Taren crossed the guild courtyard with the road report under his arm while recruits practiced under their instructors.
Shouts of exertion and the sharp clash of wooden practice blunts echoed off the high plaster walls that enclosed the training grounds.
Taren walked along the eastern colonnade, his greatsword strapped across his broad back and a record tucked under his arm.
As he turned the corner toward the contracts desk, an angry commotion broke the steady rhythm of morning training drills.
A dozen armored mercenaries from a rival escort company blocked the entrance to the dispatch office, weapons casually drawn.
At the front of the intruders stood an arrogant captain named Garrow, tapping the hilt of his cutlass against the counter.
Two bruised and bloodied guild teamsters sat against the wall, nursing broken noses while a young clerk cowered behind his desk.
