"Dinner?" Cyrdic echoed, used to more gravity in these sorts of life or death situations rather than immediate pomp and celebration. However the wife seemed to agree and with a shrug and smile from Camilla, Cyrdic found himself practically whisked away down the alley and across the street to where the fat Merchant called Oleg's business and home would be found. Cyrdic wasn't sure what to expect, but the building was three stories tall and it seemed as if his shop was on the bottom floor. 

"Yes yes, come in." He implored them when he opened the door. "Bornhald! Grab some meads and fetch dinner! We have guests!" 

Inside, a heavily accented voice that Cyrdic could not quite pinpoint called back. After a moment he realized the man had said "as you wish, sir," in a dialect he had never heard before. The shop inside looked to be of the sales of textiles and embroidered clothing, with some silk from Cathay on display. He shouldn't have doubted Oleg's means but he truly was an upper-middle class of the city, far better off than many of the struggling merchants in the poor quarter. Then again, with a siege mounting, many of the merchants will probably do well the coming months. 

Behind the counter moved a burly, albeit somewhat aging barbarian. It was the only word Cyrdic could use to describe the man, though he did not look Norscan. His features were brutal but fair, and his skin was covered in blue woad tattoos. He wore an apron and a white linen shirt above rough looking trousers, his beard looked to be braided enough to make Skaldi proud. "Deenar is redeh," he said to the master of the house, setting down a large roast chicken along with various other bowls of foods, peas, potatoes, etc. 

"Thank you Borhald, on time and apt as per usual," he said with a satisfied smile. His wife had already sat down, having gone into the back to clear off her tears and fix her hair for but a moment. He turned to Cyrdic and Camilla, who seemed somewhat confused on the ettiquette that was expected of them. "Please, please, sit!" he told them, waving them over to have a seat. "By Ursun, save my life and expect me to scold you on manners. You truly are heroes, aren't you?" he laughed. 

The mead was set down, and silverware was provided. Cyrdic had not seen so much shined and luxurious kitchenware and plates since Middenheim, to be sure. 
[@Penny]