Upon Perisónn street, lay the guild. Overlooking the adjacent Monak Caves, it gathered all seekers of big and small, firm and nimble or sly and impetuous.

Among this uneven gathering, he pushes through as a single black lamb among the flock. He reaches the entrance,

“Looks like a tavern…”

He surveys to find all the tables occupied. Further, he finds the person he needs.

The bald man behind the counter notices him but feigns not to, remains amusing the maids. With his hand cloaked by the oversized robe, he taps the wooden counter grabbing the attention around him. The bald man concludes himself with the women and turns around, when the black robed man:

“Enrollment as a seeker.”

The bald man frowns, then pulls out certain sheets of crumply yellow. He takes one out and stretches.

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“What’s your name?”

“Robinson Crusoe”

Just then a woman comes near, takes the mug, he tells her, she laughs, he returns,

“So… what’s your name again...?”

“Hercules”

“Didn’t you say somethin else…?”

“No.”

“Hmm… uncommon name…”

“Not so… at least near where I come from.”

“Where’re you from?”

“...why do you need to know that?”

He pauses with a frown,

“Don’t you want your glory to be known in your hometown, every time you go back?”

“No…”

He raises a brow.

“...Land of Selohssa”

“Where’s that?”

“Faraway”

“...”

He frowns again. Finishes filling the sheet with as much ink it can possibly hold,

“Here’s your token. Don’t lose it.”

“What if I do?”

“No pay until you get a new one.”

Hercules grabs the iron medallion strung on a well-made rope. Before he turns,

“And… you do look hale, but you can’t kill anythin with your naked hands. Around the corner, there’s Paul's smithy.”

He turns around, only to be called again,

” Since it seems you’re dry on money... tell them you’re new, they might give ya somethin to whack a gob.”

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