[@POOHEAD189][@TyrannosaursRex][@The Wyrm][@Blueskin][@Penny][@Dusty][@BangoSkank]


Johan weathered the entire next burst of speech and masculine gestures with a look of impassivity veiling anything he may have personally thought, although the appearance of both a Dwarf and a Halfling into the blend of Imperial and Bretonnian – the two volunteering far more eagerly than any other for the no doubt hazardous task ahead – at least bought a grudging not form the towering Reiklander.

Unlike the down-and-outs and locals cluttering up the outer circles of the taverns common room, Johan was an old sweat and knew the value of both these more diminutive races, having fought alongside both in his time. 

He knew that, although he was not of the Dwarfish warrior-class, they were almost [i]all[/i] fighters in their own ways, and from the looks of it (as well as the weapon he ostensibly used as a walking stick) this one was no stranger to violence. As for the Moot-dweller, Johan and his comrades had been present during the Stirland incursion of eighty-two, and the hulking Imperial could even now recall the impact of Halfling sling-stones and the way the little bastards had mercilessly butchered downed Stirlanders – they may seem like lazy and peaceful idlers, but he knew better.

"Schartenfeld and those who's lives you will no doubt save with your undertaking give you their thanks," he said with a nod of gratitude to the small band gathered near the fire, "and to you in particular, Master Dawi. Your things shall be kept here with trusty Davor, if that is acceptable?"

Next he looked to the Sigmarite and the swordsman, knowing that as fellow Imperials they should need little in the way of platitudes, "my thanks to you also, though you may not be Reiklanders, and I know it is a lot to ask."

The black-clad knight... now there was an odd one for, much unlike the other 'shinier' Bretonnian, he had come to the fore and volunteered. Truth be told, Johan had not expected either of them to lend this town their blades or experience, but never say never he supposed.

"Merci monsieur," was all he said to him, more used to killing the high-up cockerals than giving thanks to them.

Lastly he came to Alvin, a smile finally crossing his features as he peered through his one good eye, bobbing his head as he took in the trio of hounds that seemed to belong to the group as well.

"Welcome to Schartenfeld then, Master Gammel - I am certain we can find a use for your hounds and yourself, make no mistake."

This left only the haughtier Bretonnian, whom Johan chose to pointedly ignore - even though he knew it might insult the fool - as well as the young lad and his current physician.

"His spirit is strong," commented the veteran, taking a few steps to stand beside Marguerite and her surprise charge, "and, with your ministrations Sister, I do not doubt he shall make it. For now he shall remain here, but tomorrow I hope he can be moved to more comfortable lodgings in the mayors wing of the city hall."

One plate-sized hand shifted to place itself upon Marguerites shoulder, giving a quick and gentle squeeze of comfort before withdrawing, Johan turning about to address them all one last time.

"I have not forgotten your question, sir," he promised Brandt before moving on, his eyes lingering on the greatsword briefly, "but the night draws in on us now, and they shall have to wait."

Adjusting his cloak and drawing his hood back over his features, Johan spoke his final piece before leaving the tavern.

"Those who are with Schartenfeld - or those who are yet undecided - please present yourself at city hall tomorrow to a man named Sebastian Johan Bock. No relation. He is our chamberlain and shall be waiting at the door to show you to the mayor, who will answer all questions. From there it shall be decided how best to proceed. I bid you all a [i]guten nacht[/i]."

Wild winds splashed rain into the taverns interior for a brief moment, and then the large man was gone out into the darkening gloom once more.

Rosine Arenas had been watching and listening to everything as she worked, her shimmering eyes sparkling in the gloom as she lit extra candles and dotted them about the main area of the [i]Maw[/i].

"Excuse moi," came her sweet voice as she addressed those present, "may I ask that those who wish to remain do so, but shall be required to pay. The rest of you, I am afraid zat you shall need to find your ways home or to some suitable lodging."

There was a great grumble as regulars shuffled out, some trying to land a kiss on the nimble foreigner - her slight frame easily skipping out of reach, even as he arm moved them toward the door - and very soon it was only those that had arrived that day who stayed where they were.

"Oh, but of course you are all welcome to stay!" She said with a bright and inviting smile, "alzough mon husband may ask for some coin, I am afraid. He does 'ave a tavern to keep after all."

After sweeping the last of the locals out into the downpour, she wiped her hands on her apron and approached the Sister of Shallya.

"You may take the petite enfant to your own room if you wish, Sister. I too believe that he will survive, the Lady and Shallya willing."

"Now,if zere is anyone wishing for food or drink before bed, please say so and I shall get it for you."


[hr]


[I]The next day...[/i]


Morning crept over Schartenfeld as slow as the melting of a glacier, the chill air barely made warmer by the weak rays of the sun pressing onto the awakening township - merchants opening their stalls and shops, cattle-herders and shepherds driving their livestock out of the large gates and off to pasture for the day, and the citizenry going about their lives much as any others across the Empire of Man.

Sebastian Johan Bock, no relation to Johan Sebastian Bock, and chamberlain for the town and its mayor, waited impatiently in the crisp morning air; as a bureaucrat and a 'man of paper' he was [b]always[/b] punctual, but admitted to himself that he shouldn't count on coin-pinching adventurers to keep to the same high standards.

Neither was he all that inconspicuous, dressed as he was in finered and green  robes of his office, a golden chain wrapped about his vulture-like neck, his rudimentary spectacles perched precariously on the edge of his long, hooked, nose. In his hand a staff was held, topped with an hippogryphs roaring head, the crest of Schartenfeld carved into the broad wood.

Lastly, as if his occupation were ever in any doubt, he was stood before the [url=https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Wroclaw_town_hall,_full_view.jpg]town hall[/url] and its fully functioning clock, a marvel bought from Hochland as it happened.

He did hope though that they would not make him wait [i]all[/i] day.