The man who approached Meinhardt’s table had the look of most of his challengers. Young, strong and sure of their abilities. It was as he sat down so boldly that the veteran soldier noted the details about him. His bearing was noble and his dress was fine, though roadworn. His accent confirmed it; a foreigner from Bretonnia, and not one of those buck toothed peasants that made even the most backwards Imperial citizen seem like a scholar.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance Mr. Vou,” Meinhardt said while reaching forward to shake the younger mans hand. “You’ve come to the right place, sure enough. Ludolf Bohn behind the bar keeps this place as a meeting point and watering hole for the Guild.”

Meinhardt stroked his long dark grey-streaked beard with his other hand as he considered the foreigner. For his part, Meinhardt wore faded blue and white striped pants and a leather arming coat over an old tunic. His eyes were nut brown and sharp but had a tiredness to them that didn’t match his smile.

“You’re looking for work are you?” he asked. “Call me Volker. Meinhardt Volker.”