When I got in line, there were five people left. Lucia hadn’t picked anyone yet.
“I’m Jove Sneakytoes,” said a spry, gray-haired Halfling. “I can backstab
any foe, and I can pick pockets, too. You’d do well to have a rogue with
ye to act as a scout.”
“Your point is well taken,” Lucia said. “I’m glad to meet you, Mister
“Please, call me Jove!” he laughed. “I don’t go for that high-falutin’
“Very well. I need one more person to go with me, and there
are four more left.”
One of them, built like a fort, was an Ogre. “My name Bashgud. Me fight for you.”
Behind the Ogre, a man smirked proudly and said, “I’m Simon. I collect taxes.”
“Ah, a publican, then?” asked Lucia. “That’s a fine occupation, sir. Next!”
Next in line was me. I was so glad I wasn’t last! “My name is Tysyacha, or Tysy.”
“Tysy…Your name sounds oddly familiar. What will you do for us on this journey?”
“I’ll tell you great tales, and do a maid’s duties. Polishing armor, doing laundry.”
“I’m glad you’re willing to do that sort of work. Last in line—sir, who are you?”
“I’m Marcus Miller, and I think you’re the haughtiest knight in our whole city!”
My mouth fell open. Obviously Marcus, our town miller, hadn’t jumped
on the “Lucia is the Chosen One” bandwagon yet. My muscles tensed.
What would she say?