The air around Copperbell Mines is still, save for the occasional desert breeze kicking up dust across the worn stone path. The sun hangs high over Western Thanalan, casting long shadows from the abandoned mining carts and rusted rails.

Jthozh stands at the entrance — or rather, tries to stand.

He’s been waiting for his party for… well, long enough that he’s cycled through several poses of “heroic readiness,” each one gradually devolving into something less heroic and more comedic.

To pass the time, he practices his sword draw — a smooth, elegant motion he saw a Gladiator do once. He draws the blade. He spins it. He looks impressive for exactly one second. Then the sword slips from his grip, clattering loudly across the ground and startling a nearby antling. Jthozh freezes, glances around, and whispers to himself:

“No one saw that. Perfect.”

Silence returns. The wind whistles, by with suspicious comedic timing. Jthozh sighs dramatically, plops down on a crate, and kicks his feet idly.

“Any minute now… any minute… someone’s gonna show up. Right? Right.”