Chapter

The new wall looked great! It wouldn’t stop a rampaging Stone Giant, but it was still a great upgrade from the glorified sticks Ironhaven had previously. Plus, there was a proper gatehouse. Marion was quite happy with the wall, and since there wasn’t anything else that needed her immediate attention she was going to spend some time at her forge.

The trees of Gaerün thinned as Marion approached the outskirts of Vel’Kora, the Beastkin town Kaela had told her about. Sunlight filtered through the canopy in golden shafts, brushing over the wood-and-stone walls ahead. Two tall watchtowers flanked a sturdy wooden gate braced with bone charms and iron bands, and between them stood two guards, both Beastkin.

One was a tall, sharp-eyed wolf-woman with ash-grey fur and a long scar over her left eye. The other had the heavy frame of a bear, with thick brown fur and arms like tree trunks crossed over his chest.

As Marion approached, leading Bramble the mule by the reins, the wolf-guard raised a hand. “Halt. You’re not one of ours. State your business in Vel’Kora.”

“I’ve got a letter,” Marion said, keeping her tone even as she reached into her satchel. She held out the folded parchment, the crimson wax seal catching the sunlight—a crescent moon cleaved by a claw.

The bear-kin leaned in, his expression darkening with recognition. “That’s Stormfang’s mark.”

The wolf-guard’s posture shifted instantly. She took the letter from Marion and looked at it with narrowed eyes. “Where did you get this?”

“Kaela Ironpaw gave it to me. Said it would get me into the Adventurers Guild.”

The wolf’s expression became unreadable. “Kaela Stormfang,” she corrected softly, almost reverently. “Not many outside our lands know her by that name.”

“She’s been helping us rebuild Ironhaven,” Marion replied. “Runs a store there.”

The bear gave a low grunt. “Didn’t think she’d come out of hiding, let alone sponsor an outsider.”

“Didn’t ask her to,” Marion said. “But I’m not turning down her help.”

The wolf-guard returned the letter and gave a curt nod. “You’ll find the Adventurers Guild straight ahead. Follow the totem poles—they mark the center of town.”

The bear-kin scratched behind his ear, still frowning. “Stormfang vouching for a human… Strange times.”

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As Marion passed them, she heard the wolf murmur behind her, “Maybe the storm’s stirring again.”

Vel’Kora was alive with sound and color—crimson banners fluttering from rooftops, children with furred tails darting between merchants' stalls, warriors sparring in open circles while the smell of spiced meat drifted through the air. Totem poles carved with snarling beasts and coiled serpents led Marion deeper into the town, until they stopped in front of a massive longhouse, its roof draped in scaled hides and smoke curling from high vents.

Above the double doors, carved into blackened wood, read:

The Roaring Flame – Guild Hall of Vel’Kora.

Marion tied Bramble to a hitching post and stepped inside.

The guild hall was a roaring hearth of its own—dozens of Beastkin seated at long tables, boasting over tankards, sharpening weapons, or arguing over contract terms. The clatter and hum of the place reminded her of a war camp. Above it all loomed a raised dais at the back of the hall, and behind it sat a figure who didn’t need to raise his voice to command the room.

The Guild master was a tortoise Beastkin—ancient, weathered, massive. His shell was carved with faded runes and scorch marks, his eyes dark bronze behind thick spectacles. A steaming bowl of broth sat at his side, untouched.

He looked up as she approached. “New blood?”

Marion stepped forward and handed him the letter. “From Kaela Ironpaw.”

The moment he saw the seal, his movements slowed. He took the parchment in both hands, read it carefully, and set it down with deliberate calm.

“Stormfang,” he said, voice like gravel rolling down a hill. “Didn’t think I’d see her hand again.”

“She said to find you. That you’d see me into the Guild.”

He gave her a long look, then reached under the desk and produced a thick, ironbound ledger. The pages crackled as he opened it. He dipped a bone quill into ink.

“Name?”

“Marion,” she said. Then, after a beat, “Marion Blackrose.”

The quill paused mid-air.

His head lifted slowly. “Blackrose?”

Marion nodded.

The guild hall didn’t go quiet, but the tone changed—like a few ears had tilted in her direction.

“That name hasn’t crossed this ledger in decades,” the Guild master said. “Old blood. Tied to darker roots. Thorn-marked warriors. Some said cursed. Others? Chosen.”

“It’s just my name,” she said.

He grunted, the sound like a boulder settling into the earth. “The last time I saw that name, it was carved into a bloodgate in the Ashen Wastes.”

He resumed writing: Marion Blackrose.

“Place of origin?”

“Earth.”

That didn’t seem to surprise him. “Affiliation?”

“Ironhaven.”

Another grunt, then a signature. He turned the book toward her and pushed the quill across. “Ink or blood.”

Marion signed cleanly in ink, her name crisp on the page.

The Guildmaster reached under the desk once more and drew out a copper medallion, its surface etched with the Guild’s claw mark. He placed it in her palm like he was handing over a weighty truth.

“Copper rank. Three contracts earns you bronze. Do the work, follow the code. Lie, cheat, or leave your allies to die, and you’ll be stripped, branded, and tossed to the wilds.”

She clipped it to her belt without hesitation. “Understood.”

He studied her a moment longer, his ancient eyes narrowing slightly. “Stormfang vouches for you. That’s enough—for now. But Blackrose... that name echoes. Let’s see if it still cuts.”

Marion met his gaze evenly. “It will.”