"Ten out of twelve isn't bad. Better than last time, at least."
Anthatal gave his friend a long look. "Last time was what, one out of five?"
The barrel-chested man belched as he drained his tankard. "Two, I think, but it's not saying much." He held out the empty earthenware until Alistair hurried over to fill it.
"Considering the circumstances, we did quite well choosing this group," the man on the other side of Anthatal said.
"You mean Duncan did a good job, don't you, Kheva?" the barrel-chested man shouted.
The small, wiry man shrugged, running his long-fingered hand along his shaven scalp. "If you want to see it that way, Gregor. Still, a good result all around."
"How long does it usually take them to recover?" a new voice asked, somewhat timidly.
"A sodding lot less time than it took you, Reth!" shouted a dwarf sitting next to the massive Gregor.
Alistair silently took a seat between the lanky Kheva and Anthatal. "Is it always like this?" he whispered to his commander.
Anthatal nodded, looking into the fire. "Most of the time. We always celebrate when a good percentage of the recruits are able to pass the Joining."
An average sized man stood across the circle. "Let us thank the Maker for the safe Joining of our new brothers, and let us pray for those who were unable to be with us."
The dwarf threw a tankard at him. "Oh, shut up, Joss, you're no fun. Go party with your templar friends!"
The once-templar Joss looked gravely at the half-drunk dwarven berserker. "Have respect for your brothers, Ulath; those with us and those who are not."
A new voice joined the discussion, soft and musical. "Brothers, calm yourselves. Joss has a good point; we should be thankful for such a successful Joining."
Anthatal stood. "Mara is right. Joss, would you lead us?"
The templar nodded, a smile coming to his usually serious face. "Of course, Commander."
The prayer lasted for a good twenty minutes, during which the dwarf Ulath decided that the log he should be sitting on was a great place to fall unconscious. Anthatal hid a smile as the dwarf's ear-shattering snores quickly interrupted the pious Joss's prayers.
At the conclusion of the prayer, Gregor and Kheva dragged the intoxicated dwarf to his tent, and the elven twin mages Reth and Mara returned to theirs. Joss continued his prayer in silence as Alistair walked into the night. Anthatal sat for a long time, staring into the flames. Long after they had become nothing more than embers, Joss stood, came up to his commander, laid a hand on his shoulder briefly, and returned to the tents. Anthatal looked after his friend, the man who had become a Warden in the same ceremony that he himself had, and smiled briefly. This was his home; these were his people. Anthatal stood and returned to his tent, exhausted but content. This is where he belonged.