No better inside than out, Irobu Vikria thought with disdain when she walked through the imposing oaken door. She, along with Ser Griffiths, Harold, and his escort, had entered into the great hall of the central castle of Duncaster—one obviously in a state of disrepair. The hall was lined with grimy, stained tables; once elegant crystal chandeliers hung overhead. Presently, only two were lit, and both the chandeliers and the hall’s vaulted ceiling were coated in soot. In the back of the grand chamber was a raised platform, atop which rested an intricately carved table and nine upholstered chairs. The gold cloaked figure that had darted by the castle’s guests was opening a soot encrusted door behind this extravagant table.

“Wait,” the figure directed in a childish voice and bounded through the doorway.

“By Buain! So young!” Ser Griffiths blurted upon hearing the small boy speak. “Buain’s monks waited until we had hair on our chest to start serving. But to use such young lads as servants…seems wrong.”

“I, along with everyone else in my family, started working in the mines at age five. Children are plenty capable workers; starting young instills proper values. Perhaps your reluctance towards the practice is why Duncaster is so technologically inferior,” Irobu suggested derisively.

And the Sanusites’ devotion to Hekal is why they pale before the Nzank, Thrun asserted smugly.

No one cares about the Nzank! Remember who it was that found you!

Thrun muttered several words in the consonant heavy tongue of the Nzank and fell silent.

“Actually, Miss Vikria,” Ser Griffiths corrected, “I’m not from here. I was an orphan in Fairhaven and was taken in by Buain’s benevolent monks…”

Completely disinterested in what the knight had to say, Irobu strolled away to stand by Harold’s escort. The grizzled watchmen were now milling about in front of the raised platform; a few reexamined Irobu now that she wasn’t shrouded in darkness. They whispered amongst themselves and tried to discreetly point at her; consequently Irobu turned her back to them.

“Great thinking, Miss Vikria! I can properly introduce myself to you and Harold at the same time!” the middle-aged knight gushed and hustled over to the rest of the castle’s guests. Politely, Ser Griffiths extended a hand towards Harold, although one of the latter’s retainers moved between the future squad mates.

“Bad idea,” the guard stated gruffly. Ser Griffiths blinked and retracted his hand; Harold was watching him curiously out of his one good eye.

“If you say so. Regardless, I am Ser Aidan Griffiths,” the friendly knight declared. “And what might your name be, young fellow?”

“Harold Bonebreaker,” the criminal answered, tapping his chest with a fist. He next glanced at Irobu, although she ignored his gaze.

“That there’s Miss—” Ser Griffiths supplied.

“Drop the ‘Miss’. Call me Irobu if you must address me at all,” Irobu ordered.

“—Irobu Vikria,” the knight finished gingerly. “We’re both enlisting, so we thought we should introduce ourselves. I hail from far off Fairhaven, where I was taken in by the monks of Buain…” he once more began explaining his life’s story. While Harold appeared to be listening to the tale—albeit squinting confusedly at parts—Irobu tuned out Ser Griffiths’ deep voice.

This is going to be more excruciating than I ever imagined, Irobu mulled. I see why Hekal sent me here, to hone my patience as well as my spellcasting.

Have you forgotten already? Hekal did no such thing. I directed us here using what I uncovered in your pathetic library in Gargam, Thrun contended.

Hush, demon, mind your own business.

Any further arguments were forestalled by the sudden reopening of the door on the platform. Out walked a wizened old man in a once white kaftan; silvery hair flowed down the sides of his wrinkled face and blended into his robe. Numerous rings lined his narrow fingers and metallic bracelets covered his wrists. Irobu immediately took note of his dark complexion.

That skin tone, and kaftan…is he a Sanusite too? But what kind of Sanusite would let their hair grow that long?

Irobu didn’t linger on the question for long because a woman subsequently stepped through the doorway—one unlike any she had seen before. High cheek bones framed her youthful face; her large, emerald eyes bored into each guest in turn. Lustrous auburn hair flowed down her back and over her strange outfit of leaves and moss. Irobu also noted that she had a bow slung across her back, and after staring at her beautiful face, realized that her ears were pointed. At that point the woman’s gaze fell on Irobu; the young Sanusite blushed and looked away as her pulse quickened.

Remember, she’s still just a savage, Irobu told herself and took a deep breath.

“Greetings friends,” the old man welcomed with a smile. “I am the current Master of the Esteemed Sodality of Excursionists, Gildor Palus. I’m also the Chief of Security for the castle, as well as the Chief Chronicler, doctor and governmental liaison. There might be a few other duties that I can’t recall. Nevertheless, I apologize for the delay. I was busy interviewing Miss Swift ‘ere,” he explained, gesturing to the slender woman now at his side.

“I see Harold made it alright; I ‘ope he wasn’t too much trouble for you boys,” the old man jibed. Next he turned to Irobu. “I’m glad to see you made it safely from Jarren’s Outpost, Miss Vikria.” Irobu cocked an eyebrow in surprise and opened her mouth to speak, although Master Palus carried on, “Fear not, we ‘aven’t been spying on you. Rather, Ser Robyn sent along word of your destination and intentions.”

Of course it was that paternalizing knight, Irobu carped.

“And who might you be Ser?” Master Palus next focused on Ser Griffiths.

“I am Ser Aidan Griffiths,” he answered, “and I was born an orphan in Fairhaven. Thanks to Buain’s generosity, I was offered a ho—”

“Pardon me Ser Griffiths, but I must insist on a brief introduction for the moment. Supper will be ready soon and there are a few tasks I must complete beforehand. I’ll interview you later to get the extended version. So please Ser, carry on,” Master Palus requested politely.

“Understood. I am a paladin err—former paladin—of Buain and was stationed at Buain’s keep,” he commenced, albeit with far less enthusiasm. “I fought as part of an expeditionary force for decades; we battled the creatures escaping from the Spellmarsh and kept tabs on that foul region.”

Irobu’s ears perked up at mention of the Spellmarsh. Perhaps he won’t be entirely useless after all, she thought.

“A couple months ago we were sent on a mission to the heart of that horrid region,” Ser Griffiths sighed, fiddling with straps on his maille. “We…were ambushed by…monstrosities that brutally killed the other paladins. I…somehow escaped and ventured here for a fresh start,” he concluded, eyes glistening.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Master Palus consoled. A few seconds later, one of Harold’s keepers coughed pointedly. “Ah yes, I’m sure you five have business elsewhere. Harold, why don’t you introduce yourself so that your friends can be off?” the elder Sanusite coaxed.

“Okay,” Harold agreed. “Clan…raise sheep in…plains. We find sick, weak man in…yellow clothes. Clan’s Baba, uh…leader,” he added upon seeing Master Palus’ confused expression, “tried to…help sick man. She got sick too. Later I saw two men when leading herds. Two more weak men in yellow. I chase to keep clan safe. They ran. I…smash the bad men. Trade bad men for good medicine. Save Baba. Bad men leave marks. Follow and drag bad men. Many days, many days. Lead to…big stone hut. Shiny men watch hut. Didn’t like me dragging men.”

“I can fill in the rest to make this less painful for everyone,” one of Bonebreaker’s impatient neighbors broke in. “This oaf was dragging two of your members through the dirt when we caught ‘im up by Jarren’s Outpost. Wore straight through the backs of their leather armor. Needless to say, we stopped the damned fool. ‘E kept spouting that sort of gibberish about bad men. Thought ‘e was a slaver at first, turns out ‘e was just dumb. Magisters didn’t care, punished ‘im as if ‘e was one. Pretty ‘arsh sentence though: 20 years in prison, or amputation of an arm, or joining the Sodality for a year. Anyway, ‘e chose joining the Sodality, so ‘ere we are. That’s Harold Bonebreaker for you. And we put ‘im in the usual type of collar. That about cover it, Master Palus?”

“Yes, that will do. George and William are still recovering ‘ere as it ‘appens. Really did a number on them ‘arold,” the old man remarked, looking at the convict. Harold was scratching the back of his head absentmindedly. “I imagine it will be difficult to get more from young Harold. You’re free to go,” Master Palus told Harold’s keepers. “Oh and one of you has that club of his, yes?”

Another guard reluctantly unstrapped a sizable club from his back; it appeared to be made of bloodstained bone and was at least as long as Irobu’s arm. Harold eyed it happily, though the watchman set it down on the raised platform outside of the former shepherd’s reach.

“There it is, though it’s your funeral if he tries anything,” one of Harold’s escort stated grimly. With their orders fulfilled, the quintet of exhausted guards shuffled out of the great hall. Harold watched them go out of the corner of his eye. Once they were out of sight, the hulking shepherd lunged for his bone club. His fingers wrapped around its leather handle and in a jiffy he was bounding across the great hall. Stunned by the sudden flight, Swift drew her bow and Ser Griffiths drew his warhammer.

“Harold! Stop running this instant,” Master Palus commanded fiercely. “Feel that collar on your neck? I can shrink it whenever I want, choking you to death.”

Ignoring the warning, Harold dashed madly for the door of the great hall. He made it three more strides—then the shepherd dropped his club and started clawing at the steel band that ringed his neck. His face turned an ashen gray and he made guttural choking sounds. A moment later, one of Palus’ rings flashed, and Harold’s collar stopped choking him.

“I warned you,” Master Palus reminded the buff young man. Harold was now sitting on the ground catching his breath. “As Chief of Security, I can’t let you run amok. Now come back and listen to the rest of the introductions like a civilized person.”

Harold did what he was told and the other recruits slowly put away their weapons, though they all watched Harold suspiciously.

“Next time you try that I’ll make you pass out. You ‘ave to stay here a year, then you’ll be free to go back to the plains. If you do good work, you’ll even get some money to get medicine for your ‘Baba’. Do you understand, Harold?” Master Palus inquired forcefully. Harold nodded his head. “Moving forward, why don’t we proceed with your introduction, Miss Vikria?”

“If I must,” she demurred.

Do not mention me to these simpletons. Your powers were found spontaneously. We know not where this old Sanusite’s allegiances lie, Thrun ordered.

I wasn’t planning to. How many times do I have to tell you to shut up? Remember whom is dependent on whom around here.

Having silenced Thrun, Irobu thought back to her chaotic exit from her home to decide what to divulge.