Polarnik

'Business’, Valarr coldly says as he walks on, hoping the man would take the hint that he would like to be left alone.

'Business is what brings anyone anywhere around in these parts!’, the man says in an insinuating tone.

Valarr pauses and give the man a cold stare.

'You seem like the fighting type, a mercenary perhaps!’ The man notices Valarr reacted to the last word, be it a small twitch, snort or something else.

'A man of your arts must constantly be looking for the best weapon or piece of armour in town, are you not?’, the well-dressed gentleman asks.

'I already have a fine piece of steel, and perhaps even better plate.’, Valarr replies.

The gentleman notices that Valarr did not lie. His armour, though dirty, was not bent or broken. He also noticed a dragon sigil, almost hidden under the smudge.

'You are right, dear traveller, though you could certainly take a good bath, get that steel cleaned up and perhaps even have some fun during it all!’, the man suggests.

Valarr looks at the gentleman, perhaps intrigued by the offer, but he sees that the man was not as well-dressed as he appeared at first. His suit also had dirt on it, and laps of leather keeping it together were cleverly painted as if they belonged there. Valarr looks at the man's face, and sees not the big smile he first saw, but a forced, perhaps even desperate grin. Valarr reaches into one of his bags, and takes a single gold coin out of it. He forcefully places it in the gentleman's right hand, and without a further glance, walks on as if happened. His face relaxes a bit, and if someone had looked at Valarr's face right then, he would have noticed a faint smile.