About four weeks have passed. Training with Jorik went quite well and progress was palatable, I discovered that keeping his needs in terms of food and drink satisfied was slowly bankrupting me. Although I had not run out of money yet, I found myself desperate for a source of income. Interestingly enough, my need for money appeared to be quite obvious.

One night after a long training session I sat at my usual table in the pub enjoying my supper. Across the room at the bar was Jorik, downing his third or forth mug of ale – which would be allotted to my tap, of course. Despite my victory of the day which was defeating Jorik in six out of ten combat practices my mood was shabby. With furred brows and sunken head, I sat there nibbling on the last piece of bread.

“How is the aspiring rogue to be? I heard training is going very well,” a deep voice yanked me out of my thoughts.

“Oh… yeah,” I raised my head.

Above me stood Deputy Willem with two ug in his hands. He did not wait for me to offer him a seat. He placed the two mugs on my table, one right in front of me and the other across where he sat down on the empty chair.

“Quite generous of you to pay for Jorik’s expenses,” he pointed behind him at Jorik, who was probably already on his fifth ale. Who knew?

“Or stupid,” I replied, drawing the full mug into my hands.

Willem laughed.

“I told Harry that I would only pay for two ales Jorik orders, but I’m not quite sure if that’s the case,” I admitted sourly and took a swig. The ale was pretty good here, I had to admit.

“Don’t worry,” Willem gave me an assuring smile. “Harry is a good guy.”

“Still, some money would be night, though,” I took another swig.

“You know,” Willem leaned over the table, his voice lowered to almost a whisper. “Marshal McBride is always looking for volunteers.”

My ears perked up, not only at the possible prospects of earning money but also at the peculiar way he accentuated the word volunteers. I shot him a glance over the rim of my ale, pondering.

“What kind of volunteers?” I inquired.

“Of all kinds,” Willem waved his hand dismissingly.  

I eyed him, chewing on my lower lip.

“It’s nothing illegal, if you need to know,” he smiled and took a sip. “Marshal McBride is an upstanding soldier and citizen.”

“Oh, I’m not worried if it’s illegal,” I replied laughing. I was wondering if it was deadly. Of course, I did not voice this concern to the deputy.

“Right,” he smirked at me.

I did not reciprocate.

“The pay is quite decent. You’ll find the Marshal in the abbey,” he finished his drink and rose. “Think about it.”

With these words he left me alone at the table.

***

The next morning, I found myself inside the abbey looking for Marshal McBride. It had not taken much convincing for me to seek out the Marshal. I was convinced that whatever tasks he would have for me would be manageable, and I was fond of the idea to earn quite a bit of cash which would allow me to extent my training.

My footsteps echoed through the corridors as I made my way to the main room. It was built in white stone with delicate flower ornaments and colored glass windows. At the farther end of the room, I saw a man in shiny armor vanish through a wooden door. Unsure whether that person was the marshal or not I decided it would be best just to follow them and ask where I could find him. In the worst-case scenario, he would direct me where to find the marshal, in the best-case scenario it would be the marshal himself.

I hurried across the marble floor and pushed the door open. In front of me appeared a library with wood-carved shelves up to the ceiling. In the middle stood a long table of the same craftsmanship at which the man in shining armor had taken place. His head turned towards the direction I stood.

“I’m sorry, I’m looking for Marshal McBride?” I slowly stepped inside.

“You’ve found him,” the man stood up from the table and approached me. He was a tall older man with bald head and grey mustache. His armor bore the sigil of Stormwind. Although it was old, it was in impeccable shape and freshly polished.

“I’m Marshal McBride, how can I help you?” he stuck his hand toward me.

“My name is Branwyn,” I took his hand and shook it. He had a strong but yet gentle grip. “Deputy Willem sends me.”

“Another volunteer,” his face lit up. “Splendid! You aren’t from around here, are you?”

I shook my head.

“Where are you from, my child?” His smile radiated a warmth which reminded me of my grandfather.

“Stormwind.”

“Splendid!” he let go of my hand and walked towards the table. I remained glued to the entrance for a second, until he waved me over to the table and offered me a seat. I thanked him and sat down.

“As you might know the human lands are threatened from without, and so many of our forces have been marshalled abroad,” he started elaborating as he sat down.

I nodded. My father was part of these forces. He never came back.

“This, in turn, leaves room for corrupt and lawless groups to thrive within our borders,” he continued. His tone had a theatrical note to it.

“It is a many-fronted battle we wage…, “he stopped looking at me puzzled. “I’m sorry, what was your name again?”

“Branwyn,” I replied promptly.

“Right, Branwyn,” he smiled at me. “Gird yourself for a long campaign.”

He stopped for a dramatic pause. Then he leaned in closer.

“How much do you know about kobolds?”