The Rat
"I was wondering... H-How did you get your armor?"
Lutz's brow furrowed. He wasn't quite sure what she was asking, so he went with the most literal answer: "It was made for me by my blacksmith."
Oh boy. This wasn't working out so far. They needed something to justify such a question.
"I suppose you aren't very used to seeing this sort of armor, huh?" Roten mused. "The Askaji are pacifist. I doubt anything of the like have circulated your people for a few thousand years."
That was all made up on the fly, but Roten just rolled with it. He was, at least, good at lying. You tended to be growing up around thieves and criminals. You had to know when someone was trying to stab you in the back while not showing your own hand. Otherwise you wound up dead.
He had, of course, taken note of the ring. A memento from a spouse who passed on? Humans used rings to sanctify their unions, so perhaps that was the case. He wasn't sure, but he'd keep such an observation in his pocket for later.
"It's immaculately crafted," he noted, returning to the notion of the armor. "Has this set seen combat, or is it ceremonial? I recall hearing that the folks here have armor for several occasions."
