Neverwinter Forest an eidolon named night

An impish glance was cast toward Rannoch’s sleeping form as Cypress followed their father outside the den, and some of the boy’s usual joie de vivre showed itself in the renewed sparkle of his lantern yellow eyes and the buoyant bounce in his step. He crowded his father lovingly, tipping back his head to butt his cheek against the Frostfur patriarch’s hip, and eventually dipped under Scimitar’s immense form to wind carefully around the strong, pillar-like legs and come out on the other side. Energized and bolstered by his father’s encouragement, Cypress spun a few quick circles; his paws were still aching and weary, and his movements were sloppier than they’d have been if he’d been fresher, but he yapped playfully nonetheless. An attentive, waiting stillness settled on his youthful features as he sat like a little soldier in front of the turquoise-eyed forest king. “I beat Rannoch when we race,” he said, his white-daubed chest puffing up with pride, “but when we’re practicing fighting, even if I run at him as fast as I can, he just sorta — bounces me.” The fledgling’s brow furrowed as he tried to explain himself, but it was likely clear to the mercenary what was going on: Cypress favored the head-on attack, but no matter how quick he was, Rannoch could easily counter.

Under Scimitar’s impromptu tutelage, Cypress began his first sparring lesson, learning the details of using speed, finesse, and cunning to best opponents who dwarfed him in heft.