To say that a heavily laden Dwarf dragging in a known highwayman was not what Feitz, the city watchmen on duty, thought he would see today was an understatement. But the squat bearded thing hadn't even knocked! He had the good manners to lift up the wounded bloke, but it took a minute for Feitz to even believe the Dwarf hadn't committed assault on a townsman, much less get the guard to open one of the cells for him. He sifted through his four keys before he found the right one, and opened the last cell at the very end, just so if his Captain asked, the bandit had been there the whole time. 

"No sorry, I can't pay you." Feitz said, looking from the wound of the criminal to the Dwarf eyeing him from waist height. Burundi himself simply let out a haggard sigh, expecting as much but still disappointed all the same. 

It was a dangerous world, and even in Riekland there was plenty of conflict in the wooded areas. But Feitz himself had never seen any combat. He'd only been in the service for two years. The most intimidating thing about him was the single hair that grew out of his chin like a lone whisker. After seeing a shot man, he was a bit on edge. "Look, why don't you speak to the mayor tomorrow? Try a room at the Maw down the street. He might give you something for your troubles." He pulled at his shirt collar, hoping the Dwarf would leave. 

After another moment of the Dwarf scrutinizing him to see if he was lying, Burundi shrugged. "You're welcome. Glad to be of service." He said. 

"May the hammer watch you." Feitz said.

"My people made that hammer you worship so much." 

"What?" 

The Dwarf was already out of the door, squinting against the setting sun. The rain from the other day had been rough, but he and the Umgi had come from another direction. Good lad, though a bit dim. He was hoping he could see the boy again before he left, but there was no sign of him and Burundi needed a place to set his materials and goods. The items near bursted out of the sack over his shoulder, and he grabbed a hold of his poleaxe he'd left leaning by the door, using it as a casual walking stick. 

As he stepped off the porch of gaol, he marveled at how such tall people built such short structures. No Karak had any public chamber that wasn't four Dwarfs high. But judging by these well made roads of dirt and heavily guarded roads of brigands, it was probably good that they made buildings sturdy enough to use as homes. The pole axe plodded along the ground as he stepped, staying out of the way of passing wagons and horses and making his way straight toward the tavern. He sincerely hoped they had a cask of Bugman's. 

The door flew open, and Burundi's surprised gave way to a guilty smile. He laughed. "Seven years above ground and I forget how light wooden doors are." He said loud enough for some of the locals to hear. He truly hoped he didn't have to pay for any damages, but with a quick inspection he was satisfied that he didn't harm the doors integrity. Burundi grunted and turned around to gauge where the bar was, only to notice a concentration of manlings was over by the fire. 

"Hey, barman!" Burundi called, suddenly turning to the Innkeeper who's attention snapped to the Dawi. The man had been conversing with a warrior priest of their Sigmar God. Good fighters and fine company they were, as far as Umgis went. "Grab me a pint of your finest ale my good manling, and I [i]mean[/i] your [b]finest[/b] ale! And a room for a night!" He produced a gold crown out of his pocket and tossed it to the man. [i]A tenth of that brew better be pure alcohol now, by Grungni I want to sleep well tonight[/i], he thought to himself. 

He continued on toward the gathered group by the fire, and to his surprise he saw a Halfing there. He'd only seen two in his seventy years, and both had been less than honest, but good cooks. 

There was an odd mixture of people gathered round, with even a few Brettonians if he didn't miss his guess. Most found it hard to distinguish between these and the Umgi from the Empire, but he had a knack for these sorts of things. Not for the first time did he think of writing a book on human culture one day. 

The Dwarf stepped between a woman and a man, and without meaning to he practically shouldered his way into the enclosed circle. What lay before him was a broken boy, breathing shallow and worn with blood and scarring. Immediately, his face fell. Dwarf or man, he hated when children were subject to such harsh pain. Little comfort it was knowing how flimsy people of the Empire were. Maybe if this were a beardling he'd live but he couldn't imagine such a wretched thing to survive. He tried to think of the most diplomatic way to put it. 

"Oh," he grunted, looking up at the five present. "He's going to die."