"So they had Big Al in the cellar?" Dana raised an eyebrow while she took a drink from her mug. "Why didn't they just kill him?"

Vi shrugged, leaning back in her chair. "Beats me. Maybe they wanted him to show them where all the good stuff was."

"And lycanthropy...damn, Vi, you've had an exciting trip. And you're going back out? A barrow? You and your nose for trouble," Dana grumbled. "You know, you don't have to keep throwing yourself into fights, just because-" She stopped abruptly.

Vi frowned and took a large gulp of her ale. "I'm not doing this for my dad. People need help, and I don't want Phandalin to turn into an icy mass grave," she said sharply.

Dana lifted her hands in an acquiescing motion. "You're right, I'm sorry. And we little people appreciate your efforts."

"I'm just trying to help, okay? I'm not good with people, society." Vi shrugged. "But I am good at killing things, so...might as well kill the things that threaten the people I care about, right?"

Dana smiled faintly. "I'm flattered."

"Shut up," Vi muttered. "Don't get a swelled head, captain."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Dana said seriously. She raised her mug. "To keeping the people we care about safe."

Vi knocked hers against the captain's. "And to making new stories to tell nosy captains and antisocial half-elves."

That's what I've been looking for. Lanarial thinks to himself when he sees a faint circle inscribed inside a diamond, lightly carved into the stone of the southwestern corner of a building. He casually wanders to the front and looks around. None of his party were around, and everyone else was at work in the fields or inside someplace - there was nobody on the streets of this small town at this hour. Satisfied, he glances at the sign next to the door - "MINER'S EXCHANGE" - and heads in.

The Miner’s Exchange is a trading post where local miners have their valuable finds weighed, measured, and paid out. The exchange also serves as an unofficial records office, registering claims to various streams and excavations around the area. Behind the counter is a human woman, who appraises the drow with a calculating look as if determining his value and flaws like he is a chunk of some ore placed upon one of the many scales. Saying nothing, she is content to watch the man and let him grow uncomfortable in the silence.

Only Lanarial lived for silence. He certainly preferred to kill in silence. He had worked most of his life to perfect silence, pursuing it with the same fervor and zeal of a monk pursuing some academic area of study. So he stood, reveling in the silence - a silence of three parts...

The most obvious part was the hollow, echoing quiet, made by things that were lacking. If there had been a wind it would have sighed trough the trees, set the store’s sign creaking on its hooks, and brushed the silence down the road like trailing autumn leaves. If there had been a crowd, even a couple of miners inside, they would have filled the silence with conversation and laughter, the clatter and clamor one expects from rough men who had found gold or precious stones. In fact there were none of these things, and so the silence remained.

Inside the Exchange, the woman and man stood at the counter with quiet determination, each avoiding any discussion, unwilling to lose the unspoken contest. In doing these they added a small, sullen silence to the lager, hollow one. it made an alloy of sorts, a counterpoint.

The third silence was not an easy thing to notice. If you listened for an hour, you might begin to feel it in the wooden floor underfoot and in the rough, splintering boards of the counter. It was in the weight of the black stone hearth that held the heat of a long-dead fire. It was in the calculating look of the human, in the slow back and forth of her gray linen cloth rubbing a small chunk of gold. It was in the hands of the drow who stood there, who almost seemed to absorb the silence into himself. The man had true-silver hair and dark skin. His light-purple eyes were dark and distant, and he moved with the subtle certainty that comes from knowing many things. The third silence was his. This was appropriate, as it was the greatest silence of the three, wrapping the other inside itself. It was deep and wide as autumn’s ending. It was heavy as a great river-smooth stone. It was the patient, cut-flower sound of a man who is waiting to die. <credits to Patrick Rothfuss and his awesome novels "The Name of the Wind" and "Wise Man's Fear">

Finally, after what would seem an eternity to one who craved the sound and action of a busy tavern, the woman blinked and looked down. Round one to me, then. Lanarial thinks. 

"Well, you've found the Miner's Exchange. I'm Halia Thornton. You here to stake a claim?" 

"I'm actually here for a different type of business," the rogue says, making the subtle hand gestures from Thieves' Cant to indicate that he was 'in the business.' "I should report to the ringleader for this area. Are you the one I seek?" He places the two fist-sized chunks of gold he acquired from the dwarf mine on the counter. "My application fee..."  

The human smiled - a cat's smile, full of teeth that might very well bite you at any second. "Yes. Yes I am. I think you will be a welcome addition here. Meet me later in the Sleeping Giant tap house, where we can discuss your skills more...openly." 

"So, you wish to fight." Gareth-Wyn stands with his fellow Goliath, recently restored from a near transformation. Using an old corral just outside of town, Gareth-Wyn sets his sword against the side railing with a respectful thump , flipping his polearm around so that the blunt end faces Tex. 

Tex picks up a wooden sparring sword, shaved to the length of his new longsword and listens to Gareth.

"Among the High-Peaks, there is a saying: The warrior's mind is like water beneath a glacier. Fast, yes. Strong, very. But cold, clear, and clean." He falls into a fighting stance, closing his eyes for a moment before swinging the pole in a gently controlled arc. Despite the slow pace, a small sheen of sweat breaks out on his face, staring at a distant horizon. With a brutal motion, he suddenly brings the blunt end of the weapon around swiftly - a blow that could have felled a small tree. "In a fight, you must have power, yes. But a mighty river begins as snowmelt, gently drips along a set course until it moves the mountains. A battle will try to block that path, to interrupt the flow with wounds or trickery, or match strength against strength. But we are the sons of giants... our grandfather is the mountain. You use your mind to change metal, to weave magic into... things. This is good, though I do not understand it. But if you would fight, and earn yourself a name, you must move like the snowmelt, clear and pure of mind." He grins suddenly. "Or you could fight like sleepy-leopard. With many..." he waves his fingers in a confused gesture. "Spinnings."

Tex takes note of Gareth's movements. At first blush, Tex thought that Gareth's technique was to strike with reckless fury and strength, but no. This was something else. Gareth moves with the careful precision of a pouncing Owlbear, not relying on speed or grace but the knowledge that each strike will continue to move through it's target, as if denying the enemy the satisfaction of stopping the arc. Tex and Gareth spar through the sunrise and well into the morning. Tex, whilst large, is nowhere near the size our strength of Gareth. Every blow seems to throw Tex's balance off, he strains to dodge and deflect each blow but Gareth seems to move with the determination and surety of a landslide, wearing down Tex's defense as he moves through the motions. Eventually, Tex begins to analyze the movements, the stance shifts, the angle of the strikes, eventually able to time the exact moment that Gareth's strike bears down onto Tex, with a quick strike, Tex hits Gareth's polearm, turning the strike to move away from him.
I think I am beginning to understand. Rather than strike with all your strength as quickly as possible, you move with with efficiency, never using up all your energy, but timing it to hit with maximum effectiveness once you have your target under heel. Every strike is carefully placed.
By the end of their training, Tex's muscles ache, bruises all over his body. Thank you my mountainous friend. I'll be feeling this tomorrow, but I believe I have learned much from you. You apply your strength when it is the most effective, and while I will never have the same amount of power to make that work for me, I believe I can use this clarity of mind to enhance my martial techniques with thoughtful timing, searching for openings in one's defenses, and employ my own speed not for, how you said "Spinning", but for efficient strikes, like the river flowing.

Vi nods. "All right. Come with me." She leads Tex to a small clearing and unsheathes her blade. "Bladesinging is not only a way of fighting, it is a way of thinking. Bladesinging is a dance of metal and magic, in which we weave a web with our blades and the Weave. A true bladesinger trains for years before they can correctly mesh their spellcasting and fighting together. But the basic tenets can be imparted and practiced." She reverses her grip on the sword, holding it out to Tex hilt-first. He can see an Elvish rune (raven) carved on the pommel.

Tex unsheathes his new longsword, newly enchanted and enhanced with a simple rune that he'd been working on, based on a spell he'd seen Vi use back on the ranch. and mirrors her grip, albeit awkwardly.
"Alright, I am apprehensive about the magical weaving, being as my magic is mostly due to the mixture of invention imbued with the magic that I do possess, but what you say about the way of thinking gives me hope as to my ability to learn some basics.

Vi walks him through a fighting position with the blade. "The leopard style is one in which swordfighting is augmented with illusion magic. In order to correctly balance the blade and the spells, you cannot be concerned with keeping hold of your sword. So the first step is to practice with whatever blade you will be wielding until it feels like an extension of your arm. Gareth can teach you about how to meet force with force, to block mighty blows with mountain's strength. The leopard style is not about that. We dodge and weave, deflect blows and conserve our energy while our enemies exhaust themselves. Rather than overwhelming our enemies through brute force, we wait for the right moment, then strike at the weak point."

Tex and Vi spend the afternoon walking through the various forms and techniques of Bladesong. Tex takes note of how Vi's natural grace is augmented with a constant flow of magic, her cat-like movements seem to be obscured and shifted with magic, like the Displacer Beast, it's hard to pin down her position and where her blade strikes next until it's already at Tex's throat, back, leg, and face. Tex isn't able to  keep up with Vi, her speed is just too fast and he makes just too big a target with his long, broad frame. Eventually, Tex stops trying to copy her, shifting his blade back into a traditional, more Goliath-like position, he shifts his stance using his Observant eyes to focus in on Vi's movements, still, he calculates her steps, the speed at which she is moving, the height her blade swings at, watching her weight shift from one foot to the other, analyzing every detail, timing his swing he brings his blade up, turned away from his body just in time to catch her blade.
"Aha! I think I'm getting a feel for this! Let's go again"
Tex and Vi continue until sunset. Vi's bladesong matched with Tex's knowledge of invention and calculations. By the end, Tex is covered in sweat, exhausted from trying to keep up with the Bladesinger.
"Much obliged for the lesson, Vi. I have a long way to go before I master the arts of melee combat, and I will never be able to replicate your unique fusion of bladework with your arcane weaving, but I believe this has given me much to work on. I am very glad that we have you on Our team!"

 Lanarial: "You want to spar with me? Why? You are the giant human - ask those who would stand face to face with their enemies to clack blades with you. If you want to learn about how I kill my foes, that is a different question entirely."
Tex: "I'm trying to learn each of your approaches, in order to try and synthesize an approach that works with my own personal strengths. I was hoping to learn something about your approach.
Lanarial:"Think of an owl, or an adder. They are hunters. They are patient; still; silent.They attack without warning; unseen; unheard; no wasted motion or power. If my talons - arrow or sword - do not end you, then the lingering venom of my poisoned blade will. And you will not know I am there until you lie dying on the ground. That is the way in which I am trained. In fact - look over there..." 
Tex looks in the direction of the trees Lanarial pointed out. Turning back around, he spots Lanarial a surprising distance away, clambered up into a tree, bow already in position with the slight scent of poison wafting on the wind. (PASSIVE PERCEPTION 19)
"Ah! I think I understand. Like a nocturnal hunter, your tactics shape a large part of your approach. You rely on your ability to blend in with your surroundings quickly and silently, and strike with staggering accuracy before fading back in the shadows. The enemy can't hit what it can't see." Tex furiously writes notes down before pulling his newly upgraded heavy crossbow. "Because you rely on accuracy, would it be possible for us to work on quick and precise target acquisition?"
The rest of the Evening is spent with Lanarial and Tex quickly moving between cover and striking targets through the darkness. Lanarial moves with the quickness and grace of a great horned owl, or a coiled pit viper, moving with natural grace, effortlessly blending in with his surroundings. Tex notes that, for Lanarial, he seems to have the power of one whose muscle memory has been developed to the sharpest point.
Tex, on the other hand, doesn't move with the same grace, his muscles and Goliath frame always give his position away, however, his mind quickly calculates the distance, the change in wind, and the velocity of each bolt as he places them right where he needs them.
"Thank you Lanarial, my friend. I may not be able to hide and ambush like you, but I feel that you've given me the tips and techniques I need to at least strike from afar with the precision that we will desperately need against our draconic foe."