I struggle with sudden humility, at apportioning the venison, probably the best meat in the house, to Clyde, my trusty dachshund steed. I could have probably appeased him with a soup bone, but the matron's air of generosity, and country-sense, dispels that pain. It's probably what she'd have done herself. So I manage a smile.

"Geographical distance is not the only barrier to glad homecomings."

I had indeed already sold myself upon the notion of working for the innkeep.

"I'm no marksman, as your kin certainly is. But my dear dachshund friend, and ally, Marcus, is an incomparable sorcerer. We don't wish to campaign in places far from comforts, but he could train any magic-user, any Paladin, any Cleric in sorceries they would never otherwise learn of, on all this Earth. No price in the world would be sufficient for his guidance and counsel, in matters of the esoteric arts. But we tutor for free, for our board and keeping, so that others not stray from the realms of light and goodness."

"Barring that, I can wash dishes."