A Steward's Aid

Arran followed the steward with some curiosity, a friendly smile on his face as they made small talk while crossing Esran's crowded streets.

That the man intended to trick him, he knew for certain. While the steward's oily smiles and flattering words might have worked on someone more trusting, years of peril had taught Arran to always be vigilant.

But in this case, there was no real danger. The steward was expecting to rob a hapless traveler, not someone with strength like Arran's.

"Your accent," the man asked as they made their way past the crowds, "is it imperial?"

"You have a good ear," Arran replied. "It's true, I grew up in the Empire."

"It's rare to meet imperials in these lands," the steward said. "Few people are willing to forgo the safety the Empire offers. What brought you here?"

He gave Arran an appraising look as he spoke, and Arran surmised that the man was trying to glean how dangerous his intended victim would be.