"Sir!" a young man addressed as he came up to Pretayus, averting his brown eyes from the loosely robed Elf hanging off the slaver's arm. He nervously smoothed out his short, jet black hair and adjusted his leather vest, the mail covering the jerkin softly clinking against itself as he straightened his posture.
"My name is Marshall Tin, are you Pretayus?"
"I am."
"Sir, I am sorry to hear about the loss of your friends. My lord will be disappointed at the failure of his request, but I believe he will sympathize after hearing what happened."
"Thank you, Mr. Tin, your words do much to help in this trying time. You and your comrades have our sympathies as well, your Captain and his lieutenants fought and died with courage and honor."
At once it looked as though the world came off of Tin's
