I entered the Guild Hall an hour before sunrise, and two before the youth program begun. The common room was empty aside from the Guild employees behind their desk and the couple of people there to have breakfast, of which only two looked young enough to meet the age cutoff for the youth program.

  I strode through the common room and tried to appear approachable, steps cushioned by mostly dried sawdust. I’d wanted to sit down next to the two people my age, but they were in the middle of a heated conversation. The larger of the pair stewed in his grievances, while the smaller of them gave him a hushed dressing down. Curious to know what had gotten the small one so riled up, I took a seat just far enough away to not impose but close enough to still hear them.

  The smaller of the pair was upset at her friend’s drinking habits. I came to learn over the next ten minutes. He’d gotten end of an age drunk the night before and attempted to flirt with one of the Hall’s trainers. The man hid a chuckle when his friend brought up his failed flirtations, but his friend heard and boxed his ears for his troubles. Context made the man’s expression new meaning, and I guessed his scowl was more for his hangover than any irritation at the woman across from him.

  Over the next forty-five minutes, people filed into the Guild Hall. The vast majority of them looked younger than eighteen and marked them as the people I’d be spending my time with for the next five days. To pass the time as I people watched, I made up stories and background for those who entered.

  Half an hour into the wait, a small woman marched into the Guild. She wore rough gambeson armor, mold creeping along the stitching. She carried a hardwood staff taller than she, capped with bands of rusted iron on both ends. Despite the ragged equipment, she carried herself with the self-assured pride of a preteen who’d just won their first duel in the pits. Purposeful steps carried a nose held so high she had to tilt her face to avoid the rafter. Dust puffed off of her gambeson as she sat at one of the last empty tables. Unbothered by the dust, the woman adjusted her strawberry blonde hair and settled into a meditative posture.

  The juxtaposition between her bearing and equipment made me smile. I imagined her as the princess of a fallen kingdom who wore the remnants of her kingdom’s finest treasures. My smile slipped when she caught me looking and leveled a glare at me that contained all the displeasure and disdain I imagined a real princess’ would.

  Five minutes later, the next interesting story entered. He was a small man, barely over five feet tall, with features so soft and round they’d fit better on an infant. Strapped across his person was a thick bandolier of large throwing knives, a poorly rolled cigarette hung loosely between his lips. He walked with all the confidence of a blooded [Gladiator] which dissolved when a Guild employee yelled at him to smother his cigarette. Something the man did quickly before he slunk to the table furthest away from the employee who’d yelled at him.

  The man reminded me of a scene I’d read in one of the Ajax the Bold books. Ajax’s son, who desperately wanted to be like his father, was playing with a kitchen knife and got yelled at by his mother. So, the man gained a similar background in my head, one in which he was a mighty [Warrior’s] son desperate to prove himself but shy from a life lived in his parent’s shadow. His background was fun to picture for a moment, but my imagination quickly slipped over to the great deeds of his imagined parent.

  Five minutes before the program began, the door slammed open; the sound slashed across the room and cut off all conversations. A man of average height wearing the work-stained clothes of a [Laborer] dashed in. His only weapons were a bag of small rocks and a bare wand he carried in an unadorned hostler. His lateness mixed with the underwhelming nature of his gear lead me to believe he had either forgotten about today or just found out. So his story became one of a newly found magic affinity, and a less than full knowledge of how to get started in the world of mana.

  The dim twinkle from a small bell held in the hand of one of the [Receptionists] cut my story weaving short. Despite its small size, the golden bell cast a sound that blanketed all others in the room. The woman who’d rung the bell said nothing and sat down to reveal a group of about twenty-five people, led by a woman with mousey features and short black hair, entering from a door behind the reception desk. When she came to a stop in front of the dining area, her hangers-on fanned out behind her in a tiered line. The woman who signed me up for the program two days ago among them.

  “Listen up. My name’s Ruth Woodsedge’s head trainer. Behind me are my fellow trainers, and all the stewards currently without a flagship party.” Ruth called; her voice far deeper than her compact frame would’ve implied. “For those of you unaware, stewards are an important part of any party. They gather quests for you, manage your business interests, and handle your public perception.

  “If you’re good enough to win one over, that is. A steward is a gods-send for anyone serious about making it as an adventurer, and you’d all do well to take this opportunity to impress one seriously.”

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  The small woman looked over us, her gaze a hammer she used to beat the words into our heads. While she glared, an average-looking man stepped up, placed a hand on her shoulder, and spoke, his voice clear and placid as a secluded lake.

  “Hey everyone. Name’s Matt and I’ll be your aura trainer while you’re here in Woodsedge. I want to remind everyone that even though the stewards will be scouting you, these coming days are ultimately about you and acclimating to the Guild. It’d be best if you focus on that aspect instead.”

  “Thank you Matt.” Ruth said, coming out of her glare. “If you’d all follow me out back, we can get started.”

  ~***~

  Compared to the tiny yard behind the Widow’s Mark, the Guild’s training yard was a province onto itself. From the exterior, the courtyard looked fenced in, but now I could see the interior held a shorter runed stone wall that surrounded the entire space and connected the tavern to the keep. The large majority of the yard was open space, broken up by small marked areas meant for sparring, but at the back of the yard was a massive collection of training weapons and equipment.

  The trainers chatted amongst themselves quietly while they waited for everyone to get settled and for the stewards to line themselves up along the wall of the tavern. Once we were all ready, Ruth broke from the cluster of trainers and turned to us.

  “Here’s how today’s going to work; to start, you’ll separate based on your style of combat and line up in front of one of my fellow trainers. Once they’re done with you, you’ll have an hour for lunch. Afterwards, the trainers will decide where we think you fit best and you will spar with one another, during which we’ll shuffle the groups thrice. Questions?”

  Ruth waited for the briefest moment and ignored several raised hands before she continued.

  “As there are none. I’m going to have my colleagues introduce themselves and their specialties. You will line up before whoever you think best matches your style.” Ruth stepped back again and Matt took her spot.

  “As you all know, I’m Matt. I specialize in the usage of aura, and I hope to see some new [Sorcerers] and [Sorceresses] born today.” With that, Matt stepped back as a short, heavily scarred man took his place.

  “How’s it going, I’m Regis. I specialize in ranged weapons, and I look forward to meeting all of you!” Regis’ voice was high pitched and squeaked slightly, which I took to be a product of the nasty scar that ran along his throat rather than genetics.

  The woman who replaced Regis was massive and maybe taller than I was. She wore a well made but loose set of robes and carried herself with a regalness that made her look as if she walked on air, disdaining to even associate with the ground.

  “Good morning. May the storms forgive and the winds shelter you all. My name is Tammy, and I’ll be your melee weapons trainer. I look forward to meeting you all.”

  Last to step forward was another tall woman in robes, but unlike Tammy, hers clung to her body as if painted on and loosened only around the ankles. It made her resemble the mist ghouls in the heart of the Weeping Forest.

  “Morning. In case you haven’t figured it out. I’m the mana trainer. I see a good number of focuses amongst the crowd, so I expect I’ll be quite busy these next few days.”

  Introductions finished, Ruth called for us to follow her, then split off to line up in front of which trainer we thought fit us best as she marched to the areas marked for sparring.

  I wound up last in line for the melee trainer, and from my spot did a headcount to see how many people had showed up. Tammy’s line had twelve of us. Regis had another twelve. The unnamed mana trainer had fourteen in front of her and the dedicated aura trainer’s line was empty.

  Matt looked at the full lines in front of his colleagues with a disappointed but unsurprised expression. Aura was an incredibly hard force to manipulate, especially early in life and at the early tiers of power. To have any impact, aura users had to use their understanding of the world to bend it to their will and create a pseudo-domain. Insight like that didn’t happen overnight, however, aura was also such a potent tool it wouldn’t shock me if half the people here wound up with a dedicated aura manipulation class, eventually.

  “I leave you in the capable hands of my colleagues. Listen to them well and take their words seriously. We are here for your benefit, not our own.”

  With that, Ruth turned and walked over to join the stewards against the wall of the tavern. Matt joined her after one last melancholic look at where his line should have been. I remained focused on Ruth and Matt as she said something that made him laugh, and Matt responded with a sardonic grin when Tammy spoke.

  “I will have your attention.” Tammy waited for all of us to turn and look at her before she continued. “I will call you forward. You’ll declare your specialties and tell me whether you consider your style offensive or defensive. I will adapt my approach to this spar based on that. Clear?”

  When she had introduced herself earlier, she had come unflappable and regal, but separated from the rest of her peers. The woman’s demeanor shifted, barely contained movement and violence emanated out from her like a physical force.

  “Begin.”

  The person who stepped forward was a stocky, baby-faced young man with oiled back brown hair. Draped loosely around his shoulders was a forest green hooded cloak. At his side, I could see the bulge of a small, bladed weapon.

  “My name is Leo Waters. I specialize in dagger work and I’d describe my fighting style as neutral, neither offensive nor defensive.” Leo’s voice was almost an exact match for what I thought it would be, except that I’d forgotten people out here don’t have the melodic accent of native Grace Chant speakers.

  Tammy nodded and beckoned Leo, who’d drawn a curved dagger from the sheath I spotted, forward with a finger. Leo circled Tammy; shoulders slightly hunched, a house cat cornering a mouse. It was clear he wanted Tammy to be the first to attack, but when she made no move to do so, Leo charged.

  Knife held forward in a defensive posture, Leo hesitated at the edge of her reach, then dashed in to lash out in a sequence of quick slashes. Tammy allowed him to attack for a moment. Small flicks of her fingers deflected his dagger until she got bored and struck out with a series of quick jabs. The punches had tested his defense, but some slipped through to land on his chin and ribs. When she landed a cross to his sternum Leo gasped and retreated to catch his breath, his guard let down. Tammy must have disapproved because she glided forward to land blows in the same spots she just had. It was light as far as rebukes went in my experience.

  “Keep your guard up. Who made you think it was okay to rest after taking a punch?”

  Leo’s eyes shot up from the ground like a rock from a sling, and he charged at her again, still off balance and now noticeably upset. As soon as he got into range, Tammy brought a hammer fist down on the back of his head, which sent him to the ground like a sack of grain; and left him moaning in pain.

  “That was silly. Next!”