As much as I truly despised interaction with other people, it would be prudent to assemble at least a small group. I wasn't so arrogant as to think I could clear a Dungeon by myself. Not yet, anyway. In time, there was no doubt.

I cast my gaze about the room. Was it less white, now that Valen was gone? Maybe. Though I could have been wrong. Regardless, I examined the various novices yet to reorganize themselves. Some had already grouped up, some left without bothering. I was greatly tempted to join the latter group. The majority remained. I could roughly separate them into a few relevant categories, which I hoped were somewhat accurate at the least.

Firstly were the frontline fighters. Or so I assumed. The larger and more visibly fit ones. Their Talismans -an individuals version of my own annoyingly irremovable amulet- mostly took the form of pieces of armor or other 'clothing'. Bracers, small chestplates, gloves and the like, mostly. Generally things that I'd find extremely annoying to be stuck to your body.

What was the point of these, anyway? Why give every Warlock such a pointless feature? Scratch that, actually. Now that I thought about it, none of the instructors or the dean had a noticeable one. Maybe it'd disappear at higher Levels? When a Subclass was acquired, most likely. I didn't have much information on those, surprisingly not a Warlock specific. Moet Classes like to hoard knowledge about their own progression. Stupid in my opinion. What harm is there in knowledge dissemination?

The second group was the one into which I myself fell. So obviously the best group, as signified by how it was the largest. They were the slender, -and not so- the not so muscled. Those who dealt more in brain than brawn, presumably, should you understand. To put it bluntly, so much as it pained me, the ones who didn't look like they could take a hit. They bore necklaces, rings, piercings, jewelry of all types, really. Odd how easily my eye sought out the accesories on anyone I looked at. Most likely these were the backliners. Your mage archetype, who stood away from the conflict while ruining some poor fool's day.

The last was a mixed bag. They were of all builds and types, with nary a single commonality but for one. They each carried a weapon. Be it a dagger, sword, axe, one had a glaive, -one of the best weapons I say- they all possessed some form of instrument of combat. Bit of an unfair advantage, wasn't it? That they had such a thing by default, while I'd have to aquire one. The indignity! What factors determined who got what? Anyway, these assorted folks -mostly elves, oddly, like, a distinct majority- would be your damage dealers in a typical party setup.

How big was this classroom? How could so many people realistically occupy the space? Oh well. Magic no doubt beyond my understanding.

I should take care now, seeing as whatever companions I choose will be responsible for my life on the regular, most likely. I should most definitely be extremely careful, and select with the utmost of discrimination. I cast a keen, appraising eye over my peers, examining with such extreme exactitude- is he approaching me? Oh, he's most definitely approaching me. Quick, where- wait, no, this is good right? I want to interview people for such a prestigious position. Such eagerness is already a point in his favor. Probably.

The 'him' in question was a lean -even for his people- elvish man. He stood just a few inches taller than me, his head framed by short, sandy blond hair. He'd made some rather interesting alterations to the uniform, its flared bottom cut into strips that I assumed were either to enhance mobility or an odd fashion statement. It wasn't bad actually, quite the look. Was it allowed? Questionable, but not my problem. His face was split open in a wide smile that quite literally reached his eyes, wide and strikingly blue, while also showing off the multitude of teeth he possessed. Shudder. Does the first person I actually, willingly talk to here have to be so unsettling? Is that discriminatory? I hope not.

All that said, none of those were his most distinguishing feature. That would be the long, thin sword of dark ice he wore at his hip. The hilt was normal, a grey thing of metal wrapped in what was probably leather. The blade however was a jagged shard in the rough shape of a katana, which I only knew the name of because of a phase I'd gone through as a child. Don't judge me. Inspect, if you don't mind.

Savhyt

Warlock

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Age 16

Level 1

Ah yes, I'm staring. That's rude I believe. He has style though. Another point in his favor. He quickly reached me, standing rather close for comfort, and words began to pour from him with nary a moment of hesitation.

"Hello there!" He exclaimed, rather cheerfully. Hopefully he wasn't always so excited. His words were short and clipped as he continued, almost belting them out. "I'm Savhyt. What's your name? Will you join my group? I only need one more person-"

I really should have kept count of those points. It would have made the decision so much easier. Not that it's hard. Either I join a preexisting, handily assembled group or I go off and talk to strangers myself. Very obvious. But can I deal with someone this talkative? Ah, whats the likelihood he's like this all the time? And, much as it hurts to say, a group of silent, uncommunicative loners doesn't tend to work very well.

What was his name, Savhyt? Odd. Or maybe not. I haven't met any elves. It's probably a completely normal name. Like John. Unlike Allister. Curse you, Mother, for overconpensating for your own lack of flair.

Oh. Now he's staring. Expectantly. How long was I monologuing? This pause is getting awkward. I should probably say something. It would really help, I imagine.

What was the last thing he said? I really should have been listening. Oh well, improvise I guess.

"I'm Allister. And I would very much like to join your group. Thank you for the invitation." It came out stilted and awkward. Of course it did. "Who else is there?" Sigh.

Somehow, Savhyt smiled wider still. Bit excessive, isn't it? What are you so happy about? That'll get tiring, I imagine. But I've already commiter I guess. I'd really rather not go talk to people. Or go through the process of telling him that I've changed my mind. This inability to talk to people is likely going to have detrimental effects in the future I imagine. I should work on that. I probably won't though.

"We've got a good mix. Let me introduce you to them. Come," he said, turning and waving me to follow. Which I did, of course. I am resigned to my fate.

I nodded breifly and followed Savhyt through the crowd. Which wasn't that large, but somehow was entirely in our path. I muttered several awkward 'excuse me's as we weaved through them. We approached a group of three interesting characters who were chatting animatedly. Well, two were. The third stood a bit to the side, shifting uncomfortably. I got the feeling we'd get along well. In that we equally disliked conversing. The chatty two looked up as we arrived, curiosity evident in their expressions. The third glanced, but averted his gaze.

"This," Savhyt began, dramatically, "is our final member! Sir tall...ish, dark and mysterious..." He flourished his hands, as one might when revealing the grand prize of a game. "Allister! A round of applause, please." A lackluster, polite clapping followed from one of my companions-to-be.

He was a large, rather muscular human. Built like a brick wall, if you will. Why is everyone here taller than me? Broad shouldered and just generally broad, he seemed unusually... big. His hair was short and thick, almost like a black helmet around his head, it was so complete in its coverage. His skin was a deep, tanned brown color, marked with just the occasional scar. He rolled up his sleeves to his shoulders to bare his well muscled arms. Bit showoff'y. His left hand -which he extended for a handshake- was clad up to the elbow in a long glove. The thing was a mess of black and white that seemed to shift almost like liquid.

"Hi, I'm James. Nice to meet you I guess." James's voice was on the deeper end, gravelly and rough. He spoke, at least now, with a neutral, polite tone. Not to be rude, but he had the inflection of one with less means, should you understand.

"This one's Zarah," he said, indicating the orcish girl with which he'd been talking previously. Talking at, more like, based on how she grunted noncommittally. "And that one's Asta. They don't seem like they talk too much." Here he gestured at the less talkative one, who was probably a human but too heavily clad for me to be sure.

More closely examining my other party members, I got the sudden urge to alter my appearance in some way, rather than remain the sole uninteresting individual. Zarah was a towering orc, her entire body bulging with muscle beneath her pallid, corpse-grey, almost blue flesh. Her eyes, small and entirely black, were like those of a beast of some kind. The arms of the coat looked to have been roughly torn off, as well as the pants below the knee. The front was left open, likely because of the arrangement of rounded, chitinous earthen plates over her upper torso.

Asta was small in stature, diminutive even. Barely five feet, if I had to estimate, which reassured my bruised ego slightly. They wore a hood, along with the grey academy coat. The same color. Their face was covered by a blank mask which had only two holes for the eyes. What's with all the grey, really? Is it in fashion? Some could be excused, if it was, say, the color of your skin. But for everything else? It's just such a boring color. Anyway. Asta's hands, the only visible skin, were a pale, alabaster white like paper. Their eyes were normal at least. White around a ring of brown with a center of black. No heterochromia or strange magical shades.

"Hello." Asta's voice was small and weak. Like their appearance. It was barely a whisper that pierced my ears, yet I heard it clear as day. Seemed to be just a bit muffled from the mask, too, with a tinny sound to it. They waved, briefly, and went silent. Yes, we'd get along great.