Meinhardt smiled behind his beard at the young knight as he produced the Guild flyer. It was the same roughly printed poster that had gotten his attention over a year ago, with the guilds heroic - and completely fabricated - crest as well as bold print espousing exactly the glory and adventure which young ‘Frans’ was searching for. It was printed in reikspiel, which spoke to Frans’ noble education.

“Well hopefully the guild can provide a mighty quest worthy of an Errantry Knight, Mr. Vou,” said Meinhardt with an honest chuckle. “I’ve seen you Bretonnian’s on campaign once, maybe fifteen, sixteen years back. Your folk are might horsemen indeed.” 

The old soldier leaned forward with a more friendly posture then he’d had, having a drink of his ale. Then in a conspiratorial tone he continued, “I’m after precisely that myself, admittedly. I’ve been with the Guild for about eight months now and have mostly run protection for caravans. Milk runs, easy enough but not much to it. Rumour says something bigger is coming our way. Mayhaps you and I will end up campaigning together.”

When the Bretonnian brought Meinhardt’s attention to the potential scuffle going on near the entrance, causing him to furrow his bushy eyebrows and he took stock of those involved.

“The elder races don’t get along,” explained Meinhardt. “The War of the Beard, they call it, but don’t ever call it that in front of a dwarf. Some ancient conflict from way back when, hated each other ever since. My advice: don’t get involved.”

[@Dusty]