Stances, Wounds, and the Cost of Standing

Enemies on the coast and in the canyon do not wait for you to be ready. You pick a stance — Strike, Skirmish, or Hex — and hope it matches what that thing is weak to. Old soldiers say wars were faster. In rough, every round is a negotiation with tired arms.

Damage is lower than the ballads suggest. Armor helps. Dexterity keeps your aim steady. When you miss, the log shows zero and you still lose a beat in the round — time you cannot buy back with gold.

Health does not snap back when the fight ends. Bandages and tavern beds fix some of it. If you lose badly you stay wounded until you pay for care — or eat the last dried apple in your pack and hope the next quest clears the shame.

Watchtower guards on the tablelands mark your signal fires. Beachcombers on the shore bet on whether you return. The land keeps score even when no one is cheering.

Combat is not the center of rough. It is a toll gate on the road to places that will not open for talk alone — wreck lines, ash vents, shrine stone that remembers weight.