As Roderick spent time with the local clergy, Brandt had settled their accounts at the in an wrangled some extra supplies for the pair. It was an unspoken arrangement that Brandt was more than happy with. The way he saw it, his slightly increased contribution towards their kit and their food was easily offset by the contributions Roderick made to the War Gods church, and by extent, their favour in Sigmar’s eyes. The balance had worked well so far. Brandt also tended to use that time to chase skirts if the opportunity arose, as the sort of women he usually flirted with always became sudden saints when his partner was around; fussing with their hair and smoothing their skirts. His efforts came to naught however, for it seemed in this unhappy town he was just a stranger and ill omened outsider. A reminder of their hardships.

When they set out with, Brandt had claimed the back of one of the pack animals for he and Roderick’s gear, happy to be able to travel light. In truth, he’d never sat astride and animal in his life, though he’d driven a cart a handful of times. Feet on the ground, that was the way forward.

The party wasn’t particularly chatty at first, and that was fine enough at first. Brandt’s mind turned back to the mayor, his office, and the immense sword hung on the wall. It was a truly fine weapon. His own was of good quality, with small embellishments of brass wire on the grip, and finely wrought quillons and pommel. He could probably make better, but had never had the heart to take it apart. It had been a gift from a dying companion - not a friend, exactly, but a fellow survivor. That is, until he wasn’t. The blade, however, was a work of great craftsmanship. The subtle even curves of the flamberge were regular and the steel was excellent.

Alvin interrupted Brandt’s daydreaming with a treat, which Brandt accepted with a happy “thank you.” It was tough as a root, but the flavour was good, and the blacksmith-turned-mercenary happily cheers away, returning his thoughts to that mighty sword, and then to the man that owned it…

As the halfling wandered off with his hound, Brandt finally managed to swallow enough of the jerky to be able to speak, admittedly with his mouth full. He addressed the party at large, guileless.

“Does anyone else think it’s strange that the mayor just paid us such a sum without doing a damn thing? Lesser men - and women - might be inclined to just saunter on down the road and leave that burg to its troubles. With a pouch significantly full of coin - gold, no less, proper gold - and our own wagon train even! Call that a job well done.

“With that sort of coffer,” Brandt continued, “Johanbock back there could pay a proper garrison of soldiers to keep his people safe, yet he’s turned to us rabble. It seems too good to be true, and I can’t help but feel we’ve been duped. Are we about to get bent over?”