The blacksmith seemed to also recoil slightly when Kella fearfully pulled away. He raised his calloused hands in the air and said, "I mean no harm, folks."
Turning to Aryn, he continued.
"Look, I support the cause. Me own kin were taken to the camps, and I've been tryin' to fight the powers since. I'll give ye a fair price on whatever ye want to trade."
Aryn looked to Kella, then back to the man. "We'll give you the armor. It's fine stuff, castle-forged I'm guessing. Took it off a dead Knight."
Well, that wasn't too far a stretch. If the little blonde-haired flower knight let such a prized possession as Kella Harmond get away, no doubt that crotchety old general at the fort already had her in the dungeons, rotting away.
"We need weapons, clothing, food, and money. And, err..."
His eyes trailed down to his right sleeve, tied off at the elbow.