads becoming… quiet.”

Xiulan made a facial expression of dislike.

The Cold Roads were dangerous, there was no question about that, however they did pass by the ancient Narfellian market area, where clans met each year to celebrate, and resolve differences in a, if not disciplined matter, settle issues. The Cold Roads should never become quiet. Silence along a major road usually means fear. Or death.

Kenna seemed to notice Xiulan arriving at the same conclusion. “Yes,” she said softly.
Xiulan stared toward the rain-darkened windows. Then finally she spoke, “We should leave before more disappear.”

Kenna nodded once and regarded the expression of her friend for a moment. She didn’t hear any dramatic speech, no oath, no heroic declaration. Just agreement. Kenna pondered while examining Xiulans eyes as she was looking at the maps, and thought to herself “How are you so quick to make a determination?” Kenna thought that the acceptance of duty in Xiulan was remarkable. She had her suspicions, however.

Kenna had heard mainland priests speak of offices, spirits, and proper petitions, but Xiulan’s island phrasing carried turns she did not fully know.

Xiulan immediately leaned forward toward the maps again, she was invested and her eyes darted over the map as she planned when and where to take breaks and eat food. In her mind, she had already started to plan dishes and ingredients.

“This one bring herbs, food for travel. Also bandages.” A short pause. “And maybe buns.”
Kenna gave her a long look. “…Travel buns?”

“Yes.”

“Those are absolutely going to become hard enough to kill someone.”

Xiulan looked thoughtful for a moment. “Useful.”

Kenna laughed quietly again. The sound blended warmly with the rain. For the next several hours they planned together beneath lanternlight.

Outside, rain continued falling gently across Peltarch. Inside the dojo, two women quietly prepared to travel toward something ancient and wrong waiting along the Cold Roads.

[Kronan]

Chapter 2 – Sparring

The last of the steamed buns disappeared surprisingly quickly.

Xiulan sat back upon the cushion with visible satisfaction while Kenna poured the final remains of the tea into their cups. Steam still curled gently upward from the empty bamboo baskets stacked beside the low table.

“This one think Kenna eat much.” Xiulan said grinning.

Kenna raised an eyebrow calmly. “You brought enough food for twenty people.”

Xiulan nodded proudly. “Yes!”

That answer alone caused Kenna to laugh quietly again. The sound seemed to brighten Xiulan’s expression.

Outside, evening deepened across Peltarch. The dojo windows reflected warm lanternlight against polished wood while the training hall beyond remained silent now that the students had departed for the night.

For a while they simply rested, reflecting on the flavors from the dinner.

Xiulan sat with one leg folded beneath herself, cradling her tea while watching candlelight flicker across the weapon racks lining the walls. Her body felt pleasantly heavy from travel, food and warmth. For perhaps the first time in several tendays, she did not feel the constant instinctive need to remain alert.

That realization alone was dangerous, and comforting. Kenna seemed to notice the slight lowering of Xiulan’s guard.

“You look less prepared to stab someone.”

Xiulan blinked once before snorting softly into her tea. “This one still can stab if needed.”
“I do not doubt that.” A faint smirk touched Kenna’s lips.

Then her eyes drifted toward the training weapons mounted nearby.

“Though I wonder if your sisters would approve of your current defensive discipline.”
Xiulan narrowed her eyes slightly. “Sister Wuying always think Xiulan defense bad.”

“Was she wrong?”

Xiulan immediately pointed toward the stacked empty steam baskets. “This one defend buns perfect.”

Kenna actually laughed aloud this time. Xiulan looked deeply satisfied with herself. The calm eventually settled again. Then Kenna rose smoothly to her feet.

“Come.”

Xiulan looked up.

Kenna tilted her head toward the training hall.

“You carried food across half the north. It would be disrespectful not to exercise afterward.”

Xiulan groaned softly. “Cruel dojo master.”

“Mm.”

Kenna’s expression remained entirely serious. “You may complain while changing.”

Some time later, the dojo floor echoed once more with movement. Xiulan emerged from the adjoining chamber first.

Her heavier travel garments had been replaced with fitted dark training shorts ending above the knee, flexible training boots and a sleeveless deep violet training top wrapped tightly for mobility. Without the layers of robes and armor, her athletic frame became much more apparent. Lean muscle shaped by travel, palace training and constant pressure to earn approval moved fluidly beneath lanternlight while her black hair remained tied in a bun to keep it from her eyes.

She carried a polished white oak rokushaku bō training staff across her shoulders.

Kenna stepped into the hall shortly afterward.

Unlike Xiulan’s lighter attire, Kenna wore a dark red training kimono tied securely at the waist with black bindings around her forearms. The clothing was simple, worn and practical from repeated use. In her hands rested a wooden bokken shaped in the style of her katana.

Xiulan pointed immediately. “Wood sword unfair.”

“You have reach advantage.”

“This one small.”

“You are not small.”

Xiulan considered that carefully. Then nodded once.

“True.”

Kenna stepped barefoot onto the center training mat.

“Remember. Friendly sparring.”

Xiulan spun the staff once through her fingers. “Yes yes. No smash dojo.”

“I would appreciate that.”

The two women bowed toward each other. Then movement exploded instantly. Xiulan lunged first. Fast. Much faster than most people expected from her calm demeanor.
The staff whipped forward toward Kenna’s shoulder in a sharp thrust, as if a spear.
Kenna pivoted smoothly aside. Wood cracked against wood as the bokken redirected the strike harmlessly past her body. Xiulan immediately reversed grip and swept low toward Kenna’s legs. Again, Kenna moved with precise and controlled moves. Least amount of necessary moves. Not a single wasted motion.

Xiulan pressed harder and made her staff strikes come more rapidly now, high, low, thrust, sweep, reverse. The air snapped sharply with each movement.

Kenna continued yielding ground while deflecting carefully, her bokken intercepting the staff with calm precision. Xiulan suddenly realized something irritating.

Kenna was absolutely holding back.

“This one see!”

Kenna angled aside from another strike. “See what?”

“You not trying!”

Kenna’s eyes narrowed slightly with amusement. “You wish me to?”

Xiulan attacked harder immediately. The staff slammed downward with enough force to crack bone had it been real combat. Kenna moved at last. The shift was immediate.
Suddenly the dojo master flowed forward instead of backward.

The bokken struck Xiulan’s staff aside. A second strike tapped harmlessly against Xiulan’s shoulder. A third stopped barely short of her ribs.

Xiulan blinked.

Kenna stepped back calmly. “There.”

Xiulan stared at her. “…Rude.”

Kenna’s composure finally cracked slightly. “You asked.”

Xiulan grinned suddenly. Then attacked again. This time both women laughed during the exchange. The dojo was filled with movement and noise. The sound of rapid footwork across polished wood, sharp cracks of training weapons, heavy breathing.

Laughs after playfully, occasional, teasing remarks, the soft hiss of lantern flames overhead. Xiulan lost more exchanges than she won. But not all.

Twice her staff caught Kenna unexpectedly, once against the hip, once against the forearm. Neither strike carried real force. But Kenna nodded approvingly both times.

“You adapt quickly.”

“This one survive sisters.”

“That explains much.”

Sweat eventually glistened across both women’s skin. Xiulan’s breathing grew heavier at first, Kenna noticed and deliberately slowed the pace slightly.

Not enough to insult her, just enough to keep the sparring enjoyable. Xiulan noticed that too, and appreciated it more than she admitted aloud.

Finally, after another rapid exchange, Xiulan attempted an ambitious spinning strike. Her footing slipped slightly against accumulated sweat on the wooden floor.

She landed with a loud thudding sound on the training mat, followed be the sharp sound of her cheek and side of head smacking against the floor. For a moment she did not understand how she looked up at the ceiling.

“Xiulan, are you well?” Kenna asked with worry.

Then Xiulan burst into exhausted laughter. “This one think floor attack now.”

Kenna exhaled quietly, still slightly breathless herself. “A dangerous opponent indeed.”

Xiulan let the staff roll from her grip along the floor and wiped sweat from her forehead. Kenna aided her as she rose up back on her feet. Both women stood there breathing heavily in the lantern lit dojo while evening winds whispered softly beyond the paper walls. Tired, after the sparring. Happy, after the tea and dinner.

Xiulan smiled first, a genuine one this time. Uncontrolled. Untrained. Kenna noticed immediately and she smiled back. Neither woman spoke for several seconds.

They did not need to. The friendship between them felt strong enough to not urge to fill silent moments with words.

[Kronan]

Chapter 1 – Tea Ceremony

Xiulan closed the door behind her quietly. She left her boots at the designated location and slid her feet into the provided slippers. The training hall was not silent, as the clattering of training weapons crashing against each other echoed through the air.

Xiulan spotted Kenna instructing a group of students. Defensive positions, it seemed like. She remembered how her older sister, Wuying, relentlessly tried to teach her defensive positions with the spear and shield. Her lips smiled at the memory as she proceeded to the hearth. She still had time to prepare the buns and begin steaming them.

Some hourglasses later, Kenna knelt beside the iron kettle, one hand resting lightly upon her knee while the other adjusted the small brazier beneath it. Warm amber light from hanging lanterns painted long shadows across the polished wooden floor. Beyond the paper-paneled walls, evening winds whispered through the streets of Peltarch, carrying distant tavern laughter and the faint creak of harbor ropes from the docks below.
Xiulan sat opposite her at the low table, carefully regarding the steaming baskets, stacked five high. Steam flowed out the layers of round, bamboo pots.

The scent reached the room first.

Soy, ginger, fermented herbs, garlic and steamed dough.
Kenna glanced upward, and for perhaps the third time since Xiulan arrived, the calm swordswoman’s composure softened visibly.

“You truly carried all this from Norwick?”

Xiulan looked almost confused by the question.

“This one is do, yes!” She spoke as though no other answer existed.

“Kenna say is for miss buns made good, this one bring for to eat.”

Kenna’s lips twitched faintly upward.

“That was months ago.”

Xiulan tilted her head slightly while arranging the ingredients with almost ceremonial precision. “Yes.”

Kenna watched her quietly for a moment.

There was something unusual about Xiulan when she worked with her hands. The guardedness diminished. Her movements became fluid, instinctive. Not relaxed exactly, Kenna was not entirely certain Xiulan knew how to fully relax, but closer to peace than during most conversations.

“You rode the roads instead of taking the ferry?” Kenna asked.

Xiulan nodded. “Sister say bandits make boat no safe now.”

Kenna’s expression darkened slightly. “I heard similar rumors from travelers arriving from the east.”

Xiulan finally sat fully, folding her legs beneath herself with practiced grace. Her eyes wandered briefly toward her spear and shield resting near the doorway, opposite Kenna’s katana, respectfully placed in an ornate sword rack. Xiulan remembered the name of the exquisite blade. The Jitsugetsu.

She could fairly understand the name, but it was in a different dialect from her own.
Kenna poured tea into two small cups with a careful adherence to the ceremony. Every drop, every move measured and deliberate.

Xiulan accepted the cup carefully with both hands. The warmth spread pleasantly through chilled fingers. For a time, neither woman spoke.

But unlike silence shared with strangers, this one felt inhabited rather than empty.

Comfortable.

The dojo itself reflected Kenna strangely well, Xiulan thought.

Ordered but not rigid.

Simple but not barren.

Disciplined without feeling severe.

The wooden weapon racks along the walls were meticulously maintained. Candles burned evenly. Training mats were aligned perfectly. Yet nothing felt untouched or ceremonial.

The dojo lived. It breathed. It carried the quiet signs of repetition and practice.
Kenna noticed Xiulan studying the room.

“You disapprove?”

Xiulan blinked once, surprised.

“No.” A pause. “This one feel warm also safe in place here.”

Kenna lowered her eyes toward the tea. “I try to make it so.”

Xiulan considered that answer carefully.

Not everyone tried to create peace. Many merely tried to survive long enough to rest briefly from conflict. There was a difference.

“You is for well do.” Xiulan said softly.

Kenna looked up then, studying her friend with the same quiet attentiveness she often reserved for sparring partners.

“You say that like peace is difficult to recognize.”

Xiulan opened her mouth slightly, then stopped. Because the truthful answer was complicated.

Peace inside palace walls had often been performance.

Silence had been obedience.

Stillness had been expectation.

Even comfort had usually belonged to someone else.

But here, seated in a wooden dojo far from home with steam curling gently between them, the quiet felt… real. And that realization unsettled her slightly.

So instead, Xiulan smiled faintly into her tea. “Is different here.”

Kenna accepted the answer without pressing further.

Another thing Xiulan appreciated about her.

Most people rushed toward silence in order to fill it.

Kenna seemed content to let silence breathe until answers arrived willingly.

Outside, wind rattled softly against the shutters. Kenna leaned back slightly.

“You carried enough supplies for a small festival.”

Xiulan’s expression brightened immediately.

“Yes! Always is important have tummy full of food!”

Kenna laughed quietly under her breath. The sound was rare enough that Xiulan looked almost victorious.

“This one you is help eat all, and feel good!”

“That sounds like it is going to be tasty.”

Xiulan nodded once. “Yes.” She began to prepare bowls and mix the dip. Garlic, spring onion and the rest of the vegetables was already prepared.

Kenna shook her head with faint amusement before taking another sip of the tea.
Then her eyes drifted briefly toward Xiulan’s shield near the doorway. “I heard something else besides the bandits.”

Xiulan’s posture shifted almost imperceptibly. “Undead?”

Kenna nodded once. “Along the Cold Roads.”

Xiulan was silent for several seconds. “Cold Roads...”

The warmth inside the dojo suddenly felt smaller.

Kenna’s fingers rested lightly against her cup. “Something is moving there.”

Xiulan’s eyes lowered slightly in thought. “Then… If help need for people… Maybe we move first?”

Kenna studied her carefully. She saw no fear in Xiulan. No bravado, no dramatic declaration, just calm acceptance. As though the possibility of danger naturally followed responsibility. Kenna smiled faintly again.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “I was hoping you would say that.”

The kettle hissed softly between them while evening shadows lengthened across the dojo floor. And neither woman noticed how naturally the decision had already been made, they merely enjoyed the tea and the steamed buns.

[Kronan]

Foreword

Xiulan was very happy when she arrived to Peltarch to visit one of her few friends in this strange land. She had prepared carefully. In the saddle bags carried on her horse she had the dough for steamed buns, the minced meat with herbs and the soy and oils needed for the full experience. She smiled to herself in anticipation of the dinner she would serve. She would do what she was trained for, her purpose, to serve, to create happiness. Make people enjoy themselves and smile. Her sisters had been more successful in this, she could admit, herself being deemed lesser desirable, but she had learned other traits instead, even if she had her fair share of drunken soldiers. They need it, because they protect us. Then her sister told her that they had to move. And here she is, in a strange and cold land. At least she had made one dear friend. As she was riding, she was smiling, she knew what waited in the end.

The ride from her abode in the town of Norwick had been strenuous. Several days on horseback. She could have taken the ferry, of course, however, increased bandit ambushes on the logistic line between Norwick and Peltarch had convinced her to brave the roads instead.

When the large city came into view, as she crested a hill, she knew that she would soon be able to rest fully. She had seen some interesting herb along the road, but her many pouches, hanging from her belt, was fully stocked. And most importantly, filling for the buns. It was a minced beef, mixed with herbs and mushrooms, slightly fermented in soy. Xiulan thought that it would produce an amazing umami when steamed in the bamboo steaming baskets.

As she passed the gates and the Peltarch guards, she quickly proceeded to the Commerce District. She left her horse at the stables and head directly, with her bag containing the dough and filling, to Kenna’s dojo.

She opened the door with a warm but controlled smile.

[Kronan]

Disclaimer

This story adheres to the rules of D&D in general and the Narfell server specifically. The novel does take some creative freedoms in the application of those rules. Furthermore, inconsistencies of armor, weapons, shields etc. occur. There is only so much AI can do and sometimes “good enough, let’s move on” is sufficient. The images are meant to convey a feeling, not fully accurate depictions. While AI has been used to for advice, structure and formatting, the text and the plot is invented and written by a human. Hope that you enjoy the adventure.