[h3]Roderick[/h3]
[hr]

Roderick was quite certain that the Ogres Maw had never been this full of strangers on a single night, and likely never would be again. He paid little attention to the regular crowd other than a friendly nod when they smiled at him, and tucked into the simple but heavy stew as soon as it arrived. He was a man given to enjoying his feed and munched happily on the soggy vegetables and over cooked meat. Brandt, he noticed, hadn't missed a beat either. Both men downed a pint of some tolerable local ale before their bowls were done.

He used the remainder of the bread to hunt down the last of the stew, ensuring he got every drop before passing it Maria. She took it gently from his hand and then wolfed it down instantly. She was steaming slightly and had spared a gentle lick of the hand for the young lass who brought her a bowl of water and a bone with some meat still attached. Her pointed ears never ceased moving as she regarded each person who went about the taproom. Roderick knew she was starting to relax when she accepted a morsel from Brandt and even let the blacksmith turned Greatsword fondle her ears for a few moments before trotting back to the fire and her bone. 

The arrival of a warrior type, a Bretonnian by his slim build, caused little stir in the room. Roderick eyed the new comer from beneath half closed eyelids as the heat began to make him drowsy. They were a slender people, not given to the proud shoulders of the Reiklanders, but that did nothing to still their fighting prowess. He wondered what on earth the fellow was doing in such an out of the way little town. Then again, what were he and Brandt doing here?

Peace returned swiftly enough as the Knight settled at the end of the bartop, close enough that Maria stretched out her snout enquiringly, sniffing the air with interest. Must be a heck of a thing, the nose of a dog. Roderick could only imagine what she was picking out on the newcomer.

The barkeep brought brought the pair another round without being asked, the wooden mugs loud on the table as he set them down. He paused for a moment and shifted on his feet until Roderick finally looked up at him.

"Er, thing is father, I know your kind is good for it, but have you any coin?" The man looked dreadfully embarrassed and had turned quite red in the face.

"Oh, right, of course. My apologies my good man." Roderick dug into his robes and pulled out his coin purse. "What do we owe you?"

"Three bits for the stew, one per brew, and did you want a room?" Relief showed on the strong simple face.

"Five a piece then, so far." Roderick said with a sigh. Money didn't grow on trees in these parts but at least these small towns were cheaper than the man wagon roads. "And have you any objection to us sleeping in the taproom this eve?"

The proprietor shrugged as he took their coin, making it vanish into his apron with all the skill of a magician. "Not at all, father. I'll stack a bit of wood for the fire afore we close up. The hound will likely stick with you then."

"I have no doubt he will be welcome company." Roderick said with a smile, glancing down at Maria who was staunchly ignoring the humans, her ears cocked toward the front door. "More guests I reckon." 

"Quite right." Said the other as he bustled off toward his space behind the rough oaken counter top.

As if on cue, the door burst open and new figure hurried in with what appeared to be a child in his arms. The man rudely dislodged the two dogs, Maria slinking away with all the hurt disgust her fifty pounds could communicate. Roderick reached down to tousle her ears as he observed the strange new pair. The child, couldn't be the mans child for the two looked nothing alike, had clearly been through a rough patch the last little while. A quick glance suggested there was little Roderick would be able to do to help. His healing skills were largely confined to making sure a man didn't bleed to death before he got to proper care. 

As it was, not his child, not his problem. The village would have a healer somewhere who could look after the waif. Sigmar was not known for his sense of charity outside of his own sworn servants. Maybe they had one of those damned barbers who doubled as a surgeon. Just as likely to bleed you to death as whatever it was that had cut you. Roderick shuddered at the thought and saw Brandt do the same. The two shared a quick grin despite the new arrivals. It was apparent the two had been thinking along the same line.

As the two Bretons, he was sure of it now, spoke quickly with the liquid fluidity of their native tongue, Rodericks gaze was dragged away by the arrival of a Sister of Shaylla no less. He was impressed. Every small hamlet in the Empire had a shrine to the deity, but to have ones very own Sister, well, that was a different thing altogether. She largely ignored everyone else, pushing past a drunken Halfing who was trying to jab a potato into the boys face. 

The small figure knelt next to the hearth and the blaze lit up her blonde hair and slim features. Roderick at least felt vindicated in his decision to not touch the child. There was very little he could offer that compared to the Sisters knowledge and he was certain that if she required his help, she would ask for it.