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“Your temper will be your downfall.”

During the early morning hours of September 10th, the Duke of Cindervale found himself in the gym of Cindervale’s Wellness Centre. The past several weeks had been some of the most stressful in Lebryn’s life and he needed a way to get some aggression out.

Due to it being early morning, barely any of Cindervale’s populace were up and about, let alone working out at the Wellness Centre. Lebryn preferred it that way; any time to himself lately was a blessing.

The Lord Marshal spent some time lifting weights before making his way to the single punching bag in the back of the gym. Carefully, Lebryn taped his hands before unloading on the hanging bag.

THUMP! Sergeant Major Ichebod Grimm’s loose lips had put the upcoming invasion of Kalimdor in jeopardy.

WHAM! Lebryn’s wife Olivia Edain’s understandable frustration and anger towards...

WHUMP! Lady Aredhele Valtieri. Lebryn found himself conflicted between her and Olivia. He loved his wife with all his heart but Aredhele was snaking into his veins, consuming his thoughts.

SLAM! Woke Felo’dorah. What a piece of trash. The man’s very existence was an insult to people everywhere. A try-hard insect who thought his minuscule accomplishments were worth anything more than ridicule.

PHOOF! Lebryn sent his full force into the bag, hard enough to send pain shooting up through his arm. Grimacing, the Duke shook his hand in an effort to alleviate the pain.

Yurissa was right. Lebryn was letting things get to him and he needed to better control his temper. There was a lot to be gained and even more to lose. The Duke had the power here. He just needed to let his actions speak for him in a less explosive manner.

The punches resumed, this time with more practised finesse. A sly smirk began to crawl across Lebryn’s face. He was beginning to understand what he had to do.

Without realizing it, Lebryn had lost his way. It wasn’t the first time but he was grateful to have people who grounded him in his life. Slowly the confidence and self-assuredness returned. Every punch on the bag was another obstacle destroyed in the Lord Marshal’s mind.

Sweat began to run down Lebryn’s face and his arms began to ache but his assault remained as ferocious and strong as his desire to succeed. Through heavy breaths, Lebryn set in stone his determination and knew that he’d no longer let anyone or anything stand in his way. He’d fight and he’d win.