“Sergeant Volker, what an unethspected pleasure!” The Tilean said in his usual precipitatious way. Meinhardt couldn’t help but give him a wry smile in turn. 

“It appears both of us are fools who don’t know when to get out of the game, Severo,” said the Middenlander with arms spread. 

Meinhardt made his mark on the paperwork with the quick efficiency of experience. The excitement of a coming campaign was all ready starting to fill him, though he didn’t really expect any action. It seemed he was never so at ease as when he was camping on cold earth or marching over harsh ground. [i]What does that say about me?[/i] wondered Meinhardt inwardly, before pushing the thought away. He’d spend the rest of the evening with an ale in his hand, maybe try to get the Breton lad drunk as a Marienburg sailor, to see how well he could ride hungover in the morning. Then they would put boots to road for the guild and maybe pretend to be heroes for a while. Meinhardt headed for a refill.