“Oh.” Lucas turned and looked at the short man. “Sorry then. Do carry on.”

“It’s a private matter,” the Dwarf said. “Not for strangers.”

Lucas hesitated, but the small smile never left his face. He knew that how he played this next part would be very important. Xun Guan had told him clearly that the right conditions could create quests, and that was exactly what he needed to happen if he was going to succeed. If all the NPCs in the region ended up hating him, then he wasn’t sure what type of quests he’d be able to generate, if any at all. For all he knew, he might very well end up in a situation where there was no way to take over Kegan’s position, so the next few words would be crucial.

Maybe . . . Lucas brought up his character HUD and looked over at his unspent stat points, noting that he still had 30 left over. Maybe I should try to make sure the odds are stacked in my favor. Normally, like all players, he would just completely ignore Charisma altogether. Considering the fact that he would have far more points than other players and how he was taking an uncharted route to nobility, however, he couldn’t help but think that this was a “now or never” moment. He quickly dumped the remaining 30 stat points into Charisma, and he could have sworn that one of the Were-Rats stopped frowning at him as soon as he allocated the points.

“Well . . .” Lucas began, having decided on his angle of verbal attack. He pointedly looked down at the Dwarf and asked, “I don’t think you can be strangers with a man that you’ve shared bread and drinks with, can you?”

The Dwarf scratched his chin for a moment. “I suppose that’d depend on whether that drink was water or ale,” he answered back, causing Lucas to laugh even as the rest of the group remained stoically quiet.

“I think it’d have to be ale. What do you say, Hermann? Do you have enough ale and bread for the table?”

Hermann’s previous frown deepened as he gulped back whatever emotions had been caught in his throat before finally nodding his head. “Yes . . . but, mister, I really think you shouldn’t. You should just . . . Mister, please . . .”

Hermann continued stumbling over his words, but the Dwarf cut him off.

“He said to bring out the ale, Herm, and I suggest you do it.”

“But, what if one of the other soldiers . . .”

“Bring. The. Ale. Herm,” the Dwarf repeated sternly. “I ain’t drinking this lukewarm water when there is an offer of something sweeter, so get moving.”

“Make it two,” Lucas added, feeling the Dwarf’s anger from where he was.

Hermann sighed in frustration, but he quickly left and returned less than a minute later with two giant glass pitchers of frothy ale and an empty frosted mug that he set down in front of Lucas. An Alfar girl about Lucas’s age followed along behind him, carrying three plates of freshly-baked bread.