Arriving at the city gate, you see an old grizzled man keeping watch and holding himself up with the help of a nasty-looking halberd. His companion is sitting by the table and seems asleep. The old man looks at you and grins, showing blackened teeth and rheumy eyes.

- Lookit here, Luke, we got’us a new’un! - The man at the table snorts, opens one eye and fixes you in place with a stare. He seems to consider whether you are worth more of his attention, then reluctantly opens the other eye and beckons you forward. There is no chair for you to sit, and it looks like that’s the way they like it. When he speaks you hear in his voice the hollow echoes of ancient battles and a life dressed in metal. He is old; he survived.

- So, young one, ye think ye’re are ready to crawl out from under your mother’s skirts and play with the big boys, hmmm? Methinks the smell of sour milk is still too strong, but if ye really want to try it I won’t be the one to stop ye. Like the wise man said, pain is the best teacher in the world. - The old, grizzled warrior hawks loudly and spits to the side. His fellow with the spear cackles gleefully.

- Yep, if pain’s a teacher ye’re about to get a degree like in one o’them newfangled thingies, univoisities methinks them’re called, - mutters Luke, half to himself. - So let’s just fill in this form thing here, shall we?”

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