Meinhardt nodded his approval at the foreigners intent to stay out of others quarrels. It was a wise sentiment for a mercenary, though he suspected Frans the Bretonnian would take offence at being called that. A newcomer to the tavern interrupted their conversation, and as Severo Emigdio introduced himself to the room, Frans rose keenly. 

“Excuse moi for zee moment friend,” said the Bretonnian politely and Meinhardt gestured in a ‘by all means’ sort of way. 

For his part, there was no hurry. Meinhardt knew that in this business there was never a cap on how many men got hired on and preferred to see who he was working with. It was vanity, of course. The old soldier would have signed on with a cadre of black toothed villains at this point, merely to be gone of this place. He’d nearly given up on the notion of settling down.

As Frans was joined by another young hopeful, Meinhardt sighed at the prospects of his next engagement. It was looking like he’d be spending the next week or two playing nursemaid to a bunch of pups. [i]Ulric preserve us,[/i] he thought. At least there was a Dwarf, they were always good in a fight if they weren’t too ornery towards their own companions. The man drained his mug in two big swallows then stood, striding easily over to the Tilean recruiter. 

“Severo, you garlic-eating cyclops!” Meinhardt said boldly. “What is it this time? A caravan to Nuln? Guarding some dignitary to a Count? Either way you know I’m in. Same contract as usual, I suspect?”

If ‘old Captain Volker’ was over the hill, then Severo Emigdio was in the gully on the other side. Meinhardt had heard a few stories of the Tileans adventures, and the near-mythic story of how he’d lost his eye. If half those stories were true, he would have been a hell of a man to fight beside back in the day. Coupled with the fact the at he brought reliable, if unexciting, work with reliable pay, Severo was a good man in Meinhardt’s book. Secretly, he hoped Severo knew that and was annoyed by it.