Her clothes are gorgeous, sure. But the thing that really captures my attention is that they're all the same color. Her clothes match. Most people look like me: Random mismatched shades of brown, green, teal, beige, rust and dirty yellow. It's like a clown suit that's been sun-bleached, cut into pieces, stitched back together at random, used as a horse blanket, washed in a muddy river and then left to mildew. I can't believe I was ever proud of the rags I'm wearing now.
The lady runs off before I can learn the secret of where to obtain matching clothes. I'll have to look into that at some point.
So we're off into the heart of Chetwood, which they should just rename to "Banditburgh" at this point. The population consists of bandits, wolves, bandits, spiders, bandits, boars and bandits, along with a smattering of my personal favorite: groups of bandits.
I slaughter my way to the gates of the ruins where the bandits live. Sure enough, there he is:
Covell Woodwright. A fine, upstanding member of the bandit community.
"Hullo!" I greet Covell, "I have a message from your mother..."
"Blaaarg!" he says, flying into a rage. And with that, he begins with the stabbing and the shouting.
I do not feel good about this. I was sent to bring him a message from his mother, and now I'm in a swordfight with the scoundrel. Still, it's him or me, and I like me way better than him.
A few seconds later Covell decides that being stabbed in the junk by a raging musician is more trouble than he's cut out for, and he runs away shouting, "I'll never abandon the Blackwold!"
Blackwold? I guess that's what the brigands are calling themselves. Kind of like kids forming a club. How cute. It's even got the word "black" in it so we know they're like, dangerous. Well, when they're not running away from Hobbits, anyway.
Yes, Covell. You're a member of the Blackwold. And they must be so proud to have you.
Well, this is going to be awkward.