At the accusation, the way he looked to the side instantly painted him as guilty. It was a good thing he was so pious, as he could have never have made it gambling. Those expressionate eyes told all. Things were just taken care of for him, and he was quite happy with that. Truth be told, it was never very hard. Volen didn't request anything but the standard issue tunic and trousers when he was at the chantey. Other than that, he had his armor and a few nicer bits of attire for when lords and ladies came calling. Those were, of course, always laid out for him without him ever having to think about it. To him, clothes were only as good as they were useful. He couldn't even recall what color the outfits were that he did have. They just mattered that little.<br/><br/>His final answer came in the form of a shrug as he looked back towards the half-breed.<br/><br/>As the man began showing him what to do, the starved ex-hero became an eager pupil. There was something bright about those eyes, and Wyl had ever bit of his attention as he soaked in new knowledge. It was the reason he was always the favorite pupil at the church sermons. He was even eager to touch the fabric, to learn the difference for himself. He was quickly testing other garments for the same sort of stability before attending to the vest. He touched it, too, taking it in his hand and rolling it between them. The man was right. At least it would be some sort of thicker padding. There was more warmth to be had.<br/><br/>The boots being the right choice caused him to give a soft and somewhat innocent smile. He'd enjoyed their little game, and even more so when his instinct had led him to the right choice. He looked over the boots again, and almost fondly at that. They did look comfortable, regardless of the fact he was going to feel guilty about wearing them. At least the rest would be returned. It was a sin of necessity, which made it more or less just a common crime by church standards.<br/><br/>He was still gloating over his correct choice when the next question came, and he was far too distracted to think of anything but the absolutely honest answer for it.<br/><br/>"I'm rather good with farm tools."<br/><br/>In a list of things that could have been used as a weapon, those were perhaps left best to peasants who suddenly found themselves at the wrong end of a military quarrel. A sort of last resort. It would have been taken for a joke, were it for the fact the man seemed quite incapable of producing one of any quality, and for the fact he was just staring expectantly at Wyl as if he'd be able to produce something. And take it as a valid answer.<br/><br/>There was a reason that they didn't send him on diplomatic reasons all by himself. Either that, or being so starved of nutrients had damaged his mind. It was really hard to gauge at this point.<br/><br/>The Lion of Urr, however, didn't fight with a sword. He had a ceremonial one somewhere, of course. Just like the armor, it was made for the flash and pomp. No. When the Lion of Urr came barreling down upon you on his massive war horse, he came carrying the same weapon as the next fellow you'd surely be seeing: Volen fought with a scythe. A very specific and very well made one that was a far cry from the first one he'd ever wielded, but the style used was exactly the same.<br/><br/>"And," he added, looking down before his hand ran to the metal hidden below his rags, "chains. Weighted ones." Not a traditional weapon, by any means, but it was quite clear from his previous answer that he wasn't too intersted in them. He looked back to the man and added, "But any will do. But if a blade isn't sharp enough, I prefer blunt. Works better." Which was words of experience from a man who had fought in a handful of wars now, and was the champion in at least two. That wasn't counting all the tasks he'd taken over the years of sundering whatever threat popped up. From mages to monsterious griffons, the man had seemingly conquered all.<br/><br/>With farm tools, apparently.