Snow fell in slow spirals over the mountain road — the kind that seemed soft from far away but stung like thrown glass when the wind caught it. Kadyan Andarag trudged through it with the stubborn dignity only a dwarf could manage, muttering under his breath about “supply runs” and “why is it always me.”
The Wandering Cart sat half-loaded behind him, wheels stuck in a drift that definitely hadn’t been there ten minutes ago.
Then a streak of neon violet shot across the treeline.
Kadyan froze. Snowflakes hissed into steam where the light passed.
A moment later, a bellow — deep, guttural, and furious — rattled the branches.
“Shadowbeast,” Kadyan grunted. “Of course.”
But instead of charging him, the creature stumbled out of the trees as if shoved — black smoke peeling from its hide. Behind it, a man emerged. Human. Broad-shouldered. Beard scruffy enough to count as a fire hazard. Ink-stained hands bright against the frost.
He dragged a massive paintbrush behind him like a weapon.
With a snarl, the shadowbeast lunged.
The man didn’t.
Instead, he slashed the brush through the air.
Ink — glowing, impossible, swirling like molten amethyst — sprayed outward and carved a sigil mid-air. The symbol detonated in a burst of color and force. The shadowbeast folded like wet parchment and collapsed, screaming into smoke.
The man let out a slow breath. “That’s the last o’ them… I think.”
Kadyan stared.
The human stared back.
“…Need help with your cart?” the stranger asked, as though nothing unusual had happened.
Kadyan crossed his arms. “Who in the nine broken furnaces are you?”
“Maddex Crowe,” he said, wiping ink from his face. “Friends call me Maddy. Dangerous types call me Dex. I tattoo things, hit monsters, and occasionally do both at the same time.”
Kadyan blinked.
“…Aye. That tracks.”
Meanwhile, deeper down the road…
Asilinn Stoneheart and Korrund Stoneblood had gone ahead, scouting for a safe place to camp. They heard the explosion first, then the beast’s death-cry, then—
“ABSOLUTELY NOT!”
A woman’s voice. Sharp. Precise. Infuriated.
They ran toward it.
There, in the center of the road, stood a Tabaxi — tall, elegant, golden fur striped with darker markings. Her ears pinned back in fury. A spell-circle hovered above one hand; the other held a slender sword glowing with focused arcane energy.
And she was glaring at Maddex.
“You said you would NOT run ahead without a plan!” she hissed.
“I had a plan,” Maddex protested. “Punch it ‘til it stops moving.”
“That is not a plan, that is a reflex.”
“It works!”
Much to Asilinn’s surprise, the Tabaxi’s rage melted the moment she noticed the dwarves approaching.
She straightened, eyes bright with the warm intelligence of a scholar and the dangerous confidence of someone who had already calculated ten ways the situation could go wrong.
“Apologies,” she said, inclining her head. “I am Estara Flintscribe. This disaster beside me is my husband.”
“Partner,” Maddex corrected.
“Partner,” Estara echoed. “But the disaster part stands.”
Korrund, breathless from running, whispered to Asilinn,
“I like them.”
The Invitation
Once introductions were made, the group worked together to free the Wandering Cart from the drift. Maddex dug trenches with swirling arcs of enchanted ink. Estara reinforced the wheels with a spell that hardened the metal like tempered glass. Korrund added runes. Asilinn directed. Kadyan grunted approvingly.
By the time the cart rolled free, it was clear:
These two didn’t just survive trouble — they handled it with frightening efficiency.
When the work was done, Maddex leaned on his oversized brush. “So what’s a forge-company doing all the way out here?”
Kadyan exchanged a look with Asilinn — one of those looks that said this might be worth it.
“We’re craftspeople,” Asilinn said simply. “Makers. Builders. We’re looking for skilled hands… and good hearts.”
Estara’s ears perked.
Maddex raised a brow.
Korrund stepped forward, smiling in that way of his — half genius, half troublemaker.
“You two fight like professionals,” he said, “and work like artisans. That’s rare.”
He extended a hand.
“Come with us. See the Stronghold. If you like what you find, maybe stay awhile.”
Maddex stared at the offered hand.
Estara looked at Maddex.
Maddex looked at Estara.
“…You know we can’t say no,” Maddex murmured.
“Correct,” Estara replied. “The probability of finding a more competent set of allies is… statistically insignificant.”
Asilinn laughed. Kadyan muttered something about “finally, someone who thinks,” and Nimblin — who had appeared out of nowhere — whispered, “They seem fun.”
The snow eased.
The Stronghold’s gates stood not far ahead, golden light spilling into the winter dusk. Maddex and Estara stepped forward together, following the Andarag trio toward a home they hadn’t known they were missing.
And so the Stronghold gained two new pillars:
One forged of ink, grit, and stubborn magic.
One sharpened by knowledge, fury, and flawless precision.
Together, they would change the rhythm of the halls forever.