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Date: Rhann the 21st, 898 YK

Location: Metrol, Cyre

Dawn broke, and Kelwyn Wryn was already awake, on his morning run through the streets of Metrol.

It had been a long few years in basic training, learning the ins and outs of swordplay, bowmanship, tactics, and just building up his strength and stamina. There was a time a morning run would have been anathema to Kelwyn. But a war had a funny way of galvanizing the spirit.

He waved at a few passerby as he took his usual route, towards the training barracks along Starmantle Bay. He passed many walls adorned with many posters exhorting him, and his fellow citizens, to do their part – to donate spare clothing and household items to the war effort, because even something as innocuous as spare wood from a hearth would be used to store and ship provisions. He passed fearsome artwork of the dread mobile fortresses of Breland; "It CAN Happen Here!!" was emblazoned on it in neat typeset font.

Panting slightly, he passed the outdoor forges of many a magewright, working in the open air rather than be subject to the potential intoxicating fumes of alchemical ingredients. He passed the more mundane bowers and swordsmiths. He passed two girls and a boy playing with wooden swords, and he felt ill at ease counting the number of years before they'd be eligible to join the armed forces in earnest.

As he arrived, and took in the sights of men and women on morning drills, he was waved aside by one of his drill instructors, an elven man named Tharthanis who was one of the elf mercenaries from Aerenal, helping to shore up Cyre's military. On instinct, Kelwyn saluted; after a moment, Tharthanis nodded. "At ease. Private Wryn, you have an interesting day ahead of you."

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