The Grey Tower

Dax did not bother holding back his laugh at Jakob’s incredulous response. Almost two hundred years of existence, and still people held the Grey Tower to the same ideals as the White. In the greater scheme of things it made sense; two hundred years compared to nearly three thousand was barely a blip in a still pond.

“We do things differently here,” Dax said cheerfully. “Gaidin is a title you earn through hard work and dedication, not something you get simply by having a channeler lay their hands on you.” Thea tugged at his hand and he turned to look where she pointed. A man in a colorful hat was juggling sticks. He looked between the performer and his daughter, and realized he had no hope of separating her from the spectacle. Oh well. More time to chat.

“As for the cavalry, well.” He glanced down at the herons that decorated his wrists with a wry smile. “You keep your horse. I am more use on the ground. If the guard is what you wish, however, I’m happy to take you there. What do you know of Hama Valon?”

Dax had tried to ignore the incessant bowing and scraping from his new companion. Ferreting out Jakob’s intent had been more important than such petty complaints...but this latest spate of titles was just a little too much. He snorted a laugh despite himself. Jakob looked offended, and Dax supposed he had the right.

“I mean no disrespect to your abilities,” he assured the other man, amusement tinging his voice. “In our line of work if you aren’t a capable fighter you quickly become a very capable corpse, and that’s the truth.” He glanced down at Thea, feeling guilty about voicing that particularly dark joke in her presence, but found her attention was still fixed on the juggler.

“If you’re going to call me by a title for the sake of formality, perhaps you should use Gaidin, given it's the one I’ve actually earned,” he added, looking back to Jakob. “I am quite certain the High Lord Riatin would have an apoplectic fit -keel right over and die, even, and what a sight that would be- if he knew you were putting a gutter-bred sellsword with no table manners on level with his noble family.”

Thea squinted over her shoulder at Dad and Jakob. They were doing that adult thing of having boring conversations and ignoring her. Why were they just standing and talking? She looked back to the man with the colourful sticks when someone approached her from the left.

"Hello there, princess." It took Thea a moment to recognise Mordjen. He was much older than Dad, with a fluffy grey beard and swirly mustaches.

"Where's your tunic?"

Mordjen grinned. "You mean my tabard? I'm off-duty today, princess." Thea frowned. "I'm not working," he explained after a pause.

"Oh! Do you like the gleeman?" She pointed towards the man and his sticks. Mordjen followed her finger.

"That's no gleeman. Gleemen have patchwork cloaks, princess."

"Oh, okay." Thea cast a glance over her shoulder again. "Still talking," she sighed.

"Who's your daddy talking to?"

"Oh, Jakob Zoo Salsa. He's under a banner. He wants to be a Tower Guard."

It was Mordjen's time to say "Oh?" Mordjen was in charge of the Tower Guard.

"Let me introduce you!" Thea grabbed hold of Mordjen's hand and led him towards Dad and Jakob.