The Adventure!

[WittyReference]

Entering the inn, the quartet found a table near the entrance and as far away from the barkeep as possible. Whether the humans deemed this suspicious or not they didn't care; practicality dictated Garret's Stomach and Frunt's Liver should not be given preference. They were out to find gold, not spend it!

The four sat in silence a while pondering their next move, watching the other patrons revel in their evening and more interestingly, those of them that were not...

Such suspicions would go unanswered as the four men were approached by two obviously intoxicated individuals; one a tall human, or at least tall to them, and the other a rotund dwarf. The former seemed eager to share his Mir even offering Afgar his arm to dance moments before the latter fell square on his face, dousing the lot of them in ale.

Afgar flashed a chipped grin as Garret's stomach rolled in waves of belly laughs. Frunt seemed upset at the loss of a good ale, but Muldun's chipper jabs at his dear friend soon turned his mood. "Aye Frunt, why not treat these fine folk to a jig? No doubt our friend here would appreciate a good laugh after losing his drink!"

Frunt's usual gruff appearance softened as he returned the jibe, "I do believe the human was asking you to dance; though no doubt he's more graceful sodding drunk than you sober as a judge!"

Afgar and Garret chuckled again as the king lowered his hand to lift his fellow dwarf. Signaling Garret to dip into the royal purse he kept tucked safe beneath his girth, he spoke to the two newcomers as old friends. "Come brother, let us replace your ale you so graciously shared with us!" With another roll of laughter, the men shook themselves dry of the brew. "As for you human," Afgar turned a smile toward his would be dancing partner, "How about a drink instead?"

[Werther]

Not suspecting the determined gaze of the shaded figure, the dwarves were watched for some time. To shaded figure it seemed that the golden pick is something that he could use and that means he has to get it. They seemed drunk and they were joined by a man and a another dwarf. If someone had spotted his gaze, it would obviously be more than uncomfortable. As the shaded figure tried to hear their conversation he was disturbed by voices of other patrons and that made it extremely hard, so he sat up and slowly, trying not to attract attention went closer to their table and sat down. Maybe someone knew he was watching, but he didn't care for the moment as hes natural curiosity had done best of him. Perhaps opportunity will arise and he will find some company needing an experienced marksman and he'd get a chance to move further away from elvish forests.
Smoke moves up the pipe and dark figure keeps his watch.

[RangingWolf]

Cyrus finished eating his small meal of bread and mead. He would eat and drink enough to keep him alive. The bar was getting louder and louder by the minute. More dwarves were entering the small inn. A few other people came in none of much interest. Cyrus still sat at the table and waited patiently, he could feel the eyes of some one in the back, but every time he turned around he would just glance and see nothing. He knew there was somebody there but he just ignored him. More people were dancing and singing. 'Very loud in here. Perhaps I should've just visited the Thanes Manor. But it's too late now. I'll just stay here and wait.' Cyrus thought. He continued to watch people not caring if they noticed him or not. He would just wait till he saw some people of interest.

[Aarkaine]

"I won't say no to that!" Exclaimed Kolmadi.
Swaying slighty as he made his way back to the bar with this Dwarf, he asks
"And who might you be? I've never seen you around this little town before. My name is Kolmadi!"
Offering his hand for a friendly handshake.

[Azena]

OOC: Aarkaine, not sure if you meant Rygar or one of the other dwarves, so for now I'm going to assume it wasn't me and you can just let me know if I'm wrong.

Rygar watched over his pint as the inn erupted into its own little party. The music was lively and reminded him of home, the dances were wild and clumsy just like those of his brothers, and the stench was all that you'd expect from an inn full of drunks and dwarves. If this wasn't a scene straight out of Rock Peak, he dared you to find one that was. He smiled at the comparison and let his eyes follow a man that entered the inn and wrote down an order. In his experience, Rygar found that men who did not speak, usually were not the kind of men you wanted to associate with. He let his eyes stray back over the crowd until he saw the local smith approaching and spun back around to face the innkeep.

"How about another pint? I don't think I'm quite drunk enough to get involved in such a lively gathering."

[Huscarl]

Vísla returned the smile. I've got to tell you, I don't even know how many drinks I've had today. But who am I to refuse such a noble and generous spirit as you, milord? He said, gesturing towards the other dwarf now walzing across the floor on his way to the bar. He grabbed an unoccupied sitting-log from the table behind him and sat himself down beside the bearded quartet. A man fell onto his rump only a moment later, a confused look on his face, to the roaring laughter of his friends. Vísla had apparently stolen his seat, but the man didn't seem to mind and started laughing along with his comrades before long. So, Vísla continued, What business does four dwarves have in this little shithole of a village? Looking for gold, eh? Hah! He nudged the fat dwarf in the side, winked and smiled at the joke.

[Aarkaine]

OOC: Aarkaine, not sure if you meant Rygar or one of the other dwarves, so for now I'm going to assume it wasn't me and you can just let me know if I'm wrong.

OOC: That was for wittyreference, after Kolmadi spilled his drinks on his group of four.

[Ellri]

Thrymlur stumbled into the inn. In one hand, he held his trusty skin of mead, a skin which was depressingly flat. In the other, he held his warhammer, hnéskállar, using it much like a walking stick. That is, if a walking stick has an iridium-alloy head.

The head was rather narrow as warhammers go, but free from all the embellishments, spikes and hooks so common to many warhammers. In fact, the head was free from all decorations, was all business-like. One end was somewhat flattened, the other rounded. The entire head had a shiny metallic color and was utterly without any scratches or other signs of marring. From the sound it made each time Thrymlur set it down, it was far heavier than it looked to be from the ease with which he lifted it.
The sole concession to decor on it appeared to be a single line of dwarven runes along its shaft. What exactly the shaft was made of was unclear, but it had to be more than regular wood. No wooden handle would have lasted long on such a hammer.

He wore stout-looking scale armor with dull-colored black enamel. Though clearly not new, the armor looked to be in pristine condition. He appeared to be the sort of warrior that cares well for his armor, knowing well that the armor would, and quite possibly had done so many times before, stand between life and death. His thick, grizzled black hair was long and uncombed. Had anyone cared to smell him, he would have reeked of a mixture of sweat, mead and rust. Of course, only a fool would breathe through his or her nose near a dwarven warrior. They were all known to smell that way.

He made his way to the proprietor's disk, slamming a single bar of silver down upon it.

"Room. Mead. Meat!"

His shout was heard even above the din of the conversation, and was surprisingly free of slurring, considering how winding his path across the open floor had been. Of course, dwarves were well-known for being able to hold their drink, so the surprise was only mild. The innkeeper clearly realized that arguing about manners was a bad idea. A very bad idea. Thus he hurriedly ensured that not only was Thrymlur's meadskins refilled quickly, but also that he got the key to one of the upstairs bedrooms and a platter with a large piece of meat upon it.

Satisfied with the service, Thrymlur stowed away his meadskins, then picked up the platter of food, stumbling over to one of the tables. If it had been occupied before, it was clear by the time he got to it. Clearly the other clientèle did not want to argue with him, and that suited him perfectly. Moments later, one of the servers, probably one of the innkeeper's daughters, placed a tankard of fresh mead before him. He nodded gruffly before engaging himself deeply with the food. No tip was offered, and none was expected. the bar of silver paid earlier more than made up for it.

[WittyReference]

Afgar meandered near the swaying Dwarf, golden pick in tow, as the two made for the barkeep.

"I am called Afgar, my brothers and I hail from Felhamir in the south." Clasping the small man's rugged hand in his own, the King plied a firm shake more common among his Miner comrades than his lofty noble title. "Pray tell, what might your name be, friend?"

Raising three fingers above his head as he spoke, Afgar signaled to the man behind the counter who in turn nodded and quickly retrieved a trio of mugs filled brim with frothing ale. Pushing one towards his acquaintance and awaiting his answer, he clasped the Pick to his belt and carried the other two drinks back to his newly populated table.

The Human was in jest as the two returned, Afgar handing him a mug as Garret spoke through jowls of fat and scraggly beard around his plump lips. "M'yes. We've travvl'd hyere en surch ohv guld a'plunty. We mee nut beh theh bes' ohv fye'tuhs, bu' dumn ef we wun't suck'sudd!" Garret spoke little outside his Band of Brothers, though he was always a beacon of optimism, even in the darkest days of Felhamir's history.

Garret's words were met with a hearty cheer from Frunt and Muldun, Afgar raising his own mug in toast: "New Friends and Old gather here to celebrate, it seems only fitting some asshole make a speech!" Laughter rolled from the table as Afgar continued. "I may treat the Humans, the Dwarves, and the Elves, but after this round, you're payin' for yourselves!" With that, Afgar downed his ale, a thick head of foam mingling within his mustache as cheers and laughter filled the inn.

[Aarkaine]

Shaking his hand back, he replies "My name would be Kolmdai, and for your kindness and friendly reaction to my drunkeness, I offer you my services....Once I sober up of course." He laughed "I'm the local Blacksmith, and I can guarantee anything I make for you will not break!"
Following Afgar back to the table, he joined in with the toast that was made, laughing at Afgar's final comment before starting on his own ale.
Kolmadi turns to Afgar "May I ask as to what has lead you to a small town like this?"