Miss Helga, the teacher, stepped in the class with a large man in tow. He was broad shouldered, mustached, with a walk that screamed of military training and an empty scabbard at his waist.

"Good morning children!" Helga said, and the class dutifully replied "Good morning, Helga". "Today we will have some fascination lessons! We will do some grammar, a hour of arts, then we'll finally get into fraction lessons you've been waiting for!"

the class groaned, but Helga went on.

"But first, I want you to meet your new adventuring teacher, Mr harris!"

For that, the class was more recipient. The boys, especially, but the girls too, whispering and poking each other.

Mr harris came forth, his mustache bristling with his pride and vigor, but before he could speak a small voice interrupted him.

"Did you ever kill a dragon?" Holly asked, her voice dripping with wonder. "Or a cheith?"

"Holly!" warned Helga. It was usually useless to do so. Holly's father was a somewhat - improper - man, tending to say things which Miss Helga did not approve of. Holly had the unfortunate tendency to repeat said things.

But Mr. harris waved her off with a smile.

"A cheith, young girl? And where did you hear of such a monstrosity?"

"Dad told me!" Holly happily snitched.  Helga had a far-off look. "He said all you got to do is give them a good, hard, kick to the "

"Holly!"

"Leg, and then they can't do nothing!"

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Mr. Harris chuckled. "He seems like a wise man, your father. Maybe we'll ask him to talk to the class. But I do not advise kicking, or even touching, a cheith."

"Anyhow", he continued. "I had no such lofty encounters in my time,. No dragons or any cheith horrors, and I'm quite happy for that! But do not worry, children, for I have many a story to tell - of kobolds and their poisoned ways, of gobs and hobs, of tiny witches' covens and vast druid circles. Of the screams of a feral man-snake, of the cries of the banshees. Of the sounds the desert makes."

His head and torso leaned forward as he told the class of these fantastic things, and his arm moved forward ad by its own volition.

"And of the twinkles of the ice peaks and the stink of the endless swamp! And of treasure, of course. Of that I shall tell as well. Of gleaming swords, of lost heirlooms. Of gold and silk and ivory and rich stones, set in every fashion you could imagine, and of the magic ..."

Where did this story teller hide, Helga wondered. She took the impression of Harris as a staunch, sergeant-like man, but there he was, conjuring with his words like a wizened vendor, leaning over his stall. Was he as lost in his tale as he seemed to be? Or was he keeping an eye on his customers?

Ah yes, the customers. It seemed like Chade was going to do his usual bit.

"And lands, right?" The surly boy said. "That's what *my* Da says. That you all just want to clear out the wildlands, cause you couldn't win in the north!"

The spell broke. Mr. Harris was back to being the martial man, now slightly embarrased. Helga was far too interested to chide the boy. It wouldn't do any good, anyhow.

" 'you all'? Silly boy, it's just me here." the man replied, and the class laughed tensly. "But certainly there are some more pragmatic rewards. Hows a manor deep in the weir forest sound? Battling cursed wolves for a morning exercise, and carving ancient, mystical trees for an evening's pay?"

Harris lifted his arms in a plaintative gesture and said in a closing tone "But I must let Miss Helga teach you, kind children. You will hear more in the lore hour! I will have you for two hours each day, one for practice, and one for the stories!"

He thanked Helga and left, nearly hitting the door header. He was quite tall.

She realized she was lost in her thoughts when the class, left unsupervised for a total of five agonizing seconds, were already gearing up for a full paper-plane war.

"Well", she said. "Isn't that exciting? But not as exciting as the declension of "to walk" in the arcane grammar, I'm sure!"

The class groaned. It was going to be a long morning.