Gryphons in Greenden

The smith offers to sharpen your swords for a few silvers and you thank him. "We really appreciate that, Master smith. And we're glad to hear that our blades will last us some time. Can't afford any new ones now. You know how the going is hard for swordsmen-for-hire like ourselves."

The smith grunts, acknowledging this truth, as he slides a sharpening block down the length of Erric's sword with a long snick. "The Reds do most of the work people used to hire you fellas for." He looks up at you with a faintly ironic air. "You might join the Reds."

Erric makes a derisive noise as you smile politely. "We'd rather not."

The smith chuckles a little and nods. "Understood. You didn't seem like the types for that starchy outfit, anyhow." The smith moves on to your sword. "There was a pretty big group of 'em that came through here a few days ago."

You look up from a saddle girth buckle you were examining. "Oh, yeah?"

The smith nods. "Prisoner escort by the looks of them. Usually the Red patrol commander stops in here to get their horses re-shoed or weapons looked at, but they didn't stop this time."

Erric, standing next to you, opens his mouth to say something and you quickly jump in before he can get it out.