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“Oh yes, bandits,” Ernst said in sympathetic exasperation. “Can you believe some of them are actually deserters from the army? Lords these days are so poor they can’t even pay ‘em. We got something in common for sure: you see this getup?” he tugged at the collar of his gambeson, “I didn’t buy my armor either. Looted it off some starving youth looking to get money that we didn’t have. Died under at least twenty pairs of boots smacking right into his face. It was awful.”

He lolled his head back and finished what remained of his tankard, before slamming it down the table and proceeding to refill it. He wondered how much he was going to have to pay if he kept this up. Ah, but what the hell! It’s been so long since a good drink and a pleasant conversation. 

“You should have seen the blood! Waste of a life, that’s for sure. Handsome boy; could have been a good bard, or a queer landlord’s boytoy for that matter," he joked, mildly amused at the very real possibility thereof. "I helped myself to his arms as he didn’t need it anymore. But don’t worry about anyone from his lord’s army coming to get me. Look:”, he fingered a sizable, rough-looking patch on the right sleeve. “I covered up the heraldry nice and inconspicuous,” he seemed to be mildly proud of the fact, “So I’m safe.”