On the opposite side of the caravan rode Sigmund, who by severe contrast looked extreemly well equipped and untouched by the famine. The tall, strong man rode atop a horse as equally well off. White and gray robes did nothing to hide the imprints of his equipment, of which most were etched with runic designs. The warhorse he rode upon carried most of his less mundane items, and enough feed and food for more than a week. At first glance, one might mistake him for a looter in this harsh time.<br/><br/>As the caravan passed into the city, Sigmund paused to confer with Morglum. His attitude was less indifferent and more absent. As though he were not connected to or concerned with the situation around him.<strong>"I come bearing what little influence the forces of good still have on this world."</strong>Sigmund looked up to observe the crudely built wall, and to make eye-contact with Morglum.<strong>"Have you sick and injured that need tending to? Also, if you have stables, where might they be?"</strong>