Stomps of feet against the gravel floor. The nostalgic sound of a marching army. Geared to the teeth, figures over six feet stood with swords, bows, spears, and any weapon known. Injured with proud battle scars, the smell of sweat and iron spread the warrior's spirit.
"Lady Serene," a deep voice that sounded as if scraping the bottom of a bucket came from behind a counter. "I didn't expect to have thee here so early," cigar in mouth, an eye-patched wolf beastman.
"Jazl," nodded the lady who took a strong step forward, "-I'm here for the initiation of recruits."
"Ay," he puffed and stared the counter, "-they the lasses of Claireville Academy?"
"Indeed,"
