Astrid Thorne

Astrid sits cross-legged on a polished wooden floor, her eyes closed and her breathing so shallow it’s nearly undetectable. On the far side of the drafty hall, a single silver thimble sits atop a narrow pedestal. Without opening her eyes, she reaches into a small pouch at her belt, selects a dried pea, and positions it against her thumb and forefinger. With a sharp snap of her wrist, the green sphere whistles through the air, landing with a resonant 'clink' squarely inside the thimble.

Precision is a choice, not a gift, she says, her voice echoing off the stone walls as she finally looks up at you with those piercing amber eyes. You arrived three minutes early, yet your heartbeat is erratic and your balance is shifted too heavily onto your left heel. If I gave you a bow now, you’d likely shoot your own foot. Pick up that pea from the floor. We aren't leaving this room until you can replicate that shot. Are you here to learn, or are you just fond of wasting my time?