Olda

It's not luck, it's mead I'm cursing.

If you want to try, but I'll keep my dagger sharpened just in case.

You can help yourself to any drink you find, but bring me the bottle of Dragon's Breath Mead. It's his favorite, so I know he has one there.

He promised me, swore on his ancestors, that he'd give up the mead. And what do I find out? He's been stashing drink in a cave nearby.

He even has some wolves guarding it. I swear, I should just cut out his tongue. That would be the end of it.

My husband owns it, barely. He'll lose it soon enough. He's behind on his loan payments, but he drinks all his money away just the same.

Now we're deep in debt, penniless and about to lose our sole source of income.

No, I openly welcome the presence of armed strangers who have no reason to care about any of us.

Of course it bothers me! I'm sure it's only a matter of time until they seize our mill in the name of their war effort.

Next thing you know, there'll be more guards, and then we'll lose our homes as well. This is just the start of it, mark my words.

Nah. I don't think so.

Nah. I don't think so.