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The night is young, but you can barely stand. There's a feast in Thrillem tonight and the dwarves mean business. Not just any feast, no. Your feast. You're being celebrated as heroes for undertaking the Great Quest. You're going to the surface, to travel untold miles through uncharted lands, to slay a dragon and steal its hoard. A dragon. And you're going to slay it. You've already said it what feels like a hundred times, and heard others say it more than a thousand, but that somehow still can't seem dispel that gnawing in your gut. The one that's there to remind you that Hey, guess what! The dragon ain't dead yet! And tonight might be The Night, but tomorrow is certainly The Day. The day when it begins for real, this adventure of yours...

But leave the worrying for the greybeards! You're still young, and tonight is for you! There's a feast going on, and what a feast it is! Delicious delicacies and beverages by the barrel from all across the land, booming drums and roaring brass, thousands upon thousands of torches and candles and all eyes and all smiles upon you, no expense is spared.

You're sitting with the rest of your comrades at the table of honor in the middle of the great hall. You're surrounded on all sides by throngs of your brethren, sitting at tables of their own. On the dais at the head of the hall sits the greybeards, the elders of each clan, looking down on their people with watchful eyes. They're counting on you, and you mean to honor that trust. Your thoughts are suddenly interrupted as Beorthric barges into the table with two fists full of pints. "Refreshments!" he bellows as he smashes them down on the top, and proceeds to lean in towards you with a funny frown on his face. "And good thing, too" he says, nodding over to a neighboring table "'cause them Orebreakers over yonder was bad-mouthing the lot of us, saying they'd stomp us no sweat in arm wrestling, and I figured we'd need a drop 'o strength seeing as we're going to take 'em up on that challenge! Who's with me?"

Kragg was on his third full plate of mushrooms, wedges of cheese, and slabs roasted meats when his comrade Beorthric arrived at the table with a whole bunch of pints of booze onto the table. "Beorthric! Just in time, I was feeling a tad bit sober from eating all this food!" He welcomed the beer toting dwarf warmly as he, just as warmly, cradled a pint and downed it in three mighty gulps. "Ahh...so much better." Kragg said before taking his attention back to his meal and devouring it with renewed gusto. Even at the third full plate, his gut still had room for a half dozen pints and two more plates of food. But what caused pause in the bottomless pit of a dwarf's meal was that the notification that the table of Orebreakers were slandering them. "Them's fighting words from beardlings that can barely carry their own weight in gold. Ancestors, frown upon me if I let this stand. Beorthric, You have my help in this matter." With that, Kragg stands up from his seat on the table and prepares to show the table of Orebreaker dwarves why he was known as the Bull of Clan Stonefist.

As celebrations goes Brazmere couldn't recall a feast so grandiose. Some of remaining kegs of 'All Sorts XXXXX' frugally being handed out along with some of the best smoked duroc pork on offer. The glow of the braziers giving everything on the tables a golden halo.

Brazmere was taking his fill but of course more liquid than subsistence and as his tankard hit the table his fellow 'surfacer' Beorthric turned up with another.
"Cheers Gents" raising his brew along with a few others that heard. The laughter and cheering of the night was infectious along with the boisterousness between fellow dwarves and clans. Beorthric pointed out a table of orebreakers wanting to draw first blood in the evenings festivities. Brazmere drew a large grin across his face as Kragg agreed he stood up on the bench pointing at the breakers table "Who do you think you are? A bunch of orecrumblers with 'my first pickaxe' at your side dare challenge us?! Bring it on!" Brazmere stepped off the bench onto the stone floor knocking the shoulders of his comrades "Come on lads, this will be easy"

As the uproarious singing of cheerful drunks and fire-forged friends shook Thrillem's beloved feasting hall of old, only one dwarf seemed able to resist the infectious atmosphere of camaraderie. On any other day, one would expect to find Norburr Deepslate minding his own business over in a corner away from the other dwarves, with only a plate of roasted bitterroot, well-seasoned mushrooms, and salty cave fish fillets for company as he pored over ledgers of charts, records, and supplies. While the others stuffed their faces and got back to work, he could spend hours picking at his meal as he checked and rechecked the books to make sure that every lesson from the last expedition had been learned, and everything was in order for the next. After all, failure to do so -as Norburr loved to remind anyone who doubted his methods- could mean the difference between life and death. And yet, that fastidiousness and his exacting standards meant that for as long as anyone could remember, Norburr Deepslate -young in body but old in spirit- ate alone.

Not so today. For out of everyone to brave the myriad and unknown dangers of the outside world on this terrific quest, of all the stout-hearted warriors and celebrated heroes, it was Norburr who they picked. Nobody, they reasoned, was better prepared to tackle unknown territory and dangerous terrain than him, the prospector whose preparedness, perception, and perseverance saved who-knows-how-many lives down in the deep. And therein, Norburr realized, was the problem--the reason why even now, in the midst of a celebration for him, he sat slumped on one hand at the dinner table, a dour look upon his wan face. It was because he knew what both opportunity and danger looked, sounded, and smelt like that he could overcome the underground so well! The idea of being thrown to the wolves on the surface world, a place devoid of documentation and research, terrified him. What even were wolves, for instance? What did they eat, and how did they hunt? Were they afraid of fire, like a number of subterranean predators down here? Did they make some distinctive sound that could be used to steer clear from them? Norburr just didn't know. And knowing wasn't half the battle; it was everything. And because this was such an honor, he couldn't possibly refuse.

He was so lost in thought that he jumped in his seat when Beorthric slammed down a new round of drinks onto the table. He blinked in mixed bewilderment and annoyance Beorthric leaned into the group to make them aware of the gauntlet thrown down by their neighbors. Norburr glanced over at the Orebreakers. Surly, burly, broad, and dust-speckled...they were miners through and through, the very salt of the earth, and tough as nails. Of course, no typical dwarf would take any such challenge lying down, no matter how stout the competition. Kragg Stonefist, however, was an exceptional dwarf, as strong and honorable as they come. Alongside him, Brazmere Granitebrew eagerly rose to confront the competition, going as far as to rouse the others to join him. Even Norburr was no exception, which the prospector actually didn't mind that much. If he was stuck going on this expedition, he really ought to try to improve his standing with the others in the long term, and he could certainly stand to distract himself from his misgivings for now. With a roll of his eyes Norburr downed the last of his mead (that being just his second cup) and got to his feet. "Let's just try not to break anythin', eh?" he groused, massaging his shoulders. "Don't know about you chaps, but I'd rather not start off tomorrow in a cast!"

Behdron had never seen quite so much food and drink before. The celebratory cheers, singing, and chattering certainly set the stage for a night to be remembered. With a table full of his favorite meats, a variety of cheeses, and of course a grand amount of alcohol, there was little to be wanted. Between the revelry and feast, there was also little time to think about the realities of the quest. Amazing and impressive descriptions of a dragon! A beast that hoards enough gold to make generations of clan proud. Dangerous? Difficult? Those must all just be stories. Exaggerations. How many Dwarves have seen a dragon anyhow? How big could they possibly be? The cave lizards aren’t very big, that’s for sure!

Speaking of feasts and merriment, as Beorthic approached the table, Behdorn may have been on his second… or third glass. Or maybe it was his fourth? What was the content of these again? The buzz was certainly getting to him by now. Behdron felt that perhaps reaching for some more meat might be the best option… or was that the cheese in front of him? With the arrival of more pints of alcohol Behdron began to sip very slowly on his glass while grabbing a variety of the foods around him. News of the Orebreaker’s boasting left a sour taste in his mouth, and he slammed his glass on the table.

“Stomp us?! Those wee lads could barely match the size of our fists!” He exclaimed. He stood up from his seat, twirling around to face the Orebreaker’s table with a small tumble to his steps. “Why you lot hic are on! Let’s do this.” With that, Behdron pulled up his sleeve and teetered over to the table.