"On that, we agree." Cronic said, catching the septims, and setting them onto a table nearby, a journal-like book in his left hand, and a quill in between two fingers in the hand he'd used to catch the bag.

"A few close shaves too many with that one. We've fought against grim odds before, but that was because we were outnumbered against enemies our size. I was genuinely worried we'd end up finely roasted. Dragon breath is no joke..." Cronic said, his coat's right sleeve singed slightly, a slight burn on his arm from where the dragon's fire breath had caught his arm.

"I need to see if Arcadia has any potions that can treat burns later." Cronic said, as he went back to writing in the journal. Judging from what he was writing, he'd not had much time to put in a significant entry since he joined up with Odd Jobs. That or he just forgot about it for a time. One of the two.

"As for wanting the septims and none of the credit, I think I can understand that. I've made a few enemies in my travels, and having Balgruuf announce our names to the entire hold? I might as well just strap an archery target to my back. Word travels faster than most folks realise. Let's hope the people of Riverwood keep their traps shut about the whole thing."