Aelfric flashed his signature smile, sheathing his sword and holding out a gloved hand for the newbie to take. "Come on, rookie. You can do better than that." He pulled the newbie up, giving a quick once-over to check for any injuries. Seeing no blood, he nodded. "Might get a couple bruises, but nothing too bad. Hope I didn't go overboard."

As the captain of the famous mercenary company known as the Shadowclaws, Aelfric Nightshade would traditionally trial aspirant members by combat. They didn't have to beat him, far from it—only show that they had fire in their belly, that they could withstand his onslaught and keep fighting. He always made sure not to injure any recruits seriously. That wasn't his style.

This one, though... Well. If he was being honest, Aelfric had never had someone last this long against him. He might've gotten carried away and gone a little overboard. But the newbie had shown grit, and had definitely proven he had what it takes.

"Well," Aelfric said, patting his new recruit on the back. "Welcome to the Shadowclaws. Just don't expect anything here to be as fancy as what you had back in your big ol' mansion."

Nobles weren't typically the type of person to knock on his doorstep, especially now with the world having gone to sh*t. Most of them stayed hidden in their well-protected homes, enjoying their privileges and leaving the suffering and famine to the common folk. This one, though... This one was different. Special. No real combat training, which was unusual for a noble, and no desire to hide away in luxury, which was even more unusual. No attitude on top of it? Unheard of.

"And, just so you know, that stew you made? Better than any of the slop my guys have ever cooked," Aelfric went on, grinning. "Hope you don't mind being on permanent cooking duty. People might riot if they ever go back to eating bland stuff."