The inn in Haycombe has been run by Aldor since he started brewing ale for his neighbours many years before; today he is an old greybeard who has lived in the town all his life. He greets the companions as he hurries around the crowded alehouse. Aldor is a storehouse of tales, rumours and stories about Wilderland, both truthful and ‘enriched’ by his vivid imagination. He is an old man, the count of his years writ in wrinkles on his face.

“Welcome, welcome good sirs. Here for the market, no doubt. Sit, have a drink, and rest here a while. Have you come from the south? Any word of the Master’s return? I’ve heard tell he’s on the road, but news is hard to come by of late.”