The heavy makeshift bag was being pummeled and hammered by the massive fists of the densely muscled barbarian. Determined to keep up his morning routine even whilst based here at Carowyn manor, Byron had managed to get his hands on a couple of thick leather ox-hides  which were then double stitched together, strengthened with wide off-cuts of leather suitable for seams and was now finally hanging in the back garden of the manor, filled with sand and heavy curtain material, giving the bag weight, heft and durability. The pugilist's  substantial opponent was well over 5 feet tall and suspended by chains from overhead beams of an ornate but sturdy pergola and was now truly being tested by the morning's punishment.

"With the true dark of night Ruby's would become a party place with musicians playing, drink flowing, loud conversation, lots of laughter, singing and on occasion angry voices, arguments and raised fists. It was Gina's job tonight to ensure that didn't happen and if it did it was resolved quickly. "

In times past Byron could hide in the dark, enjoying the anonymity that the night bestowed, but not now, the dark held shadows, traps in which those that pursued them could lurk. If it was just him he'd roll the dice, fight his way out, what ever or whoever stood in front of him he would just knock it or them down, but not now, things had changed! People were relying on him, people he cared for so he couldn't fuck up.

The two warriors moved to one end of the stone yard where a substantial pile of large stones was situated. After a few lazy swings with their respective hammers to loosen their shoulders, the warriors began to pound their chosen pieces of masonry into small pieces of gravel and dust. Steady rhythmic swinging with the heavy sledges was the perfect start to the day’s session.

Each member of the group bore the scars of their past, both seen and unseen, as badges of honour in a city that demanded resilience at every turn. They were survivors, warriors in a never-ending battle for survival against the tide of corruption and cruelty that threatened to engulf them all.

In the earliest days, I stood tall and proud, a testament to a successful merchant whose name has long been lost to the mists of time. It was he who first breathed life into me but not as tavern but as home. He adorned my walls with fine tapestries, my floors were polished to a gleaming shine, and my windows framed views of the bustling city below and beyond. Within my hallowed halls, the merchant entertained guests of high standing, hosting lavish feasts and extravagant parties that echoed with the laughter of the city's elite. Oh, the tales I could tell!

"This is Korvosa... walking down the wrong street could get you killed, " continued Devlin, " and to be honest you've been trying to get yourself killed for a long time! "

"Nan what are you saying?"

"Oh not deliberately but your profession invites injury Byron and worse...especially when you took up with the likes of Gaedrenn. " The name sounded like poison in her mouth, "Death was always your likely end with men like him. "

It wasn’t about money, it’s never the money. It’s about keeping people safe. Protecting those who can’t. So no one has to suffer like he had.

A year can feel like a long time living on the streets. No real friends, no family and hungry all the time.