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“Do you understand your task?”

The halls of the highest tower in Vólkerben Castle remained silent as a raven-haired woman stood before the old, decrepit man whom has asked the question.

It wasn’t a strange question. Serafina of Gaddonfly had heard it many times before in her life and she would hear it until she drew her last breath. The old man before her was Arngrim, the leader of the Blackwardens underneath the stone halls of Vólkerben. He had once been a ferocious warrior, though for the entirety of Sera’s time as a member of the order he had always been known to her as Arngrim the Old, one of the old masters of the order and as bitter as he was patient. For every question he asked, Sera had always felt the piercing eyes of his soon-to-be judgement and concern.

But Sera was not worrying about his concern.

The wardens, as they were, had gone through a rough time. Many longstanding veterans had found themselves in early graves leaving the strongholds in a very particular condition, especially as more monsters and more witches seemed to turn up as the northron fools tended to drive more-and-more mages south with their harsh oversight. The south may not have been a haven for sorcery or a nice place to live, but it was [i]free[/i] and that liberty was enticing enough that the imaginations of northerners thought they could forge out a life here. Unfortunately, this was not the case. More abominations, devils, and aberrations had chanced their way through the veil, preying on the fears and desperations of the mages. An insane, fearful mage was only one sneeze away from becoming a warlock or witch. The wardens need more soldiers and unlike the ancient stronghold of Grisregarder, Vólkerben was lacking in resource and manpower. Sera knew this when Arngrim had asked his question to her person; or, more accurately, tasked his [i]command[/i].

In short, he wanted Sera to lead, mentor, and prepare a group of to-be apprentices. A concept that Sera wasn’t exactly sure she was prepared for. Especially considering the fact that Arngrim had decided that he would assign her recruits who weren’t exactly fresh from the trials. 

“Yes.” She uttered as she crossed her arms, “I do have questions, though.”

“About the three.”

“Yes. They are rather... unfitting to be tasked, aren’t they?”

“Wardens do not judge by appearances alone. We judge by merit and duty.” Arngrim waved his hand, as if reminding her of her own circumstances.

Sera thought back to the descriptions she had been given. An alchemist nearly her own age with a particular ailment of concern. Some kind of northron nobility who had lost his glory. A ex-bandit who sought a new life. A young elf who… had gone through an ordeal. 

When Sera had trained under Owen Merryweather, her fellows were those who were children of misfortune like she had been. Saved from starvation and suffering by the opportunity of training under the wardens. There hadn’t been an old man nearly the age of Owen nor had there been an ex-bandit or northron noble. They had all been marshlanders. She shrugged off the thought, perhaps she was being too judgmental based on her own misconceptions of what her apprentices would be when she finally gained the responsibilities to her role. Maybe it was the blizzard that was roaring outside that was afflicting her mind. She wasn't sure.

“I suppose it is time they prove they are capable of being apprentices. I will meet with them and then we will set out into the blizzard to see what they are made of. Where are they?”

“They have been told that their final trial begins tonight. They have been summoned to the feasting hall for their last meal as initiates.” He turned to the elvenglass window, chuckling through his teeth. “And possibly the last meal… before they meet the gods.”

“Indeed.”[/color][/indent][/indent][/color]