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There were adventurer bards playing music not for coin but just to show off, adventurer princes who put on their armor on with the wrong strap order and also showed off, but both of whom fell for the inflated prices of the goods the merchants showed off as apparently having superior quality, and bought them like they had a good bargain. Fools, Ernst thought, shaking his head, spoiled lads and lasses with too much coin to spare and wasting lots of it on one go. At the very least, the dried meats were at manageable prices, procuring a good five pounds of it for only twenty coppers after some fierce haggling and surprisingly learned discussion about the merits of the using the dry-salting method to preserve foodstuffs.

But he could not help at how strange the people were. Things were so different in the north, where furred hats and thick animal skins were the norm; but here, it was feathered hats and thin tunics. The people were not as engaging as Ernst would have expected from a quaint village, and one of his companions was just downright rude. Unfortunately, he had signed a contract, and now he had to endure it all. Of course, he was just fine with it, considering how good his employer was, and the gold too.

“Hey, you’re going to the Spire, aren’t you?”

The voice seemed to be directed at him. Ernst shifted his gaze to the side to see a blond-haired youth in full plate approaching him with a sort of smug look and an imperious posture.

“Why do you ask?” he said, rather quickly.

“Well,” the squire-looking lad, who was taller than Ernst by a few inches, gestured flamboyantly, hands at the up and sides like there was something majestic to present, as if he were a queer. “I just happened to see you buying some food for quite the long haul. You see, my group and I are headed there too.” he looked behind him, and there were figures silver-plated, akin to him. “We’re looking for more members. You look like you’re alone, and we could use a good archer. What do you say you join us? There’s good company and good honey mead to be had in this adventure. You only have a gambeson? We can buy you some mail. Or plate if you want. Archers need speed, right?”

His voice was quite high and his hips and feet swayed with every fantastic gesture. His eyes were bright blue and sparkled in the early morning sun. His golden hair was neatly combed, and his skin was fair and a symbol for his being well-bred. Needless to say that his plate armor, ornate with engravings and reliefs, shone white under the sun, too. Contrast this to Ernst, whose unkempt hair was a mere brown with stray locks all over the place; whose lazy step showed disinterest in fancy charm; whose eyes were too dark to sparkle and whose skin was too rough and calloused to be enjoyed by the nearby milkmaids who were admiring the squire and ignoring him completely.

“I’m sorry,” the woodsman, light green with disgust and envy, held up a hand, “but I’m already in a party.”

“Ah, that’s unfortunate.” Then the youth held out a hand. “Good luck to you, then. May we see you there in good health.”

Ernst eyed the hand suspiciously, but then shook it. “Of course. You as well. Hope you die horribly on the way there.”

“My,” the noble chuckled, and the two of them parted ways.

As he continued down the path to the fletcher (which, from afar, could already be seen as a particular gathering spot for elves), he could not help but voice his thoughts, a contemplative knuckle on his chin.

“He was a sure queer, but… he said he’d buy me armor. Brand new...”