The companions sat at the tavern table, looking glumly into their watery beer… or beery water. It was hard to tell the difference.
“My axe!” complained Lagertha.
“My armor!” complained Dirlum.
“My ears!” added Kratos.
The dwarves looked puzzled. Lagertha leaned to one side and then another, inspecting the human’s shaved head. “They didn’t take your ears,” she told him. “I think you’re confused.”
“No they didn’t,” the wizard agreed. “But my ears have had to listen to you two gripe about your precious axe and armor for the last three hours. They’re getting tired of listening to you, and so am I.”
“Oh please!” retorted Lagertha. “At least you got to keep your book. The rest of us weren’t so lucky!”
“Luck had nothing to do with it,” replied Kratos. “It was wits. Which explains much.”
“If you were as witty as you claimed to be, you would have found a way to let us keep all our stuff,” said Dirlum.
“Yeah, like my axe!” Lagertha began the cycle again.
“And my armor!”
“You know,” interrupted Kratos. “You should be thankful we negotiated that deal with the local lord. At least you have an axe and some armor. Maybe you could spend some time thinking and talking about how you can use his loaned equipment to recover your own.”
“Why would I spend time thinking and talking about it? I’m just going to be hitting things with my axe.”
“It’s not as good as my axe. Or my armor!”
“Or my axe!”