The three of them had been packed into the little carriage, mostly because of their considerable equipment rather than their bulk, though Gunir's girth didn't do them any favors. The clopping of their mount and the clattering of the wheels on the uneven stone road that circled the three large structures might not awaken the neighbors but the servants certainly took notice. The Graf's personal butler, a hook nosed gentlemen in a fine coat, and a few other staff members were there to greet them, utterly relieved at the good news they brought with their arrival. The three were ushered in to the great hall, with Camilla making a note for them to prepare Cyrdic and her quarters so she could help bandage him up. Cyrdic had insisted she take the cot whilst he slept on the ground amid what blankets they could find, but he saw a new argument brewing now that he was injured, a light wound though it was. 

Cyrdic and Gunir sat down at the long dining table in the hall whilst servants went to and fro with various tasks. Gunir called for drinks and Cyrdic couldn't disagree, ordering one for he and Camilla to enjoy. 

"Let's celebrate, we'll worry on other stuff later. Ok?" Cyrdic said to the Tilean, grabbing her hand. She deflated and nodded stiffly, plopping down next to him and taking her drink. 

"Un drink." She said, bringing a smile to the Ostlander's face. They often recited the Tilean translation of 'one drink' to one another just before they went on a binge, but this time Cyrdic wasn't going to not take it face value. It was late for them anyway, so he took the mug and downed half of it in an impressive feat of practiced alcoholism. 

"I'll celebrate when I get my gold!" Gunir roared, sliding his already emptied mug away. "Ye think there's any chance we'll get the krowns this century?" He asked, whilst raising a finger for a servant to refill his mug. A young boy came over nervously to do so. Cyrdic thought he was intimidated by the Dwarf at first, but he couldn't take his eyes off Camilla. Cyrdic grinned and finished his drink. 

Four pouches were dropping on the table in front of them by the steward of Dounkebruk, a fellow called Richter Von Haldst. His broad face and easy-going manner belied a shrewd mind, if Cyrdic had to guess. The fellow wore three stripes over blue white blue over his left shoulder to denote his rank, which was apparently the style this side of Middenheim. "The Graf and I recognize the bravery it took for you three to open the roads again and drive off the scum. We thank you Herr Becker, Master Dwarf, and Fraulien Contessa. As a special thanks, your first two drinks will be free. Any after that will have to be put on a tab..." 

Gunir, with two empty mugs and a raised finger, slowly lowered his hand and glowered.