"That story is related in my
other book, The Galmour Trip."
He spins to face the rear the hem of his
robe flaring out.
"This is to be my account of what
happened after I returned to the light."
He stretches his hand forward pointing
his staff.
-Glemantrious "The Glamour Trip"
Now chaos had spies walking the city
at night. Learning the languages. Making deals.
Converting the undecided. I returned to my tower and
planned how to help these small sorry groups of
adventureres. Using the crystal ball I searched out
talented help. People with plans, who I would convince to
join a group. So they could bring some success.
This was a disaster. A group of
adventurers is a strange thing. It has it's own Identity
and seems to naturally resist newcomers. Particularly
newcomers with ideas. Out of almost two dozen attempts
everyone of my volunteers was killed. Either by neglect or
outright malice. They were almost always sent out
front. Or asked to disarm every trap. Wether they
were a doctor or tactician. It didn't matter.
After a while these groups of
adventureres came up with a name for the new comers I sent
them. "Point man." To this day the term
"point man" is an inside joke. It is also the
most dangerous position. Some groups bring up to eight
point men with them as they have to keep replacing them.
Just the other day I overheard a group who was being joined by a
late comer. One I hadn't sent them. A fellow who
wanted to join on his own. He asked "What don't ya'll
have" thinking they would say Halberdier, or Archer, or even
Wizard when they said "Point man" and all started
laughing.
While the point man had extended the
life of some groups it wasn't the resounding success I was
looking for. In fact it had become a joke. Sure, with
a point man traps and pit falls were not as big a problem
anymore, but it was a huge drain on the general pool of
manpower. I would have to come up with something else.