"Whoa, whoa." Prophet holds up his hands and raises his eyebrows. "Now hold on here, I didn't mean to cause a fight or anything. Now, I'm certainly not saying that your own hardships aren't worth anything. I don't know what you've been through, and you don't know my story either. But see these scars? Every one of them has a story behind it, every damn one." He runs his fingers across his arms and chest, tracing old lines of scarred-over wounds and tattoos. "Beatings, whippings, fights won and lost."
He turns to Eran. "As for you, boy, it wasn't stories I was calling rubbish, it was your title. The 'blah di blah' part?" The half-orc shakes his head with a grin. "You two seem awful quick to judge, huh? I try to comment that you might stand a chance and you jump down my throat and up my ass at the same time." He sighs and pulls off another piece of bread. "And there's a good distance between honor and thieving. We're in the Stolen Lands, border regions. Nothing here's as clearly defined as you're used to."