Lance’s mother is incredibly helpful in choosing out clothing for Griff which makes him look like a perfect nobleman. A quick look at her shop and anyone could tell clothing nobles is what she does best.
What is odd is how she has absolutely no questions about why she should help us and, although she could obviously use the money, won’t even allow us to talk about reimbursing her in any way, which, of course, makes Griff happy.
I make a note to myself to ensure we come back and repay her appropriately for her services. Her clothes are some of the best I’ve seen along the market here. Even more than that, the fabrics she’s using are some of the most amazing things I’ve ever seen in my life.
It’s easy to see she was doing quite well for herself before The Wizard came to town and sent everyone with any hint of money off to war, or, from what I saw earlier today, to the hospital. I can say one thing for certain, if we end up getting stuck back in this time, and I find any source of income, I’ll easily be her best customer.
The outfit Lance’s mother and I choose for Griff is a pretty standard, albeit amusing-looking, affair: a light blue tunic which stops just above his knees and is tied at the waist with a thin black cord. It puffs out at the knees and I can’t help but think that if we could get him a bowl cut for his hair, he’d look just like what I’ve always pictured a wandering minstrel would look like. We coordinate from there with some grey tights and similarly colored pointy shoes.
“I look like a fruit!” Griff says in his ever-so-tolerant-sounding way. I laugh him off, knowing he has little choice if he wishes to give off the look of nobility around here for whatever his big con has in store.
We make our way back to Agnes’, me riding Molly and Griff being forced to keep up on foot. He changes into his new attire once we get there and after a few kind words and a quick lunch of leftover gruel and bread, we head on our way to speak to Geoffrey about what further intel he can give us regarding The Wizard.
Go to Chapter Twenty-Eight