Clothes matter. Well, not to my Fool, but not everybody is a social retard. For a Minstrel, especially a famous one such as myself (let us have no false modesty here) image is all-important. I must be seen as what I am. A handsome, successful, confident and sophisticated man about the town, attractive to the ladies, jovial with the men, and of the highest social standing. I can't afford to look like a vagabond, a ruffian, a person of no sartorial taste and discernment.
But this presents a problem. The usual kind of junk you pick up from things you kill is, hardly surprisingly, less than adequate. You don't expect your regular wild pig to carry much in the way of silk fashion. And they don't. Neither do the brigands, of course, which is perhaps even less surprising. Often the pigs are dressed better.
So I toddle off to the auction house to pick up a suitably sophisticated and understated outfit. Easy, you might think. They're bound to have an extensive array of finely tailored clothing at affordable prices.
You would be wrong.
Good Lord, the prices! I'm supposed to pay 5 gold pieces for a cloak? Just because it has a picture of a wolf on it, or maybe it was a leaf, I'm not entirely sure. Or a full gold piece for some britches? Or for something circlet thing for my head? When I am as recognised in Bree as I should be, then that time will come. But not yet, I fear, not yet.
The only thing I could afford has....... wait for it..... patches!
Unbelievable! Outrageous! Appalling!
I am humiliated.