Falin settled into yet another squeaky wooden chair at yet another worn-out round table, waiting for yet another generic stew to be delivered to him. He was getting rather sick of these country inns. Perhaps he was being a bit harsh. Most of those trappings were found even in many upscale establishments, if a bit higher in quality. They were not the fault of the region, nor were they tragic in isolation. On the other hand, the sheer number of these things and their egregiousness was grating. During the war, he would have been forgiving, but peacetime meant higher standards.

It was the food that held the gravest of sins, and it was what soured him so much on everything else. Every dish was a stew or a hash flavored with little more than excessive amounts of salt by a chef who desperately needed to be informed that other seasonings existed. For a common man it might have been delicious. Even for many noble humans, it may have been acceptable, if simple. For a son of House Rivelda, it was boring and bland. Completely unacceptable. Worse was that he was starting to acclimate to it. He had almost enjoyed the last one. He hoped he would find proper cuisine before too much damage was done to his palate.

These pathetic lodgings were beneath him, but so was camping as he was forced to do between towns. Oh, he had no problems sleeping outside on a journey from time to time. The cool night air and a bit of stargazing could be a welcome change of pace. But the tiny, cramped tent and bare minimum sleeping mat he had now were hardly befitting of his station. Unfortunately, bringing a proper tent or bedding would have been impractical since he was traveling alone. He had the strength for it, but so much bulk would still be awkward to carry alone without a wagon or pack animal. What he was left with was far worse than cheap, old furniture and mediocre meals. Given the choice, he would choose the lesser of two evils every time.

“Hey, there, Sir Knight,” a cheerful voice said much louder than was needed to get his attention.

Having been looking down at the table in his contemplation, Falin looked up to the source. Three humans and a tiransa had stopped beside his table, across from him. He could not be sure who had spoken, but he assumed it was the blond human man at the front of the group. He had an idiotic smile that seemed like it would go with the voice and the fact that the speaker had all but shouted for Falin’s attention from about three feet away.

“Do you have some business with me?” Falin asked.

“We couldn’t help but notice you were alone,” the blond man said. It had indeed been his voice before. He looked to be about one hundred fifty—no, fifty years old. Sometimes it slipped Falin’s mind that humans aged like fruit flies. “Just wondering if you were looking for some company.”

“It would be an honor to share a meal with a Sacred Knight,” a human woman—the sole woman among the group—added. With braided brown hair, she seemed to be in her twenties.

It took a titanic effort for Falin to keep himself from sighing. Just being here was grating enough without these idiots interrupting what peace and quiet he could get. As much as he hated the ignorance of most of the townsfolk in the area, at least it had the result of giving them the good sense to leave him alone most of the time.

And yet, due to his mission, he had to refuse tactfully. Scolding them would hardly help endear the Sacred Knights or relti to the masses, even if it was their own fault. So, he had to let them down gently, as it were.

“I do not need company,” he said. “While I appreciate the offer, I am perfectly comfortable eating alone.”

There, a perfect tactful rejection. He made it sound like it was his preferences were at fault, rather than them, no matter how untrue that was.

He didn’t mind sharing a table either, in and of itself. But not with random strangers and certainly not with this lot. The number of people whose company he enjoyed during a meal could have been counted on both hands.

“We don’t doubt it, Sir Knight,” the tiransa said. He had a full head of black hair and a close-cut beard. Judging tiransa ages could be difficult, but Falin placed him in his forties. “We just thought you might prefer a little companionship.”

Couldn’t these people read between the lines at all? Falin felt one eye twitch in annoyance. If he was more explicit in his refusal, it would undermine his purpose here. And he had to admit that he was a bit curious to find people so eager for his time, here where everyone feared a reltus until they needed something from him. Silent, he waved his hand around the table, gesturing for them to sit.

The humans each grabbed one of the three remaining chairs—flopping into them as if they had passed out—while the tiransa sat on the floor between two of his companions, who scooted to the side to make room for his broad form. When the wench returned with Falin’s food a moment later, the interlopers each asked for a meal and a drink for themselves.

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Poor quality as the food as these places was, Falin’s stomach gurgled at the scent of the stew before him. Hunger was a powerful thing. Still, he refrained from eating. It was rude to begin a meal when others at the table had not yet been served. Though they did not deserve it, even these fools would get proper courtesy from him. As long as they had not committed some heinous crime, it was up to him to provide an example of correct behavior, although he doubted they would learn from it. Such was the duty of a nobleman.

“What brings you through here, Sir Knight?” the remaining bald human man asked with a concerned frown. He appeared to be a touch older than the woman, somewhere in his late-twenties or early-thirties. “Not demons, I hope.”

“I am on a diplomatic mission,” Falin replied.

“Sounds boring, but at least it’s not dangerous,” the tiransa said. “Oh, I’m Serob, by the way.”

“Kris,” the blond man said.

The bald man raised his hand. “Pol.”

“And I’m Elayn,” the woman said.

Since they had introduced themselves, Falin was obligated to do the same. “Falin Rivelda, Thirteenth Paladin.”

“Wow, a Paladin,” Kris said with a grin. He looked around at his companions, then back to Falin. “We got lucky, huh?”

“Indeed you did.”

For people like them, it must have been a great honor to meet a Paladin. Their good luck was his bad, it seemed. Or maybe it was actually bad luck for all of them. Many other Paladins would have been far more willing to play along with this idiocy. Their food arrived a moment later, and they all dug in with sloppy gusto, while Falin ate with dignity and grace.

“Gotta be a pretty important mission if they’ve got a Paladin doing it, huh?” Elayn said. Like some kind of barbarian, she didn’t even bother finishing her current bite, though she at least swallowed enough that he could understand her around her mouthful.

“It is,” he replied, declining to give any details. It wasn’t as if the mission was a secret, he just didn’t want to talk with these morons more than necessary. There was only one thing he was interested in from them. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

Their unusual behavior was enough of a clue. Not just that they had approached him, but their general demeanor. Granted, it was hard for Falin to get a sense for the culture when everybody cowered by his mere presence, but his impression so far was that the locals weren’t normally so boisterous. And, credit where credit was due, they ate like proper sapient beings rather than barbarian brutes. The group’s names of varied origin were another hint, as was their spread of ages.

“Nah, we’re travelers,” Pol said. “Wanderers, you might say.”

“That’s right,” Serob said. “We don’t really have any destination in mind. We just wanted to see the world, and we ended up teaming up as we met. Between the four of us, we’ve seen just about every inch of Ysuge, plus a little bit beyond it.”

“That explains it,” Falin said. “Most people here are terrified of me.”

“Why would they…Oh, of course,” Elayn said. She directed a sympathetic smile at him. “Try not to hold it against them too much, Lord Rivelda.”

Kris nodded. “People fear or hate what they don’t understand, and folk around here might never have seen a reltus before. We were all like that, once.”

“They’re scared of me too, for what it’s worth,” Serob said.

“It’s not worth much,” Falin said. He had been serious, but the bark of laughter he received in reply suggested it had been taken as a joke. He didn’t care enough to correct the buffoon.

“I’m sure you’ve got your blind spots and prejudices too,” Pol said. “No offense, of course. Everyone does. Best we can do is try to learn and help each other overcome them.”

Falin restrained himself from rolling his eyes. While he had plenty of strong opinions, he did not have prejudices. He had met more than enough humans—both in general and of this region—to judge them. In any case, these people had no right to lecture him. They might have been better than the fearfully ignorant bumpkins around here, but only just. The lack of respect they showed to their betters was inexcusable. He was a Paladin and a noble reltus. Even if they did not know he was nobility, they were not his equals or his friends. Addressing him like some drinking partner was preposterous. He didn’t appreciate the condescending advice from people younger than him either. Only Kris was about the same age. Fittingly, he was the only one who had come close to saying something correct and useful, though Falin still did not care for his unsolicited counsel.

They all finished their meals quite quickly. Their drinks vanished just as fast. Unlike him, none of them were abstaining from alcohol. Kris let out a loud belch as he finished his tankard of ale and slammed it down on the table. Only then did he look at Falin and his only beverage: water.

“You’re not gonna drink, Lord Rivelda?” he asked.

“It would be improper of me to do so while on duty,” Falin replied. An oversimplification, but whatever let him talk to them less.

“Do you mind if we do, then?”

“Yes,” Falin said. Being the only sober person in a group was a coin flip between amusing and frustrating, and he was betting on the latter with this group, but it seemed a little late to ask. If they were going to try to be accommodating, they could do it before doing what they weren’t supposed to.

“Ah, sorry about that then. We’ll rein it in.”

“I appreciate that,” he forced himself to reply. It was more like they had averted him despising them any more.

They were lucky outreach was a part of his mission, or he would have gotten rid of them long ago. True to Kris’s word, at least, they did not drink any more during the meal. That kept them from becoming more insufferable. As soon as he was done eating, Falin stood and excused himself.

“You sure you don’t want to hang around a little more, Lord Rivelda?” Pol asked. “We’re enjoying your company, really.”

“I’m sure you are, but I will be leaving now,” he said. He didn’t wait for a response before heading to his room.