Jack stood before the Lord's Mansion, a dozen or so veterans gathered behind him.
Most of them bore the marks of battle—some were missing half an ear, others walked with a limp.
"Jack, don't you screw this up!"
One of them clapped him on the shoulder.
"Us old-timers who survived the Crying Moon with the Lord can't let these young punks push us out."
Another man nodded. "Exactly. We have to say what needs to be said. We're not here to cause trouble, we just want what's fair."
Jack looked at his right hand, which was missing a finger, then back at the old brothers behind him.
"Don't worry. I'll say what needs to be said. The Lord is a reasonable man. He won't turn his back on us old-timers."
A slightly older archer coughed a few times.
"Remember, we're not asking for much. We just hope the Lord doesn't forget who was with him first when he conquered this land."
"Right. The new guys can have their new path, but us old-timers deserve the old-timers' treatment."
