Gryphons in Greenden

The apprentice makes as if to bolt from the back of the smithy and you raise your sword. "Hey! Stay put. My friend here can put his knife between your shoulders at at twenty paces."

"Fifty," Erric adds without intonation, deadly serious, flipping the knife between his fingers like a coin.

The smith puts out his hands in a vaguely placating manner. "Calm yourselves. The Reds went West to Greenden Center. Where else would you think? They went with their prisoners."

You nod. This makes sense. Sheathing your sword, you shrug apologetically. "No hard feelings. This is just important."

The smith spits after you in disgust.