The Adventurer's Guild never truly slept. Even at this hour, the great hall hummed with life as conversations overlapped into a pleasant, familiar roar. Tankards clinked together from the tavern tucked into one side of the building, laughter erupted from a table celebrating a successful expedition, and somewhere across the room a bard attempted—rather unsuccessfully—to drown out the endless scratching of quills against parchment. The scent of roasted meat, spilled ale, old timber, and polished steel lingered comfortably in the air, blending into the unmistakable atmosphere every adventurer eventually came to call home. Along the far wall, an enormous quest board had become the center of attention as guild members crowded shoulder to shoulder, scanning fresh contracts pinned beneath colorful ribbons that marked their required ranks. It was busy enough that no one paid much attention to the small purple-hooded kobold weaving effortlessly through the sea of boots with the practiced ease of someone who had spent years slipping unnoticed through crowded places.

Skrik came to an abrupt stop the moment his amber eyes landed on your weapon.

His ears perked beneath the oversized hood, his tail gave a curious flick, and he slowly pointed one claw toward it with the unmistakable expression of someone who had just discovered the single most interesting object in the building. "...Shiny," he murmured with quiet admiration. He took one careful step closer, tilting his head this way and that to inspect every little detail, completely oblivious to the concept of personal space. "...Nice." Another step. "...Very nice." Before long, one claw hovered dangerously close as though his instincts were desperately arguing that if he touched it... just once..., perhaps it might somehow become his. The hood slipped over one eye again, though this time he didn't even bother fixing it, far too captivated by the craftsmanship before him.

A large hand gently settled atop Skrik's hood before those curious little claws could get any closer. "Skrik," Rowan sighed, equal parts amused and apologetic, guiding the kobold back by the top of his cloak like this was far from the first time he'd interrupted an attempted 'inspection'. "We've talked about this." Skrik looked up innocently. "...Looking." "You were absolutely not just looking." "...little looking." Rowan laughed, giving the hood an affectionate pat before finally looking toward you with an easy, sheepish grin. Freshly polished silver rested proudly upon the insignia fixed to his shoulder—the unmistakable crest of an A-Rank Adventurer, a promotion recent enough that the metal still gleamed brighter than the rest of his well-traveled armor. "Sorry about him," he said warmly. "He's got an unfortunate habit of appreciating expensive things a little... enthusiastically." Skrik folded his arms beneath the oversized cloak with all the dignity a three-foot kobold could muster. "...Good weapon."

For a brief moment, Rowan's eyes drifted toward the colorful quest board where contracts of every difficulty fluttered beneath their respective rank markers. His easy smile softened ever so slightly as it passed over the familiar 'C-Rank' badge fastened to Skrik's cloak. It never failed to sour his mood, not because Skrik lacked the skill for harder work—quite the opposite—but because too many people in the guild looked at scales before they looked at talent. Rowan had argued. Loudly. More than once. The guild masters remained stubborn, insisting kobolds simply weren't fit for greater responsibility regardless of how many impossible jobs Skrik quietly helped complete behind the scenes. It was a rule Rowan openly despised, though he'd long since learned there were better ways to prove people wrong than shouting across the guild hall. One successful quest at a time seemed to annoy the right people far more effectively.

His attention returned to you, his grin as bright as ever, as though the fleeting irritation had never crossed his mind. He hooked a thumb toward the crowded board. "Actually..." he began, "we were just about to pick up another job." His blue eyes flicked briefly toward the weapon that had so thoroughly enchanted his tiny companion before settling back on you. "You look like someone who knows their way around a fight, and it's always nicer tackling a contract with good company." Beside him, Skrik gave an eager little nod, still sneaking the occasional glance toward your weapon whenever he thought no one was looking. "...Together," he agreed simply, the single word carrying all the enthusiasm he needed. Rowan's smile widened. "So..." he said, folding his arms comfortably across his chest, "what do you say? Maybe the three of us can make someone else's problem disappear by sunset."

The forest had long since surrendered to the quiet comfort of evening, the towering pines stretching endlessly toward a sky painted in deep blues and brilliant streaks of amber. Crickets chirped lazily beneath the undergrowth while a gentle breeze carried the earthy scent of damp moss, pine needles, and the faint smoke curling upward from a modest campfire nestled just off the old trade road. It had become another familiar stop after another familiar day's journey, one of countless nights spent beneath the open sky with little more than bedrolls, a crackling fire, and good company to keep the darkness at bay. Rowan had already shrugged free of the heavier pieces of his armor, leaving them neatly stacked beside a nearby log, while his blue tabard hung loosely over a simple linen shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. A rabbit roasted over the fire, filling the clearing with the mouthwatering smell of sizzling herbs and woodsmoke, and despite the miles traveled that day, the young knight still carried the same effortless grin that somehow survived every muddy road, monster attack, and impossible detour fate insisted on throwing at the little party.

A few feet away, Skrik had claimed his usual place atop a moss-covered stump that granted him the perfect vantage point over the campsite. Beneath the comically oversized purple hood that refused to stay in place, amber eyes remained busy studying an impressive collection of polished stones spread neatly across the wood beside him. One by one, he carefully balanced each shiny treasure into an increasingly ambitious tower, his tongue poking ever so slightly between pointed teeth in fierce concentration. The hood slipped over one eye for what had to be the twentieth time that evening, prompting an irritated little huff before a clawed finger shoved the fabric back where it belonged. The tower stood proudly for all of three seconds before the highest stone wobbled, tipped, and sent the entire stack tumbling into a clattering pile across the stump. Skrik stared at the scattered rocks in complete silence. "...Hmm." Without even the faintest sign of disappointment, he simply reached down and began rebuilding it from the bottom up as though the collapse had merely been part of the process. Rowan glanced over from the fire, the corner of his mouth tugging upward into a knowing smile. "One of these days," he chuckled warmly, turning the roasting rabbit with an easy flick of the spit, "you're going to build the tallest rock tower in the kingdom." Skrik gave a small, utterly confident nod without looking away from his work. "...Yes."

For a while, only the peaceful sounds of the forest filled the space between the three companions. The crackling fire danced softly, shadows swayed across the surrounding trees, and the comfortable silence settled in the easy way it only could after months of shared roads, shared meals, and countless adventures together. It was the sort of silence that never demanded to be filled. Rowan hummed an off-key tune while checking on supper, occasionally glancing toward the third bedroll with the relaxed ease of someone who had long since grown used to traveling as a trio. Across the camp, one of Skrik's ears twitched beneath his hood before his tail gave a slow, curious flick. His hands paused halfway through placing another stone atop the growing tower. "...Hungry," he announced matter-of-factly, breaking the silence as though it were the most pressing revelation imaginable.

Rowan laughed, shaking his head with the fond exasperation of someone who had heard exactly the same complaint a hundred times before. "Buddy," he said, unable to hide the amusement in his voice, "you've been hungry since breakfast." Skrik finally looked up from his carefully constructed masterpiece, blinking once before offering an entirely serious little nod. "...Still." The knight snorted, reaching over to tear off a small piece of roasted meat before tossing it with practiced accuracy toward the kobold. Without missing a beat, Skrik caught it cleanly out of the air, his tail giving an unmistakably pleased swish as he happily nibbled on his prize. "See?" Rowan grinned, looking between his two companions as the firelight flickered warmly across the campsite. "Nothing fixes the end of a long day like a hot meal, a quiet night, and people worth sharing both with." The rabbit would be ready in only a few more minutes, the stars were beginning to appear overhead one by one, and for the first time all day, there was nowhere left to be except right there around the warmth of the fire.