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Two of them, including the one who spoke, look on the older end of middle age. The one you assume to be their leader has a helm covering his (nearly dry) scalp with an attached chainmail to cover his neck. All three guys wear gambesons with enough odd-colored patches to reveal more than one self-made repair, their waists sported blackjacks in open holsters.
What's the deal here? These guys look ready for a skirmish!
''Hells bells woman, calm down.'' The younger man tone (the only of the three with hair) is openly mocking. ''Got a bug?''
''Shush.'' The leader, Chaimailneck, shut him down with a wave. ''We keep the fine peace of his lordship here in town and all good children of the gods don't need any swords y'see? Just being careful. Why the weapons?''
''Are you three perchances ignorant of the clothes?'' Your mother grabs the handle of her sword, the light click that emerges as she takes a finger of metal out of the scabbard makes all three men wince. ''His lordship gave my family permission.''
''Yeah? Didn't hear anything bout that, listen we-''
"Hold on." This is when you interrupt, though you don't reach for your sword. All three men have this look...
You're a piece of meat.
"Who are you three to pretend to be our baron's peacekeepers? I recall that every lord of Fallerin requires their militias to wear the tabards of their houses in their cities. Yet all I see before me are gambesons unfit even for mattresses!"
You expected surprises or aggression, not shared confusion.
''What? You gals don't know?''
''Nay! Nay! Are you three whoresons!? Leave these good women alone!'' An almost literally booming, manly voice erupts with such strength that all thousand souls in the marketplace wince.
A mountain of a man comes from the left flank of the guys and all three retreat. Calling this new arrival <span class="mu-s">odd</span> is too weak a word. Taller and bigger than your father without a single hair on his head besides thick eyebrows and a thicker curled mustache hiding his entire upper lip. The man's build makes his chainmail look very impressive and the halberd he's gripping in one hand means business. The tabard you mentioned is covering his armor, a long beige piece of cloth with the heraldry of Eichenwald lord: The white head of a ram with lightning bolts for horns.
''His lordship Bram Eisenhart made it clear there is to be no whorehouse in this new city!'' The guy rant at the retreating...hecklers? They make for one of the benches near the church stairs. ''And any coupling is to be-oh!'' He stops when he realizes he's yelling at the air.
''Thanks for that.'' Mom doesn't relax, though she doesn't touch her sword.
''Apologies, good ladies.'' The proper militiaman bows as he turns to face you. ''Things are a little tense.''
''Whoever these guys are, make em know there'll be blood if they demand we go into an alley.'' Mom isn't kidding, you honestly feel more afraid that she'll end up killing someone than being grabbed by random men.
