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“You’re not a noble?” Ernst replied in turn after Osla had spoken, dragging his eyes all over her outfit in an attempt to renew his judgements. “A burgher then, the daughter of a merchant? Hell, you’re wearing plate and mail! That’s about ten silver down the drain in one shot, just for the cuirass alone. You must be rich,” he said as he finished another tankard of this delectable beer, admittedly little envious.

Of course, the prospect of Osla stealing the armor wasn’t impossible in Ernst’s mind, and he didn’t voice such thoughts out of common courtesy. Wouldn’t be good to offend the woman watching your back on your first impressions, right?

To what Tregon had said, Ernst simply asked, “What’s an ashen? And why’s a black dragon so special you can’t kill it with an arrow or two?”