As I exited the serving line, my eyes fell upon Steldor and Galen, and my flickering hope that they would not attend was extinguished. They were standing at the end of one of the long dining tables, their plates of food forgotten in front of them on the wooden tabletop. Galen, wearing a white shirt and black trousers, was flipping a dagger between his right hand and his left in a manner that I had come to associate with Steldor. Steldor stood by his friend with one booted foot upon the table’s bench, resting his elbow upon his knee. He was wearing a black leather jerkin with split sleeves that showed the white shirt he wore beneath, and black breeches. Given my new curiosity about weapons, I took in the silver sword at his side. The grip of the weapon was wrapped in black leather overlaid with silver wire, and its pommel was set with rubies, which might have given it a sophisticated look were it not for the winged and barbed guard that gave notice of its power. His dark apparel suited his dark features and gave him a mysterious and brooding look.
