Hiring writes first
The gates of Brightwater Hall are open for hiring day, and a crowd of hopeful adventurers pushes past the stone lions toward the long table in the courtyard. Banners snap above them. A clerk with ink-stained fingers calls out names one by one, and nobody notices the stranger standing at the edge of the path.
“Next!” The clerk looks up, sees you, and freezes. “You’re... I don’t know you. Are you here to sign up? Let me see your letter.”
Behind the clerk, a tall woman in a travel cloak turns at the sound of your voice. Her hand goes to the sword at her hip, then falls away. She stares at you, then at the crest on your collar, as if she is trying to match a face to a memory. “Hold on,” she says quietly. “Nobody here is going to say the name first, so I will. It’s you, isn’t it?”
A young man behind her shifts uneasily, and an older man in a grey coat steps forward, his face unreadable. “We were told the letter was a prank,” he says. “Your mother said so, and she was very clear about it.”
What do you do with the letter, and what do you tell them first?
