The barmaid, avoiding grabbing hands and wild swings of arms and mugs, weaved her way through the men and reached the shadowy corner where Della sat. "Welcome to the Rusty Mug, anything I can get you?" she said with a kind smile. "I see you noticed that ugly piece of paper?" she nodded towards the government notice on the post, "The city guard required us to put it up. Stupid thing, keeps drawing the young to die in the army. But who am I to complain? Always did fancy a man in uniform!" The young woman grinned and leaned against a chair, waiting for an answer.
"Looking at that poster, they are," an older man next to Lysander exclaimed. "Promising big rewards and glory. The foolish minds of young folk. Always thinking the government want the best for them. Hah! After the attacks on Thar, safety isn't that certain any more. Who knows what they're up to!" The remainder of the man's words were drowned in ale.
Nalesh's view was blocked by a large figure, flanked by two others, armour shining in the sun. The person at the centre wore the colours of a noble. "So this stinking place is the excuse for an armoury in a small town. I need this sharpened," without as much as looking at her, he placed an overly ornamented sheath on the counter, along with a small bag of gold coins. "For your own sake, I pray you do not fail me." The men turned and left the armoury.
From her knowledge of weaponry, she would easily realise that the sheath alone was worth more than what she had earned in her entire lifetime, and the sword, seemingly crafted by master artificers, surpassed even that.