At the Hall, the best day of the week is the sixth one. Buy two cups of ale for the price of one! Such a bargain. It might even be cheaper once I am registered. I am so looking forward to that sixth day now! I do love me some beer or an excellent ale, as long as it is cheap or free.

In the wink of an eye, the fight is over, or was I thinking too long about beer? I am too late to put any money down on the match. If I had, I would have won. The Shield mopped the floor with his opponent. Oh well, off to register.

As I head for the administrator, the big hammer fellow is getting dragged past me by two people, a tough-looking guy, and… hold the presses! It’s Lana from the Travellers. Her picture from the bit novels does not do her justice. Wow, I have only read stories about them. Are there any other members of that Charter here? Cannot wait to see all of them.

Oh my Trinity, there is a bloody line-up. Now I have to play the waiting game. I played that game a lot in the army. We waited here; then we waited over there. As long as you looked busy, the Captain did not care, but you had to be busy when the Sarge was around. If you were wasting time, she would find something for you to do. Sarge busted me slacking off all the time! The number of latrine holes she made me dig; marching drills for hours on end—that wasn’t fun—and I never saw her have a drop of grog ever, not even once!

Even if she was weird, I did learn a lot from her. Would not be here today if she had not saved me from the wrong end of a sword. From that day, I always have one silent toast in her honour.

After a stroll down memory lane, I can only think of free beer and the sixth day. Oh, I’m just standing here; there is no one in front! Thank you, tired brain, for making the queue go away.

I walk up to the administrator, Royce. He looks at me with bloodshot green eyes that look like they are cresting the dark bags beneath them. Coughing up phlegm, he rasps, “Come on, lad. Been watching you stand there doing nothing for five minutes now. What do you want?”

That was shocking. Five minutes? I shrugged. Oh well, no queue.

“Come on; I haven’t got all day to watch you daydream. If you don’t tell me what you want, I’m going to ask you to leave!”

I shake my head and apologise, “Sorry! Some goons jumped me earlier today. Must be a little frazzled still, or it could be the pie.”

I can see Royce is becoming a little annoyed by the way he is tapping a scarred thumb on the top of the table.

“Sorry. You do not care. Um, I am here to sign up!”

He looks me up and down with a professional-grade sneer that says he has seen all sorts. “Do you wish to start a new Charter or do you want to apply for an opening in an existing Charter, if one is available?”

“Just wanting to pay Hall’s dues and put my name down for any open spots.” I stood there, smiling inanely at him.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“What’s so funny, boy? You look like a grinning idiot. Take this paperwork and fill it out. The annual fee is forty slips.”

Every time I come into the Hall and ask about Charters, Royce gives me the same speech. Three times before, I did not have the money, but I do now. I can register. Wish he would remember me; this is the fourth time I have been in here! Bloody senile old human.

“This does not guarantee you a spot in a party, just allows you to apply for jobs and covers the administration of your documents …”

Wow, this guy can prattle on. I cannot stand listening to people who think they are smarter than me. Or annoying people. Like this guy.

“And after you are done with that there—”

He suddenly stops and looks at me.

“Did you hear anything I just said, boy?”

“Of course I did! All this paperwork is not going to do itself. Here are the forty slips, and may I borrow a quill and well to finish this?”

As he passes the writing kit over, I spy an empty table. Time to fill out this unnecessary paperwork. Looking at the forms, there are some interesting questions. Place of birth, okay. Name, I can do that. Skills and ability, well, that will be a short list. I can swing a sword, take orders, march, and scout—can not forget that one.

Being a half-breed, the army just gave me the ‘fun’ jobs, the ones I had to do to gain citizenship of Favinonia. Okay, I can see in the dark—so? Bloody typical, racist lowlifes making me scout out enemy positions in the dark and cold of night! I can ride a horse too. Well, my horse. I loved that horse. Cannot remember its name now. The only one that would come near me; another fantastic trait of my half-breed background.

I scatter a bit of sand to help the ink dry, and done! Back to Royce. Such a bothersome administrator.

“With all your lollygagging, I thought this would take you longer.” He smiles and looks down at the form.

“Let's have a look at this… An army boy, haven’t seen that much action.” He chuckles to himself, flicking through the pages as if they offended him personally. “This all seems in order. Here is your receipt. So, do you want your name in the pool for open Charter?”

“Are no Charters looking for anyone at the moment? I am willing to do any sort of work, even if they do not want a new signing member. Ready to be signed on for a job or two.”

“I have a group upstairs looking for a few members. I can put your name down but …” He pauses to point to a strong Folk and then to the armoured knight from the pit. “Those men seem to be more experienced than you. You are—no offence—a bit ordinary.”

Mela, Jara, Jenell! Try being told that you are pretty much useless! Well, average then. When I served, I might not have been the cream of the crop, but I still was not one of those ‘special’ cases who did not know left from right. They were good for one thing: following orders, as long as you took the time to explain them thoroughly.

“Okay, I’m not a knight in shining armour or a savage, but do not dismiss me. There must be people looking for someone, even just a body to fill a sentry spot.”

“Come back in a few days. See if any other parties are coming through these parts.”

Such a waste of time. I turn to leave, but Royce is still talking. “Well … there is one job on the Board. I don’t think they’ll mind a solo petitioning for this job.”

He coughs again. Wow, do all older men have a phlegm factory in the back of their throat?

“The town Watch patrol is looking for bodies to fill the ranks for the Duke’s upcoming tour. Three days’ work, good pay, and they aren’t too worried about experience.”

Well, it is a job from the Hall. Beggars can't be choosers, or is it lazy people like money, hmm?

“This would help me get out of a jam. Put my name down!” I exclaim. “So, what are the chances of me getting this job?”

Royce looks up. “I send over the parties that wish to do the job. I’ll put you down as your Charter name of ‘Lone Solo’. Not much of a name, but it will do.” There’s that old man chuckle again; more phlegm than laughter. “They seem a bit rushed with this, so your chances are good.”

Why am I only skilled to be a walking thug? Only have thirty slips left, not enough to pay Malik. I need this job! Hope it is not too dangerous